#because before i touched this up on my laptop the shadows were SO pale it was awful

[xxplastic-cubexx]

pov: you are charles xavier and you have been invited onto asteroid m

bonus:

[th3p0rtalmaker]

Incarnate Deleted Scenes - Hector's (Scrapped) Transformation

Writing chapter 1 of my Incarnate fic took FOREVER. There were so many revisions, so much prep and planning that took place in my head before I started typing anything, and I think I genuinely triggered myself a little bit because there were several incidents where I would be in the middle of passionately and excitedly working on the chapter, only to suddenly feel drowsy and fall asleep while sitting at my laptop. I was going thru my Google Docs and found one of the original drafts of Hector's initial transformation. While rereading it, I realized it was actually pretty good and there were parts I might be able to recycle for later on in the fic. And since chapter 4 of Incarnate was really short, and it was posted about seven months after chapter 3, I figured you guys might appreciate getting to read this deleted scene while I work on chapter 5! Hope you enjoy! ^^D

(Continue reading under the cut)

Adira dropped to one knee beside him, eyes wide in disbelief. Her brother wrapped both arms around his chest protectively and gave her a fearful glare. “Don’t touch me! What have you done?!” Hector demanded. The panicked, begging tone in his voice didn’t make Adira feel any better about this horrific development.   “I won’t touch you unless it’s absolutely necessary,” she assured gently. Adira then turned and shouted down the bridge, “EDMUND!” thankful to see her king already halfway to them.   “No!” Hector yelped, rolling onto one side and turning his back to her. He was panting softly now, fear and anxiety lacing his every breath. “H-he can’t see me…I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry…” he murmured breathlessly, beginning to tremble.   “Hector you didn’t do anything - Edmund and I will figure out what to do, you’ll be okay,” Adira soothed, sliding her Shadow Blade into the sheath on her back.   “What happened?” Edmund called as he approached the island of black rock. “The Moonstone shattered,” Adira replied, looking up at him.

  “How?” the king demanded upon drawing level with them. Adira stood and stepped around Hector’s body, letting the monarch kneel at his back.

  “I broke it,” she confessed readily, kneeling in front of her distraught brother. “The opal is no longer a viable container for the Moondrop’s power-” “How do you know?”   Adira gestured to the pile of rubble at the base of the pedestal. Upon registering the sight, Edmund’s face went pale. “The power of the Moonstone needed a stable vessel…” Adira trailed off. She hadn’t quite processed the sight of the celestial magic moving from one host to another of its own accord, much less the fact that Hector had been its first choice.   “Vessel?” the other knight whispered, his luminous eyes wide with horror. He lifted one arm off his chest for a sudden inspection. Adira saw the thin layer of red coating his skin, and was momentarily relieved to see one thing she did know how to deal with. “No-no-no, what is it doing?!” Hector whimpered.   “It’s just bloodsweat, tam'muḍu,” she assured. “You’ve had it a couple times before, remember? It’s a result of intense stress, which you are definitely undergoing-”   “It’s everywhere,” Hector muttered, holding his other arm beside the first. “Everywhere!” Adira took note of the thin layer of red liquid coating the second appendage, then let her eyes run along his form. She realized that the darkened spots on his tunic and leggings, which she had presumed were normal sweat stains, were quickly expanding to cover his entire body. And there was a definite red tinge to them. This Adira had not, in fact, had to deal with before. She only remembered a handful of occasions from their training years in which Hector’s anxiety had become so overwhelming that blood vessels just beneath his skin had temporarily ruptured. This allowed thin traces of blood to mingle with his sweat, painlessly seeping through his skin. But the bloodsweat had always been localized to one or two areas, never spread over his whole body. “Okay, roll onto your back,” Adira instructed, forcing her voice to remain calm. “We need to figure out what we’re dealing with.” Hector gulped, shivering and holding both fists to his chest.

  “Please-” she heard him whisper, although what he was asking for Adira didn’t know. Edmund carefully grabbed the younger man’s shoulder with a gloved hand. Adira saw Hector’s eyes widen briefly, before shutting tightly as his teeth ground together and he tucked his chin to his chest. She’d never done well interpreting the body language of other people, but she’d known Hector long enough to read him like a book. Before the king could pull on him, Adira’s hand shot out and grabbed Edmund’s, ripping it off Hector’s shoulder.

  “He said he didn’t want to be touched - we have to keep physical contact to a minimum,” she warned, throwing his hand aside. Edmund blinked at her, then glanced down at the pitiful state Hector was in.

  “I don’t think he’s going to react the way you normally do,” the king reasoned with a confused expression.

  “That’s not the point,” Adira countered firmly. “This is an emergency and he’s panicking. He needs to be cared for, not man-handled.” “And how are you determining the difference?”   “Right now, he is.”   “Adira! What happened to the Moonstone?” Adira nearly jumped at the sound of Princess Rapunzel’s voice. She and Edmund turned to see the Coronan party arriving at their end of the bridge, Rapunzel already standing close by and ogling wide-eyed at Hector. “Is Hector okay? How can I help?”   "Keep that blonde ball of nightmare fuel AWAY FROM ME!" Hector screeched, crossing his arms over his chest and curling further into himself. Rapunzel stepped back in surprise, the rest of her friends coming to a stop behind her.   After sharing a brief look with the white-haired warrior, Edmund told the princess, “You and your friends are not citizens of the Dark Kingdom, and should not be present for this.”   “What about me?” Fishskin asked, stepping up beside his girlfriend. Adira respected the concern he exhibited for a man that recently tried to kill him, but knew the presence of the long-lost prince would only agitate her brother.   “You aren’t a member of the Brotherhood, and you mean nothing good to Hector,” she answered soberly. “He needs the help of people he knows and trusts.”   “But I’m the Sundrop, there must be-” Rapunzel began to argue.   “Respect our boundary, princess,” Adira snapped icily. Her hand reflexively reached behind her head, fingertips brushing the hilt of her Shadow Blade as she leveled a glare at the Sundrop’s host. She’d witnessed the younger woman’s inability to resolve conflict and respect the boundaries of those she considered friends - she was beginning to see how much Rapunzel had to learn in the ways of respect and diplomacy. “You endangered my brother’s life without reason once already. I won’t permit it a second time.”   “He tried to kill us!” Short Hair snapped back, stepping ahead of Rapunzel. “Now she’s offering to help him, and your response is to threaten her?” Adira’s eyes narrowed, and she gripped the handle of her Shadow Blade fully. Rapunzel looked shocked, as if she hadn’t expected Adira to defend her own brother from unwanted meddling.   “Guys, let’s leave it,” Fishskin spoke up, glancing uncomfortably at Hector’s gasping, vulnerable body and placing a hand on Rapunzel’s shoulder. “This is serious. Adira and Edmund probably know how to handle it better than we do.” Rapunzel nodded silently, leaning into her boyfriend’s touch.   “Thank you, son,” Edmund said with a nod. Short Hair scoffed and held a short glaring match with Adira, before turning and following the rest of the group across the bridge and out of the Moonstone chamber. Adira maintained her grip on her sword’s handle until the door to the chamber gently boomed closed. She released the weapon with a small sigh and let her shoulders drop slightly.   “Hector, if you can’t roll over we’ll situate you,” she said, looking down at him. The younger knight’s eyes met hers nervously, his shoulders and chest heaving for breath as the bloodsweat soaked through his torn clothes completely. “But you can do it yourself if you want.” His gaze dropped away, and his face creased with a look of helpless discomfort as his parted lips began to tremble. Adira assumed the appearance of Rapunzel and her friends had spooked him too much. “You want us to do it - yes or no?” she asked gently. (Insert missing segment where Hector is covered in ooblek bloodsweat) Adira fell silent as the substance coating Hector’s body went from navy purple to an electrifying shade of blue, slightly glowing of its own accord. He yelped and yanked out of her grip, stared at himself in horror for a moment, then pushed himself into a sitting position with a loud groan.   “What are you doing?” Adira demanded nervously, holding one hand as close as she could to Hector without accidentally touching him.

“I’m not dying in a puddle of magic bloodsweat,” Hector grumbled irritatedly, pressing a hand to his injured ribs.   “Hector this isn’t the time for you to be moving in any way,” Adira countered, hoping she wouldn’t have to wrestle him back down. Edmund shifted his bulk a little closer to the smaller man, as if that would dissuade him from attempting to stand in his panicked state.   “Says you!” Hector sneered. “You don’t even know what’s happening right-”

A pained shriek rent the air, and then there were long, thin spikes of black rock extending out of Hector’s right arm, the one closest to Adira. They were clustered just beneath his wrist and elbow, and completely circumferenced his forearm. All three warriors watched in a mix of shock and horror as the shards paused, then laid flat against Hector’s forearm in a series of interlocking shards. The startlingly blue former-blood continued oozing from the seams between the black rock shards, a few drops growing large enough to slide down to Hector’s elbow and then plop softly on the ground.   Hector was staring in wide-eyed, slack jawed horror at his newly encased limb. Only a few moments of silence passed before he began releasing small whimpers and moans, his body starting to tremble. At his sounds of distress Adira snapped out of her own reverie. “Hector lay down,” she commanded sternly. He slowly and shakily complied, holding his right arm protectively to his chest. “Can I look at your arm?” Adira requested, forcing herself to speak in a calmer, soothing voice. Hector shook his head with a slight gasp. “Hector I need to see your arm-”

“It’s not going to help you,” Hector whimpered. “None of us know what’s happening-”   “I’m not going to do anything painful; I’m just going to scrutinize it,” Adira assured. Hector resisted a few moments longer, before reluctantly lifting his arm in her direction. Adira let him rest the appendage in her open hands this time, and her eyes searched the black shards for any helpful clues that could be found. Hector continued whimpering softly in a manner that perfectly mimicked his furry sisters. The oozing seams suddenly disappeared as the shards magically stitched themselves together, forming an unbroken layer that covered Hector’s entire forearm. An epiphany struck her.   “That’s what it’s doing,” she muttered conclusively.   “What w-what’s doing?” Hector demanded.   “What are you thinking, Adira?” Edmund inquired.   “The Moonstone - Moondrop has augmented his blood into some kind of adhesive,” Adira explained, looking up at the king. “It’s meant to hold the black rocks in place to form armor.” She lifted Hector’s arm slightly for emphasis, bending his elbow a little to make sure he wasn’t hurt by the action. “That’s why it made sure Hector was coated before the rocks even broke his skin. And if their emergence causes him to bleed, that means more adhesive for a stronger stick,” she explained. Hector’s face creased with confusion.

“Arm…wh-why armor?” he asked, sounding more out of breath with every word.   “Well, the Moondrop probably doesn’t want its new home to be destroyed as easily as the last one,” Edmund reminded them uneasily.   Hector’s eyes went wide and he shrieked, “NO!” He pulled his arm out of Adira’s hold once more and cradled it to his chest, turning onto his right side and curling in on himself. “No-no-no-no-no!” he whimpered in despair. This time it sounded as though he was truly starting to cry. “Make it stop! Give it the fucking Sundrop, not me!” he begged. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”   “Hector I swear on the house of my father I will find a way to reverse this, but it isn’t going to happen right now,” Adira affirmed, even as her stomach trembled from the weight of what she knew was about to take place. “You have to trust us, and you cannot fight what the Moondrop is doing.” Hector simply lay curled on the floor for several moments, panting heavily and making distressed murmuring noises. Then his body tensed and he let out a groan.   “Not again, not again-not again-not again-”

“Give me your hand,” Adira instructed gently, holding her own near Hector’s bowed head. “Let me keep your arm off the floor.” Shaking, not looking up at her, Hector slowly peeled his left arm from his body and rested his hand in hers. Adira gripped said hand and pulled it closer to herself, extending his arm just enough to be sure that the forthcoming black rocks wouldn’t come in contact with any other part of his body. Hector spasmed momentarily, and then the tips of fresh black rocks sprouted from the blood-adhesive coating his arm. Adira set her mouth in a firm line, but couldn’t completely hide her grimace. She watched the same destructive force that had torn apart her kingdom push itself through her brother’s flesh - while he was still alive to feel the pain.   Based on the sounds Hector made, he was groaning and growling through it with gritted teeth. His left hand tightened around hers in a death-like grip. His right hand dug into the black rock floor with curled fingers, scratching desperately. The new spikes of black rock reached a satisfactory length relatively quickly, and after a moment’s pause, laid flat against Hector’s forearm. He released a loud sigh of relief, then heaved for air as his left arm oozed and dripped for several seconds. Finally the flat shards melded into a single, unbroken layer, and Adira gently rested Hector’s arm on the ground. She let him lay still, breathing heavily with his head bowed, and studied his goop-covered body to figure out the best way to proceed. “Do your feet hurt from sweating too?” she finally asked. Hector panted for several seconds before replying.

  “Yes…why?”

  “We should get your boots off then. The black rocks will easily tear through them, but any scraps of leather that get caught between you and the armor might hinder it from conforming properly,” Adira advised.

  “By that logic, should we strip him entirely?” Edmund asked. Adira shook her head. “His tunic and leggings are thin enough not to cause problems, probably his socks too,” she replied. “And if we remove his clothes we’ll probably remove a significant portion of the adhesive, which his heart will have to work even harder to replace.” She fully believed Hector’s clothing wouldn’t be a hindrance to his future armor. She also knew Hector had a deeply ingrained discomfort with being seen naked that rivaled her aversion to touch. She could hear the relief in her brother’s panting immediately after her declaration that he would only be losing his boots. Addressing him once more, she said, “Hector, I’m going to remove your belt and garter so they don’t get destroyed or cause problems. I need you to roll onto your back so I can cut the garter off cleanly.”   “...You said…save it,” he wheezed, lifting his head to give her a confused look.   “We can mend it much easier if it stays in one piece,” Adira elaborated gently. Hector thought over her logic for a moment, before nodding dazedly. Adira took note of how dizzy and clumsy he was when simply rolling himself over. True to his prediction, he lay soaked and surrounded by a pool of his augmented blood, and the loss of bodily fluid was starting to take its toll on him. “Edmund and I will be quick,” Adira said as she drew a knife from her boot and slid her other hand beneath Hector’s garter. She looked up at Edmund and gave him a short nod, which he returned. “If you feel another wave of the rocks coming, tell us immediately,” she instructed as she positioned her blade beneath the garter, holding its sharpened edge against the accessory.

“‘Kay,” Hector moaned uncomfortably, his arms resting limply by his sides. Edmund deftly slid the knight’s boots off as Adira cut through his garter and pulled it off his thigh.   “Has your heart rate slowed?” she asked as she slid the knife back into her boot and set the accessory aside. She then grabbed the belt around his waist.   Hector, with his eyes closed, took a deep breath and weakly muttered, “No.” Adira nervously looked down at his feet. It was almost impossible to tell he was even wearing socks. His tunic and leggings had nearly disappeared beneath the ever-thickening layer of blood-adhesive as well.   “He can’t keep losing blood at this rate,” she grumbled to herself as she undid his belt, slathering her hands in the glowing substance as a result.   “Sister,” Hector grunted nervously as she pulled it off. After setting the belt aside, she turned back to make eye contact with him. “Please…this…is a dream?” he begged weakly. His normally luminous eyes were dim, while the glow of his magically augmented blood seemed brighter than a few minutes prior. Adira’s expression dropped sadly, and she gently pressed her soiled fist into her brother’s limp, open palm. “I’m afraid this is very real, tam'muḍu,” she replied. As the reality of the situation fully gripped him, Hector’s chest and shoulders began to heave once more. His eyes shut tightly and he started shaking ten times worse than before, pulling his hand away from his sister’s. He started whimpering in the manner his bearcats did, hugging himself and murmuring, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”  “Hector, you don’t need to apologize,” Adira insisted gently. “You did your job as well as you could. I’m the one who - I should have…” she trailed off.   She should have what?

Should she have abandoned her quest for the Sundrop upon discovering it inhabited the body of a foreign princess?   Should she have chosen another route through the Southern Mountains, avoiding a confrontation with Hector entirely?   Could she have been more careful and not unleashed the homeless power of the Moonstone on her own brother?   Adira found herself locking eyes with Hector once more, knowing what he deserved to hear, but unable to pinpoint why he deserved it from her.

“I…” Hector broke the staring match, grinding his teeth and pushing his head back with a loud moan. Letting go of the moment, Adira turned to see if she could pinpoint where the rocks would appear next. Edmund set his hands on Hector’s ankles in preparation, but Adira waved her hand disapprovingly. “Let him move, or do whatever he needs to,” she instructed. “We have no way of knowing where the rocks-”   Hector’s moaning became significantly louder and he started scratching at the floor with both hands. Edmund pulled his own hands away just as new black spikes began emerging just above Hector’s ankles and just below his knees. These were significantly larger than the ones from his arms. Twin armies of miniature spikes also erupted over his feet, completing their mission of coverage surprisingly fast and forming what looked like a type of shoe. Hector attempted to bend his knees so his feet could rest flat on the floor, his teeth gritted and his every exhale punctuated with a pained grunt. Adira eyed the spikes that would eventually cover his shins and calves as they extended out of his body. “He’s not strong enough to keep his legs up,” she declared. “Can you support him without getting stabbed?” she asked, glancing at Edmund.

The king nodded and placed his hands behind both of Hector’s knees, careful to not touch the emerging black rocks while bending his legs so his feet laid flat on the floor. These bigger spikes were causing noticeable bleeding, making the section of adhesive between them impressively thick and causing the pool beneath Hector’s legs to spread a bit faster. Adira felt a pinprick of relief once they laid flat against his shins and calves. That was instantly snuffed, however, as a new ring of spikes began pushing free just above Hector’s knees, while his lower legs still had oozing, dripping seams. Then her heart gave a nervous shudder as a second ring of spikes erupted above the first, and then a third, starting a new pattern that was directed towards Hector’s upper body. Hector began wailing open-mouthed, fingers curled and nails digging into the floor as his arms went rigid. Not seeing an opposing ring of spikes emerge closer to his hips, Adira assumed the black rocks were now on a course that would end near her brother’s head.   And that would require some repositioning.   “Lift him - off the ground!” she commanded. “They’re not going to stop!” She turned away from Edmund’s confused face and slid her hands beneath Hector’s lower back.   “What are you doing?!” Hector demanded through his wailing.   “Making sure there’s space between you and the ground,” Adira replied, practically shouting over the sounds of her brother’s pain. “We’ll hold you up until your legs are done, and then put you back down, okay?” she explained, pulling up so that Hector’s hips and lower back were suspended. Edmund held his knees even higher. The black rock spikes erupting over his thighs were much shorter and wider than the ones from his lower legs, yet they caused just as much bleeding. Hector’s legs twitched and spasmed as he vented his pain, feet flopping against Edmund’s diaphragm. His knees remained untouched by the rocks, merely slathered with the glowing blood-adhesive. “Did the seams on his lower legs close up?” Adira asked loudly, focused on keeping her brother partially suspended in the air.

“They did,” Edmund confirmed equally loudly.   “Good,” Adira replied. Once Hector’s legs were covered hip to toe by a flattened layer of the black rocks, she instructed Edmund to gently put him back down, moving in tandem with the king to limit her brother’s discomfort. Hector’s wailing was finally reduced to animalistic whimpering and heavy, ragged breaths. He lay with all four limbs splayed on the ground for a few moments, upper legs oozing from their still-open seams. Hector’s sweat-drenched head flopped in Adira’s direction, and he gazed up at her through unfocused eyes.   “You…s-said-” His eyes then widened and he sloppily slapped both hands to his abdomen, gripping it desperately. “Stop! Stop-stop-stop PLEASE!” Realizing his un-armored hands were going to be impaled, Adira did the one thing she really didn’t want to do in this situation. She grabbed his forearms and lifted his hands off his stomach, holding firm as he struggled to escape her grip. “LEMME’-!” he demanded, then cut himself off with a strangled, high-pitched scream, louder than any war cry she’d heard him emit on the battlefield. The shards of black rock that emerged to cover his abdomen were not long or spiked. They were wide, short, and round, akin to scales, and maybe a quarter of Adira’s palm in size. Their sharp edges gleamed like miniature chakrams as they broke through the blood-adhesive coating Hector’s belly, traveling in two opposite directions from the centerline of his body. Adira grimaced, seeing tears spill out of her brother’s eyes and pour down his face, mingling with the sweat dripping from his forehead. He ripped his right arm free and raked his nails across his stomach in an attempt to claw the “scales” from his skin. Adira quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away, letting his left arm slide through her grip before tightening around his other wrist. Hector twisted and thrashed as the black rock scales blossomed over his torso, covering his stomach, pelvis, and chest and leaving pencil thin seams between them. No matter how hard he tried to yank his hands free, Adira refused to let go. The black rocks were relentless, spraying droplets of the glowing, blue blood-adhesive to pepper both their hands and Adira’s arm guards as they appeared, before laying flat to Hector’s form. If Hector’s fingers were trapped beneath his new armor, then…well, Adira didn’t know what would happen then. She was determined not to find out, no matter how many tears she had to watch him cry or how disturbed his screaming and sobbing became. The only thing that could possibly be worse than watching her brother be adapted to the Moondrop’s liking - against his will - would be watching that modification process go wrong. Hector tried pulling his wrists close to his mouth so he could sink his fangs into her hands, but Adira shifted and made sure he bit down on her forearm guards instead. He tried in vain to twist his neck and throw her arms aside, biting down multiple times in search of a promising grip while continuing to scream his lungs out. Adira simply shook him off each time. When she saw the black rock scales progress over his shoulders and around his sides, she let him latch onto her arm properly. Using it as a third anchor point, Adira began shuffling backwards on her knees and pulled Hector towards herself, rolling him onto his belly. “Get his legs!”

  At her demand, Edmund carefully grabbed Hector’s left leg and lifted it over his right leg, pushing gently against the man’s lower back as he did so. Adira waited until Hector was completely overturned to release his wrists and pull her arm from his mouth. Once he was freed from both their grips, Hector pushed himself up into a half-plank, shaking on his elbows and forearms, before falling flat on the floor. He was still screaming, sobbing audibly with his fists clenched by his head, which was turned to face Adira. The woman’s gaze flicked between his tear streaked face and the black rock scales that washed over his back and shoulders. They even extended down to cover his upper arms, stopping just above his elbows. The two waves met at his spine and merged together, and at last, the Moondrop was satisfied.

[theraggedygirl11]

Kad nemam tebe sa mnom su moji demoni

Part 2

PAIRING: Kris Guštin/Damon Baker

WARNINGS: (kinda implied) drug and alcohol abuse, implied non-con (not between Kris/Damon), sex (not too explicit), hurt/comfort, angst/fluff, swearing

WORDS COUNT: 2.713

LINK: AO3

NOTES: Still thanking @anxious-witch for beta-reading it!

This is the second and last chapter. There's still angst, but things get better, trust the process!

The next day Damon woke up before Kris and decided to make a good breakfast for him. It was easier to talk to him when he had his stomach filled with good food. He brought a tray with the breakfast in the bedroom, then tried to gently wake up his friend.  

Kris opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Damon’s face with a soft smile. “Good morning, beautiful.”   

The demon stretched and yawned. “You know I hate that nickname.” He mumbled.  

“I know, but it suits you. The other one is princess, so...”  

He laughed a bit. “Princess is cuter.” That smile disappeared immediately after. They were behaving like a couple, but they weren’t one. They couldn’t be one.  

Damon grabbed a huge tray with cookies, pancakes, a hot coffee and a glass of orange juice. A sumptuous breakfast which he didn’t deserve.  

“I-It’s too much, Damon.”  

“It’s all for you, Kris. You need to eat after whatever happened to you yesterday.” He was deadly serious.   

Kris sat up and started eating. He was starving. Well, he didn’t need that kind of food, but it was still a guilty pleasure he had, a memory of his long-lost human life. In the meantime, Damon kept stroking his hair with a gentle touch.  

For some moments their eyes met. Damon’s were filled with concern and kindness. Kris’s were lost, that usual gloom was now leaning towards despair.   

Damon’s hand cupped Kris’s face. “I’d like to talk about something with you.”  

Kris lowered his eyes. “W-What do you want to talk about?” And mentally he was begging whichever deity to not talk about the day before. He didn’t want to revive it.  

“I saw something strange around you yesterday. And on the photos of you I took months ago.”  

“W-What did you see?”  

“You had wings. And I saw them yesterday too, right after that thunderbolt. They are like shadows behind your back. What... what is this? Are you some kind of supernatural creature?”  

Kris went pale and his eyes opened wide. “W-Wings?”  

Damon nodded, then took his laptop and showed him a couple of pictures.   

Kris’s world collapsed under his feet. He made every effort to keep his true nature hidden from humans, but a simple photographer was able to capture them in his amazing photos.  

His sire would be furious. “Delete them.” He said immediately, panic in his voice. “Cancel every picture you have of me. Now.”  

“Kris, what’s wrong? You came here last night high on drugs, you should have been dead and instead you are here, eating breakfast. I’m not crazy, I saw those wings, and even a weird tail. What-”  

“Forget everything you saw.” He snarled. Panic now had completely taken over his mind.  

“No.” His voice was imperative. “I won’t forget nor delete anything. You are one of my dearest friends, and maybe even something more. I want to help you because I lov-”  

“Don’t you dare say those words! You barely know me.” Kris replied with a stirred-up voice.  

“And in these months you became so special to me. I care about you, deeply. I lov-” Damon tried to say again.  

“You can’t love creatures like me!” Kris shouted interrupting Damon, tears in his eyes while standing up from the bed. “What you are feeling is not love, can’t you fucking understand?!” He felt his heart shrink. “I can’t be loved, whatever you are feeling for me...can’t be real.” He shook his head while squeezing his eyes to not let other tears escape from them.  

“It’s you the one who doesn’t understand. Just because you lost yourself and you put up a bad boy attitude, you aren’t impossible to love.” Damon said, standing up and approaching him. His voice was uncomfortably soft. Even tender. “I don’t care who or what you are, Kris. I lov-”  

Kris felt a chain winding tighter and tighter around his neck. His sire was calling him.  

“Stop it.” He hissed, trying to sound aggressive. “Shut up! You don’t understand, you will never understand!” He shouted again. “I made my own hell, I created it and I can’t escape it.”  

Damon observed those teary eyes. He saw once more that sadness, that desolation, that turmoil he noticed while looking at the pictures he took. He saw a caged animal, resigned by its condition, a shy request to be put down because only death could release it from the pain its chains and bars were causing.  

“There’s always a way out, Kris.” He cupped his face and gently stroked his cheeks covered in tears.  

Kris shook his head again. “Not from the situation I put myself into, years ago.” He then turned and ran away from Damon, from his only friend’s house, more tears escaping from his eyes. He didn’t care he was wearing only a t-shirt and some underwear.  

He couldn’t be loved. He was a succubus. He had been a human in the past, then met a demon and sold him his soul because he wanted to be young and beautiful forever. He didn’t realise what he was agreeing to at that time, he was young and the demon charmed him with that promise. He had been created to inspire lust in humans, to bring them to perdition, to damn their souls for his sire.  

He opened his wings to fly away but stumbled and fell on the ground instead. The chain around his neck appeared, tight and heavy as always.  

“Where are you going, darling? We have work to do today.” His sire was right in front of him. Kris lifted his eyes from the ground. “I’m glad how you handled that poor and delusional human. He was just distracting you from your job.”  

“Y-yes, sire.” He swallowed his saliva that burned down his throat like he just ingested poison. He stood up and tried not to show that he was shaking.  

“You are a good boy, my little Kris.” He sneered malignantly and petted his head like he was a dog.  

“P-please... I can’t do it anymore...” Kris begged him. He was crying. “P-please-!”  

“You should have thought a century ago before signing my contract, then.”   

* * *  

In the next few days, Damon tried any possible way to contact Kris, but he never answered. Not even once. It seemed that he disappeared into thin air, like he never existed at all. He even tried to go to the places where they usually hung out together, but he found no trace of him.  

At home he kept looking at Kris’s photos. He wasn’t scared of the existence of supernatural creatures, no. He knew Kris, he wasn’t afraid of him. He...loved him? He certainly felt a special connection with him since he first saw him in that cafe months before.   

Yeah, he was deadly gorgeous, he admitted it multiple times in his mind, but it was those melancholic eyes that really captured and bewitched him. He wanted to dive into them, get lost in their amazing blue-greenish colour.   

His mind showed him that memory when he straddled Kris’s laps to put some golden make-up around his eyes to take some pictures of him. He remembered his smile, his laugh, his feeble attempts to move him, the lightness of that moment between them really made Kris shine. For a moment they both locked their eyes, Damon’s as dark as coal and Kris’s as bright as the ocean around tropical islands. Damon wanted to kiss him so bad, but he forced himself to throw away that thought and to continue what he was doing.  

He missed him. A lot. His heart seemed to have lost a piece since he vanished. He needed to find him again, so he started doing his research about creatures with horns, bat wings and some sort of tail. When he finally found something, he had an idea. And he hoped it worked.  

Some days after Kris found himself sitting on the end of a pier. He was staring at the horizon, the sun was setting and its light stained the water with shades of red, orange and yellow. A very romantic view indeed. Damon would have loved to take some pictures, he thought.  

“Stand up, you have been requested.” His sire appeared right behind him.  

“Someone requested me? Personally?” He asked.  

“Yes, my lovely Kris. And you’ll definitely like him.” He sneered. “Come on, he’s waiting for you.”  

When they arrived at the appointed place of the meeting and Kris saw who his new lover for the night was, he petrified.  

“No, no, no, please, I can’t do it with him...” He started begging his sire. “He-”  

“Yes, it’s your lovely photographer.” The demon looked at Kris, sneering. “He wanted you, he asked specifically for you, Kris. And you’ll give him what he requested.” He grabbed his chain and drew him closer. “You’ll comply without asking further questions, ok?”  

Kris was shaking, but he gave up. “Y-yes, sire.” He replied, closing his eyes and nodding.  

“Good boy. He has a soul so pure and you have the honour to start corrupting it. Now go on and do your fucking job, bitch.”  

When Damon noticed Kris approaching him, he showed a tender smile on his face. “You are here.”  

“Why?” The succubus asked. “Why did you ask for me?”  

Damon cupped his face and looked him in the eyes. “Because it was the only way I had to see you again.”  

“B-but your soul-”  

“I don’t care about it. I won’t go to heaven anyway. And I don’t want to go there if you are not with me.”  

“You don’t know what you are asking for, Damon.”  

He gently stroked Kris’s cheeks. “I don’t care.” He repeated. “You are here, that’s the only thing that matters, now.” He then grabbed one of his hands. “Come home.”   

Kris let Damon escort him to his bedroom. Nothing changed in that place since he last saw it.   

The photographer made Kris sit on his bed, then straddled him and hugged him tightly. “I-I missed you so much...” He whispered with a shaking voice.   

Kris responded and hugged him too. He closed his eyes. He was relieved that he could have a peaceful night, but he felt guilty because that meant only one thing, that he was about to ruin him, his only friend. And he didn’t want to.   

Damon stroked his hair and kissed him on the forehead.   

“Do what you have to do, Kris.” He whispered and looked at him right in his eyes. “I only hope this night will be a good one for you.”  

In that moment their lips touched slightly. Damon wasn’t demanding anything, he was just leaving Kris in control. He moved his hands on Damon’s back while kissing him with more passion.  

They kissed and kissed, slowly undressing each other. The clothes fell on the floor of the room, one after the other. Kris gently pushed Damon and made him lay down on the bed.  

“Show me your true form, Kris.” He whispered, breathless. “Please. I’d like to see you, the real you.”   

This request surprised Kris. But Damon was his master for that night and he couldn’t refuse. He took a deep breath, then let his true form change his appearance: in his hair two black curved horns popped up, on his back two black bat wings opened, a tail with an arrowhead end began moving behind him, his teeth and his nails became sharp and pointed.   

Damon cupped his face and observed his demonic aspect. “You, wonderful, magnificent creature.” He whispered.  

“I’m not magnificent.” He shut his eyes.  

“Yes, you are. In this form and in your human one.” He caressed his cheeks with gestures filled with love and kindness. “My love, look at me, please. I want to get lost in those gorgeous blue eyes of yours.”  

And the demon opened wide his eyes. No one treated him like Damon was doing. He was so used to being mistreated and abused by his lovers that tears invaded his eyes. Damon noticed his reaction and hugged him, making him lay over his body. He gently stroked his hair again.   

“It’s ok, Kris. Everything’s ok. You are safe here.” He whispered with a tender voice.  

How was he worthy of this? He was a demon, he was a damned soul, he didn’t deserve this heaven. And he was about to destroy this human. How could he be this cruel? He raised his head and met Damon’s eyes. He leaned forward and kissed Kris.  

Every new kiss led to caresses and to intertwined souls guided by pleasure. Moans, whines, names gently whispered by breathless voices, bodies sliding against bedsheets and against each other were the only sounds in that room. Both reached their climax at the same time.   

Kris crumbled on top of Damon, his limbs unable to keep him above his lover. He felt strong and exhausted simultaneously.  

He raised his head and met Damon’s eyes, filled with fulfilment and something else he had difficulties to identify.  

“My beautiful, ravishing demon.” He said, smiling. He kissed him again on his lips, tenderly. “My demon, my muse, I love you.”  

Kris’s body stiffened. He heard a scream in his head, a roaring “no!” from his sire. His chains materialised around his neck and his master appeared in the room with the other end of the chains on his hand.  

Damon observed the scene, confused and a little bit scared. He turned to the newcomer. “What-”  

“How dare you?!” The other demon shouted. He was about to tug Kris, but the links broke and turned into dust. “No!” Kris’s contract appeared, levitating between his demon sire and the bed, then immediately burned down.  

Kris felt free. He quickly touched his neck, there was no trace of the chains. But was he truly free?  

His sire was furious. Kris engaged in a defensive stance, ready to protect Damon from the other demon, but he only threw a rageful glance at his former slave and in the end disappeared in a red cloud of smoke.  

“What just happened?” Damon asked, visibly confused.  

Kris turned to the photographer. “I think you freed me from my sire. He made me a succubus, a century ago.” He simply answered, still trying to process these last moments. “I don’t feel his control over me anymore.”  

Damon giggled a bit, then cupped Kris’s face. “Love really is the strongest feeling. It rescued a demon.” Then kissed him on the lips. “My demon.”  

* * *

“Hurry up! We are going to be late for the photoshoot!” Damon shouted from outside the bathroom where Kris was preparing himself.  

He started living with Damon right after his liberation, also because he had nowhere to go, his home was in hell and he didn’t want to go back there, unless it was necessary. He was now a free succubus, no one controlled him. Besides, their love protected his now boyfriend from corruption, his soul was still immaculate.  

“I didn’t know vanity was a characteristic of your kind of demons.” Damon giggled. He was at the door of the room, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest.  

Kris looked at him through the mirror, smiling. “I’m still a demon and my appearance is my pride.” He replied.  

“Come on, vanity demon, the guys are already waiting for us.”  

“Who are we meeting today? I don’t remember their name.”  

“Oh, it’s a local band. It’s called Joker Out.”   

“What a dumb name.” He giggled.   

“Try and say this in front of them, then we’ll see their reaction. The singer might punch your pretty face.”   

Kris shook his head, then went with Damon to the place they chose for the shooting.

* * *

Hi, my name is Kris. I’m a demon, a succubus to be precise. I was once a human, but over a century ago I sold my soul to a demon lord, my former master. I was a slave for him, but a human freed me thanks to his love. This human is now my boyfriend, we live and work together. His name is Damon.   I have been free for 365 days and today Damon and I celebrate our first year together. I am grateful for my new life.  

[k-s-morgan]

What He Grows to Be: Snippet 7

Sorry, I know it’s late again, but my laptop went absolutely crazy yesterday! Here’s the snippet. 

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

At this time of the day, the cemetery was quiet. There were a couple of people present, but they were standing far enough for Tom to know that they wouldn’t be able to recognise him even if they looked his way.

Sighing, he leaned against one of the marble columns, watching the specific grave. It was a bit funny: Charlus Potter had lived so little that it seemed like few people cared about his death. The flowers and small toys remained the same no matter how often Tom came here, so clearly, no one bothered to replace them or add something new. Over the years, he’d seen Charlus’ parents several times, but that was it. No friends, no other relatives. The boy was so unremarkable that in a few short decades, no one would even remember him — he’d be a pale shadow on the Potters’ family tree.

Tom and Harry, in turn, would live forever.

A pleased smile curled his lips upwards. Tom closed his eyes briefly, basking in the afterglow of Harry’s name. The wind threw a strong gust of cold air at him, but he didn’t move.

Every day, every month, every year, Harry was closer. He had almost made his decision, Tom could feel it in his bones. A few more efforts, and everything would be over, everything would fall into its rightful place.

Yet despite his complete confidence, sometimes he regretted giving the Mirror of Erised to Harry. Spending even one more day with it was something he would pay dearly for —  then again, he knew he’d feel like this even before he wrapped it up as a gift. That was the reason why he spent almost six months with it before deciding to fulfil his original plan and send it to Harry.

At least he had a Pensieve and could watch his own recollections again and again. In fact, he would do just that when he came back home today.

Pleased with his decision, Tom straightened, brushing his hair off his face. His eyes fell on Charlus Potter’s grave… and the world stopped. The wind ceased its icy attacks. People in the background disappeared. The whole planet had to have stopped moving — or maybe Tom’s body entered stupor and lost its ability to register the surroundings properly. All his attention, all his focus snapped to one cloaked figure that was slowly making its way towards the grave.    

It was Harry. Tom could only see his back, but it was him. It was his unruly, wild hair, his proud back, his perfect height and his gait — smooth, stealthy, shaped by years of Quidditch and participations in duels.

It was Harry.

For a moment, Tom was certain that he was seeing things. He’d just been thinking about the Mirror of Erised — it wasn’t surprising that his starved mind conjured the image of Harry.

But the figure didn’t disappear. It stopped next to the grave, knelt down, and touched the headstone.

Harry. It was Harry. Only Harry would do this.

The shock rocked him back a step. Something hot welled up in his chest, and a second later, his whole body was on fire. His lungs, his heart, his face — everything was burning. A strange weightlessness replaced his bones, forcing him to grab at the edge of the column to keep himself on his feet.

Harry was real. He was real, he was nearby right now. If Tom wanted… he could approach him. He could see his face. He could speak with him and hear his voice. No fantasies and no recycled memories would ever be enough, how could they even compare? The tangible, real Harry was here, so why was Tom still hiding?

The longing hit him so hard that he almost doubled over. He was trembling — he barely managed to keep his hand on the column. Time transformed into a particularly merciless entity because it felt like only several seconds had passed, but Harry was suddenly getting up and turning, preparing to leave.

His face. Tom could look at his face now.

Even from the distance, he instantly caught every small detail, each little change. Harry looked thinner. There were greyish circles under his eyes, and the light stubble covered his chin. He looked calm, even peaceful, and he was absolutely, entirely mesmerising.  

He continued to walk to the apparition point: the closer he approached, the stronger panic began to break through Tom’s shock.

He had to move! This was the chance he’d been waiting for, this was why he visited this cemetery every week for two years — to catch a glimpse of Harry. Granted, it had been an empty chase that Tom didn’t put much stock in, but now it suddenly went real, and he was still standing rooted to a spot like an idiot.

With a hoarse gasp, he took a step in Harry’s direction… and then he froze again.

Harry didn’t want to see him yet. This was the whole point of their separation. Tom never stopped trying to catch him, but not because he actually planned to do it — it was just a game, a way to distract himself from his ever-present grim thoughts.

Harry didn’t know he was here. He wasn’t back, not officially, which meant that Tom had to respect his decision. He promised he would, and going back on his word now… what if Harry took one look at him and apparated away? What if this encounter made him stay hidden for several more years, nullifying the progress they’d made?

‘Get him!’ something roared at him. ‘Get him now, before he leaves!’

Tom took one more step before stopping again.

But… he didn’t want to “get” Harry. He wanted Harry to come back. Ambushing him now would only be damaging, it wouldn’t change anything, not really. It would undo Tom’s restless efforts to make Harry want to be with him.

He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.  

His body went into shock for the second time in minutes. It couldn’t understand his inactivity — his brain was at a loss, too. Harry crossed the barrier, and Tom’s mind dissolved into silent screaming.

Still, he remained motionless. Because despite the violent protests of his magic, despite the crazy urge to grab Harry and never let go of him again, doing nothing felt strangely right.

If he had to choose between eternity and this one moment… he would pick the eternity.

He would wait. He would restrain himself magically if he had to.

Harry suddenly hesitated. A small frown appeared between his brows, but his expression cleared quickly. With a small, wistful smile, he apparated away, and Tom pressed his hands to his burning face, unable to come to terms with what had just happened. With what he’d just done.  

Had this actually been real? Had he seen Harry and let him go?

He didn’t know. The thought was too crazy to dwell on it.

[howtosingit]

Fic: i want your midnights

“It’s late, you should be asleep.” * Carlos prepares to return to work.

1.6K | Also on AO3

- - - - - - -

TK wakes up alone in their dimly lit bedroom. 

Moonlight shines through the balcony doors to his right, bathing the rumpled sheets next to him in pale hues and shadows. He runs his hand against them, letting out a sigh at their coldness. Squeezing his tired eyes shut for a just moment, he chooses to ignore the sharp, quick pain that radiates from his stapled skull in favor of getting out of bed to search for his missing human blanket.

He finds Carlos exactly where he thought he would: sitting on one of the bar stools, his head propped up on his hand as he leans over the counter, slowly scrolling through something on his laptop. TK can see his leg bouncing slightly, his foot tapping against the stool’s leg from where it’s resting on a support beam.

“It’s late, you should be asleep,” Carlos says without turning to look at him, his exhaustion clear in the tone of his voice.

TK merely scoffs in reply, stepping away from the bottom of the stairs and crossing the room to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. “I could say the same thing about you, babe,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss against Carlos’s neck before burying his face in his soft grey shirt to inhale his favorite scent.

“Couldn’t get my brain to shut up,” his boyfriend explains, shifting to run his hand along TK’s arm around his waist, his eyes still fixed on the computer screen in front of him. 

TK hums, glancing over to the screen as well, unsurprised to see the 783-page APD manual taking up half the screen, a document filled with notes about protocols filling the other half. He’s seen the manual a lot in the past two weeks, pretty sure that Carlos has been pouring over it every chance he gets during his time off work. 

His boyfriend had filled him in on all the details of his suspension the day TK was released from the hospital, immediately saving him from feeling any ridiculous guilt about Carlos taking time off to care for him after his incident. 

Instead, Carlos had decided to take some time off for himself following his one-week suspension. TK knows that the investigation, as well as his short hospital stay and Grace and Judd’s accident, has thoroughly rocked their world, and he’s thankful that Carlos willingly gave himself time to process and recover. 

Now, however, their days at home are numbered. TK gets his staples removed tomorrow, and he’ll have a few more days of recovery after that before he’s back to work. As for Carlos, he reports for his first shift the next evening, one that TK knows he’s incredibly anxious about.

Which is why TK is not at all surprised to find him studying the ADP manual at midnight in their kitchen instead of sleeping in their bed where he belongs.

Without a word, TK reaches forward to grip the corner of the laptop, slowly closing it. Carlos doesn’t object to the action; instead he just lets out a sigh, his wide frame shrinking as he collapses in on himself, almost like he’s shutting down along with the device. TK rubs his back for a moment before sliding his hand up his spine and running his fingers through the short, cropped hair at the back of Carlos’s head. Gently, he guides his boyfriend to face him, taking in the tiredness behind his favorite pair of beautiful brown eyes. He gives Carlos a small smile, waiting until the other man returns it, before he leans forward to press their lips together.

Carlos gasps against him, his body shaking as his mouth opens up to TK’s affection. There was little distance between them before, but now they cling tighter, their bodies pressed together as their arms wrap around each other. Carlos whimpers softly, and TK answers him by sealing their connected lips, allowing none of their love to escape. They’re both too tired for the kiss to become the start of something more, but that’s okay. It’s a conversational kiss, one where Carlos says “I need to know you’re going to always be here with me” and TK responds with “I promise you there’s nowhere else I will ever be.”

They still cling tightly to one another when their lips separate, each of them gasping for breath in the sliver of space between them. TK’s head spins, his nose dragging against Carlos’s as they find safety and security in their warm embrace.

“Come be my blanket?” he asks after a moment, keeping his eyes closed. 

Carlos doesn’t respond with words; instead, he shifts, slipping off the bar stool and reaching to take TK’s hand. He takes the lead, moving to flip off the light switch before beginning the ascent up the stairs, dragging a willing TK along behind him.

They don’t speak as they climb into bed, each of them taking their sides. TK turns to face the wall, Carlos slotting in behind him to cover him completely. His boyfriend slides his arm around TK’s waist to link their fingers over his stomach before resting his chin in his neck, fitting perfectly in the slot created between his collarbone and left ear as if he was designed to do so.

For others, the arrangement might feel too close, too restrictive. To TK, there is nothing better than feeling Carlos’s touch against every inch of his body. The perfect human blanket providing maximum security and warmth.

TK waits until Carlos’s breathing settles, dragging his thumb against the back of his hand, before he speaks again.

“Tell me about the manual?”

Carlos huffs, the puff of air pressing against TK’s neck. “You ask as if you don’t already know,” he says into TK’s skin.

“I mean, I have an idea,” TK admits, tightening his grip on Carlos’s hand, “but I want to hear it from you.”

Carlos nods against him, pressing his lips against TK’s stubbled jaw. 

“I’m scared to go back.” TK hears the way his voice shakes.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to mess up again...”

TK makes a noise of disapproval. “You didn’t mess up, Carlos. You were cleared to go back because you did the right thing.”

“Yeah…” Carlos trails off. “But, I keep thinking about how it felt when no one believed me.”

TK lets the admission hang in the silence, waiting for Carlos to continue.

“I’ve never really fit in with everyone else in the precinct, for a lot of reasons, but I’ve never been a total pariah before.”

“You’re a better officer than all of them, that’s their problem.”

“I think you’re biased, Ty,” Carlos argues weakly.

“Oh, really?” TK fires back, rolling to face Carlos directly while still keeping them as close as possible. “Then why have you been studying that manual for two weeks now?”

“I-” Carlos starts, his eyes shifting to look past TK. “I’m just reminding myself of protocols so I don’t get rusty.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” Carlos assures him. “That’s all.”

“So you’re not mentally reviewing every single call that you’ve responded to in the past five years?”

“No, I-” He cuts himself off at TK’s look, letting out another huff as he rolls his eyes. “How did you know?”

“Because I know you, Carlos,” TK reminds him, bringing a hand up to cup his boyfriend’s face. “You’re a good man, one of the best I’ve ever met, and yet every day you try to make yourself better.”

He watches as tears fill Carlos’s eyes, his bottom lip quivering slightly as he stares at him.

“So, what did you find? Have you made any bad calls?”

“I haven’t always followed protocol,” Carlos admits, his voice thick with emotion.

“Do you regret that?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I did the right thing.”

“You’re sure?”

Carlos pauses, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he considers the question.

“Yes,” he finally answers, his voice strong and certain.

“Me, too,” TK agrees, running his thumb along the curve of Carlos’s cheek. “I’m always sure of you.”

He watches the tear fall from the corner of his boyfriend’s eye and run along the ridge of his nose. He leans forward, pressing their lips together again.

“Trust yourself, Carlos,” he says when he pulls away to find more tears running down Carlos’s face. “Trust yourself the way that I trust you. The way that I know I will always trust you.”

Carlos lets out a quiet sob, no longer able to hold it inside. 

“Promise me?” TK asks, refusing to let it go.

His boyfriend nods. “I promise,” he whispers around another soft sob.

TK smiles, sliding his hand down to Carlos’s shoulder and pressing gently. His lover understands immediately, rolling over to face the door out to the balcony. TK slides in behind him, mirroring their earlier positions, content to now be a blanket for Carlos. He presses his lips to the other man’s cheek, transferring all of his love to him in every touch they share.

“I love you, Carlos, and I believe in you, with everything in me,” TK whispers into his ear, tightening his grip when Carlos shivers beneath him. “And in case you forget that, I promise that will be here every moment of every day to remind you, no matter what.”

Carlos responds by bringing their joined hands up to his mouth, pressing a wet, shaky kiss against the back of TK’s hand. He has no problem hearing the words that Carlos can’t speak.

They stay there, sheltered in their loving embrace, until they both sink into a deep, peaceful sleep that they only ever manage to find in each other’s arms.

[wthcew]

JayTim, flirting, falling in love and cuddles and JJ Tim who gor adopted by Harley and Ivy pretty please??

Sweetie, you just jumped on my train of JJ fics, I hope you don't mind that I added a little bit of smut

I'm so sorry it took me that long to write it, I hope you like it!

_____________________________________________

30 days

_____________________________________________

The first time he heard about it he was under the ground. He felt like he was choking, his helmet somewhere unknown and with it his communication with Oracle. He isn't talking to B (not after he chose the fucking Joker over him) but he does help Nightwing sometimes, and oh, did he wished right now that he would have never let Dick in his safehouse.

Nightwing and Red Hood were about to bust a drag ring, but the thing is, it was an ambush, so now they're both under ground, Hood's leg impaled to the ground by an iron pillar from one of the walls that exploded and that they're buried under, his helmet in an unknown place and 'wing trying to call for help.

Jason tried to slow his breath but being under ground is bringing back bad memories (He can't breathe, he's locked, and all he want right now is his dad-) of being six feet under and he's hysterical- because everything is hurting and broken and half his face are burned and he can't breathe so please, please he just want his dad, "please dad come save me"-

He's so gone into his mind, letting his panic control him that he's flinching away when Dick touching his shoulder, but it's pulling him out of his head (and just when did the tears started to spill out of his eyes?), and Dick is looking at him, the whites lenses of his domino mask are gone and instead Jason's getting those blue eyes that are full with concern.

"It's okay Jay" Dick smiled at him, a small smile that somehow made Jason believe that it's okay. "B and baby bat are on their way right now," Dick's hand found Jason's and he squeezed it in reassuring. Jason returned the squeeze. "We will be fine"

...

"Did someone ever told you about the kid who almost killed Joker?" Dick asked after couple minutes of silence, when Jason's breath is under control and he isn't so much as hysterical as he was couple of minutes before.

Jay turned his head to Dick, "No" his voice was hoarse, too hoarse for his own ears but Dick didn't seems to mind, he just nodded his head and smiled softly at him.

"He was thirteen years old back then, Joker took him, when Babs still was Batgirl" And at that moment Dick's comn beeped and after five minutes they were out of the ground, Bruce and Damian next to Dick, checking if he's fine while Jason took his helmet, the hole in his leg isn't that bad and when Dick looking at him the Red Hood already swing away.

_____________________________________________

The second time he heard about it was because he wanted to, he was curious and he wanted to know what happened to the kid, what made a thirteen years old kid almost kill the Joker.

So, he was on his couch, his leg bandaged and a cup of hot tea on the coffe table, his laptop open and working and the reading lamp's orange light made his shadow look like some villain from kids cartoon.

It's hard to find anything about it but he is (A bat) Red Hood, if he wants to he'll find out what happened back then. And he want to.

So Jason cracked his fingers and started to work.

The seconds became to minutes that became to hours of work and clicking on his keyboard, it's hard to find anything because apparently this whole story is shushed and all Jason gathered until now came from a video of the news report and all they said there was that Joker broke out of Arkham and decided he wanted a son, kidnapped some unlucky kid and deleted the boy's personality with electrical shocks until he becamed Joker Junior, and then he kept torturing the kid until the Batman and Batgirl found the kid, broken minded and holding a gun to Joker's head.

It was quite the story, but Jason didn't know what happened later, who the kid was or what happened to him.

But he will, just to know if the kid's okay. Or to ask why he hadn't pulled the trigger..

So he kept digging, looking for anything that may conect to the story. And that's how Jason found himself reading article about Jack and Jent Drake disowning their only child Tim Drake. The kid was only thirteen back then, and all he took before he took off from the face of earth was a stuffed Kola and a camra.

And it may be his curiosity about this because he don't remember the kid and apparently they were neighbors or the JJ thing but he knows that he'll find Tim Drake.

_____________________________________________

Jent Drake died two years after she disowned Tim in a car crash, her husband got depressed and started looking for Tim to reown him but then he met Dana Winters.

There was some love story there that Jason wasn't really that interested in reading but in the end they married and left Gotham, never coming back. And the most annoying thing is, that Tim was never found.

But he did found out that there was some kid that helped Harley and Ivy sometimes, he had a faded red hoodie and faded green jeans.

The hoodie's hat always hiding his face and from the little Jason saw, his skin was more white than normal human skin.

Jason couldn't find a lot of photos of the kid but he did find one of Harley hugging the kid.

Jason looked at the photo, it was fuve years old, when Tim desperate and all the JJ thing happened. The way he held himself was familiar to Jason, something deep in his mind, memories that he couldn't remember, but it was there, and Jason knows that this Tim kid is JJ who is also somehow Harley's kid.

_____________________________________________

"I need your help"

"Oh that's nice, what aby 'hey Babs, how was your day? Did Dick pissed you off and going to sleep on the couch tonight? Can you please help me with this thing?'"

Jason smiled, shifting the phone that was pressed against his ear "What did Dick did?"

"He was a dick"

"How was your day?"

"What did you wanted help with Jay?"

"Clown boy"

"Hmm?"

"Joker Junior"

A sharp breath "What about him?"

"You know who he is?"

"We found him after he took a dip in the acid, and he was dressed like the Joker, too much make up, green hair, purple suit, couldn't recognise him"

"But you know don't you?"

"Batman doesn't know"

"Well you're Oracle not Batman. It's simple question O, you know? Yes or no?"

"I know"

"I think I know too"

"Who do you think it is?"

"Tim Drake"

"..Yes it's him"

"Why didn't you told Bruce?

"He's a good kid"

"He's with Harley now"

"Tim isn't bad"

"Babs, if he's Joker Junior and he's with Harley he can't be that good"

"Jay, Harley and Ivy gave me the tip to find him and Harley took him in after his parents disowned him, he may be stilling sometimes or helping Harley and Ivy but he is good"

"You kept tabs on him?"

"He's smart, he may have lost a lot of his memories because of the Joker and he is crazy but he have support"

"Does Bruce know you're helping hiding him?"

"No, and he wouldn't. Not until Tim decided that it's fine"

"You're in contact?"

"We're just talking, I'm sending him puzels and riddles and it's helping him keep clean mind"

"Can I talk to him?"

"I can't tell you where he is but I also can't stop you from doing this"

"Thank you Babs"

"Not a problem Jaybird"

_____________________________________________

It was a week later that Jason walked into a small unnoticed coffee shop.

The design of the place gave him a feeling of happiness, like it was some kind of home.

He looked through everyone there, couple next to the window, three old ladies sitting in a table for four, chatting and laughing, couple of collage students sitting with something to eat and something warm to drink and typing on their laptops, and on the farthest side of the coffee shop, in a table for two, sat a teen, his hands paler than any human skin, his long hair hiding his face, a coffee cup in front of him and his legs shacking.

"Hello! Can I help you?" A cheerful voice called from the cashier desk, he put on a smile on his face and turned to see a black haired girl, with a big smile on her face.

"Yeah, do you have Eral Gray?"

"We do! Anything else with this?"

"No, thank you"

"Okay, just a minute"

When he got his cup he paid the girl murmuring a "Thank you" and walking to Tim.

When he sat down in front of the teen, icy blue eyes looked at his face, and his breath hitched when he saw the little cuts on at each end of his mouth, creating a smile.

"Hey" Jason said, smiling at Tim.

"Hey.." Tim's voice almost didn't reached his ears and Jason's smile grew wider when Tim smiled at him. A shy little amazing smile.

"I'm Jason"

"T-Tim"

"Nice to meet you"

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted tea"

"You aren't scared?" Tim's eyes looked a bit insane when he said the last word, his smile grew wider and he leaned closer to the table. The cuts on his face and his pale skin made him look like Joker but there was also something else there, something in his eyes that said 'Pleas don't be scared' and Jason swallowed and forced his nerves to calm down.

"No, you actually seems nice"

Tim blinked once.

Twice.

And then his smile became nicer, less dangerous and more shy. He relaxed and took a sip from his coffee.

Jason smiled, sipping from his own cup while making a note in his head to be careful with this one.

They drank a couple more cups together, chatting about nothing in particular and when Tim excused himself and left, Jason found a paper next to the cup.

He opened it because of his dammed curiosity and bis breath hitched.

'Ha ha ha'

_____________________________________________

It was in the middle of the night, the streets lamps flickered on and off every couple of seconds, and the stars were hidden in the sky, behind the clouds.

His parents just left the town. Without telling him. Again. And it's fine, he can't be mad at his parents for leaving him -he is, like his mother says, rotten child- all the time.

But sometimes he wonders if he'll ever be good enough for them to stay. If he'll ever be good enough so his mother wouldn't need to hiss his name through clench teeth and his father to hit him.

Maybe he would never be good enough..

In those nights when he wonders about it, he goes to a walk. It's always makes him calm and shuts his mind down. It's leaving him with the feeling of wholenesses, like some how the wind that hit his body in cold sharp hit is welcoming, or the cold of the night is like his stuffed Kola -the one he got from Bruce Wayne In a gala that his parents hosted when he was four and since then he hides it from his parents and hugging it when he need comfort- or like the silence out here is better than the silence inside the empty house.

And maybe, just maybe hr would see his heros.

And as Tim kept walking he could barely hear this cursed laugh, followed by the soft like song-

Mary had a little lamb

Little lamb, little lamb

Mary had a little lamb...

"Cutie pie?" His mama's voice rang, it was muffled but it was still there. "I'm hearing laughing, it's a good joke?"

A knock on his door "Sweetheart?" His laugh grew and his eyes burned, tears dropping from his eyes.

"Timmy?"

He hugged his legs to his chest, laughing and crying and this song is stuck in his head and he can't stop it and-

"Mary had a little lamb"

Mama's hands are around him, hugging him and petting his hair "Shhh shh shh, everything's fine baby, I'm here"

He can't breathe and the song is on full volume in his head but mama's here and mama is safety, she's safety. He's safe. Safe

_____________________________________________

"What the hell were you thinking?" Oracle's voice rang through the comn in his helmet.

"You need to be more specific than that O"

"Tim blocked me, Selina is mad at Bruce because one of his kids hurt her niece, Harley and Tim are nowhere to be found and Selina and Ivy are planning something"

"I didn't hurt Tim and I don't know why you told ma all the other stuff"

"Hood, Tim's smart, maybe too much smart but his mind is broken, he's crazy and genius"

"Okay and..?"

"He wants to go -and I’m quoting him- Boom he always wanted everyone to know that he's Harley's kid, and I always made him take more time, think about it more the fact that he blocked me means that I can't tell him to sit back anymore"

"You can remove it though"

"I did, and he just throw his phone away"

"So I broke him?"

"No, Joker broke him you just set him off"

"Shit"

"Yes. Shit"

_____________________________________________

"Wohhooo" Was shout out to the sky as Tim set in shopping cart, Harley -in her rollerblades- holding the handles of the cart, and they're both 'driving' down a road, laughing.

The air hit Tim's face in the best way he could have ever imagined and he laughed so hard that his cheedk burned, and maybe he ripped his stiches oncr again today but he dosen't care.

He is happy. So, so happy, like he was with this hot guy in the coffee shop, before his meltdown.

But right now, right now it's all this.

His mama and him, having fun, his mom and aunty kitty somewhere doing her own thing and everything's okay.

He laughed again as they started to speed up, the wind throwing his hair in any direction possible.

After a few minutes they cane to a stop, his mama's smile is so loving and he hopes that his smile is loving as well.

"Come on sweetie, let's do it" Harley smiled as she gave him the lighter, he jumped out of the cart and lit the lighter, his eyes sparking as the fire started spreading.

Tim and Harley walked away because they're crazy not stupid.

There faces lit up as the fireworks blew and flew to the sky.

Harley hugged him from behind and he relaxed into his mama's touch, watching the fireworks becoming to words that are shining over Gotham's sky.

30 days

_____________________________________________

"Hey Hoodie" A cheerful voice called from behind him.

Red Hood turned around, a gun in his hand just to be met with Tim's lovely smile.

"Chill, chill" The teen said, holding his hands up "I'm not going to hurt you"

"What do you want?" Hood asked, lowering his gun.

"We have never met have we?" Tim said, his smile calm

"I don't think so"

"No, but I did met Robin"

"So you met the Demon"

Tim frowned "No. The second one."

"Don't know him"

"Red Hood can't meet Robin II"

"And why's that?"

"Robin II's dead, dad killed him" Tim shock his head "I don't like dad, I liked Robin II and dad did it because it's funny. It's not!"

Tim looked so frustrated, his eyes big and he's looking at Jason like he hope that he would understand that and, something in Jason change, his face are softer under the helmet and-

"Okay Tim, I know you aren't the Joker."

"I didn't met *you* but we did met, I know Robin and I know Jason and now I know Red Hood?"

"You know who I am"

"No, no no no!" Tim looked him straight in the eyes, like he could see his face behind the helmet "You're Red Hood now, you were Robin and you always were Jason but now you Red Hood, I don't know Red Hood!"

"Okay, okay, relax, you don't know Red Hood, that's fine"

"I need to know Red Hood"

"Why?"

"Because I need Red Hood to help me"

"You need help?"

"Yes"

"Okay, but why Red Hood?"

"Because.. Ummm because- Because of Dad! I need Red Hood to help me kill dad"

To kill.. the Joker.

To kill the Joker.

The Joker dead.

'Yes'

"I would help you, Red Hood and Jason, okay?"

Tim nodded "Yeah, okay."

The sky started to glow and they both looked up, looking at fireworks that formed

29 days

_____________________________________________

It was so logical and simple that Jason almost laugh.

He sat next to Tim in some small safehouse, looking at Tim up and down as he was solving Sudoku.

They're waiting for the others to decide exactly who will go in and kill this son of a bitch and aho will make sure that everyone else will be present in that day.

They are waiting for Tim's small family, and Jason smiled at the thought of this family, he once had one and then he died and he was replaced by Stephanie Brown who is now Batgirl so they're fine now. But he doesn't have this family now, all he have are some blurred memories.

Tim let out a little "Yay" with a cute, small giggle that made Jason smile.

"Hey!" Tim suddenly said, looking at Jason with big eyes, Jason looked around him, trying to find something that would make Tim look panoco "What-"

"Are you hurt?" Tim's voice was soft and caring and Jasom heart might have skipped a beat, "No?"

"Than why do you have split lip and bruise on your jaw?"

"I've got into a fight, it's not serious" But Tim was there in seconds, his worry eyes looking at Jason's jaw and just wow- Jason swallowed the lump in his throat when Tim's slender finger touched his lip and-

"I've the best thing to help!" Tim pulled away and his finger caressed Jason's lip in a way that made Jason hold his breath.

And in the next moment Tim putted a chocolate bar in his hand, smiling at him "It help!" He said and Jason huffed a laugh, mentally shacking his head.

"Thanks Timmy" Jason said an smile on his face, opening the chocolate and cutting a line.

It was milk chocolate with pop candy and it was amazing, Jason hummed as he ate it, looking at Tim solving a new sudoku.

After the meeting (if it even can be called that) Jason took the rest of the chocolate bar, just to have something sweet after patrol tonight.

_____________________________________________

Jason stripped from his Red Hood gear, stretching his hands out and poping his back.

He took a quick shower and pulled on a sweat pants and grey hoodie from the deep of his closest 'Maybe it's time to do the laundry'.

Jason smiled as the sky were lit in 25 Days and turned the lamp off.

His lip tickled as some kind of reminder that Tim touched him there, he looked so worried and that just warmed Jason's heart.

And that amazing chocolate- maybe he will have to get hurt more just to have it.

He closed hid eyes, ready to fall asleep and then it hit him-

Oh.

Oh.

Oh shit.

He- he have a crush.

_____________________________________________

The sun was in the middle of the sky when Jason woke up, blinking into the darkness because the blinds are close.

He groaned as he stretched his body, still in the bed under the warmth of the fluffy blanket. The sleepiness still has her claws clutching on him and made Jason wonder why the hell his bed isn't as comfy whenever he's trying to sleep but is when he tries to wake up.

He almost fell asleep again, but the *Bam! Bam! Bam!* on his door made him jolt up from the bed, the gun that he hides between the mattress and the bed in his hand, walking to the living room without making a sound, looking through the peep hole.

He huffed in relief, opening the door looking at Dick who smiled at him. "You woke me up you asshole"

"Sorry little wing" But Dick didn't sounded sorry at all and that just made him groan.

Jason followed Dick to the kitchen after Dick let himself in, the door closing behind them.

"What are you doing here?"

"I can't visit my little brother?"

"Not your brother" Jason turned around to the pantry to take out a tea bag just when Dick flinched from the words as if they're physically harming him.

"You're my brother, even if you don't see it like that"

"Dick."

"No! You're my brother, I count you as my brother" Dick snap and Jason would lie if he said that that didn't touched his heart, even if it's not true because in the end Dick have his new little brother and also a sister and it's really is fine that Jason isn't part of his family. It is.

So he didn't reply to it, just let Dick think what he wants to. "Do you want to tell me why you actually came or what?" He asked as he started to boil water.

"I wanted to talk to you"

"About?"

"You said you'd this case, how's it going?"

Jason took the teapot off the gas, pouring the hot water to his glass, "I didn't told anyone that I've a case"

"Well no but Babs told me"

"Babs don't know, and she would have asked if she wanted to know" Jason took a sip from his cup and turned around to glare at the older man "What it really is about?"

"Bruce saw you with Harley and Ivy and their kid and he wants to know what you all doing"

Jason saw red for a moment and them took a calming breath, a long sip from his tea and walked his way toward the island, putting his mug down and glaring at his so called brother.

"So you're here on a mission?" His voice was cold and full with venom.

"N-no!"

Jason raised an eyebrow "You just said it"

"I don't care what B wanted, I came for my brother"

"Damian isn't here"

"Jason!"

"What? You want me to say that you didn't came because Bruce said something on me? You don't want to know what I'm doing with Harley, Ivy and their kid? Ah? That's what you're telling me?"

"I-"

"Ha! And you just said we're brothers!"

"We are Jason"

"No! You have your own little family, I'm not part of it, never was!"

"You are! You always were and you always will be!"

And at that moment Jason saw green, throwing his mug down on the island, the shatterd flew everywhere and the hot water started to drip down to the floor.

And as a last resort Dick yelled "TIM DRAKE!"

It made Jason blink, and look at Dick, "What did you just said?"

"Tim Drake, it's this boy Joker kidnapped, Harley and Ivy's kid"

"How do you know this?"

"Well, family of detectives and all"

"What do you want?"

"Is he threating you?"

"What? No!"

"Jay, you can tell me the truth"

"Oh I can?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Okay so fuck off"

"Wh-what?"

"The truth is that I want you to fuck off and don't ever come back. Bye."

"..Jay.."

"I'll throw you out of the window"

"Okay, okay. But.."

"Go!" _____________________________________________

Tim sat on an air conditioner motor that was on the roof of a building, his legs tangling down, one shoe red with zigzag lines on it and the other one yellow with glitters. His pants in a fading green colour and a black-blue t-shirt. And Jason just looked, glad that his helmet hiding his face as a stupid smile crossed his face.

"Hoodie hood!" Tim's cheerful voice made Jason's smile wider, and Tim pushed himself of the air conditioner motor, when his feet touched the roof his yellow shoe started to sparkle with light, like little kids shoes.

"Hey clown kid" Tim smiled, something sweet and beautiful that made butterflies fly in Jason's belly.

"I don't like this helmet today" Tim said, his hands touching lightly at the sides of the red helmet.

"And why's that?"

"I can't see your hair. I love your hair!"

Jason smiled, Tim was just... just.

"Thanks baby clown, I love your hair too"

"Baby clown?"

"Yup"

"I like it"

"Good"

Tim took Jason's hand in his and started walking them to the air conditioner motor.

They both sat down, Tim's hands now in his lap and Jason opened his helmet, setting it next to him.

Tim looked at him, his blue icy eyes glinted and a small smile on his face. Jason looked right back at him, the blue-green eyes looking like some amazing place that kids are being told about in fairy tales.

Jason don't know who moved first, or what exactly happened. All he knows is that Tim is sitting in his lap, Tim's hands in his hair and Jason hugging him close. There mouths pressing against each other's. Tim's mouth have this amazing chocolate taste, a hint of coffee and Tim.

In the dark sky above of them, the fireworks draw the 18 days.

_____________________________________________

Jason is happy. Like really truly happy. He couldn't stop smiling this stupid love sick smile since the kiss.

He met Tim every patrol and those small kiss were the best, 10/10 would definitely do again.

Tim's cute and smart and he seems to really like Jason which is amazing because Jason really like him too.

None of the Bats came to annoy him, and everything is just amazing. For once in his life everything is just good.

His grapple gun shot to the next building and the cold wind never felt better. As Red Hood's boots hit the roof a "Hey there, love bird" greeted him.

"Cat," He called back, doing a small '*hi*' with his hand "'sup?"

"We need to talk"

"About?"

"Tim"

Jason sat next to her, his legs tangling down from the roof, "You here to give me the talk?"

"Not the talk you think about, I'll that to his moms"

"Then what talk?"

"Are you serious with him?"

"For now.. for now yes" he said with a bit hesitation.

Selina nodded "That's good for me"

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome sweetie, anyway you nrrd to be careful with Timmy"

"I know that, I wasn't born yesterday Cat"

She huffed a laugh, "Oh I know that sweetie, but you still need to know about Tim's past"

"Isn't he supposed to tell me about it? In his own time?"

"He will, I'm going to tell you only things that he won't because it's a trigger for him"

"The torture?"

"Yes, the torture, and what lead to his kidnapping, and it'll give you an idea yo what his parents were like"

Jason looked at her in the eyes, seriousness burns in them. "Okay, let's hear the story" _____________________________________________

His parents left again, it has been hours since the screaming stopped, his cheeks were wet from tears and his eyes red.

He was hiding in the closet, his hands holding his stuffed Kola close, his left arm is numb except for the cut on it, but it's a small cut and he deserved it. He isn't supposed to talk back to his father.

The dry blood on his arm itched and he needs to treat the cut, but he don't want to move. The closest is a safe place because mother and father can't get in.

New tears slipping down his face and he hugs the Kola tighter.

_____________________________________________

When Tim woke up his neck hurt and his left arm felt like a million fire ants stung her.

He opened the closest door, stumbling out of there holding the Kola in one hand, dropping it on his bed and walking to the bathroom, pulling the first aid kit from under the sink, treating his wound with a hiss of pain.

A quick glance out of the window and he knows it's in the middle of the night, and his parents were supposed to stay home for more couple of days but once again they just left the town. Without telling him. Again. And it's fine, he can't be mad at his parents for leaving him -he is, like his mother says, rotten child- all the time.

But he doesn't have something to do now, and his arm's fine, he can go out and see Batman, and maybe Robin too. Though Robin isn't around a lot now, maybe something happened... _____________________________________________

The streets lamps flickered on and off every couple of seconds, and the stars were hidden in the sky, behind the clouds.

The cold wind hit him merciless, but it just made him smile, he loves the winter. It always made him feel better with himself.

His camera clutched in his hands, his black stocking cap falling on his eyes every couple of minutes, and yes it may be annoying but it's also letting him something to do, because tonight he can't find Batman...

What the hour anyway? Maybe he's late and Batman's back in the cave...

And then he could hear it, some quiet voice singing.. Maybe a kid.. What if the kid need help?

"Hello?' he called out, moving closer to the voice, he can hear the words now.

"Mary had a little lamb Little lamb, little lamb Mary had a little lamb..." _____________________________________________

He cried out, pain strobes through all hid body, tears on his face and blood run down his chine and neck

This psycho laugh making him shiver and try to run away. This hateful song in the background..

And this voice.. "Come on Little Lamb, be a good son for little old me, and tell me. What's. Your. Name?"

"T-Tim"

He screamed as he got electriced again. _____________________________________________

He is shacking, scared out of his mind, tears rolling down his face. And it doesn't stop.

He can barely breathe, the electrical shock isn't stopping. And Tim is honest to God scared.

He don't know what's next to come, he can't actually believe it's happening and everything- everything hurt.

He can feel himself leaving his body, his heart- _____________________________________________

He woke up, everything is hurting again and the fucking Joker is looking at him, this psychotic smile on his face-

"Welcome back my Little Lamb"

-And this horrible song again

"Mary had a little lamb Little lamb, little lamb Mary had a little lamb..." _____________________________________________

"What's your name?"

"Tim!" _____________________________________________

"What's. Your. Name?"

"Ti-" _____________________________________________

"Your name?"

He don't even* know *anymore, and it's really frustrating... _____________________________________________

He is laughing. A manic good laugh. Happy laugh.

He's happy because he remembers who he is and it's funny- why did he forgot anyway?

"What's your name?"

"JJ!" _____________________________________________

He laughed as his dad cut his face open do he'll always smile. He laughed as dad throw him to the acid. He laughed as dad painted his hair.

He laughed and he laughed, and laughed and laughed-

But it's not funny anymore- dad isn't here and his hair is black... JJ scowled at the mirror, dad don't like his hair black. He like green. Yes, green hair and purple suit, and red- red, red, red blood. And it's funny- everything funny so hr laughs, but the mirror- The shattered glass flew everywhere and it's so funny that he can't stop laughing-

"Timothy!" Mother's standing by the door, she looks horrified.. it's not funny anymore- it's not-

He can't breathe, he stumbles backwards, tears rolling down his face and he. Can't. Stop. Laughing. _____________________________________________

One night he heard his mother and father talking. It's not fine, but what is fine anymore? He's finally Tim but he's also JJ and it's so confusing.

"I can't look at him anymore Jack, he is pathetic!"

"I know Janet, don't worry"

Tim chokes a whimper. _____________________________________________

The next week Ivy and Harley found Tim trying to drown himself and took him in... _____________________________________________

Jason took in a deep breath, his eyes wet and his heart ache for his little clown.

"It's..."

Catwoman gave him a small smile, "A lot? I know. Those are once of the memories Tim still have"

"I'm- I can't even-" Cat smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder.

The words 13 Days shined in the sky above them.

_____________________________________________

"Hood" Oracle's voice filled his helmet.

"O, how many times do I need to ask you not to hack my helmet?"

Oracle completely ignored him "How's Tim been?"

Jason swallow, he forgot that Babs is actually one of those people who really care about Tim (and him. Because Babs amazing).

"He's been good, happy" Just like Jason. It's like they feel the same thing. He can see Babs smile in his mind at that, like something changed in the weather just because of what he said, and it pulled a smile in his face.

"That's good, how are you?"

"Same as Tim"

And now he can hear her smile when she talks "I'm happy to hear that."

"How are you O? Does Dick head annoying you? 'cuz I can beat him if you need"

O snorted, "Two days sleeping on the sofa and he'll be begging for my forgiveness"

Jason laughed. And they kept talking about nothing for two more minutes, before Babe had to go.

And that's when Jason shot his grapple to another roof and went flying in the sky, the feeling of happiness all over his body.

But it all stopped when hr heard it.

It came straight out of his nightmares, something from his deepest fears.

This manic laugh. Joker's laugh.

And no just no. Thete's no way this stupid fucker got out again.

He dropped to the ground with a thud sound, looking for the fucker but instead seeing a group of teenagers, kicking someone on the ground.. someone who couldn't stop laughing like the Joker and his heart stopped beating for a second when he realised who it is.

A shot noise ripped through the air and the teens stopped, looking back at the red hood holding a gun at one of them.

All he needed to do wad to say "Go. Away" and the teens ran away, leaving Tim on the ground, hugging his legs to his chest, blood and tears mixed together on his face, and he couldn't breathe because the laughing wouldn't stop.

Jason hurried to him, helping him to sit up and uncurl himself, unable to look over Tim's face since he wouldn't let him.

"Tim, sweetie, my baby clown," Jason kissed his cheek, hugging him close to him "It's me, remember? Red Hood"

And at that Tim's head moved, looking up at him. Eyes full of tears and his face twitched in this manic smile, blood dripping down from the now open cuts in his chicks to his chin.

"Timmy babe, can you hear me?" He received a small and hesitate nod that he took as yes.

"Can you give me your hands?" He asked, showing Tim his gloved hands. The smaller man put his hands in his, feeling the fabric.

Tim relaxed, his eyes fixed on the red helmet, the tears stopped rolling down his face.

The laughing quiet down a bit, but still were there.

"You remember me, right? We are friends, hell I'm hoping even more than friends"

Tim nodded, but Jason wasn't sure what he was agreeing with so he just kept talking.

"We have this amazing plan, because you are my little smarty boy right?"

Tim could take in a breath and that was good, he wasn't laughing anymore but he also didn't talk exactly, just watched Jason and every couple of seconds squeezed one of his hands (never the both of them together for some reason).

"Hell I even kissed you that night and it was the greatest thing in the whole world baby clown"

"No." Tim's tiny voice waved on the air.

"Hah?" If Tim didn't like Jason like that... It would be ok, he will be heart breaked for a few days but he would be fine at the end... Somehow.

"I kissed you" Tim said, looking at him with this witty little smile that Jason grew to love so much.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah" a small smile tug on Jason's lips, and their lips met. It was amazing just like the first time they kissed, and it sent sparkles down Jason's body.

And after a minute he let go, both of them taking deep breath.

"Come on baby clown, let's go to my home"

Tim took his hand and he pulled him up, hugging the smaller man.

The words 7 Days exploded in the sky exactly when they reached Jason's apartment.

_____________________________________________ 

Waking up with Tim by his side is amazing.

The smaller man was curled next to him, a hand clutching at the fabric of his shirt. The long black hair messed up but still so beautiful. Tim's face relaxed, a samll smile on his face.

Last night Jason gave him one of his own shirts, and the younger basically swam in the white shirt.

Jason looked at the paler than normal skin that was now available. It was in the same colour of the shirt.

He pulled Tim closer to him, kissing the beautiful man's forehead and closing his eyes.

Immediately going back to the welcoming blackness of sweat dreamless sleep. _____________________________________________

The next time he woke up was because Tim wasn't next to him.

Jason didn't know exactly why he woke up because of that, but the moment Tim's weight left his body his eyes snapped open, meating beautiful blue eyes.

Tim smiled at him, a sleepy smile. His hair a whole lot of mess and Jason's heart beated faster as he smiled back.

The sun was already in the middle of the sky and the clock on the wall said it was already one A.M.

"Mornin' Jay" Tim whispered.

"Morning baby clown" _____________________________________________

They ate together, silence surrounding them in the most comfortable way.

Jason couldn't exactly point it out but something about Tim made him.... just feel whole. Like he didn't felt since he woke up six feet deep.

Both of them were in Jason clothes and Jason found out that for some unknown reason, white looked better at pale skin.

And Tim.. Tim was the most beautiful human he saw. His blue eyes, his black long hair, and this perfect smile. Jason started asking what he fucking did right to get this angel. _____________________________________________

He didn't knew how it happened but Tim's hot wet mouth was on him and he was practically in heaven.

His hands gripped the black hair and pulled slightly, making Tim moan and himself gasping as the moans vibrate on him.

He was definitely in heaven and this angel between his legs was the most perfect thing to ever happen to him.

"Oh God" he said and moaned Tim's name, his legs shacking.

"Tim I'm about to-" and with that he came down Tim's throat, the angel swallowed it and looked him in the eyes, giving him this beautiful smile. And well, Jason might die happy this time around. _____________________________________________

This night he hugged Tim closed to him, the smaller man hugging him back.

Outside the words 6 Days colored the black sky with pink, green and yellow.

_____________________________________________

It was simple. Very simple, and Jason did it already so why the hell is he freaking out?

Harley and Ivy started a riot somewhere in the city while Catwoman helped them in Arkham and said that she's going to take care of the security. So from there they were alone.

And it wasn't like he didn't knew the plane by heart, it's just that it really is happening. He's going to kill the Joker. They're going to kill the Joker.

And it's not a dream. The mother fucking clown is going to laugh for the last time. _____________________________________________

Each floor has a minimum of two guards, thanks to Killer Croc Arkham was down six guards, so floors 1-3 only had one guard each during the day (Because Gotham’s criminals are all geniuses and think that night is the best time for a breakout).

So doubling up only happened at night on these floors until the guards either recovered or replacements were vetted and hired.

Floors 4-5 had double guards at all times and floor 6 was more storage and extra holding cells than anything else right now.

Thanks to Harley and Ivy's riot there weren't a lot of guards where they were, everyone waiting to catch the two. Catwoman didn't lied about helping them from afar as every door opened to them without problems. _____________________________________________

The elevator doors opened at the fourth floor, Jason noted that there weren't any guards around, wondering what Catwoman did as he heard the muffled noise of an alarm from the floor above them.

Jason walked to the guard station and peeked in to see two men slumped over and unconscious. From the looks of it they have been knocked out, 'help from afar ha?' he thought to himself, smiling a little. Looking over at Tim, the little clown being too quite for so long, the teen smiled, his skin somehow more pale than normal, and his gun at hand. Jason nodded to him and Tim did the peace sign.

They followed a hallway around behind the booth and came up on a large metal door. They waited couple of seconds and the door opened, revealing another hallway with another large metal door several yards down. There were three such doors in their's way and each one opened and closed behind them, making them closer and closer to the goal.

Jason paused and took a deep breath before the final door. This is it. This stupid clown is as good as dead. The door opened.

And there was the Joker, laying on a thin metal like bed that was bolted to the wall.

All that stood between them and the Joker was a wall of bulletproof wall with several inches thick with small round air holes cut evenly to allow air to flow into the (if it could even be called that) room.

The Joker slowly rolled off the bed when he saw them, and came to stand in front of the clear wall, a sick smile on his face. “Well, well, well, what have we here? Visitors? Oh, I know you!" He said as he looked at Tim, his grin getting wider "You're my little lamb. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!”

Jason's heart started to beat faster, looking at Tim's hand gripping the gun so tight that his fingers turned whiter than usual.

"I'm not" Tim said, his voice quite.

"What did you said little lamb? Talk louder for papa"

Tim smiled, a small smile that made Jason question if he's going to follow the plan or not.

And of he really think about it, he was never told about this part of the plan... How will they kill the Joker?

"JJ?"

"I'm not a fucking lamb you old fucker" Tim said and shoot.

[forbidding-souda]

Kazuichi Souda, Mikan Tsumiki, Sayaka Maizono, Celestia Ludenberg, and Makoto Naegi with a simplistic S/O (PART 2)

ANON: “s/o, who doesn't really want to come home because having their basic needs satisfied without working for it is really just enough for them to be happy (unlike celestia, huh) & ranraro, nekomaru, nagito, teruteru, soda, mikan, sayaka, celestia and makoto. i guess, they will worry about apathiness of s/o when someone talks about past life or reasons to return, and think what they has problems in their live, but actually s/o just has so simple needs and philosophy. ...i hope it makes sense, eheheh”

Anyways this is so off topic but my friend makes music and he has a new music video out so if you’re bored or want to listen to music made by some lame chicago kid (hehe) you can go check out Bite My Lip by Teen Blush!!!!! He just got verified on Insta too it’s so rad.

-Mod Souda

Kazuichi Souda

You finished the project in a few days, a day after it was due.

During that time, you would rap at Kazuichi’s window at night. He would unlock it, open it, and grab ahold of your hand to help you through. In a box under his bed is where you fit the supplies.

Both of you, with the moon in the sky, work together on your solo project.

There are many distractions, of course, as there always is when you are with him. 

You always greet him with a smile. There’s something about how content you are with spending nights with him that ends up worrying him a bit. 

“Why don’t you do it at your house?” He asked you on the last day. The question had been bottled, and sizzled in his mind. Surely, it’s nothing bad. Maybe you just like seeing him.

“Meh. I like being here.”

You answered simply. He waited for a second. Wanting to see if you would continue. If you would elaborate more.

But you don’t.

“Why?”

“I guess I don’t feel the need to go home. It’s just whatever to me. Plus, you’re here, aren’t you?”

A blush forms on his cheeks before the words even settle in. 

By the seconds, you can see the worry clear from his eyes. Your cheeks even heat up a bit.

“Y-Yeah, I am here! You’re right.”

Mikan Tsumiki

Mikan looked at the piano with a hurried eye, slowly walking past the music room and near her classroom.

The echo of a string of notes calls to her, unhappy with her sudden shadow walking away.

You walk past me every morning. Your words ring through her head. 

Right.

She was surprised when you approached her, romantically even, always spending your time with her and never hesitating to listen to her when she spoke. 

And she did not complain about it in the slightest. She was very grateful for every second you spent with her. You are kind.

“A-Are you in here,” she asks after pushing the door open and looking inside. “Or have you already went to class.”

“I’m here to play you a song.”

“Really?” She says to you before you can play out the first triad. The muscles in your fingers relax, dancing over the notes with a touch as soft as a cloud, and playing from memory.

She sucks in a breathe, sitting next to you on the seat, loosely smiling.

“I recognize it. I used to hear it a lot when I was a kid.” It was a whisper. A small confession.

You both sit in the music room for another moment while the notes draw out. And you release your fingers, a short halt, and a quick silence.

Mikan cries out almost immediately, “I’m sorry!”

“What?” You say to her before turning to face her completely. “What are you apologizing for?”

At that, small tears form in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything - I made you sad!”

I made you sad.

“Class starts soon,” you pull your sleeve back a bit to show her your watch, “that’s it. Why are you worried?”

She looks down, unwilling to meet your eyes. Jumping to conclusions, as always. Why must she overthink everything?

Sayaka Maizono

For the first time, she thought back to what you had been like when you both first met.

A lot more energetic. A lot more happy to be around her.

Maybe it’s the slow descent outside of the honeymoon phase. You became more... relaxed?

But it doesn’t seem like being relaxed. Maybe contentment?

Is that really such a bad thing?

In the moment, she feels like saying something. You are there - reading on the couch backstage, while she sits on the other side and watches her shows on the laptop. 

She scoots over. It’s not a hesitant process. Her blue hair piles up on your lap and works as a pillow for her head.

You stayed like that for a while before you look at each other, in unison.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask. “Is there anything?”

“You come to all of my concerts.”

Her voice was drawn-out, thinking as she spoke. You place your fingers on the page, though not closing the book.

She continues, “And you travel with me, too.”

It wasn’t a strange thing to you. Was it to her? You love the way she dances - the cute outfits she wears and the way they style her hair.

“Do you miss going home?”

Your gaze falls back to your book, where you close it and peer at the cover. Ordered straight from the library by your house. You never even checked when the due date was.

“No.” You answer. “I have no use, it’s fine, I can live my life anywhere I want.”

There is never a silent moment. Just the sound of the music playing as the audience pulls in.

A laugh escapes her lips. “That’s a good answer. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Celestia Ludenberg

You find a comfort in the hotel bed as you plop down on it. Celes grins at the childish nature. In her hand is one bag, a makeup one, while you were the one to drag the rest. You stare around the room. It’s very pretty. And you didn’t even have to pay for it. People were offering to have her travel for her little gambling. 

“It’s very pretty.” You say to her. “Feels very safe. Very comfortable.”

She smiles back to you. “Then I’m glad I took you with me.”

“And here I was thinking it was so I could be your personal butler.” You laugh softly, staring at her back in some sort of awe, and the butterflies fly back into your stomach. All you can do is smile quietly to yourself while she examines herself in the mirror.

You got to eat dinner alone with her that night. You drink water out of fancy wine glasses, feeling almost like royalty. She wanted to sleep early, though, as if she had to wake up early.

“How long will you stay up?” She asks. Her tired eyes glance up at you.

“No longer. Here, scoot over, I’ll crawl in with you.”

Her skin looks pale in the darkness. Like a doll. Thin and content. Reminds you of when she would cuddle into your chest, listening to your breathes. She’s not as cuddly anymore. 

“It makes me happy to know you like the room.” She whispers, her red nails running up your arm. “I wanted something... pleasant for you.”

Something pleasant. How calming.

“I appreciate it, Celestia.” 

Makoto Naegi

There was no huge party. No balloons tied to your desk and no presents lining down the hall.

No one even knew it was your birthday. 

And that was no accident.

You didn’t tell anyone.

The day was like any other. Maybe a little better than most days. Everyone seemed happier. More filled with joy and more content with being at school. It’s like the universe was giving you a treat. 

Makoto remembered your birthday, of course he did, but waited until after school to take you to a bakery. All day he was waiting for someone to bring it up. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” He asks on the way, scratching the back of his neck. Was it an intrusive question? He’s positive that if it was - you would correct him.

You answered simply, however. “I don’t need a big celebration, Makoto. This is fine. This is all I want.”

The door rings while you push it open, and the smell of treats overtakes your senses.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Trouble

Hi yeah its me, and look I’m already back with a new fic for the new year :D cherish this moment I don’t think i will have have this turn around so quick again. For the TSS Fanworks Secret Santa Exchange because I was a pinch hitter :DD @nerdywriterhaven I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Patton has a thing about boardgames and Virgil has a thing about Logan. Together they figure it out. 

Word Count: 7900

Quick Taglist: @alias290​ @chelsvans​ @coyboi300​ @dante-reblogs @dwbh888​ @glitchybina​ @faithfulcat111​ @felicianoromano​ @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries​ @jemthebookworm​ @killerfangirl3​ @mrbubbajones​  @musical-nerd18​ @nonasficcollection​ @stricken-with-clairvoyancy​ @the-sunshine-dims​ @themagicheartmailman​ @themultishipperchild @thenaiads​ @treasureofpriam​ @vianadraws​ @welovelogansanders​  

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Patton shows up at Virgil’s dorm room just slightly after six pm on a Tuesday with two thermoses of soup that are still warm to the touch, a halloween tupperware of chocolate chip cookies that had been passed between him and Virgil so many times that Patton really doesn’t remember whose it was originally, his laptop, phone, the chargers for both, and the board game Trouble.

Virgil, predictably, shuts the door in his face the second he sees the game box hidden under all the other things in his arms. Patton also thinks that Virgil tells him to go away, but it’s muddled by the door.

Instead he shuffles all the supplies to his left arm and knee, and knocks again on his door just below the leftover tape from the nametag that his RA keeps putting up and Virgil keeps ripping down because he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he sleeps. His knuckles hum with the rap, datatata dat dat! And he smiles even when there’s the sound of something being thrown at the door from that side.

Patton chooses not to hear it because he’s a good friend and an even more stubborn houseguest.

The door a little bit down the hall opens up with the usual fanfare of someone who is running late to a night class-- which of course is the charm of Roman Prince. He looks nice, as usual, and Patton even thinks that if he hadn’t been wearing two different colored shoes, no one would even know that he had probably just woken up from a nap. The music of his room blares out into the hall with a rap song Patton thinks is Hip With the Kids these days, but Patton himself can’t make out any of the actual words.

All the much better because he’s pretty sure it’s Remus’s music and Remus likes his songs like he likes just about everything else: dirty, scandalous, and offensive. Not that Patton is good friends with either of the Prince siblings, but he’s heard the rumors floating around about both. Roman smiles at him, with glittering white teeth and dimples and soft warm brown eyes that could have been made of melted chocolate.

“Oh! What a spectre!” Roman says, seeming to forget that he’s on the way to a class at the sight of Patton standing at Virgil’s door. “Tell me, angel, what brings a glorious sight such as you to our dorm buildings on this amazing day?”

Virgil’s door swings back open before Patton can answer and Virgil hisses from the darkness, the way he’s usually prone to do whenever Roman or Remus or their blatant disregard for the rules about music volume at two AM is brought up.

He looks not much better from the glimpse Patton got before the door was closed in his face earlier: he’s still pale to the point of looking sickly and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, with his eye shadow smeared and his hair not brushed at all. There’s a red imprint on the side of his face that Patton thinks matches a crease in his blankets or pillows from where he probably tried to suffocate himself on and off all day between anxiously texting Patton all about “the absolute worst day of my entire life and no I’m not even exaggerating this time Pat”.

“Hi Virgil!” Patton says, as Virgil reaches forward and to take a thermos and the tupperware from his arms and glare unbidenedly at Roman. “I brought dinner!”

“I hate you,” Virgil says, and does not mean because he loves Patton’s Broccoli Cheddar Cheer Up Soup and he’s been in need of cheering up since Patton had seen his messages at noon on his way to his second class of the day.

Roman gasps like he’s offended on behalf of Patton who is not offended as much as endeared to his best friend of several years. “Virgil! How could you act so callus towards a beautiful muse such as this?”

“Get lost, Princey,” Virgil tells him firmly, grumpily, Virgil-ly. “He came here specifically to make a pun about my pain.”

“I do it with love,” Patton adds. “And I brought cookies to make up for it.”

Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information and Virgil doesn’t give him time to find out because he kinda hates Roman-- although Patton always tells him that “hate” is a strong word and Virgil always says he means it anyway. Patton supposes that if he, too, had hallmates that played music louder than life up to the early hours of the mornings during Finals Week, and then cranked it higher when he knocked on the door to ask them to stop, he might also strongly dislike them.

Virgil ushers Patton into the dark room and then kicks the door closed while Patton is waving goodbye at Roman.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light level: Virgil was certainly making use of those thick blackout curtains! It made the whole room look like it was three AM, rather than six PM! There are blobs of stuff all around the room, piles of clothes and blankets that Virgil prefers to have on the floor rather than put somewhere where he’s not going to trip over it in the middle of the night, but Patton supposes that’s just how Virgil’s always been.

“If someone breaks in, they’re gonna trip over this shit and I will be out of here long before they can get back up,” Virgil had said the first time Patton had suggested maybe, possibly cleaning something until they found the floor.

The desk where Virgil did his school work is empty and the textbooks and computer that normally covered it are all on the ground like a massacre from what Patton can make out. Virgil shuffles through the room and ends up turning on the purple lava lamp that Patton got him three years ago so that they could at least see each other and the faux-floor, and even then he doesn’t look happy at needing that much. The elevated bed had the blankets ripped up from it and turned into a nest with Virgil’s phone light peeking out from the depths like some underwater cave with a sea monster in it waiting for an unsuspecting diver.

“Remind me, how you got into this building?” Virgil says, tiredly as he pries open the cookie container. “It requires a key and last time I checked, you don’t have one of those, Pat.”

“As if a key would stop me from checking on you!” Patton replies. He plops himself on a pile of clothes and clears away another spot for Virgil to collapse next to him, so that Virgil can’t exactly escape. “Now, what is this about Logan again? You were being kinda vague and world-ending-y again. ”

Virgil lets out a moan around the cookie he shoved in his mouth and drops to the floor next to Patton, to munch angrily or just upsetly without actually offering an answer, because he’s Virgil and he’s allergic to talking about things that upset him. Patton sets down his other thermos, his laptop, and his own phone to make room for the game between them.

“Must we?” Virgil asks as Patton sets up the board with a practiced hand. Even in the near darkness of the room he knows exactly what he’s doing, and could probably figure it out with no light at all.

“Of course!” Patton says. “You sounded like you were in Trouble.”

“ Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s rather Risk -y of you to be self deprecating while within hugging distance.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything for a moment, just swallows the bite of his cookie and stares at the colored pieces in front of him. The board game is well worn and well loved-- one of the first ones Patton had ever gotten and one of the first ones he ever convinced Virgil to play with him. Although “convinced” is a strong word for how Patton had just been staring at the board numbly with red rimmed eyes when his father had asked Virgil to come over and try to coax him into eating something, anything, please .

They’d lost three pieces of the red team and one of the yellow and two of the green, but that’s okay because Patton generally played blue and Virgil had custom ordered four purple pieces for just the two of them a few years ago.

Carefully, placatingly, Virgil reaches a hand forward and pops the dice bubble for his number. He gets a four.

Patton gets a five.

“How many times have we played this one, Pat?” Virgil asks, in a voice much softer than before. In the faded purple light and the shadows, it’s hard to see the number on the die, and harder to see exactly what Virgil is thinking about with his eyes hidden like that. His nails are bitten down to the quick, ruining the black nail polish he spent an hour applying last weekend over their shared Biology notes.

Patton shrugs as he reaches forward to take his turn and pops the bubble. Honestly he didn’t think he could calculate the answer if Virgil pressed: this was their go-to game, this was his go-to pun, this is what they did even when the world was falling apart at the seams. It was easier to focus on moving playing pieces a couple pegs than it was to focus on the sound of a heart monitor or raspy breathing or bony pale fingers that shook when they tried to hold anything.

It was easier to find a way to win when the instructions were so clear, and the rules were so fair, and the consequences of losing were just having to put the game back in the box.

Virgil doesn’t say anything more and Patton doesn’t force him to, although he desperately wants to. He wants to reach out and catch Virgil’s hands in his own, he wants to give him a squeeze, he wants to wipe away the tear tracks in his makeup and he wants to tell Virgil that whatever it is, Patton will be there for him.

He wants Virgil to look at a game for once and have fun.

But the only sound in the room is the popper when they roll the die back and forth.

Patton gets the six first. He moves his second leftmost piece to the start and hits it again for a three.

Virgil stares his blue piece on the board for a long moment, without blinking. His hands lie limply in his lap and the tub of cookies sits at his knee. The purple light makes his eyes glisten sweetly, wetly, sadly, with a resignation that Patton knows and wishes he doesn’t. The lump in his throat swells up.

“Virgil?”

Virgil blinks. And then blinks again.

“Why should I even bother at this point?” he asks. He runs a hand up to his hair and tugs at the locks.

“Virgil, this is the opening of the game,” Patton says. “You can’t give up alrea--”

“But it’s not like I’m going to win,” Virgil says and Patton sucks in a breath sharply.

Oh. It was one of those days.

Patton thinks that he should have been expecting this; it had been a decent amount of time since Virgil last had refused to finish a game, and Patton had almost thought that maybe they had kicked those thoughts for good! That through sheer willpower and perseverance and proof to the contrary, they might have managed to rework how Virgil approached a challenge. That at one point Virgil might laugh and smile even when he wasn’t in the lead--

And yet, Patton’s sitting with one piece three spaces ahead of Virgil and Virgil is ready to call it quits. The game had just started. Patton had only been sitting in the room for a total of five minutes. Virgil hadn’t talked for more than a couple sentences.

It’s one of those days, except that Patton doesn’t think that it’s ever been this bad before, because usually they at least made it to the one piece around the board in Trouble , through to one check in Chess , through to one hotel being built in Monopoly , or one train ticket completed in Ticket to Ride .

“This is a sign, isn’t it?” Virgil continues. “I’m just being stupid even considering it. Of course I am. I always am. Nevermind, I don’t want to do this today Pat. Thanks for the soup and the cookies and I’m sorry that I made you walk all the way--”

Patton reaches out and snags Virgil’s arm before he can get all the way off the ground. The board nudges to the side dislodging several pieces into the surrounding void, but Patton thinks that he can replace a hundred playing pieces.

He cannot replace his best friend.

Virgil’s skin is cold, even though the room was comfortably warm, and he’s soft to the touch-- which is never what Patton expects when he gets those lightning quick hugs, when Virgil rests his head on his shoulder during movie nights, when they go shopping and there are crowds that make Virgil want to run for the hills and only Patton’s hand in his keeps him grounded there. Virgil is soft despite the jagged persona he puts on to drive away other people, and he hasn’t gotten any sort of touch in a while because he shuts up the moment that Patton’s own warmth floods over him.

The room holds the silence for an eternity: Virgil frozen halfway up from the ground, and Patton latching on to him like he can pluck all the reasons Virgil is upset out of his mind through osmosis. The lava lamp makes him look unreal, makes the silence ring louder, makes the lump in Patton’s throat grow larger.

“Virgil,” Patton says, “please.”

Please tell me what I can do. Please allow me to help. Please let me in.

“It’s stupid,” Virgil says.

Patton wants to laugh, because nothing that ever hurts Virgil has ever been stupid. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”

Virgil bites his lip and inhales with all of his chest.

“You didn’t go to any classes today. You’ve been crying. You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.” Patton says. “Something happened. And it can’t possibly be stupid because nothing that affects you like this is can be anything less than something huge.”

Patton feels Virgil’s hand curl into a fist like he can hide his shaking when Patton is right there .

“Do you remember Logan Ackroyd,” Virgil says. “The senior a year older than us who I had Sociology with last year?”

The same Logan who took extra notes for when Virgil missed class and emailed them to him. The same Logan who offered Virgil a granola bar when he overheard that Virgil had missed lunch. The same Logan who helped Virgil break into the auditorium after school hours to search for his missing earbuds.

The same Logan who has eyes more knowledgeable than the entire galaxy, who wears a tie to class, who smells like coffee beans and pen ink and looks like he’d give really good, safe hugs.

The same Logan who Patton has never once met, but feels like he knows intimately thanks to Virgil’s starstruck rambles.

Logan must be something great and amazing. Patton has known that for a year now, from watching the months slip away and suddenly the ghost of Logan joins them on every outing, summoned by the blush over Virgil’s ears and the soft smile on his lips and the way that Virgil steadfastly won’t meet Patton’s eyes like it will prevent Patton from noticing the way that the senior is always on Virgil’s mind. Logan is kind. Logan is smart. Logan has a new book every day. Logan has a voice like the ocean waves.

Logan, Patton thinks, should have been more careful if he caused Virgil this much distress. Because there are things that Patton would do for Virgil that not even a cold blooded killer would consider doing.

“Yeah,” Patton says, with a smile soft and dumb and innocent. “You guys have Analytical Science together this year, right?”

Virgil lets go of his lip, and breathes out a breath that sounds like more relief than Patton is supposed to hear. “Yeah. Yeah. He, uh… yeah.” Virgil shifts back down, shifts so that he’s on his knees and Patton is right next to him, and they’re still touching and that warmth is stronger than the shadows made by the blobs in the lava lamp.

“Janus… Janus asked him out yesterday,” Virgil says, using his other hand to pluck at a thread in his jeans.

Oh. Patton doesn’t think cookies and soup were enough.

And golly, Patton doesn’t think Logan is as smart as Virgil is always saying he is either, because if he said yes in front of Virgil, he must have been the stupidest person on the planet.

Virgil is quiet, dismissible, a shadow in his own skin even on his best days. But he is not un-noticeable.

He carries an aura around himself that storms and thunders and promises danger to those that get too close. His laughter is a threat first and a comfort second. His smile is a knife blade that even Patton sometimes wonders if he might find in his back one day. Virgil was someone that you noticed and you stayed the fudge away from.

Unless you were Patton, who hadn’t been afraid of Death from the moment he watched his mother cough up blood over the cards to CandyLand, watched his mother turn into a real-life game of Operation, watched her breathing get ragged and her fingers struggle to hold playing cards between them.

Logan hadn’t been scared away by Virgil’s thunder, and somehow he had weathered the storm that Virgil put up to protect himself and lived securely in the eye of the hurricane. And somehow he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, had taken advantage of Virgil’s softening heart just to shatter it.

“He didn’t…” Virgil says. “Janus… he didn’t really mean it. I don’t think. It might have been a joke because they’re friends but Logan told everyone that he would only consider dating someone who could… could…”

“Could what?”

Virgil’s eyes flick down to the Trouble game board, to the pieces lost in chaos of the floor, to the box they hadn’t needed except for transport. Patton feels his heart thud in his chest before he crawls up his throat and he tastes it in his mouth along with the remains of the raw cookie dough he licked off the spoon while cleaning up.

Virgil’s words come back to him in whispers. But it’s not like I’m going to win. This is a sign, isn’t it? I’m just being stupid even considering it.

“Someone who could….” Patton says, “beat him in a boardgame?”

Virgil yanks the thread on his jeans sharply and nods without meeting Patton’s eyes. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Virgil,” Patton says. “This is great! We’ve been playing games together for years! You can beat--”

“That’s the thing!” Virgil says with his shoulders curling up to his ears and burying him in layers of excess fabric. “Pat, I can’t even beat you in a board game and I know all your strategies!”

“I don’t think that Trouble actually has any strategies. It’s really luck of the roll--”

Virgil peeks out of his hood enough to give Patton a miserable glare. “When was the last time I won against you, Pat? Be honest.”

Patton purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s fair, kiddo. I’ve been playing games since I was able to understand the rules--”

“You don’t even remember, do you.”

“It was Dominos and you won by twenty points.”

“Nice try, but you purposely miscounted and you actually won by two.” Virgil reaches out for another cookie and offers it to Patton without making any move to pull his other hand from Patton’s hold.

“You would have a lot more wins if you didn’t insist on not finishing games sometimes!” Patton says. “You never know the ending of a game until you play it out!”

“I could tell you that Logan was going to beat Janus in Chess the moment the opening moves were made,” Virgil counters. “He won in twelve moves and then the next game in six.”

Patton opens his mouth, but Virgil shoves the cookie in before he can actually say anything.

“And God Rest Remy’s soul because Logan obliterated him in Trivia Pursuit.” Virgil continues, “He turned Roman to mincemeat over Scrabble, and not only beat Remus in Poker, but won one hundred dollars off him too. I also watched him win in Othello against some kid he tutored in Calc, a game of Mancala with an art kid who was doing it for clout, and Stratego which he won before I finished reading the fuuuuuudging rules and made his opponent cry over it.”

Patton swallows down a bite of cookie that he didn’t not chew well enough because he feels it tear up his esophagus as it goes. Virgil politely ignores him dying for a second and offers him his own thermos of soup to help it down, before remembering that he’s supposed to be brooding and staring at Patton for too long makes him soft.

“Not to make a pun here, but no dice; I legitimately cannot beat Logan,” Virgil says. “He’s just… so good. At everything. What is the point in humiliating myself with this? Even if I find a game so obscure that he’s never heard of it and doesn’t have a strategy built for it, just going up to him and putting the board between us is like-- that’s telling him that I’ve had this massive stupid crush on him for ages and what if he doesn’t even like me? What if I win and then he has to date me because he said so but he actually hates me? What if--”

Patton coughs so hard he thinks he might have dislodged his own lung, which is fine!! Because at least it got Virgil to snap back to him and table his panicky spiral for later.

“Weren’t you,” Patton croaks, “Weren’t you already going to confess to him? You bought the chocolate kisses and you sent me pictures of them in your bag right before class last week.”

Patton can’t see Virgil’s ears because of his hood but he knows that they’re glowing red from the way that Virgil can’t meet his eyes again.

“I just….I did but then he….” Virgil nudges a pile of questionably clean band t-shirts with his socked foot. “He said he wasn’t interested because class was starting and I still don’t know if he meant an actual kiss or a Hershey kiss because he had to leave class early to pick up his kid brother from his middle school because he was sick with a fever and then I was too mortified to bring it back up-- See Pat, I can’t even come up with a creative way to tell Logan that I wanna listen to him ramble about jellyfish immortality and play with his hair or tell him that I wanna know what the flavor of his chapstick is-- which, by the way, I did say to him and he told me was cake batter and that I could find it at the corner drugstore because he thought I was looking for recommendations-- There is no way to subtly tell him that I want to date him.”

“Then maybe… don’t be subtle?” Patton suggests, and then points at the game between them. “Boardgame?”

Virgil scowls at the game like it had personally offended him. “But I can’t beat him. And if I lose and by some miracle he still wants to be seen with me, then he’d be breaking the very rules he set up and everyone else who lost is going to be pissed at both of us and I can’t do that to Logan.”

Patton bites back the then don’t lose that he wants to say. It seems so obvious to him. He doesn’t really see why Virgil doesn’t think he can win one single game. There isn’t even a rule that says Virgil can’t come back and play again-- which isn’t that the point of games? That you can play them for a little while, pack them up, and then come back to them later? That you sit down with friends-maybe-more and you play and have fun ?

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Patton wonders why Virgil ever played games with him at all. He knows the first time was pity because he found Patton sitting on the floor of his bedroom with Trouble on the ground in front of him and staring at it numbly because he had cried all the tears out of himself already at the hospital, at the funeral, at the everything that had come after that he couldn’t remember. The first time it had been to get Patton to react because he had been so lost, but every time after that Virgil had made the conscious decision to pick up the pieces.

Even if sometimes he had put them back down halfway through and Patton hadn’t figured out how to convince him that the point isn’t to win as much as it is to have fun.

Virgil twists his wrist loosely in Patton’s grip so that he’s holding Patton back, his cold fingers somehow feeling comforting rather than startling. Patton has always loved that about him, although he’s never sure how that works. The coolness of his touch is familiar, but the vulnerability of Virgil reaching out is something newer, something special, something fragile and Virgil holds onto him like he’s expecting Patton to let go at any moment and Patton steadfastly refuses to let him drift off. Patton squeezes his wrist gently, lightly, softly.

I’m here. I’m not leaving. We’re in this together.

“I think that Logan can make decisions for himself,” Patton says with words so featherlight they barely move the air. “Remember the dominos? Any player can choose to lose, whether it be miscounting or it be refusing to finish the game in the end. But if you never even offer to play with him… Logan can’t make that choice, Virgil.”

Virgil holds his gaze for a moment, two, three, and there’s something in his eyes that shies away from the glow of the light, something slippery and weak and scared. Something that Patton is afraid to put a name to, lest it disappear from him forever.

Something that causes Virgil to squeeze his wrist back.

Together. Us. We’ve got this.

“So what game do you want to play with Logan?” Patton asks. “We can go look at my collection if you want? I loaned out Backgammon to a girl in my Shakespearean class, but other than that I have the usuals with me.”

Virgil takes a deep breath. “Can we…” He says. “Do it tomorrow? I don’t want…” He squeezes Patton’s wrist again and Patton can fill in the rest of the blanks with his own interpretations. He is, after all, fluent in Virgilese, as much as Virgil is fluent in Pattonish.

“Yeah, yeah,” Patton says and shifts through the piles of clothes that act as cushions so he’s right next to Virgil, pressing their shoulders together, leaning his head on Virgil’s collarbone, and reaching around him for another cookie. Virgil moves the tub between them and then pulls the Trouble game board in front of that.

He hesitates for another moment-- they’re missing two of Patton’s blue pieces to the floor, and one of Virgil’s purples to a pile of sweatshirts-- but the fact that Virgil drops forward and presses the bubble to roll the die makes Patton’s chest warm.

He gets a six, and then a four and that thing in his eyes seems to grow just a bit stronger.

That is, of course, when the rap music from next door starts up loud enough to shake the entire room and Patton wonders if Logan would still be up for playing a game with Virgil when he’s incarcerated for second degree murder.

Patton, at least, gets a hug out of it, when he tackles Virgil to the ground before he can get to the door, and he manages to coax Virgil back to their area, back to the floor, back to the game, and then later into the blanket-fort-and-movie-night that they watch with one earbud each and their foreheads pressed together late into the night.

***

Patton’s mother developed lung cancer when he was seven. He remembers it in vague flashes: the blood, the shakiness, her fall to the floor because they had never had any sign of it happening until it was too late to do much about it. He was told it was because his maternal grandparents both smoked a lot when she was growing up and she spent the weekends helping them around the house still.

The doctors said she had a year. She got eighteen months.

He barely remembers her face from his own memories anymore, all of them blurred and twisted by the passage of time that he almost got swept away in entirely. Her picture still hangs around the house, though, and he guesses he’s lucky in that regard. He liked how he could see her every time he passed by the stairs, even after his dad remarried and he had grown up and the telemarketers stopped calling the house to tell her that there was an interesting charge on the credit card she didn’t have anymore.

He still wakes up sometimes with his heart beating in his ears and his eyes blinded with tears and his lungs refusing to cooperate because of nightmares about forgetting her entirely, of seeing her stand up to call out to his dad, of seeing her cough out blood and then fall to the floor right in front of him as his dad is running down the stairs. He still wakes up and feels his heart aching where she might have once been if everything had gone just a little bit different. He still wakes up and wishes that he could go back to sleep because at least in his dreams she’s still there waiting with a deck of cards and a smile that says, “Alright, Buster, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you this time!”  

Usually those types of days he labels as “Bad Ones”, and he finds it harder to crawl from under his blankets to do pretty much anything.

Virgil knows immediately when he sees Patton staring at his black laptop screen that it’s a Bad One.

Patton loves that he knows not to ask, hates that Virgil can read him so easily, wants to cry because it’s been so long and shouldn’t the edges of that pain have gone away by now? He wants to pull Virgil’s purple comforter back over them and drift back off into the blissful warmth while pretending that the idea of a game right now didn’t make his hands shake.

She hadn’t left Patton specifically a lot of things, but the things that she had left him had been boardgames. Things that she had collected over the years and kept on a shelf in the study for them to play after work and school: Candyland, Trouble, Snakes and Ladders. She had a whole shelf for him when he got to an age where he could understand more complex concepts: Ticket to Ride, Pandemic, Mysterium, Star Realms, Settlers of Catan.

After she was gone… Patton had stared at that shelf and wondered if she had ever thought that maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to play some of them with him.

He wonders how many of them he could have beat her at, how many of them she might let him win in, how many of them they would love to play together and how many of them they would both play through once and then wrinkle their noses at because it wasn’t what they thought it was going to be.

He wonders and maybe it’s a bit too much because he’s stomach is rolling nauseously and he thinks that if he has to look at a game he’ll actually throw up this time.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, even as he gets up and Patton remains buried under too many blankets and the alarm on his phone goes off again for his morning class. The darkness is safe and warm and Patton thinks he understands why Virgil likes it so much as he closes his eyes and tries not to think of a woman who is long gone and in the ground.

“Breakfast?” Virgil whispers at some point.

“Cookies,” Patton mumbles back.

Virgil had carted a hand through his curls and then the door to the room had opened closed and locked behind him. Patton thinks that was nice of him-- to lock the door like he was protecting anyone from coming in and stealing his valuables even though Patton was there. Or maybe since Patton was there? Patton presses his head into a pillow that smells vaguely like chocolate cherries and black licorice and other things that screamed Virgil, and thinks that Virgil might consider Patton a valuable that needs to be protected and kept safe.

Sometime later Patton wakes up with Virgil lying beside him, headphones on and typing on his computer with one hand while dragging fingers through Patton’s curls with the other. It’s impressive of him by itself, but not nearly as impressive as the fact that Virgil’s hood is down and the blackout curtains are parted enough to bring in a decent amount of light.

Virgil blinks at him and removes one earmuff. “I read that flowers need sunlight to grow,” he says in lieu of explaining the rays of light cascading into the room over the two of them.

Patton wants to laugh, and thinks he might if it were any other day and not this one. He settles for a somewhat bent smile and Virgil reaches to somewhere he can’t see and brings back a muffin from the Campus Cafe.

“Chocolate Chip,” he says. “Which is like a cookie, but better because it’s a muffin and I said so.”

Patton can’t really tell if the tears that prick in his eyes are from the lingering sadness or the softness of just a simple gesture from his best friend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

It’s a muffin, not something he should be crying over, and he repeats it even as he takes a bite from the top and Virgil pretends like he doesn’t see Patton scrubbing his cheeks as he chews. It’s a muffin, but Virgil got it just for him and Virgil came right back here and sat with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone and sad and and and--

And if Patton liked anyone romantically like that(™) he thinks he would have fallen straight into love with Virgil.

“Did you miss class?” Patton whispers.

Virgil shrugs. “Nothing important. I sent an email to my teachers saying that I wasn’t feeling too good and didn’t want to risk accidentally spreading anything to anyone, which already helps because I didn’t go to class yesterday and I’ve already turned in all my work for the week for most of my classes. Besides, you were here and I didn’t want to just leave you all alone-- what if Roman started playing his Disney compilations at 160 decibels again?”

“You like Disney, though.”

“I also like my hearing and my best friend,” Virgil says like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious, like it shouldn’t be making Patton tear up again because Virgil is just so nice.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers.

Virgil moves his computer and jostles around on the bed until they’re lying side-by-side even though the bed was definitely not made for two persons. He presses his head to Patton’s, and he’s cool and soft and safe.

Together. We got this.

“Your mom?” He asks.

Patton nods, with a lump in his throat that makes all the words he wants to say crumble to ashes on his tongue. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Pat,” Virgil says.

“But… Logan…”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Virgil says. “And, full offense, but no boy is going to be more important to me than you regardless of how fuuuuuuunkily hot he is. Funkily, yeah, sure, that’s a word that I definitely was going to say right there.”

Patton feels the laugh build up in his chest, against all the odds in the world, and it tastes like chocolate when it rolls out of his mouth.

Virgil bumps his shoulder, and grins. “Look, I’m trying here. Cursing is in my nature!”

“Thank you,” Patton says. For everything.

“No prob, Bob,” Virgil says. I would do it all all over again and never change a thing.

“I’m not Bob! I’m Pat!”

Virgil’s laugh is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm, like a rainbow cascading through the sky, like being caught after a fall. Patton gets the energy to smile back when he hears it and that alone nearly makes him want to cry again.

Patton twists the blanket under him between his fingers and takes a deep breath. “Did you…” He says before pausing to swallow back the taste of his own stomach acids he’s not sure is entirely imaginary. “Did you pick a game? For Logan?”

Virgil’s nose twitches, which means the answer is a sound no. “It’s not that important right now. You’re not feeling up to--”

“ Vir -gil,” Patton says and Virgil’s nose twitches again.

They share a look for another minute, two, three, before Virgil exhales and looks away.

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I didn’t pick out a game yet. I actually saw him in the Cafe earlier with Janus and he waved, though, which was awesome until I waved back and forgot to look where I was going and walked straight into a glass door. At this point it’s going to be a miracle if Logan doesn’t laugh in my face when I ask him to play anything with me.”

“He won’t laugh at you,” Patton says and Virgil slides his arms up and crosses them so he can bury his chin in them like he doesn’t believe Patton at all. “From what you’ve told me, Logan is really nice isn’t he? And the other day didn’t you say that he went on a rant about Pluto being a planet? I think that’s just as silly as you walking into a door.”

Virgil hums to show he’s listening, even if he isn’t taking the words to heart as much as letting them filter through his ears. Patton licks the last of the chocolate muffin from his fingertips and blinks away the urge to hide away from the rest of the world when he spies the box for Trouble on the ground next to Virgil’s desk trash can.

Virgil follows his gaze to the box and he purses his lips, although Patton isn’t sure if its from the fact that he’s remembering that neither of them won last night, or if he’s thinking about odds of beating Logan again or if he, too, is thinking about ghostly fingers trying so hard to move playing pieces that they can no longer touch.

Patton rolls over and stares at Virgil’s ceiling instead, counting his breaths until he feels like the static between his ears isn’t going to overwhelm him.

“What game do you want to play?” Patton asks.

“I won’t win.”

“I didn’t ask what game you wanted to win,” Patton points out. “What game do you want to play against Logan?”

Virgil is quiet, but he sighs so heavily that Patton can see his bangs flutter out of the corner of his eyes.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Virgil says, and again Patton remembers that nothing Virgil ever says has ever once been stupid. “But I don’t want to play against him at all.”

Patton frowns, rolling his head to the side to take in Virgil’s gaze that is already looking at him. His dark eyes are there and the something in them that Patton doesn’t want to put a name to is there again, shining just like the rays of light between Virgil’s blinds.

“I mean I want to play a game with Logan, just not against Logan. It’s stupid, okay? I was just thinking about the cooperative games back at your house that we used to play with your dad and step mom-- you know like the Unlock , Escape-room-in-a-box games? Or maybe Flashpoint? Or Forbidden Island? I was just thinking how shit I am at making my own decisions in Pandemic and Logan is really good at strategy so I bet that working together we’d be able to beat any game.”

Patton breathes deeply, sharply, and tries to ignore the piercing pain in his chest at the mention of the games. Virgil winces like he wants to take the words right back out of the air and hide them somewhere where neither of them have to face them at all.

“I don’t…” Virgil says, “I don’t want to play against him and lose. I’d rather play with him and win. Again: it’s stupid.”

Patton closes his eyes, and sees the shelf his mom left him full of boardgames she picked out long before he was past chewing on building blocks, of him at eleven years old finally getting the courage to drag a kitchen chair to the case and pick out a game while Virgil stood by to make sure he didn’t fall and to remind him that it was okay if he didn’t didn’t feel strong enough to try, of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table with the game directions between them that don’t really make any sense because it there’s no directions on how to attack each other when his dad comes home early and freezes at the sight

He might not remember his mother’s face outside of photographs he doesn’t remember being taken, but he remembers clearly the softness of his father’s expression when he dropped into the seat next to them and asked if they knew how to play this one yet.

“It’s a cooperative game,” his dad said, with a voice shaking and eyes wet. “That means we all work together to get to the goal at the end. Each player is going to have a different superpower-ability-thing that they can do that will make it easier for us to win as a team.”

So no, Patton doesn’t think that it’s stupid at all. It’s hard to do things by themselves, it’s scary, it’s difficult, it’s frustrating. That’s why when Virgil is texting him that the world is ending because of a boy, Patton will always show up at his dorm with soup and cookies and a game for them to play together instead of telling him that he’s being dramatic and silly. That’s why when Patton is missing a woman who hasn’t been in his life for twelve years now, Virgil will always stay with him to remind him that he’s going to get through it, instead of telling him to suck it up.

It’s much easier to win when they’re on the same side.

And Virgil has only ever had fun when playing games that he wins, hasn’t he?

“Why don’t you?” Patton asks suddenly.

Virgil must have nodded off because he jerks suddenly when Patton speaks up, “huh?”

“Why don’t you play a cooperative game?” Patton asks. “What did Logan say specifically about the whole dating thing?”

Virgil rubs an eye and squints at him tiredly. “I told you, he said he would only date someone who beats him at a game. I don’t--”

“Did he say beats him, or beats the game with him?”

“Neither?” Virgil says. “He literally said to Janus very loudly, “I will only consider someone a viable romantic partner if they can win in a game with me.””

“In a game with me,” Patton repeats. “ In a game with me. Not in a game against me!”

It takes Virgil a long, breathless moment to comprehend it, but it’s clear the moment it hits him. Virgil jerks so hard that he tumbles off the bed entirely and to the ground in a fumbling of long limbs, blankets, dubiously cleaned clothes, and his computer-headphones combo. Patton yelps and leans over to check on him but Virgil doesn’t even look like he noticed.

“Holy Shit,” He says, “holy shit, Pat.”

“Language.”

“ HOLY SHIT!” Virgil yells, and then he laughs and covers his mouth like he’s trying to bottle up the sound. “Patton! Patton! He didn’t say against!”

Virgil’s eyes sparkle, the light through the window makes his dark hair shine and just looking at him Patton thinks he’s never once seen him so happy before, so delighted, so excited.

So full of hope.

The next thing he knows is that he’s sitting up and Virgil is wrapped around him in a hug so tight, so soft, so cool and wonderful that those pesky tears come right back to his eyes. Virgil hugs like he’s unafraid of anything for just this endless moment, like he’s never been unsure of physical touch before, like he’s done it a million times before and Patton shouldn’t feel his breath catch in his lungs lest he shatter this dream with an exhale.

He’s standing at the eye of the storm that is Virgil, and he’s never felt so safe before in his life.

“Thank you,” Virgil whispers, “I, uh, I’m sorry for the sudden hug--”

And then, of course, Remus’s music comes back with a vengeance that rattles the ceiling tiles overhead and makes Virgil hiss and break the hug. Patton thinks that he could forgive it, if it weren’t for the unmistakable sound Disney’s Mulan soundtrack also ringing in the air, like it was trying to be heard over the rap music. Dust sprinkles from the tiles overhead.

“I’m going to kill them both,” Virgil vows, but Patton is quicker. He lunges forward before he even knows what he’s doing and coils around Virgil as tightly as he can, and just hugs him, his best friend, the guy who’s always been there for him, and who deserved all the happiness that he could get.

“Pat?” Virgil says.

“If Logan doesn’t treat you right I’m going to make sure no one finds his body,” Patton says.

And Virgil’s laughter makes it sound like he doesn’t quite believe Patton, but that’s okay. Virgil is still looking for reasons to play a game if not to win, and Patton is still trying to find a game that makes him smile, and together they’re going to figure out how to get Virgil to win with Logan.

But for now the hug is good, and the company is nice, and they have the game Trouble packed away ready for the next time they want to play.

[xbunnybunz]

Sick Days [BEN Drowned x Reader]

Summary: When a creepypasta manages to crawl into your home through a computer, people usually scream and call the police. You? Well, it's just another normal day for you.

Genre: Fluff, Horror, Humor

Date: June 20, 2015

-----

You sat in your room with the expression of utter boredom painted on your features, your hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on the table next to your open laptop. You grunted as your computer went into hibernation mode again and tapped the spacebar to reawaken the screen. Your bedroom window was wide open, allowing the evening breeze to float into your adobe and gently rustle the papers on your table. Fading streaks of sunlight peeked through your fluttering curtains, caressing your body with soft warmth.

Despite the serene atmosphere that had settled into your semi-messy room, your features were soon twisted into a grimace. The fingers that had been trailing along the table began drumming a steady rhythm, growing quicker and more impatient by the second. You glanced at the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, and read the blaring red numbers 6:23 PM. You scowled, annoyed. "Ugh, where is that little rascal?" You muttered, tapping your keyboard again and watching irefully as your homescreen popped up again. Ben usually arrived before sundown, but the sun was already halfway down the horizon. Ben probably would've taunted you for being so worked up over his absence, and you, being a little short tempered, would probably fall for his teasing and would have exploded into a mess of jumbled profanities. Though many would describe your actions now as "eager," you recalled how petrified you were when Ben first popped out of the fossilized desktop your dad insisted they brought when your family moved. That day, your mother and father had been visiting a sick relative in the hospital, and couldn't come home for the night. You, feeling free and a little daring, decided to stay up the entire night watching horror flicks in your livingroom. Although you felt the terror of eight marathoned horror movies shake you to your core, you persisted, jumping at every little noise from the movie and from your creaky home. That's why, when you witnessed the forgotten computer in the corner of the livingroom fizz and flicker on and off, you froze in unfathomable fear, merely staring as a deathly pale hand clawed it's way out of a jumble of binary code and pixels. By the time a head of tousled white hair and pitch black eyes with crimson irises emerged from the screen, you were already halfway out the door, knowing better than to trap yourself in your own bedroom. You would've spent the night at a neighbor's house, but your closest neighbor must have been at least a mile away- being that your family decided to move into the suburbs. Unfortunately for you, who was secluded in the pitch black of the night with god-knows-what in your house, it was pouring outside. In your mad scramble for salvation, you had not grabbed the keys to your house. You had originally settled for the plan to stay in the freezing rain, (it was definitely a safer bet than being in the house) but alas, the hours spent watching scary movies finally took its toll on you, and had made you paranoid to every small rustle and crunch. (In truth, it was just the trees.) This terror had driven you to crawl up some old growths of ivy on the side of your home, feeling blessed to find your bedroom window open just a crack- allowing you to pry the rest of the window open. Halfway through your window, you looked up- only to become blatantly horrified. There the white-haired boy was, floating in the middle of the room with bleeding eyesockets- as if he had been waiting for your arrival. Overcome with panic and surprise, you allowed the wet soles of your feet slip out from under you, sending your drenched body sailing face-first towards the hardwood floor of your bedroom. Your nose took the brunt of the fall, and erupted in a mess of blood upon impact. The pain of a shattered nose did little to deter you from the thing in your room. Holding your nose with both hands, you scrambled to press yourself against the wall- as far away from that demon-ghost-thing as possible. But when you looked back up, you were shocked to find it trying desperately to hold back laughter, it's eye twitching from the effort. The corner of it's mouth was twitching toward a smirk, and it's eyes were betraying it's stoic expression- it wanted to laugh at you! You shot to your feet, prepared to duke it out with the hovering monster- only to slip a second time on the rainwater that you had tracked into your room. This time, your head collided hard with the frame of your bed, and you blacked out. You woke up the next morning with a wrapped head and a bandaged nose. It turns out your parents had returned from their little trip and found you lying in a puddle of your own nosebleed- which sounds as humiliating as it felt- and had patched you up. After you told them about what you had seen, your parents merely laughed and gave you an affectionate pat on the head, claiming that the stress of moving and lack of sleep had to do with your "hallucinations." You would've believed them, if it wasn't for the fact that the boy showed up in your room again. You fell asleep while using your laptop and when you awoke, you found the pale-haired boy freeing his foot from your computer screen. Though you were sure that the white-haired monster returned to finish you off, you found him simply pointing his finger at your wrapped up face and cackling at you, tears budding in the gaping holes that were his eyes. You felt your face burn with embarrassment, and though you should have called for help, you simply sat there, allowing the strange being to laugh at your misfortune. After what felt like an eternity he retreated back into your computer, still snickering- leaving you bewildered and dazed. He later introduced himself as Ben Drowned over a cyberchat website named "Cleverbot," and you learned his story, as well as the fact that he could teleport just about anywhere that held an electronic device. Later that night, you awoke to a flooded room. With your heart pummeling with fear, you gasped and flailed for breath, desperately searching for a way out. You were less than pleased to find Ben on the screen on your open laptop- which was, for some reason, still working under water. His shoulders shook with muted laughter, doubling over with the hilarity he found in your pitiful predicament. As soon as it started, it was gone. The water that had once filled your room was gone, leaving everything unscathed in it's wake. Once you found mobility in your limbs again, you stormed to your laptop (which still contained the laughing freak) and took out the battery, taking away the laptop's source of life. You stormed about your house, rampaging in the middle of the night to turn off or unplug any source of electricity you could- the phones, the computers, televisions- even the dusty desktop. Despite the complaints of your confused parents, you were at peace. Since you had cut off any source of electricity, (other than the lights) that pesky elf hadn't bothered you- probably because he couldn't. However, your happiness was short-lived. Upon returning from school one day, you found that your parents had somehow reconnected everything before going to work- leaving you with two things: electricity, and an angry Ben. You had no idea how you did it, but you managed to convince Ben not to suck you into the netherworld or kill you- With minimal damage to the house. Before you placated him, Ben had flown into a livid tantrum, tossing tables and pictures to-and-fro with some unseen force, only ceasing when you promised that you would keep all electronics plugged in- thus allowing him to drop in any time he liked. Since then, the white haired boy with red irises visited routinely each day without intentions to scare you, though you were still unnerved by his presence at first. As if he sensed your uneasiness, Ben began to annoy you. Ceaselessly. Day after day, he knocked over decorative vases, messed up your room, taunted your occasional bad grades, and in all: irked the hell out of you. Yet here you were, waiting for his arrival like some kind of goddamned puppy. "What. Ever." You hissed through clenched teeth, standing up from your computer table, "Maybe he got bored of me. He's been visiting me for... God knows how long already...Good riddance." Despite your words, you felt a twinge of sadness prick your heart like a fine-tipped needle. Though he was undoubtedly aggravating most of the time, you had liked him company. Just a little. You sighed, the beams of twilight cast your shadow across the floor. "I should prepare some microwaveable dinner, my parents are working overtime today." As you sulked slowly towards your bedroom door, a loud crash and the sound of loud static pierced your eardrums, making you leap several feet into the air and scramble for the doorknob, storming downstairs to find the source of the noise. You were both annoyed and relieved to find Ben crawling out of the screen of the old desktop, though your annoyance went out the window once you spotted his shaking arms on the edge of the screen, as if he couldn't support his own weight. You extended a hand out to him, flinching as he finally managed to haul himself out of the mess of codes, landing in a heap on the floor. "Ben?" You inquired, peering at his crumpled form. "Are you okay...?" You knelt down next to him, touching his shoulder gently. "Ben?" At your voice, the creepypasta turned to look at you weakly before sniggering quietly- which worried you a bit. "What are you doing in my house?" You raised an eyebrow. "Ben, this is my house. Not yours." Ben, who had a pinkish hue to his pale cheeks, took a look around before the realization dawned upon him. "Oh, right. I'll be going then." You watched as the usually boisterous entity struggled to get back onto his feet, only to fall down again. This time, however, you caught him. Once his body made contact with your arms, you nearly shrieked. The back of his neck was burning hot, and the rest of his body was strangely warm- just like an overheated computer. "Ben-" You adjusted your hold on him, (he was a lot heavier than he looked) "Ben, are you sick?" Ben glared at you weakly. "No." You sighed, exasperated. His pride was going to be the death of him one day. You placed a gentle palm his forehead, cringing at the impossibly high temperature you felt. "Ben, you have a high fever. A bad one." The said person clicked his tongue and turned his face away, looking irritated. "That explains why I felt like shit the whole day." You couldn't help but snicker as you carried him to the couch, "That also explains why you didn't think of visiting me today." "Get off your high-fucking-horse, princess." Ben scowled, trying in vain to look threatening. "You should be thankful that I visit you everyday." You rolled your eyes, placing him softly on the couch. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for gracing me with your presence everyday, dumbass." You swore you heard Ben grumble something under his breath, but you were already too far up the stairs to hear. You returned with several pillows, a thermometer and some pills from the bathroom cabinet, determined to nurse Ben back to health. Though he was an annoying turd most of the time, there were rare moments where he comforted you in times of need- though most of the time, his offers to help just involved murdering someone, which you kindly refused. ("Killing people isn't the solution to everything, you freaking moron!") Now, it was your turn to help him. With an abundance of pillows in your arms, you urged him to sit up for a second (which he did with an anguished groan) and slipped four or five behind him, ensuring his comfort. You went into the kitchen and returned with a damp cloth and a glass of water to drink with the medicine. To be honest, you weren't quite sure if human medicine worked on creepypasta such as Ben, but it was all you had. "Ben, come on, you need to take some medicine." He scoffed at you. "Get your Earth pills away from me. You know just as well as I do that those won't work for me." You knelt next to him on the floor next to the couch and uncapped the bottle, shaking two pills out of the container and nudging him up. "You're right. I don't know if it'll work, but it's the only thing I have, so just suck it up and take them." "Get away from me." He hissed. "Ben..." You said, your tone threatening, "Don't make me unplug everything again." At this, Ben's hollow eyes narrowed, the red specks of light in them piercing into your skull. "You wouldn't dare." You gulped, feeling a cold sweat accumulate at his intense gaze. You steeled yourself and glared right back at him. "Try me." Grudgingly, Ben accepted the pills and sat up. Before you could stop him, he threw the pills in his mouth and began to chew. You froze, holding the cup of water in your hand and staring at him with wide eyes. You had made the same mistake of chewing those pills when you were younger, prior to figuring out that you could use water to wash them down. To be frank, those pills could cause more damage than a fever if not taken with water- they were horrendously bitter, and nearly caused you to puke. Just as you thought, Ben gradually stopped chewing, turning even paler than he already was- if possible. Though his face showed no emotion, you could almost feel the bloodthirsty aura that washed off of him, obviously not too pleased with the taste. You wasted no time in shoving the glass of water in his hands, urging him to drink. The water was gone before you could even blink, and Ben held the front of your shirt with an intent of death in his eyes. "You-" He stuttered, his face tinted red from anger, "You-" You braced yourself for whatever might come, but surprisingly, the grip on your shirt loosened, and Ben flopped back down unceremoniously, letting the pillows swallow his lean body. "Oh, whatever... Why would humans invent something so horrible to heal a sickness? If anything, that just made me sicker..." You smiled nervously, feeling the slightest bit guilty. "Er, it's my fault... I should have told you about the water sooner..." Ben scowled faintly. "Damn right you should've." You whispered a low "sorry" before wringing the wet towel, placing the cool cloth on Ben's head. This pulled a sigh of satisfaction from his lips, his eyes fluttering closed with contentment. You uncapped the thermometer, clicking the "ON" switch before turning back to Ben. "One last thing before you rest, Ben. I need your temperature." Ben didn't even bother to open his eyes or complain- which surprised you. Without hesitation, he simply opened his mouth. You found yourself smiling endearingly at his actions: it was like handling a stubborn child- all you had to do was get past his hard shell. Taking Ben's temperature was a little bit of a struggle, since the digital screen glitched and spazzed out once it made contact with him. However, once you had taken his temperature, your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. The little pixels, occasionally glitching, read "105.7° F. " After discovering this little fact, you urged him to sleep for a bit- feeling a bit panicked. After the third time of telling him to just relax and sleep, Ben snapped at you. "If you tell me to go to sleep one more time, I'll call Jeff up here and tell him to put you to sleep." Though you knew this was an empty threat, it still shut you up. You had heard a lot about Jeff the Killer, and though some of your friends were obsessed with him, you weren't too keen on meeting him. After turning on the fan in hopes to cool Ben down, you settled back next to him on the floor, watching his uneven breathing. After a few moments of staring, Ben's eyes snapped open, feebly glaring at you before it turned into a smirk. "Sweetheart, I know i'm good looking- but if you're gonna stare, at least do something that can excuse you from it." You blinked and furrowed your brows, feeling embarrassed but relieved. It sounded like he was feeling a bit better- but was that really a good thing for you? Silently, you lifted a hand and began combing it through his silvery hair, knocking his hat astray. However, Ben didn't seem to mind. In fact, he completely ignored his hat and turned away from you, as if he were hiding his face. Despite his best efforts, you spotted a pinkish tint on his cheeks that extended to his ears- and you were sure it wasn't because of the fever he had. You watched him with soft eyes and continued your small ministrations, wondering how he had gotten sick in the first place. Before long, Ben had fallen asleep to your touch and the low hum of the fan. Sighing breathily, you gave the sleeping boy a thoughtful look. You didn't understand why he had kept the routine of visiting you everyday, but you weren't about to complain. Moving was no easy task, it included making new friends and leaving the old ones behind. Your socializing skills weren't your strongest suit, and although you tried your best, it was difficult to keep a conversation with someone at school- you feared their judgement. Though you knew most of the people at school didn't mean any harm to you, it was still a little scary for you to be cast out into a new environment so suddenly, it made you feel vulnerable. And although Ben had scared the pants off of you at first, you slowly began to realize that your arguments and chats with him didn't make you tense or anxious. Perhaps you could even go as far as to say he made you the slightest bit happy. You continued to play with his hair for a little while before removing your hands, observing him carefully. It was true that Ben was relatively handsome, though you would rather die than admit that to him. His white hair and pale complexion gave him the look of a hauntingly beautiful angel, though his eyes were dark and devilish, always seeming to hold only the most malicious of intentions. While he was awake, his countenance was usually twisted into a smirk or a sneer- which didn't exactly make him more attractive, but definitely did not take away from it, either. However, as he was asleep, you couldn't help but notice how strikingly bewitching he looked without the usual grimace. His long, white eyelashes brushed against his cheekbones, colored pale pink with his fever. Though you hadn't noticed it previously, it was almost unnerving how captivating Ben was. With his sleek, graceful features relaxed, you almost wouldn't have been able to guess that he was such a cunning gremlin while he was awake. You couldn't stop your eyes from wandering to his lips, which were slightly parted with his steady inhales and exhales. Just like the rest of his body, his lips were deathly pale, and slightly chapped- though they still looked inviting. You blushed and averted your eyes upon realizing how inappropriate your thoughts were. Ben was horribly sick and helpless, yet here you were, daydreaming about... A kiss... You covered your face, feeling humiliation wash over you in waves. Ben would probably laugh himself to death if he knew what you were thinking. The mere thought of being with Ben was impractical within itself, since there was no way monsters like him were even capable of feelings, right...? Your train of thought was halted when you heard the silverette groan lowly from across you. You peered out from your hands with questioning eyes, wondering if you had woken him up with the intensity of your staring. (Was that even possible, though?) He wasn't awake. His eyes were still sealed shut, but his mouth was twitching, as if he were trying to say something. You leaned in closer, watching attentively. Did he want water? A colder towel? More pillows? Suddenly, much to your shock, your name erupted from his lips, sounding like a cross between a groan of irritation and a plea. Then, he was silent again. You felt a warmness in your body emitting from the center of your stomach, and before long, you found yourself smiling at Ben. He was asleep, so it wouldn't hurt too much, right...? Slowly, you leaned forward and brushed back some of his soft locks, marveling at how pretty his face was. With such a small distance between you two, you could smell his scent- a distinct smell of static and coconut. Gently, you pressed your lips to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his soft, feverish skin on your own mouth. As you pulled away, you found a hand on the back of your head, pulling you back in. Wide eyes registered as Ben tilted his head, and his lips met yours, watching your bewildered expression with groggy, half-lidded eyes before he closed them, pressing his lips harder against your own. His mouth was burning hot, no doubt it was because of the fever, but it made the kiss even harder to resist. With flushed cheeks, you allowed your eyes to slip shut as well, returning the gentle pressure lightly. You noted that Ben was being unusually careful as he cupped your face, as if you were made of fragile glass that would shatter at any moment. You smiled at this, and brushed the side of his cheek with the back of your hand endearingly. He pulled away and you opened your mouth to speak, but before you could get a word in, his lips descended upon yours again, his tongue sweeping over your already open lips and tickling the roof of your mouth. You squeaked a bit at this, and he pulled back, his hand still on your cheek, opening his eyes to take in your reddened face and light panting. And then you saw it. It surprised you more than the kiss did- and perhaps more than his first appearance did. Ben smiled. It was a genuine smile, albeit small, unlike the smirks and half-grins he gave you all the time. This time, his lips curled naturally, softening his scarlet eyes a twinge. The hues of twilight poured in from the window and washed over both of you, bathing both of you in a beautiful gradient of a fading pink, yellow and orange. You should have scolded him for kissing you while he was sick, but you couldn't find the heart to ruin the mood. Instead, you smiled back at him, leaning into the hand that remained on your cheek. There, in the wake of the lingering sun, you discovered that what once was your greatest fear was also your greatest treasure.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @aspiringmehood donated $50 and requested past John/Dean, in which Sam finds out in the bunker era. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

When they finally make it to where Michael actually has Dean trapped—a bar, of course a bar, with cheesy neon and cozy wood—Sam feels like he can't catch his breath. There's something snarled and massive and thorned, wrapped around his lungs, his chest full of it. Dean smiles at him, at Castiel, pouring a beer and no shadow at all to his eyes, and Sam drags in air and can't—for a second, physically can't—say a word.

They worked their way through layers and layers of memories. Drowning. Hell. Sam heard Dean laughing, warm and vile, and Castiel glanced at Sam and said, that was in Alastair's workroom, and they didn't look at that memory, like they hadn't looked at so many others. Sam always knew that Dean had been through a lot, just like he'd been through a lot himself. It felt different, hearing it. Seeing it, occasionally, when Cas couldn't tell if the real Dean was trapped in the memory or if it was just an echo, and so they had to check, and the loneliness and the mud and the pain just kept stacking up. A lot Sam had known about; a lot he hadn't. Too much, that he hadn't.

After, when Michael's trapped inside Dean's mind and Dean's shut himself into his room, to rest, Sam goes back out into the bunker and walks past Jack and the refugee hunters trying to clean up the mess, and he grabs Cas, and he says, not quietly enough, "Did you know?"

"Know what?" Cas says.

It's the kitchen. Someone might come in, any moment. Sam stares at Cas for a few seconds and then jerks his head, and Cas follows him, down the halls and down the stairs until they reach—Sam can't help but think of it as 'the Dean Cave.' The den. Armchairs, foosball, cheesy neon. His throat closes up again, seeing the daydream of another life, and he grips the back of the recliner Dean said was his very tightly, and tries to articulate the question better. It's incoherent in the back of his head. Revulsion, horror, anger. Worse than anger.

"You—when we were looking for Dean," Sam starts. Tries to start. Cas is silent, behind him. The neon glows cheerfully. "When we—we saw—"

Jesus. He can't say it.

Cas touches his shoulder and Sam flinches violently. When he turns, Cas's hand is still half-extended, his expression regretful. "I'm sorry, Sam," he says. "I always assumed that you knew."

Sam lets out a breath. That he knew. Like it was just—something that was part of the family, growing up.

Cas searches his face. "It was assumed," he says, more slowly. "That the unusual relationship between you and your brother was a—natural extension of what had happened in Dean's past."

The heat in Sam's chest floods red. He's not aware of swinging until it's too late, and then Cas's head snaps back, and then his hand hurts, and he's dragging in air, desperate, and then he covers his face with both hands. He should say sorry—he almost is sorry—but he's also not, and he's also—out of control, like he hasn't been in years. Years, when he's worked so hard to tamp down reactions like this. The fury's roiling up and he realizes his hands are shaking when Cas touches his forearm, and then his wrist, carefully.

"Sorry," Sam says. Cas pulls at his wrist and Sam drops his hands, taking a deep, chest-expanding breath. Everything still feels too tight.

"No, I am," Cas says. He really looks it, his mouth tight. "I shouldn't have—I know you both keep very secret. I didn't realize Dean had kept more of it a secret from you."

In the face of everything, it's impossible to feel weird that Cas apparently knows about him and Dean. He should've realized that they couldn't really have secrets from heaven. It feels secondary.

The memory. Dad's voice, stern, the words barely audible. Dean had yelped and Sam had frowned, not sure what he was hearing. Michael was obsessed with his own father—maybe he was keeping his vessel trapped with Dad. Sam nodded—Cas's eyes glowed—and then they were there, in a motel room, and it was night, and there was Dean—thirteen maybe—stripped naked and pale in the darkness, sitting in the middle of the bed with his head bowed, and Dad in the bathroom, saying like it was a lecture from any other bit of PT, you know you're supposed to be ready for me, and Dean licked his lips and dashed the back of his hand over his eyes, and he said, sorry, sir, I'll remember next time, and Sam had felt frozen, standing there a foot behind Cas's shoulder, his brain somehow not putting two and two together until Dad came out of the bathroom bare-chested, undoing his belt, saying, I know you will, and there was—on the bedside table—

It turned out that thought-projections couldn't vomit. KY is still the brand Dean buys.

He sits in his recliner. Feels like his legs won't hold him. Cas hovers uncertainly, for some time that passes without Sam realizing, because it feels like an hour or an instant before the door closes, and he's alone, watching the wall, going over it, in his head. He can't help it. All these years, he's been trained—find the evidence, make connections, build a case. Cas took him out of the memory and said not there and didn't sound the least bit surprised, and Sam had barely helped after that, all of him locked into thinking—no. No.

He sleeps in his own room, that night. They usually do, when other people are around. He doesn't expect to actually fall asleep, but he does, and is surprised to find it dreamless. It's after nine o'clock when he finally drags himself out of bed, and when he makes it to the kitchen there's Jack, reading something on a laptop at the kitchen table, and he looks up and smiles at Sam like sunshine, and there, over by the griddle, Dean.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Dean says, glancing at him. "What, did your alarm not go off or something?"

He's making pancakes. He looks tired. Sam smiles at him and knows it's half-assed, but a lot of shit has been happening and Dean lets him get away with it, just grunting and turning back to the griddle, and Jack says, "I made coffee!" and, christ, okay. Jack's coffee. Sam lets Jack pour him a mug and sits down at the table, too, and lets Jack tell him all about some potential hunt he's found in Jackson Hole, and Dean sits down next to Sam after a few minutes of excited babbling with two plates of pancakes, one of which he slides Sam's way. "Let the guy wake up a little, Jack," Dean says. His knee and hip and elbow brush Sam's side and Sam thinks, again, pointlessly: no. Dean says, "Eat, you look like crap," and Sam says, fulfilling his part, "You're one to talk," but Dean doesn't really smile like he ought to because there's an archangel inside him, and Sam can't—it's too much. He can't hold everything, all at once.

He eats a pancake. He drinks his coffee. He goes for a run, ten miles, the air cold but not cold enough to freeze the roil of feeling into stillness. When he comes back more of the refugees are gone until it's just Maggie, talking with Jack in the library, and Cas is sitting with them like some weird, awkward chaperone. Sam goes to take a shower, and leans his forearms against the wall and his head against his clenched fists while the hot water boils down, and he thinks about the times he'd be sent to stay with Bobby or with Pastor Jim or with Caleb for weeks at a time, and Dad and Dean were alone together, and the thing is that he can't remember. Nothing felt wrong. Maybe more correct to say that nothing felt any more wrong than anything else. When Sam and Dad would argue, Dean would take Dad's side more often than not, and if he didn't then he sat still on the far side of the motel room, and Sam had hated him for that, when he was a teenager. He'd thought, Dad's loyal lapdog. He'd thought, get a life, Dean, meanly, and when they had that last drag-out fight before Sam went to school, Dean had run outside to him, on the road outside that shitty ramshackle house, and he'd said, he doesn't mean it, Sam, and he'd said, don't go, and Sam had pushed away, had started walking right then, and Dean had watched him go, standing alone in the road, the house's dark windows looming behind his back.

A natural extension, Cas said. Sam shuts off the water, dries off. Wraps the towel around his waist and goes to his room, and when he opens the door Dean's sitting on his bed, with a bottle of whiskey on the bedside table, waiting for him.

"Long shower," Dean says.

"Long run," Sam says. The corner of Dean's mouth turns up but it doesn't look happy. It's noon, or near enough, and Sam doesn't even fake an objection when Dean pours them two glasses from the bottle, and when Dean holds out to clink Sam does, slowly.

Dean looks at him, and drains his glass. Sam sips at his. "I asked Cas to take the kids on that hunt Jack was telling us about," Dean says, and refills his drink. "Got the bunker to ourselves."

Sam takes another swallow. He didn't eat enough and whiskey's blooming hot in his stomach.

"You want to talk to me about something, Sam?" Dean says.

A beat. Sam's mouth feels dry, despite the taste of peat.

"Dug through my head, right? To find me? Cas let me know. Guess it took a while." Dean holds his glass in front of his mouth like he's going to drain it again, but then puts it down on the bedside table, and sits forward. His shoulders are hunched, purple bruise-marks under his eyes, and for all that he's springing a trap he just looks—like Sam wants to pull him down to the bed, hold him, sleep for a week tangled together with their skin touching like a promise.

The silence stretches. Dean closes his eyes and looks even more exhausted than before. Sam goes to his wardrobe, tugs on jeans and a t-shirt at least. He holds the wet towel between his hands and can't think. It's still hot and raw inside him, because it's been—a day. Less than a day. How long, he thinks, for Dean, and without his brain attached to his mouth he says, "When," and then wishes immediately to be struck by lightning.

Dean snorts. Sam turns his head and finds Dean shifted around, so his back's to the headboard, one leg extended along Sam's bed. He tips his head back against the wall, eyes still closed. "Suck my dick and I'll tell you," he says, matter of fact, and Sam's stomach flips even if the tone was perfectly even.

"Jesus christ," Sam says, and collapses into his desk chair. He hunches, can't help it—elbows on his knees, his hands in his hair. He keeps seeing it. Dean had been—not scared, but nervous. Like he knew what was coming. The dark, other than the light coming in from the bathroom, and his knees tugged up shyly to hide his nakedness, and how he'd been big-eyed and soft-mouthed and his skin looked—bruiseable. And of course he'd had bruises, all the time—they both had—and Sam had never, never—

"You don't get to be pissed about this, Sam," Dean says. Sam looks up and finds Dean watching him, his eyes tight. "It's nothing to do with you."

"You think—" Sam says, and closes his mouth before he says something stupid. He sits back in the chair and takes a deep breath. Of course Dean thinks that. "I'm pissed," Sam says. "And yeah, I get to be. But—god, Dean, I'm not pissed at you." He pauses, with Dean just looking at him, steady. "Okay, that wasn't true. Yeah, I'm kinda pissed at you. Because you didn't—" He shakes his head. "But I'm pissed at him."

Everything he ever accused Dean of, in his head or out loud. Everything in his head, stained now, like blood seeping through layer after layer of cloth, changing things irrevocably. He thinks, out of nowhere, of Dean's birthday, when he turned twenty and Dad gave him the Impala, and he tossed Dean the keys and Dean whooped and hugged him, tight, and Dad's hand cupped the back of Dean's head, and Sam hadn't thought anything of it, then. He holds Dean's head like that, he thinks. When they're together. When Dean's on top of him, and smiling down in that soft way he'll smile sometimes, and Sam will cup the back of his head tenderly, and bring him down, and kiss him.

Dean's still looking at him. "That first time," Sam says. "You and me. Were you—was it still—"

"What, are you jealous?" Dean says. Laced, just lightly, with acid.

"Just tell me," Sam says, and his voice sounds weird, and Dean's eyes dip, and slant away.

"Yeah," he says.

Sam closes his eyes.

The first time. Sam was eighteen with an acceptance letter in his duffle, and it was June, and Dad had disappeared for a month on some weird hunt. Dean had let him get drunk and he'd been—terrified and happy, nervous and needing, and he'd leaned in laughing against Dean's shoulder, and Dean had thrown his arm around Sam's shoulders and said you're such a lightweight, bitch, and Sam had been so full and glad and it had felt right, to kiss Dean's throat, and when Dean had gasped to lean up and kiss his mouth. Sam still remembers how it felt. Soft and wet, mainly, but with his whole body thrumming like a struck bell. They hadn't fucked for real that night but Dean had gotten him off twice, and Sam had jerked Dean off awkwardly, leaning over him and watching his face, and in the middle of the night he'd said don't freak out, and Dean had been quiet and then curved into his body and said, softly, who's freaking out?, and it had been—okay. Sam thought. It was okay.

If Sam was eighteen, Dean was twenty-two, and if Dean was twenty-two that meant that if Dad had still—if they'd still been—Dean was an adult, and he could've got halfway across the country if he wanted, and he didn't. Now, Dean's forty and Sam's thirty-six, and they've had about fifty lifetimes between here and there, and still Sam feels, in this second, about twelve years old, looking at his big brother and wanting answers.

Dean tongues the inside of his cheek, and says, inexplicably quiet, "Sam, can you—" He works his jaw— "Could you come here. Please."

Dean doesn't say please. Sam gets up, and walks the two steps to the bed, and Dean looks at him with his face drawn and sore and tired, and Sam sits by his hip, and tips forward, and lands with his back twisted painfully with his face in Dean's shoulder. He breathes in Dean's smell, and feels the tug when Dean's hand fists into his t-shirt. It's familiar, from all their years together. His brain flashes to them in bed—to pushing into Dean, his face tucked into Dean's warm shoulder, held safe and close—and then, cruelly, he imagines—their dad—his bulk tucked into the same warm closeness of thighs, Dean holding his shoulders, cupping his head, arching under him just like he does with Sam—

"I was—" Dean starts, while Sam's breathing through the roil of sickness in his gut. He hears Dean swallow. "It doesn't matter, Sammy. I was—it wasn't—" A pause. Sam licks his lips, and goes to sit up, but Dean's hand lands on the back of his head, keeps him in place. His fingers tangle in Sam's hair. He says, again, "It doesn't matter," only of course it does.

"I wish I'd known," Sam says, muffled against Dean's shoulder.

"What good would that have done?" Dean says. It sounds flat, exhausted.

Sam doesn't know. Maybe it would have hurt more. There's so much he doesn't know that's torturing him, now. Things he should've known. Things other people would've hurt Dean with—Azazel, Alastair, Lilith. Ruby. Crowley. Castiel, and all the angels, and Michael, fuck, Michael, crowding up inside Dean, telling him—the same cruelties Lucifer had told Sam, every second, filling him to the brim and saying, always, you're weak, you let this happen, this is your fault, everything is your fault.

They're sick, the questions Sam wants to ask.

"I'm gonna tell you one thing," Dean says. Sam shifts against him and Dean drags his hand down to Sam's neck, warningly tight. "One. And you don't get to ask anything else."

Sam nods, against his neck. Shifts his hips, so he's less cramped, and takes a deep breath.

"It was when you left," Dean says. "He was drunk. I mean, he got drunk a lot, right around then. We were in Colorado, at a cabin, and he got trashed, and he wanted—" A swallow. Dean's thumb drags up Sam's neck, rests soft under his ear. "I wanted it, too. Didn't want to think. It was rough. You know he used to hit me, sometimes? He hit me, during, and I—made fun of him. Said it didn't hurt, wasn't hard enough. Drove him crazy. I'd had a few, too. Parts of it I don't remember. Blacked out, I guess. I guess somewhere in there he broke my nose, and I know I got him, too, because he disappeared for a day and when he came back he had a black eye. He brought back a real ice pack, like a medical-grade one, and he let me take a bath and he patched up my nose, and for dinner we had like honest-to-god steaks, from some restaurant down in Boulder, and he slept in my bed that night, to stay close, and I just kept thinking about you."

Sam's breathing hard. Dean squeezes his neck, comforting.

"I wanted you back," Dean says. "He knew it. We started hunting separate more often, after that. I couldn't stand it but, you know, what choice did I have."

"I wouldn't," Sam says. He pushes up, breaks Dean's hold. His heart feels turned inside-out. Dean's resigned, spent. "Dean, I—"

"You're freaked," Dean says.

"Yeah, no shit," Sam says. He cups Dean's face, feels him warm, hard. Sam's. "But I'm not leaving. Okay? I'm not leaving, I'm never leaving again."

Dean looks at him, and puts his hand on Sam's chest. "I know you won't," he says, after a little while, and Sam takes the chance and leans in and—and kisses him, very softly, just touching their lips together. It's Dean who deepens it, after a few seconds. Selfish, licking and gripping Sam's hair, almost desperate. Sam lets him—of course, he lets him—and it feels like an age before Dean pulls back, his forehead pressed against Sam's and his breath coming fast between them. Sam cups his head, ignoring the nastiness that flickers in his belly. The past doesn't get to ruin this.

"Sam, you know I love you, right?" Dean says.

Sam laughs, shakily. "Yeah, I know that," he says.

They never say it. Not like it's necessary. Dean cards his fingers through Sam's hair and holds on, tight, his body tense. Sam wraps an arm around his shoulders, not knowing what comfort to give.

"Good," is all Dean says. He leans his temple against Sam's and sighs. Their bones sit hard against each other, but Sam doesn't move. He can feel Dean's heartbeat, like a pounding drum.

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Chapter Four - Part 5

Anti is angry Dapper won't come back to his room and warns of consequences. Red decides to get Dapper's medicine back on his own terms, with a little help from his brothers.

Tws for medication refusal, manipulation, slapping, choking, and abuse between brothers.

Part 5 - Haloperidol

Trick watches at the window, so Anti is silent when he comes downstairs.

He watches his boy. Trick’s head stays turned towards the window. One hand on his gun. One hand on Dok’s shoulder as his twin sleeps. Anti’s good guard dog. Always watching.

The others are asleep in the bed, Dapper pressed between the twins, warm with their arms wrapped around him. He is supposed to be sleeping. That’s why Trick is watching, after all - so Dapper can rest, and trust somebody else to guard for Dark for him.

But he isn’t asleep. Anti knows. Anti can tell.

He is a form without outline, his eye glowing red, a hateful and angry form that sends shuddering across the whole of Dapper’s chest. His silver eyes slide open, his mouth pressed tightly shut. He stares up at Anti. Anti stares back. Blue murmurs in his sleep and presses his chest against Dapper’s side, sighing.

Dapper doesn’t let go of him.

“Tomorrow,” signs Anti, silent, silent, even his usual buzzing gone dead. “You will come upstairs.”

“I won’t,” signs Dapper.

“Your medicine is upstairs. You’ll come get it.”

Something cold wraps itself around Dapper’s chest. His Haldol. He has to have it. He has to.

“If I don’t?” he dares to sign.

“You wanted free choice,” answer Anti’s bitter hands. “Choose.”

He glitches away like a TV flickering off. Trick shifts in place and turns his head, glancing around at his siblings. He sees nothing wrong. Dapper shakes against Blue’s body. Dok nightmares of blood and spiders. Red murmurs Max’s name in his sleep.

In Trick’s eyes, all is well.

Anonymous asked: Anti? Genuine question; why do you want him with you? Why not let him be down here with the others?

Anti slams his hands down on the bedside table, staring out the great window of the master bedroom, his eyes dark, alone.

“He,” he begins, and then stops again, shaking his head.

“He belongs to me,” he says finally. Bitterly, he turns his face away. “You think I’m not aware that this is following apart around me? There have to be consequences when he disobeys me. He belongs to me. He should be up here. I - I want him up here! I don’t like sleeping without him! I don’t like that I could wake up and something could go badly and Dapper wouldn’t be here to - to - to undo it! To protect…”

His voice glitches. He touches his face and turns away, growling.

Anonymous asked: You're Anti, for fuck's sake. Aren't you always going on about how powerful you are? What do you think is gonna happen?

“Things have happened before,” he snarls, biting at his teeth like a horse with a bit. “Things I won’t let happen again. If he had been closer to me the night they came to steal him back from me, a lot would be different.”

He grits his hands together, shaking his head. “Jackie and Marvin gave me this fucking fear,” he says, stepping back from the window as a bird descends onto the sill, regarding him with cold black eyes. “It’s never gone away since, no matter how much control I seem to get. It’s never enough. I always need more. Now I’m losing what I had. I have to have it back. And I want him asleep beside me. I need him asleep beside me.”

Anonymous asked: Ah, I see. You got spooked by Jackie and Marvin, and now you need to keep Jameson under your thumb at all times in case something happens again. Well done, Anti, truly impressive. Can you not let them stay together? It's not like any of them can hurt you, and from what you've said about Dark I doubt they would either.

“You all know they’re taking steps away from me. That’s why you want this. I won’t pretend it’s not a big deal. It is a big deal. He’s always slept with me, since he was days old. Anyway, I gave him his choice. He can have his medicine or he can stay with his siblings.”

He snags a laptop from the bed and tears a page from one of Dapper’s sketchbooks in half, scrawling over a drawing of a mouse in a trap.

Red - for you. I’ve reset you since the last time you helped me hack a server to pieces, but you’ll recognize the programming quick enough. Keep an eye out for foreign viruses and set up a firewall. Gigi will try to get into the camera system. The code for you to access it is 3110.

He leaves the computer and the note at the bottom of the stairs. With every step he seems to pace, his eyes sliding, flickering from screen to screen, watching what belongs to him.

Anonymous asked: That's hardly a fucking choice, is it, Anti? Have you even considered not forcing them? This drives them away faster, and after all this time I don't see why you haven't just done the calculations yet and realized that if you're kind to them, they'll want to fight against you much less than how you're handling it now.

Anti snarls with frustration, tugging at his hair. “That’s so stupid, fuck! That doesn’t keep people around! Doesn’t matter what you try to be! Not for me, anyway. I tried to be fucking kind to Dapper when he was first mine! He was all I wanted! He was all I’d wanted for a long time! But no matter what I did - ah!”

Anti screams and slams his foot into the bedside drawer, kicking straight through the wood like it’s cardboard.

“He still wanted to fucking leave! He still - ”

Anti lurches forward. He closes his eyes, looking suddenly pale and in pain, doubling over himself. He heaves once but doesn’t get sick.

“Need Blue back too,” he mumbles, nauseated. “Magic’s kicking up in me again. Still worth it, before you criticize me for that too. Still worth having him under my heel. Knowing he’ll never burn me down to ash and essence ever again.”

He shakes his head out, trying to regain his calm.

“Doesn’t matter what I’ve tried,” he growls, turning his head away. “I was made to be a monster and I’ve never been able to make anyone want to stay without tying them down. It doesn’t fucking bother me. Having control through blood is better anyway, so much better anyway, and I love when they cower and simper for my attention. Like Trick, haha. Even Dok used to whine for my attention like that. The rush of it! There’s nothing like that. I’ll break him down to wanting me like that again. I am still wild powerful. Wild powerful. And when Dark helps me make them stay, everything will be fine again.”

Anonymous asked: You're the one making it into a fight. The harder you push them, the more they'll push back. Give them some time together and they'll be glad for it, Anti. I honestly do not know why you think pushing them until they break will work again. Maybe when you could do it one on one, but now? They'll give you hell for it if you try with any one of them. Give them a bit of kindness instead and they'll be grateful, more complacent.

“I’m waiting for Dark’s help,” says Anti quietly. “But Dapper should be up here. That’s that. I won’t budge on it. He’s mine. He’s the only thing Jack ever meant to make that was mine.”

Anonymous asked: And how exactly will Dark help? Last I heard, they can't go in the fucking house.

“Some of you just aren’t listening,” answers Anti, irritated. “Leave me alone. I already told you and Dark that if they fail to take one of my puppets from me before the week is out, they owe me a favor. We’re just playing games. You all act like Dark’s an enemy. I thought you would like to see them!”

He seems to calm a little, turning back to the window as he sits down on the side of his bed, staring out. The darkness is a blanket over the forest, deep and warm and familiar.

“I’m glad to see them,” he murmurs. “We’re playing games again. They always played the best games. And then, at the end of them… mh.”

Something in his eyes softens like butter.

He seems to realize it a moment later, because he turns away.

“Leave me be,” he says. A flicker of his hand and the lights turn off. “I let them be for the night. Let me be.”

Anonymous asked: One last question; will they be harmed, if Dark takes them?

“What’s Dark going to do? They’ve done as I asked since we started to know each other better. They understand I keep puppets. They wouldn’t hurt them beyond repair. All Dark does is… twist things a little.”

Anti smiles. Cold and bitter in the darkness.

“Manipulation isn’t just a talent with them. It’s a magic. And when Dark is done with them, well - they’ll all know there’s much worse things to fear than me.”

It would make a dramatic end to the night if he could just ignore you and fall asleep. But despite his words, despite his determination, despite his anger, Anti is still alone.

You can see him lying awake in bed for long hours, staring at the wall and digging his fingers into the empty space on the mattress beside him.

bupine asked: what exactly is dark to you, anti? if i'm allowed to ask that?

Anti watches the sun come up and the shadows go. He scowls at the message, going slightly pink.

“Dark’s not anything to me. I just want their help with this, that’s all. Dark’s not anything to me. Most of the time.”

He plays with Dapper’s medicine bottle, rolling it between his hands.

“They were such a fucking joke at first. Fucking hated them. Sick creep growling at me all low. But they had a fascination with me, and I was… alone. So we started fighting. And then I kept coming back to fight with them again and again. Then we weren’t fighting. Just playing. We could beat each other down to essence and still be playing. I trusted them to tear me apart and leave me bleeding. There was something good about it. And then, sometimes, they would touch their hand to my body as they passed me. Touch their hand to my skin. Not afraid of my body.”

A glitch shivers through him. He puts his chin down on his knees.

“I like power,” he says. “I don’t like humans. I like things that can match me. I’m attracted to things that can match me… and things that are desperate to have me, cause otherwise, what’s the fun? So I’m not often attracted to anyone. But they… proved themselves.”

He shivers again, a smile curling on his mouth, though it lacks its usual smugness. He opens up his hand to let the light dance through it, setting Dapper’s Haldol back in the drawer.

“I like Dark. Dark thinks I’m fascinating. They always want me and I - I like that. Every year or so, I make time for them, and they purr and gloat over me. I let them think they own me for a couple days. It’s fun. They’re beautiful. Sometimes, they make me feel good. And less alone. We fight and snap at each other for fun. That’s all.”

He turns and shoots you a glare. “So don’t call them my lover, you little sixteenth-century dweebs. I rarely even call them a friend. Besides, Dark was important to me because they - they don’t live alone. And they don’t feel anything but hatred for their creator. And I think I wanted something more like what they had. Have. It looked so much easier. Though I am definitely not jealous of that stupid backstory. That’s one thing I don’t mind being neglected on. I’ll stick with just having popped into existence, thanks very much.”

He sighs, tucking his chin into his hand. Then he catches himself, scowling, shaking his head.

“You don’t need to know, though. You’re not Dap. I just don’t have anyone to talk to. Go away. Dark’s not anything to me.”

aether-mae asked: Have you met any of Darks masters other creations? You said he wasn’t alone, does he control those creations or live peacefully with them?

“Yeah, I’ve met a bunch of them, but most of them are mostly human, so I’m not really interested. Especially since Mark creates jokes just for his own entertainment. Jack’s power would run out of control because he would fixate too hard on one of us for months on end and create without control over the final product - Mark’s is out of control because he gets a thought into his head and five minutes later, boom, new baby.

“Dark controls them, but the others think they live peacefully. As if Dark couldn’t make them do anything they wanted them to do, ha.”

He works rapidly on his computer, his shoulders pulled tensely towards his body and his mouth smiling tightly. “Bet they try something today,” he growls, grinning and stressed at the same time. “Them or my Carver getting into trouble. Trying to take what’s not theirs. I wish he’d just come get his fucking medicine. Stubborn little brat. He gets that from me, goddamn.”

.

“He’s decided he’ll go without it,” says Henrik, pale in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. “His medicine.”

“He’s determined this time,” mumbles Red, plucking at the keys of his computer. “Let me know when Anti gets pissed enough to come drag him upstairs and I’ll see what I can do.”

Henrik steps forward and shuts the laptop on Red’s legs, forcing him to look up at him, surprised.

“Red,” he implores, eyebrows creasing with worry. “He needs his medicine. Just because he’s not being tortured directly doesn’t mean this isn’t going to hurt him, badly. You want to see him psychotic again?”

“What do you want me to do?” protests Red.

“I don’t know! Something!”

Henrik paces around the door. Red shakes his head, trying to think. “Maybe I can convince Anti. Is that even worth trying?”

“I don’t know. This is just… this is all bad, Red. I’ve never seen him act like this. Have you?”

Red sighs. “Anti’s losing patience, Dok. He’s only going to get angrier. And his anger is the same as his violence. We just need to try and keep our heads down and ride this out.”

“No,” answers Dok firmly. “No. Not anymore. We have to do something.”

Red sighs again, even deeper, glancing out at the window. He can’t go to the store or the hospital while the monster’s in the woods.

“Going to go take Blue swimming,” mumbles Dok, his eyes shadowed and angry. “Just… I’ll think. Please, Red. You promised me back in Peru you’d always help me make sure he has his medicine. It’s torture for him without it. You know that.”

Anonymous asked: red, this is a genuine question, what do you think will happen if you go along with what anti says?

Red bites at his nails, thinking, his eyes flickering across the floor.

“My job has always been to minimize the damage,” he says quietly. “But even when I haven’t been able to do that, the worst things I’ve ever seen Anti do are steal Blue’s magic, chain Dok up by the throat, separate twins from each other, sometimes cut or beat us up. But I don’t remember before Norway.”

He steps out into the hall, looking around. He can hear Trick’s side of what must be a conversation with Dapper in the kitchen and Dok trying to get Blue out of bed - without much success. The thought makes his stomach twist.

“I’m scared to see Dapper psychotic again,” he says. “The last time he was…”

Red closes his eyes, putting a hand on his heart, as if that can keep it quiet against the memory of his little brother hanging off over the side of that cliff. He’s been having nightmares. He’s been having nightmares most all the time. He’s tired and he misses Max.

“Well, you were there,” he sighs. “And now I’m starting to get really scared for Blue. I’m scared that if I go along with Anti, even if I do everything I can to minimize… I might still… I might still…”

He steps towards the bedroom. Blue is barely even responding to Dok’s attempts to wake him. He lies stiff in his bed, pale and worn, hugging a pillow to his chest. Dok shakes him gently. Blue does not move.

“I might still lose a sibling. And I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

He turns around again. You see his eyes, dark and alight at the same time.

“If I asked you to,” he says. “Do you think you could find a way to cause a distraction?”

Anonymous asked: maybe. a distraction for what? who would we be distracting? we'd have to know before agreeing.

“Who would you be distracting? Who do you think? I’m on camera here, I need you to make a couple assumptions. Actually… now that I think about it…”

Red wanders back to the living room, flipping the laptop Anti gave him open again. He rereads Anti’s note.

Gigi will try to get into the camera system. The code for you to access it is 3110.

Camera system, huh? Red glances up at you, eyes wary. A few minutes of typing later, he looks up again.

“Tell me if this does anything,” he mumbles, hitting enter.

Half your screens black out. Upstairs, Anti sits up, blinking.

“Red!” he shouts. “What the fuck are you doing!”

“Sorry!” calls back Red quickly. “Just trying to figure this out!”

Anonymous asked: half the screen went black. i doubt that's what you were trying to have happen?

You hear Red’s fingers clacking against the keyboard. Your screens blink back to life. There’s almost fifty of them across the whole of the house - enough that, to see all of them, you have to take the time to flick between different parts of the house.

“Turn the cameras off? Me? Becoming invisible in my own home? Of course that wasn’t what I was trying to have happen… why would I?”

He grins nervously at you, his eyes scanning for cameras.

nikkilbook asked: You beautiful clever boy

Red blinks in surprise, straightening up a little. After a moment, he blushes and shrugs, a smile blooming across crimson cheeks. “Aw, no, ha, no. Thank you, uh. Ha.”

Anonymous asked: now it's back. what are you gonna do next?

“I don’t know,” sighs Red. “Maybe this is dumb. Just causing more trouble.”

“Red!” calls Dok from the other room.

“What, my man?”

“Can you come help me with Blue? He threw up.”

Red gets onto his feet, hurrying towards his twin.

Can’t lose him. Can’t lose him. Can’t lose any of them.

No matter what it takes.

pine-storm-season asked: Blue, you okay?

“I do not feel good at all,” complains Blue thickly, draped half over the bed, held up by Dok’s hands. “I do not… ‘m going to throw up again.”

He lurches forward and is sick, relieved when Red appears and pushes a piece of tupperware beneath his chin, helping Dok hold him. Neither of them react to the vomit, and he’s grateful. This is so fucking humiliating already. Tears drip down his face as he vomits and coughs, hugging his churning, aching stomach.

“It’s okay, Zul, it’s okay,” whispers Red, brushing at his hair and his back. Dok monitors his heartrate carefully, his fingers warm against Blue’s neck. “It’s not your fault, buddy, it’s okay. Here I am.”

“I feel bad all the time,” cries Blue, rocking over the bed. “Why is it getting worse? Why won’t it stop?”

“I think he should see a working doctor,” whispers Dok. “He’s right, he’s getting worse.”

“You know we can’t do that,” Red whispers back, holding Blue’s sweaty head against his chest. “It’s okay, Blue, it’s alright.”

pine-storm-season asked: Has it been getting worse for a while, Blue?

“I was better for a while,” he moans. “But then he started wearing me every night and I - I think I’m losing my mind, I…”

He’s not getting sick anymore, but he’s only crying harder, breaking down despite himself. Everything stinks of sick. He’s disgusting and ugly and weak and useless. He hides against Red’s stomach and cries, listening to his brothers’ reassurances and promises to get him all cleaned up. He can feel Red’s fear and frustration in his own chest and he grips weakly at his twin’s hand, sorry for causing him so much grief.

nikkilbook asked: Okay, this might be an absolutely rubbish idea that could backfire in over a thousand ways, but... I think I might know where you could find a doctor off the grid who has access to everything he’d need.

“I have an off-the-grid doctor with everything we need,” grumbles Red.

“Red.” Dok rolls his eyes. “I’m a heart specialist with next to no resources. I want to take him to a hospital.”

“Man, I love you, but that’s a joke. Trick told me you once got shot and Anti didn’t take you to a hospital.”

Dok flushes, touching the scar in his stomach. “I was fine,” he answers crabbily. “Trick kept me alive. And we knew what the problem was and how to fix it. It wasn’t some weird progressive magic shit I have no idea how to handle.”

“Loving the optimism,” croaks Blue, wiping his mouth on a tissue.

“Red, what if he gets worse?” hisses Dok, trying to lower his voice. “What if his heart gives out or he stops breathing right or he really does start to lose his mind, what then?”

The fear in Red’s eyes is enough to make Dok almost regret saying it. Worse, his older brother has no answer. Red just shakes his head and strokes Blue’s short hair, staring down at him.

“Won’t let that happen,” he mumbles after a long moment.

“There’s nothing we can do to stop it if we’re just complacent,” answers Dok weakly, falling back. “Red, we can’t survive like this. We’re helpless.”

Helpless. Helpless. Red hatesthat. He clings to Blue’s fingers, shaking his head. He’ll find something to do. He’s not helpless. He’ll prove it.

Anonymous asked: Red I have an idea. You're going to hate it, and I don't know if it's a stupid or wrong thing to do, and it may just be trading one demons word for another... but it may get Anti out of the house long enough for someone to run upstairs for the medication.

Red looks up, reading the message carefully.

“I’ll go get stuff to clean this up,” he tells his siblings, stepping out of the room.

“I’m listening,” he tells you. “I was also thinking… well.”

He steps out of the house for a moment and pretends to take in the sights of the forest. Admittedly, it’s beautiful out here - the trees are tall and green and swaying and he can see a shining river cutting through the earth not far away, just past their property and winding deep into the woods. But there’s something else he’s showing you, too - the stones of the outside of the house, the rain gutter, and the great window of the master bedroom, above him.

But not too far above him.

He slips discreetly back into the house. You can hear Dapper whistling in the kitchen, trying to keep his spirits up as he helps Trick make muffins.

pine-storm-season asked: We'll see what we can do, okay, Blue? We'll do our best to make stuff better for you. You're gonna be okay, even though I know it really sucks right now.

“Thanks,” he tells you thickly, blowing his nose and accepting a glass of water from Dok. “Sorry I’m so lame lately.”

“We will look after you,” Dok insists. “We’ll do what it takes, okay?”

Blue looks up at his little brother gratefully, touching Dok’s beard. “My poor tired brother. Probably hurting just as much as I am, aren’t you, darling?”

“Only for moments at a time,” answers Dok, shaking his head. “I don’t spend every hour ill like you do.”

“Either way,” says Blue. “We gotta have each other’s backs.”

“And I do,” says Dok. “I have your back. I love you, Blue.”

“I love you too, Deutsch. It’s not your fault you can’t help right now.”

Dok looks away guiltily, shaking his head.

nikkilbook asked: If you decide to go for it, wait for this Gigi person to try and access the cameras. When they do, ask if you can talk to Dr. Edward Iplier.

“Hold on, hold on,” protests Red. “That’s a step past sneaking around the house. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we got a couple trust issues in this family. Far as I’m concerned, Gigi’s with Dark, and they’re not on our side. I gotta be cautious. I’m trying to get my siblings out of the frying pan without stepping right into the fire.”

Anonymous asked: Okay, I'll rip off the band-aid: run off into the woods with your laptop and screw with the cameras as much as possible before shutting them all off. That should send anti off to find you so he doesn't lose his bet. If you can, double back to the window, or have one of the others get the meds if you don't make it back. I know dark is a huge huge risk, but we're running out of options and time. Remember that this is entirely your choice though, Red.

Red’s eyes widen in alarm. He steps back from the door, staring.

“Just… run into the woods. Where that thing is.”

Their rotting face and cold smile. The great pillar of darkness like a plague sent by angels. The fear they made him feel.

He can’t do that. He can’t. Can he?

“R… right now I just… just need to get Dapper his medicine,” he says, backing away from the door once again. Red has no desire to encounter Dark ever again. His desire to keep his brothers away from Dark is still stronger than his desire to keep them away from Anti.

Anonymous asked: Jackie we don’t know how much longer you can play this safe, Marvin’s on borrowed time right now- anything is better than nothing. But ultimately it’s your decision and whatever you think is best we’ll help you as much as we can.

“I’ll think about it, I’ll think about it,” mumbles Red, picking at his lip. “I, uh. Did set up a pretty fucking clever security system this morning, if I do say so myself. Anti has his own security and then I add a more human flair to it… keep ‘em guessing. But I could maybe shut that down if I needed to. Er - sorry. Let’s not talk about this on camera. Just… if you could distract… a certain someone. The others would help you, I bet. I don’t know. I need to get…”

He glances up at the big master bedroom window again before he moves off to get the cleaning supplies he promised Blue.

Anonymous asked: you don't have to do it, red. and you definitely don't have to do it now. we'll see how stuff goes, okay? it makes sense to not run the risk of coming face to face with them again. i agree, they're kinda terrifying.

“It’s not… a bad idea. It would distract Anti. I won’t forget.”

nikkilbook asked: I honestly don’t know who the fire is in this scenario, bud. I’ve seen a thousand different versions of Dark, and I don’t know which one this is. I know Dap’s scared of him, but I don’t know anything beyond that. I do feel confident saying, though, that there are good people who live under Dark’s protection. A little wacky at times, but good.

“Yeah,” sighs Red. “Well… my family’s a little wacky too. A little fucked up sometimes. But still good.”

Anonymous asked: Yeah but stepping into that fire might make a lot of noise that could help you get them away from Big Brother, alright? I’m not entirely aware how the relations are between those on the other side of the camera but this might be your only chance at getting your voice heard. You might even be able to reach Jack.

“J - he doesn’t even remember who we are,” says Red. “I don’t know if he would help us if we could contact him. Dapper says they were friends. But Anti? Well, he’s told me some pretty messed up stories. And he has good points. Why do we deal with so much shit if someone created us? If he was nice, he would have been nicer to us. Anti says the scar in Chase’s head is from the first day of his life. That’s messed up. But we probably shouldn’t get into it now. We seriously need to shut up. Gah, I’m such a blabbermouth. I know I’m on camera and I still go off. Geez. Let me help get Blue cleaned up and then… if you can help me get where we need to go… yeah.”

He passes Dapper and Trick, smiling at the sight of them arguing over how long the muffins should be in the oven for. Everyone’s okay, for now. But in a couple days?

He really will be helpless. The thought makes his stomach burn.

Anonymous asked: Hey Trick, where's Noodle right now out of curiosity?

“Aw, he stays in the pool room most of the time, I got a little sandbox and everything set up for him. Don’t want him running upstairs while I’m not looking. I’ve seen Anti kick stray cats. He gets scared.”

Trick goes to the door that leads downstairs, where you have a single camera with a view on the pool table and a little TV set up with a couch. Noodle is asleep on the cushions. Trick imitates a meow and his cat perks up instantly, trotting to the stairs to mewl back at him. Noodle runs up to him and Trick pulls him into his arms, hugging his kitten tight and burying his face in his fur as Noodle purrs.

pine-storm-season asked: Yeah, you're both doing really well right now. It's a fucked-up situation, and it sucks, but I think you both are handling it really well. Hopefully stuff gets better very soon.

“Yeah, we’re doing our best, aren’t we?” murmurs Red as he comes back into the room, spreading some of Noodle’s litter on the throw up to dry it out so he can clean it up later. He strips the sheets off the bed and gives Blue a washcloth to clean his face and nose.

“Why don’t I move you to the couch so you can lie down somewhere without a mess instead of just hanging out on the mattress?”

“No, please,” begs Blue, snuggled against his pillow again. “I can’t get up, Red. I’m so tired. Just let me sleep here.”

Red sighs and pushes at his twin’s hair. “Okay, buddy. I’ll crack a window. It’s going to be okay.”

Anonymous asked: Do you think using Blue as a distraction would be enough to get Anti out of his room? I think he might expect you to be by his side though, Red, so maybe Dapper or Trick could climb up?

“Use Blue? Hm. I’d have to tell him what’s going on and see if he’s okay with it, but I could. I think he’d do whatever Dapper needs. What would he do to distract him?”

bupine asked: red, do you think if we bothered anti with the information we know about his past, that could work as a distraction? i want your permission before we do so, because it could backfire and have disastrous consequences. but it also could work to make him yell at us while you did something, i'm not sure. what do you think?

“Yes, that would be okay, as long as you can get him out of his room,” says Red. “I don’t care if he gets mad - he will be mad, really mad, when he finds the you-know-what missing. I’ll tell him I took it then, so he doesn’t punish Dapper.”

Anonymous asked: I think Blue being in the state that he is, just being this sick and getting worse should at least be enough to get Anti's attention. I don't think anti will agree to taking him to a hospital per se, but if he comes down long enough to at least entertain the argument from you and Dok it may be enough time to send trick or dap upstairs and back. And hell, at least putting the idea that blue is immensely I'll in his head has to be good for something, right?

“Yeah, maybe I should go ask him to look Blue over, ask if we can go to the hospital,” murmurs Red, chewing on the nail of his thumb. “Okay… okay.”

He steps cautiously towards the stairs and climbs up one at a time on quiet feet, neglecting his usual enthusiastic stomping around the house. He pauses at the top of the stairs, peering into Anti’s room. His brother is on the couch playing with his laptops, wearing a green-haired form in a band t-shirt.

bupine asked: hey there, anti. how are you? still sick from all the magic stealing?

“Shut up,” growls Anti, who has, in fact, been almost as sick as Blue this morning. He needs a body of his own and never gets one. He kicks his blankets off of himself irritably, shifting into a sulking dog on the bed as he watches old videos of Dapper.

“Hey, Anti,” comes a soft voice.

Anti looks up, irritated to be disturbed by anyone other than his little brother.

“I want to take Blue to the hospital,” says Red, trying to stand his ground sturdily. “Dok says he’s not doing well.”

The dog rolls its eyes, shaking its head. “Don’t be stupid, Red.”

“He’s really looking bad, Anti,” says Ro, squirming in place. “I’m scared.”

“Oh, you’re scared? Stupid fucking…” Anti gets up, turning back into a human and slamming his laptop shut, pacing out to stand at the banister above the stairs, glaring.

Anonymous asked: anti, blue really is getting worse. if it's not possible to take him to a hospital, could you at least see if there's another way to get him medicine or something that he would need? he's really not okay.

“Well, what does Dok say?”

“I don’t know, he’s downstairs with him!”

Anti rolls his eyes hard and grabs Red by the shirt, dragging him downstairs. Anti appears in the doorway of the bedroom and Dok jolts away from Blue, the hair on his arms standing up. He wraps his arms around his belly and backs away for a moment, only to come hurrying back to stand in front of Blue, trembling.

“What’s going on?” asks Trick, passing by with a soda in hand.

“Go get Blue some Sprite for his nausea,” says Anti, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s just got a bad stomach.”

“Sprite won’t help,” spits Dok - or tries to spit, his voice coming out frail.

“Shut the fuck up, Dok. No, actually, tell me what the hell’s got you little idiots so concerned.”

Red backs carefully away, heading towards his laptop and flipping it open in the living room.

pine-storm-season asked: Dok, could you say what's going wrong with Blue? And if you have ideas how to fix it, could you say those too?

“This weakness and constant sickness is absolutely relentless on him. He can’t take all this - ”

“It’s like a chronic illness, Dok. I’m not saying it’s fun, but he has to learn to handle it.”

“If it’s a chronic illness, there’s no reason he should be suffering through it without a proper examination and medicine, and the fact that it’s chronic does not mean it couldn’t be… couldn’t be… deadly.”

Blue shivers on the bed. He just wants to hide from all this. He doesn’t want Anti to touch him. He wraps his blankets over his head and tries to go back to sleep.

“You don’t even know what’s wrong, do you?” sneers Anti, taking a step towards Dok. “Some doctor.”

“I read books while I was with the magicians - ”

“Oh, come on!”

“He won’t get better, Anti! He won’t! He needs help. He struggles in the world. You’re the one who did this to him. He needs his lungs and his digestion and his heart all looked at, I’m scared what might happen!”

“You’re always scared.”

Anonymous asked: (remember, red; when you look for what you need, do you need what holds it? or just the thing itself? if you can leave its container where it is, someone else might see it and assume all is well)

“We’ll have to look at it when we get up there. I think it’s one of those clear bottles, the orange ones.”

He messes with the keyboard and for a second, your screens go black again. He’s turned off three of them - the two in the master bedroom and the one that watches the back side of the house.

“Hold on, I might be able to…”

Your vision returns across the screens, but the three he turned off now have a small symbol in the corner - an eye with a slash through it.

“You should be able to see it,” he mumbles. “But I don’t think he will. Maybe.”

He’s never had time to test it. He does know that if Anti notices the screens are off, he’ll be able to turn them back on immediately, no matter if he has his laptops with him or not. Red can spend time in the camera system, but Anti lives there.

“I’ll hurry,” he whispers, and races out the back door, flipping up his blue hood over his eyes. The river in the woods whispers at him and you see a flash of movement in the trees.

Anonymous asked: Anti if something goes wrong medically due to a chronic condition, I highly doubt Dap will be able to go back far enough to prevent it from being deadly if that's what it ends up becoming. Ignoring symptoms won't improve them.

This makes Anti pause, shuffling on his feet. He’s not used to their injuries being something Dapper can’t fix. Hell, Dapper tells him he’s killed them before just for the hell of it, and he believes it of himself. It makes him laugh.

But permanently losing one of them… well, he wouldn’t want it to happen accidentally. He steps over to the bed, smirking as Dok cowers away from him like an under-sized dog, though he refuses to step away from Blue’s body. Anti sits down on the side of the bed and draws the covers back. Blue doesn’t bother to open his eyes. Anti rakes fingers through his hair, gripping his chin and turning his head back and forth.

“Feel his heart,” mutters Dok.

Anti pushes at Blue’s throat and finds his pulse, weak and erratic. He frowns.

“He was fine in Singapore,” he says. “Just a little weak.”

“He is getting worse,” growls Dok.

“He shouldn’t be,” answers Anti, raising an eyebrow. “Sure you’re not mercy-killing him or something, Dok?”

“Don’t even joke,” hisses his older brother.

“No, I wouldn’t put it past you,” sneers Anti. “Little sadist. You know, they say most serial killers are medical staff.”

Trick comes back with Blue’s Sprite and Anti turns his head to him, cutting himself off before saying anything else.

Anonymous asked: Anti, possessing Blue only helps you feel better because it's his magic you stole. If he dies, sure, you can possess anyone else, but you won't have Blue! The magic's just gonna get worse and worse! Even for purely selfish reasons, you need to invest in Blue's continued survival, and that means q more holistic medical approach than Dok can provide.

“Well, look, as I’ve told you, I don’t have any way to give the magic back, so don’t stop harping on me about that again,” says Anti. “I, uh - I don’t regret it, but I will admit it was poorly-researched.”

“Ohhh,” says Dok, in a tone like he’s about to say more, but Anti shoots him a look and he falls silent, glaring at the floor.

“But here’s what you’re all forgetting - if this is because of the magic withdrawal, there’s nothing a doctor can do.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” protests Dok. “You said he improved at the hospital in Singapore! If nothing else they could give us more time to figure out how to fix this. And why discard it when we haven’t even tried?”

Anti turns away, thinking.

On the other side of the house, Red leaps up and positions himself between the gutter and the stone of the house. He finds his foothold, adjusts his grip, and begins to climb up towards the master bedroom, his feet finding places in crevices and cracks when they have to, moving like he’s climbing mountains.

pine-storm-season asked: He's scared for a reason, Anti. There's a not-that-low chance that it could kill Blue, he's just getting worse. Anti, he needs help or he might die. and even if you in particular don't care that much about it, the others do. a lot. Blue needs help and you're in charge of getting him some.

Anti sits for a moment, looking at Blue, petting his hair.

“He is so ugly these days, isn’t he?” he murmurs, tilting his head at him. “I tore that dignified pretty boy with all that lovely hair down to scraps and pieces.”

Blue does not move. You’re not sure if he’s awake or not. Dok glances over at Trick, who’s busying himself with adjusting the blinds to let Blue sleep. His brother sees him looking and smiles at him.

“But he is still… hmm.” Anti draws his hand away from Blue’s hair, looking down at him.

Here is someone who has destroyed and hurt him in the past. Seeing him brought low, seeing him cower at his feet, killing Marvin - that was one of the greatest satisfaction’s of Anti’s life. And he’s enjoyed torturing him since. But he belongs to him and he isn’t allowed to slip away or escape, not even by dying. He’s a piece of the puzzle.

“Well, we’re stuck in the forest for a while yet, though I’m sure I could sneak one of you past Dark if I really had to,” says Anti, checking a watch that he makes appear on his wrist. “Four more days of the game, or until he catches one of you. I don’t much mind either way.”

“Anti, please - ”

“He can hold on four more days,” growls Anti, warning Dok into silence. “Don’t fuss so much. He’s just tired. Let him rest. And then - oh, yes, perfect! Ippy can look at him. He’s as nuts as you are, my darling, but at least he has a real clinic set-up, last I checked. He can get a real check-up then.”

Dok opens his mouth to protest, uncertain, but four days is a better promise than nothing.

Upstairs, Red opens the window to the master bedroom and slips inside the room, searching for Dapper’s Haldol.

“Where is it, where is it…”

pine-storm-season asked: So four days or less, and then Blue gets help? Now, I apologize if I'm mistaken, but I don't exactly trust you to keep to that, Anti.

“I don’t exactly give a fuck about any of your opinions,” answers Anti cheerfully.

“Anti,” laughs Trick, appearing behind him and draping himself over his shoulders. “Be nice to the cameras.”

“You two really are twins.” Anti leans back to kiss his cheek, pulling his head close to his own. “What are you up to? Huh?”

“Haha, just cooking most of the time. And playing pool.”

“Mh, yeah. You like playing around, huh? My Trickshot.”

Trickshot laughs as he’s pampered, pressed close to Anti’s body.

pine-storm-season asked: Trick, do you want Anti to stay here a bit? He's usually upstairs, isn't he?

“Hey, yeah, come shoot pool with me!”

“I’m not going to shoot fucking pool, haha. I don’t play pool, Trick.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, that’s dumb.”

“Are you embarrassed you can’t play?”

Anti turns around and flips him over his side, laying him out on the ground. Trick shrieks and then bites down on his lip, laughing.

“We’re going to wake Blue up!”

“Get your ass out of here,” scolds Anti, getting up and pulling Trick after him, shoving him towards the door.

“You are always upstairs, though, you never hang out with me.”

“You can come upstairs,” says Anti fondly. “I’ll let you play games on the computer or something.”

“Okay!”

Anonymous asked: Cam you at least look into stealing some medical equipment or Something in the meantime, Anti? Thank you giving the chance for an actual checkup in four days, because I think that'll help a lot, but is there nothing you can do before then? Like, even a heart monitor so it's easier to keep track of how Blue's doing, or an oxygen machine, or any of the setup he might get in a hospital? I don't know if you have to stay here to try to keep Dark from winning the game or something

“I’ve been through the shit in the medicine cabinet,” says Anti, turning to look back at Dok. “I’ll unlock for you as long as you don’t get into the fucking sleeping pills like you used to. There’s at least some basic stuff in there for the nausea and headaches, and I think a blood sugar kit and that sort of thing.”

“Okay,” says Dok quietly.

“He’ll be fine, Dok.”

Dok looks up. For a second, it almost sounded like Anti was trying to comfort him.

Anonymous asked: agsjdjdksf trick you're a delight. do you just play pool by yourself? i thought it was usually a multiplayer game. ill be honest i love the idea of seeing anti with a pool cue tryna put some balls into holes. seems a very analog form of entertainment for him hahaha

“Haha, you should play with me, you would like it!”

“No.”

“I’ve been playing with Dap and sometimes Red and Dok. Not going to lie, Dap’s pretty good - but there’s a reason they call me Trickshot, baby.” He winks at you and then laughs.

bupine asked: why are you watching old videos of dapper, anti? don't you have more important things to be doing, like making sure your brothers don't die? like blue, the one you hurt? he's really fucking sick, anti. he's going to die if you don't do anything.

Anti turns on you, his face dark. “None of your business,” he spits, pulling Trick closer to him. “Nosy little bastards. I wouldn’t have a camera in my room if Dap didn’t stay in there, I’ll have you know. Need to start turning the damn things off. Prying eyes.”

Upstairs, Red pauses, looking at the images on Anti’s screen. There’s a young man in a black and white suit pressed against the back of what might be a big dog kennel, trying to keep away from the fingers that are petting at him. He has teal hair and blood on his fingers. Red’s heart aches for a second. His baby brother. It’s like he’s never had a day of relief in his life.

Anonymous asked: Dok, I know we're probably not gonna do much better than 4 days and he just called you a serial killer but Red needs a little time, can you do something to keep Anti down a few moments longer? For dap and Reds sake?

Dok blinks, alarmed. “What’s…?”

He peers out the hallway after his brothers, worried now. Blue mumbles something as Dok gets up and moves after them, trying to think, and almost immediately bumps into Dap.

“Dok? What’s wrong? Look worried.”

“It’s - I don’t know, the cameras said to distract him or something? I don’t know if something’s going on.”

“Oh. Distract Anti? Easy.”

Dapper pulls a knife out of his pocket and slams Dok into the wall with a bang, pressing the blade to his throat. Dok yells in alarm, terrified, and Anti and Trick turn around on the stairs.

“Dapper!” screams Trick, gripping at his chest.

“Carver, stop,” snarls Anti, stalking towards him.

“It’s not Dok! It’s not Dok! It’s not Dok!” screams Dapper’s free hand, his eyes gone wild, and Dok bites down on his lip to hold back an incredulous laugh.

Anonymous asked: Red, we're doing our best to start. If it's not upstairs, it may be on Anti's person in which case we may need a whole new plan but look a little longer, okay? Whether or not we get to the bottom of this, it's not for nothing.

Red scurries around the room, tearing open drawers and searching through the bedsheets, but he doesn’t see it for long minutes. He checks the bathroom - “whew, flower smell! a lot of flower smell!” - and then returns to the main room, leaning down to search beneath the -

“Yes!” he cheers, snagging the pill bottle from under the bed.

pine-storm-season asked: Red, be quick. I think Anti's coming back now. Only take a bit and put it back, too.

“Thank you, a-thank you very much,” says Red in a slightly Irish Elvis impression, quickly pouring some of the pills into his hand, enough to last Dap the week. It doesn’t leave much in the bottom of the bottle, unfortunately, but it’s the best he can do right now. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

He shoves the medicine into his pocket and leaps out the window, beginning to slide down the side of the house.

Anonymous asked: Dok: What do you have? Dap: A KNIFE! Anti: NO!

“Oh, VERY FUNNY,” shouts Anti, putting his hands on his little brother’s shoulders and yanking him away from Dok.

“It is a little funny actually,” says Trick weakly.

“Trick!”

“Sorry.”

Anonymous asked: whoa, dap, hey, it's okay!! it's alright. i know stuff's scary right now but it's okay. you don't have to hurt anyone, right? you're not in danger right now

“What’s wrong with you?” snaps Anti, striking the knife out of Dapper’s hands and pushing his wriggling brother into the wall. “Hey, you cut that out! Stop it, now! I know you’re not having an episode yet! You’ve been off your meds for about twenty minutes!”

“Medication can only do so much,” pants Dok, relieved to see Trick hurrying to his side. His twin wraps him into a tight hug and they stand side-by-side, holding onto each other. “He sometimes has symptoms even when he’s medicated. Especially if he’s been under duress.”

“This is why you should be upstairs with me,” hisses Anti. “You’re out of control.”

“It’s Dark, it’s Dark, making themselves look like my brother!” screams Dapper. “Dark, they’re in my house!”

“Dapper, stop!”

Right behind them, Red drops to the pavement of the patio and slides quickly into the door, pushing his hood off again and trying to stop panting.

Anonymous asked: Uhh Dok you know more about Dap's psychosis and delusions than we do but would it help if you just kinda,,, left the room for a second? So Dap can calm down and not think Dark's in the house? Maybe you can go find Red, last we saw he was having kind of a rough time in the other room, he was worried about Blue. And then when you come back maybe Dap'll have an easier time, especially if Red's with you and trusting you?

“I’m not leaving him alone with Anti if I don’t have to,” says Dok.

“Hey,” says Trick quietly.

“No, don’t try to talk me out of - ”

“Dok, I’ll stay here with him. Go check on Red, okay?”

With Anti there, Dok can’t explain to his twin that Dapper’s pretending. And with the way Trick’s been, Dok can’t explain to him that even if he’s here, Anti could hurt Dapper. He doesn’t think Trick would even recognize that if it happened. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know who Trick is these days.

“Hey,” says Trick, and his voice is the same as when he found the dark bruises on Dok’s wrist. “Hey, trust me.”

Dok is trying. Dok is trying.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay.”

He lets go of Trick and slinks away, finding Red in the living room. The two of them stay close at hand, listening for trouble, Red’s hand resting gratefully between Dok’s shoulder blades.

Dapper takes Dok leaving the room as his cue to draw the performance to a close. He lets his breathing slow and the snarl fade from his teeth, though his body still shakes and his eyes stare dead ahead, angry and cold.

“You’re losing it,” growls Anti. “Get a hold on yourself. This is pathetic.”

“You’re the one who brought me back to that monster,” snarls Dapper. “And you were the one who made them scare me so badly I had the first psychotic episode of my life. Dark was the stress that broke my diathesis and you brought me back to them like it means nothing to you. You brought me back to them when I might not be schizophrenic if I never met them. You - ”

Anti slaps Dapper so hard his head crashes against the wall of the house. Trick screams in alarm, rushing forward without even knowing what to do, putting a hand on both Dapper and Anti.

Dapper lets out a dry croak, tears welling in his eyes. All his training, imprinted into him from years of conditioning, seems to rush back to him in an instant. He cowers against the wall, shaking for real now, tears running down his face.

“You’re a fucking brat,” hisses Anti.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” cries Dapper.

“Anti!” shrieks Trick. “Stop it, leave him alone!”

pine-storm-season asked: Anti, he can't control it. Leave him be, okay? He's trying. He's just human.

Anti can feel Trick’s heart pounding in the space where his hand lies on his arm, holding him back from Dapper.

“Whatever,” spits Anti, stepping back. “Whatever.”

Dapper hides his face. Trick pants, staring at Anti, his free hand moving to linger over his heart, the fingers curling uncertainly.

Anti moves back towards the stairs, scowling. His palm stings from slapping Dapper. In the hallway, he sees Red staring back at him. His oldest’s eyes are cold and glittering. Anti bites his teeth, growling.

“Whatever,” he repeats in a mumble, turning away.

bupine asked: anti, this isn't dapper's fault. he's scared and seeing things, ok? he's not in his right mind and if what he just said is true, which i obviously believe it is, you did bring him back to the most triggering person you possibly could have brought him to. can you blame him? it would be like if you were brought back to your old master, put at his mercy. wouldn't that be scary, anti? can you understand now why dapper is afraid?

Anti pads up the stairs, gripping the banister. As soon as he’s on the second floor, he hears Red and Dok and Dap and Trick all rushing towards each other and murmuring together. Holding each other’s hands and kneeling down to be close.

“Jack was the one who made him schizophrenic,” says Anti. “Jack was. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t Dark’s fault. I love… I love… it wasn’t our fault. It was Jack. It was Jack!”

He strikes his door as he passes it and angry cherry blossom branches snarl across the wood, tearing holes in the door that guards his room.

He sinks down beside his bed, pulling a computer onto his lap. He fast-forwards through the video without having to touch it, his eyes flickering as it settles on a few days forward. Dapper, five days old, crawls carefully out of the little cage and takes an orange slice from Anti’s hand. Anti touches his hair. Dapper smiles nervously and puts the orange in his mouth.

Anti slumps down against the bed, holding his head in his hands.

“It’s Jack’s fault,” he mumbles.

Anonymous asked: (hey red, don't forget to undo what you did in the first place that made this whole thing feasible)

“Right, right, thank you.”

Red races to his computer, letting Dok and Trick look after Dapper, and quickly turns all the screens back on. The crossed-out eye disappears. Anti can see everything again.

And then Red disappears too, slinking away, out of the view of the cameras, and when he comes back, he has only one pill in his hand, and the rest are gone somewhere you cannot see.

Anonymous asked: Hey, Dap, Anti's gone now. He went back upstairs. Take as much time as you need because that was scary and awful as fuck, but he's away for a bit. He's not going to hit you again. It's okay.

“He always gets his hands on me again.” Dapper wraps his arms around himself and rocks against the wall, crying hard, though he can barely even tell why. His pain tolerance is high and the slap didn’t hurt, but it scared him. “He always hits me again.”

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Dok is whispering, prodding gently at his face. “This will bruise, but that’s all, that’s all.”

Trick stands numbly besides them, his hand resting on Dapper’s shoulder. He doesn’t feel very well.

bupine asked: this isn't all jack's fault, anti. you and all of us know that. you are aware that jack could have actually loved you, right? just because you were a mistake as a creation doesn't mean you weren't wanted. i believe you're just scared to admit that all of this could have been prevented. that you could have been happy.

“Don’t!” screams Anti. “Say that to me! No, no! No, that’s not true!”

It’s like a storm’s been unleashed across his computers, and for once, Blue’s power does not rise in him at all. Just his own. Just Anti. Every screen is flickering and glitching and every one of the computers in his room shows a different image - Jack laughing at the fake blood on his neck, Jack hugging a younger man with the same soft, downy brown hair as he has to his chest, Jack in a cat mask, Jack and Chase.

The truth is that, because of what Dapper did, many of the images no longer exist and never did in this timeline, but Anti doesn’t know that. He is digital in his nature, down to his core, and his memories transfer into images whether they exist on the internet or not. Maybe that’s why, after a moment, every smiling image seems to turn cold and angry, every version of Jack’s mouth turns down, every glimpse of his blue eyes glares.

“He was a coward! He didn’t want me! He threw me away!”

Anti throws his laptop across the room, shattering it in half, and he tears at his hair, screaming. The antlers are growing out of his skull again, breaking through the bone, and he howls as he tries to snap them off, though today he seems unable to manage it. His eyes are black and blood pours from his throat so fast you hear him begin to hyperventilate, his whole neck splitting open. His head might fall right off his shoulders.

“He made them all just to hurt me, just to protect himself! When he was all I knew! When he was everything I had! Traitor, traitor! He sent them after me and then he watched! He watched as they beat me into essence! He watched and I was screaming for him!”

The lights in the house burst and across your cameras you hear everyone but Blue gasp in surprise as the power goes out. Anti himself yelps, jolting against the bed, and goes quiet as a faint plume of smoke drifts from one of his laptops, curling towards the window.

Anti sits at the foot of his bed, holding himself, staring dead ahead.

“He didn’t… do anything,” he says after a long moment. “Just… just held Dapper. Cause I guess… he was someone worth saving, but not me.”

Anti picks at his lip, his eyes fixed on the wall.

A pause, and then the bitterness comes back to him, like it always does.

“Well, he’s mine now,” he whispers, turning away from you, his eyes dark. “He’s mine now and Jack will never get him back again. He’s mine.”

He tries to sound intimidating, but he is a twenty-three year old with barely any beard and short brown hair, his eyes huge on a pale face, his accent embarrassed and uncertain, alone in a cabin in the woods.

Anonymous asked: Dap, are you calming down? You're okay, buddy.

“Here, come on, we’ll go hide,” whispers Red, returning to his brothers. “Let’s go downstairs with the cat and we’ll hide out, okay? We’ll be real quiet while brother is mad, it’s okay. Dok, take them downstairs, yeah?”

“Yes,” agrees Dok anxiously, shaking from the power outage, pulling his little brothers to their feet. “Yes, come on.”

Neither Dapper nor Trick protests, looking numb and shell-shocked. Red lets them go, glancing around the house. He doesn’t know how long they might have to hide for. If Anti finds out about what he did, things will only get worse. He grabs his laptop and some nuts and bread and fruit and sets them on the stairs that lead to the basement before going back for the most important cargo of all - Blue.

“Here, buddy, I got you,” he murmurs, scooping Blue, blankets and all, into his arms. His twin does not stir. Red quiets the fear in himself and carries Blue gently downstairs, where a small guest bedroom will hold him instead.

“Are we okay?” he murmurs, coming back to his younger brothers, huddled together on the couch in front of the TV.

Dok nods uncertainly, gripping the both of them. Red kneels in front of Dapper and presents him with the pill. “Ta-da!” he says gently, patting his knee.

Dapper lights up immediately, the anxiety washing off him. He clicks his tongue joyfully and throws himself at Red, wrapping a hug around him and making Red laugh, holding his back in return.

“I got you, little man,” he says, patting his ribs. “I always got you.”

Dapper puts the pill in his mouth and swallows, feeling better already. “That was worth it if it gets me my medicine.”

But Trick, on the other side of the couch, doesn’t seem to agree. He’s sitting still and stiff, crying quietly, hugging Noodle to his face.

tristarlolly asked: I can't help but be reminded of the first ask I ever sent through the cameras, Anti. I complemented you on your "dollhouse" and asked about Jack because I knew you were the only one who could answer anything about him. You told me you were happy with what you have and you didn't need him. I don't think that was true then, and I don't think it's true now. You don't know what happiness is and your pursuit of it has only led you in violent circles.

“Oh, fuck,” says Anti, very tired. “I hate circles.”

Anonymous asked: Hey. Anti. Don't get me wrong, I don't particularly care about how distressed you are, but you need to calm down. It's scaring the others, and sometimes I really fucking pity you, so here; Anti, you've won, you've gotten your revenge. You're in control, and you know this, yeah? Calm down.

“They should be scared. I want to go beat the shit out of that little brat. But it’s never fun anymore. I don’t know when it stopped being fun. Even with Dok, it barely makes me laugh now. Why make me like this and then not even make it fun anymore? I hate him… I hate everything. I want… I… I want Dark. I want Dark to tell me I’m perfect.”

He gets to his feet, almost staggering. “Maybe they’re in the forest. Yeah, I - I’m in control. And you’re… you’re wrong, it is enough. It is enough. I don’t need Jack. I don’t want him. As soon as I’m in control again, it will be enough. I’ll be happy. Fuck, the fact that some of you have been here since the beginning… fuck.”

Anonymous asked: Trick?... How you holding up? If you want to talk, we're here. Your brothers are here. If you need a little time that's fine too.

“I’m having a panic attack,” cries Trick, grasping for Dok. “I’m having a panic attack.”

Dok gets up and surrounds his brother in an instant, alarmed. Trick hasn’t had a panic attack in weeks.

“I’m here. I’m right here, okay?”

“Does he need - is he - ?”

“Just give us some space, alright?”

“Okay, right.” Red backs off, retreating to Blue’s little bedroom, though he listens carefully by the door. Dapper sits uncertainly on the other side of the couch, touching Trick’s wrist.

Anonymous asked: Anti.... if strangers from the internet can't validate your actions and you feel like you can't do the same either.... By all means, feel free to look elsewhere, rinse and repeat, as you've always done, but self-reflection and change aren't outside the realm of possibilities for you to be happy.

Anti just shakes his head, his mouth parted slightly like he can’t find the right words, pacing out towards the woods. These are things he is sometimes - sometimes - aware of. But the fact that he could change is always, always over-shadowed by his fear: that Dapper would leave if he didn’t force him to stay. That all of them would leave if he didn’t force them to stay. That they would go back to Jack and he would be alone for the rest of his life, knowing that they’re happy and he never will be. Besides, there were times when living like this did make them happy, and he never did grasp the idea that cruelty is a fleeting satisfaction. He keeps trying to pursue it and it never sticks around, but he won’t change. He won’t let himself see that. He’s afraid.

“I won’t,” he says.

You hear it as he moves away from the house.

“I won’t. I won’t.”

He slips into a dog’s form and pads away, the grass soft beneath his paws.

He promised Red, didn’t he? This is the last time we try this. And if it doesn’t work… then there’s nothing left for him to stick around for.

And he won’t let the others go running back to Jack, either.

“I won’t.”

bupine asked: anti, i am truly so fucking sorry for what happened to you. that you felt so unloved you'd do all of this. and i so wish there was a way you could have seen how he would have cared for you if you'd given him the opportunity. i wish it wasn't too late for that. because jack didn't hate any of his creations, anti. you just didn't let him love you.

For a moment, it makes him pause.

At the edge of the woods, the body of the huge black dog, tall and proud and beautiful, beautiful, because not everything about Anti is bad. Not everything about anyone is bad, and you are right. About most everything. You are right.

That dog stands at the edge of the woods.

The shadows are cool and deep and dangerous, but he always seems to burn in the sun anyway.

He slips away, and is gone from your view.

Anonymous asked: trick, you okay, buddy? it's gonna be okay, love, just breathe. you have your brothers with you, everyone's okay.

“I can’t think!” Trick cries, gripping at his head. “I can’t - I - there’s walls inside my skull, Deutsch, help me!”

“Hey, you’re alright, you’re alright.” Dok holds his shoulders, shooting a worried look at Dapper, but his little brother has gone quiet and distant, touching the stinging handprint on his cheek and staring right ahead, his posture small.

“No, I’m not alright, everything’s wrong!” screams Trick. “This isn’t right, I can’t think, I can’t see?”

“You can’t see?”

“I think I’m possessed, I’m possessed!”

Dok takes his head in his hands and forces his gaze up, examining Trick’s eyes, but there’s no sign of Anti or anything else. “Trick, I think you just got a shock. My brother, it’s alright now. Everyone’s here and no one’s hurt.”

“No, no, no, that’s not true, that’s lies, that’s lies in between my skull, I think I’m possessed!”

“Just let it out, alright, and then we’ll work on calming down, calming down…”

And Dok is there, as he always is - no, that isn’t right, because wasn’t he gone away from him for a time? But where? And how long? It seems like those days passed in strange blips of time, his memory of it coming and going, his recollection blinking in and out, Blue asking him what’s wrong with him again and again while his brain skips over the thought of his twin and his heart keeps hurting. He digs his nails into his cheeks, weeping; he can feel the imprint of Anti’s hand against his face as he goes crashing to the floor, Blue standing over him and shouting for Anti to leave them alone, and none of it is true, and none of it is right, but all of it is true, and all of it is against the rules.

“No, no!” he hears himself shrieking over the sound of soothing voices. “No, I don’t know, I don’t remember, what’s wrong with me?”

“Trick,” someone begs, and it isn’t even his name. He doesn’t even remember his name. He doesn’t even remember his babies. Soft skin and bumpy infant heads, huge dark eyes and a slobbering mouth using his finger as a pacifier. Cigarette smoke and acrylic nails. The thud of Dapper’s head against the wall.

And it’s gone again.

“Why can’t I think?”

“Trick, you have to stop shouting!”

“My darling, what’s wrong? I’m here, it’s alright.”

“Ohhh, please make him stop, I can’t stand anymore screaming today.”

“Red, go upstairs if you’re over-stimulated, everything’s okay. Trick, we’re okay, we’re just taking a break, we’re okay…”

“In my skull…”

“Trick.”

Firm hands dig into his muscles and push and knead and comfort. Ah, this he remembers. Dok’s hands on him on nights when he’d been sitting so stiff for so long. So desperate to please Anti. Plastered to the window with the great sniper in his hands, watching, watching while Dok massaged at his aching muscles and tried to keep him company, to keep him comfortable. To stay with him. I’m with you.

“Trick. Chase.”

“H… Dok. I can’t…”

“Just be alright. We’re just alright. It’s okay. Here’s your cat. Calm down.”

“He’s not even my real baby.”

Noodle mewls.

Red paces upstairs, rubbing at his face. He needs a break. Trick’s been freaking out for almost two hours.

Anonymous asked: your brothers are here, trick, they'll keep you safe, they'll help you. you're gonna be okay. i know, it's terrifying and confusing and hard. but your brothers are right here, henrik is right here, you're going to be okay. breathe in, and breathe out, buddy. it's gonna be okay, i promise.

“It’s not alright,” cries Trick, gripping at his brother’s shoulders. “It’s… it’s not…”

“I know,” says Henrik quietly. “I know. It will be.”

“He slapped him… he slapped me…”

“He’s not kind.”

“No, no, that’s not right either, it’s not right. I must have - I must have made him do it, I - ”

“No, Trick,” croaks Henrik, curled around him. “Don’t go away again. You don’t have to start thinking like that again. Please?”

“Maybe if Dapper would just fucking behave - ”

“Trick!”

“He tried to hurt you!”

“No, that’s not what happened! Stop it!”

“There h-has to be a reason! There has to be! I have to make this make sense! Dok, I can’t breathe!”

Dapper stares up at them both from beside the couch. Blue is up on his feet between the four of them. He reaches down to touch Dapper’s head.

Anonymous asked: anti made that decision on his own, trick. it's no one else's fault that he did that. the reason is that he wanted to. it's not your fault, bud. it's no one's fault but anti's.

“Well, then it’s like he says, like he was made like that. His creator made him like that. He has a bad temper and he can’t control it. That’s all that’s all that’s all that’s all. He’ll be nice again tomorrow, I know. I know I know I know.”

Trick isn’t aware that he’s babbling or that his siblings have gone quiet around him. Dok is wide-eyed and silent. He never knows what to do anymore. He can never fix anybody who needs him.

“You’re all such fucking brats,” snarls Trick suddenly, and his voice sounds so much like Anti’s for a moment that Dok can’t help the wave of revulsion that shudders its way up his body. Blue must notice. He tugs Dok away from Trick. Dok wishes he weren’t grateful.

“Asshole, acting like you’re here to comfort us,” growls Trick, eyes squeezed shut, hands digging into Noodle’s fur. His cat mewls in discomfort, squirming on his lap, but Trick doesn’t let go. Noodle is his and he’ll stay where he wants him. “You think I forgot, Blue, when you mashed that pole into my skull just so you could watch Anti fucking burn without me? Fucking traitor. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“Trick,” Dok begins, but Blue just shakes his head, gripping his shoulders.

“No point trying to reason with him while he’s like this,” he says. “Trust me, we tried in Singapore, the cameras and I. They’re not even his own thoughts.”

“I want my baby,” cries Trick, his voice shattering into a wave of stammering, his heart pounding hard in my chest. “I’m trying to be good, I am! Will he give me my baby back then?”

“Let’s just give him a little time,” murmurs Blue, but Dok doesn’t move, staring at his brother.

He’d rather Trick were as sick as Blue. He’d rather Trick were locked upstairs on his own. He’d rather Trick was with that monster in the woods. Anything but watching him turn into someone else. Anything but this. He touches his necklaces. For the day he’s ready to kill Anti. Anything but this.

Anonymous asked: hey, trick, buddy. it's going to be okay. i don't think he wants to do that now, no matter how much you do what he wants you to, trick. but you're going to be okay, love. can you tell us what's wrong? you're a little all over the place at the moment, so i don't know what would help you best.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” cries Trick. “There’s something in my head and nothing makes sense.”

“Dissociating?” asks Dok gently, creeping forward again to try and touch him. Blue frowns, but he knows better than to get between twins. He glances down at Dapper and tuts at the sight of the handmark on his face, reaching down to touch his beard fondly.

“No, no, I - well, maybe, maybe dissociating, maybe, maybe, cause nothing is right, nothing’s right, I’m f-freaking out, Dok, I’m freaking out. I just want… I just want… I don’t know, I don’t know what I want.”

He presses himself against the side of the couch, groaning and clutching at his cat.

“You want brownies?” offers Dok weakly.

Trick lets out a bewildered, frantic laugh, sharp enough to make Dok jump. “I… maybe brownies?”

“Bet Red would get you one of the ones you made from upstairs,” says Dok. “We just need to ground ourselves, yes? Something to touch and something to see and taste and hear and smell. I’m here, Trick. I’m here.”

cest-mellow asked: will antis magic wear off on him? what’s gonna happen to him?

“There are two problems,” mumbles Blue. “One - Anti still has access to him. Even if Trick is getting free of him moment to moment, nothing can wear off while Anti keeps getting his hands on him again and again. And two - this isn’t just magic, a spell that will fade given time. Anti is actively getting inside his head and changing the way he thinks. Something has to happen to snap Trick out of it, and then he needs space from Anti to stayed snapped out of it. But I… I don’t know.”

“It’s a good thing he’s having a breakdown,” cries Dok, desperate for good news. “Right? It means he’s fighting!”

“Anti’s power combined with the need to please him that Trick has always had - Dok, I don’t know how he’s supposed to get free on his own.”

“Well, I’m here,” vows Dok, turning his attention back to his twin. “Here I am to help, my brother.”

“You know, Anti’s right about you,” snaps Trick. “You need other people to be in pain around you or you can’t even feel good about yourself.”

Dok’s face falls.

Anonymous asked: are you having trouble remembering, bud? is that the problem?

“It’s like… I can’t think straight… like I’ll have a thought and then it’s right, but then a second later it’s wrong, and then it’s right, and then - and no, I c-can’t remember, but I keep getting these flashes, and I can’t hold on to them, and I’m just…”

He buries his face in the couch, shaking his head. “My depression has never felt like this before, my panic attacks have never felt like this before - am I psychotic, Dok? Does schizophrenia run in families?”

“It’s not that, I promise.”

Anonymous asked: try not to figure out if the memories are right or wrong, okay, trick? just try to see what they are, if you can, and don't try to figure out whether the memories are right or not. and if you can't hold onto a memory, let it go, okay? it'll come back. trust dok, okay? i think he knows which memories are right. i promise he just wants to help you.

“You’ll remember for me, won’t you?” he babbles, and you aren’t sure if he’s talking to you or Dok. “He has big big eyes and he’s perfect and warm. And I was braiding hair, I can braid hair, her dark hair. And I was in Singapore and Blue hit me. But Anti hit me too, haha. And I forgot, the next morning, and he kissed the side of my face. And there are fires and knives and girls with dark eyes.”

“Breathe,” Dok reminds him. “Breathe. You know how to get through a panic attack.”

“I can feel you touching me, like you always do when I’m s-scared, and I can hear the air conditioning, and I can smell your coat with green apple detergent, green apple detergent because we finally have a l-l-laundry room. I can feel you touching me like you always do when I’m scared.”

“That’s better,” says Dok. “That’s good.”

Blue hears the door to the backyard swing shut above him. He blinks, looking up to the ceiling.

Anonymous asked: Can someone Please take Nooddle away from Trick, before even his own cat starts to be afraid of him?

“They’re right, Trick, please,” says Blue calmly, reaching forward. “Please give me the cat, alright?”

“He’s my cat!” shrieks Trick. Noodle chirps as he tugs at his fur, barely even aware of the way his kitten is squirming beneath him. “He’s my cat, he’s mine, he’s supposed to be with me - ”

“He doesn��t want to be held!” Dapper signs suddenly, springing off the floor, and he reaches forward and snags Noodle from Trick’s lap before his brother can even make a leap for him. Dapper darts away towards the guest bedroom, Noodle pressed into his shoulder. Trick screams after them, striking the side of the couch with his hand, but he’s too shaken to get up and go after them, and he doesn’t want Dok to be apart from him.

immabethehero asked: Trick be nice! Dok wants to help you! Even if you don’t agree, that doesn’t mean you should be rude!

“Oh, the cameras always know what’s right, don’t they?” snarls Trick, sitting up again, another violent mood-swing back into anger. “You sit a million miles away and you all tell us what to do. Like you know anything about what we’ve been through. Like you know anything about my family! You’ve never liked Anti, I know, I’m not stupid, even if everybody thinks I am. I notice things. I know you were with Dok with the magicians and you told him to stay. I know you say all sorts of things to get him wrapped around your fingers. I know he wouldn’t get in trouble if he would just take these fucking things off!”

Trick wraps his hand around Dok’s throat, necklaces and all, yanking him forward. Blue yells and steps forward, grabbing his hands, but Trick is stronger than he is. His blue eyes bore into his twin’s. Dok stares back at him, eyes wide, choking for air, but his hand only rests on Trick’s, waiting, patient, here. Here I am. Here I am. It’s okay.

Trick blinks. His anger falters away. He lets go of Dok’s throat, shocked.

“Oh, no, Henrik,” he whispers, voice broken. “I didn’t mean…”

Anonymous asked: don't do that, okay, trick? dok's just trying to help. you're doing great otherwise, bud. breathe in, and breathe out, okay? i know, this must be really hard right now. but you're going to be okay. try to stay calm, bud. you're going to be okay.

Trick is just shaking his head. Blue is still standing above him, touching his hands, and Trick reaches for his big brother for a minute, a faint whimper on his mouth, and Blue doesn’t even know how to respond.

“I’m going to take a break,” says Dok, quiet and hoarse.

“Dok,” says Trick.

He means to tell him “I’m sorry,” but his stammer is so bad he can’t get the words out.

Dok gets up. Straightens out his coat. Pads up the stairs. Disappears.

Trick’s hand rests over his heart.

Anonymous asked: I don't mean this to sound mean but I really feel like someone else other than blue should be with trick rn. If he swings back into anger I don't know if blue will be alright to deal with this alone ":(

Blue stares down at Trick. He knows what you’re saying is true. But Dapper’s in the other room if he needs him, you’ll call for help if something happens, and, moreover - Trick looks like he’s broken clean in half.

“You know what,” says Blue.

You have not heard bitterness on his tongue for anyone but Anti in a long time. Trick looks up at him, stunned to hear vitriol in the voice of the sibling who’s meant to be his caretaker. The siblings who’s never called him anything but “my darling,” “my heart,” “my brother.”

“I think he’s done,” says Blue darkly.

Trick turns his face away from him.

Anonymous asked: Blue please don't leave him alone. Don't leave him with only anti to turn to for answers

Blue rocks on his heels, seething through his teeth, trying to find the right course of action.

He wants to leave Trick alone. He’s mad. He knows it’s Anti’s fault, too, but he can’t take that. Trick can’t start doing this. Blue won’t accept it. Won’t pretend nothing just happened. He can’t. He wants to cry. To scream? To hit something? He wants to go back to bed. He wants to leave Trick alone and he hopes that his little brother feels bad. Venomously, he hopes that his little brother feels bad.

But he doesn’t leave him alone.

Blue sits down on the other side of the couch, his hand in his palm, a sigh falling out of his mouth. He’d never forgive himself if Trick hurt himself or scampered back off to Anti.

“Just breathe, Trick,” he says, exhausted. “Can you tell Red it’s quiet again now? Maybe he’s ready to come back downstairs and then I can go off and calm down for a minute.”

Anonymous asked: On one hand, I understand that the bitterness and isolation is justified. But also, guys... if you all leave trick alone how do you expect him to not keep going back to Anti? If you're not careful this is probably going to fuel more ways for him to slither even deeper into his head

“We do what we can,” says Blue. “We’re all doing what we can. I’m ill and I’m angry and I’m still here, aren’t I? We do what we can and if it isn’t enough, we don’t take blame for that. We just don’t. Trick’s actions and decisions are nobody’s fault… well, a little Anti’s, in this unique case, but still. Dok doesn’t have to stay with him after he hurt him. Hell, if he wanted to go and not forgive Trick at all… well, he’d be allowed to do that, and what Trick does afterwards would not be his fault. Dok has to take care of himself too. I think Dok will forgive him, but both of my brothers are hurting right now, both of them are vulnerable - all of us are vulnerable - and we’re all just doing what we can. And if that’s not enough… well.”

He turns his head bitterly away. “It never is, is it?”

pine-storm-season asked: Red, it's quiet now, could you come sit with Trick?

“Hm?” says Red.

From the camera in the backyard you can see him.

Gone very stiff.

Standing on the porch.

Eyes wide.

“Can I… oh, yeah, just, uh… a second, one second…”

He’s staring out the window, towards the forest. Dok pads into the living room and blinks to see him standing there.

“Uh, Red?”

“Hm?”

“What are you looking at?”

Red doesn’t answer.

Dok steps up behind him, letting the backdoor swing open and then closed again, adjusting his glasses and squinting.

“Is there someone in the woods?”

“You see him too?” breathes Red, his cheeks rising with a passionate blush, his eyes shining.

Dok takes another step forward. The pool laps quietly between them.

“Is that… that man you were with? In the marketplace?”

Red is aglow. Red is holding his own heart. Red takes a step forward.

“He found me again,” he says, his voice trembling, but not with despair. “He found me again. I could… Anti is away, we could just… he forgave me. He came back.”

Dok tilts his head, confused, but it looks to be true - there, hiding a little behind the trees, eyes wide and earnest, smiling at Red -

Max.

Jackie takes off at a run down the porch steps.

Anonymous asked: Oh god, this probably isn't Max...

“Shit,” hisses Dok, with one glance at you. “Shit!”

Red isn’t even listening to you, leaping down and racing across the grass. Dok snarls like a wild thing and leaps after him, desperation making his blood pump, reaching out to grab Red, only a few feet past the pool, the trees closer than he’s ever seen them. “Red!” he screams. “It’s not Max!”

“I know him now!” cries Red. “I forgot him once. I won’t do it again.”

“He’s a trick, Red! Don’t you think it’s a little too good to be true that the one person you’ve been longing for for weeks is just suddenly here in the middle of nowhere, grinning at you from our enemy’s hiding place?”

“He was too good to be true!” cries Red, struggling against Dok’s grip. “Dok, please, I’m begging you! He feels real, Dok. My heart!”

It stings at Dok, but he doesn’t let go.

pine-storm-season asked: Red. It's not Max. That's Dark. You remember Dark, right? How would Max get through these woods? He couldn't, Red. That's Dark. Red, come back to the house now.

“They’re right.” Dok grips at his arm, yanking him back towards the house, drawing a low cry out of his brother. “It’s Dark.”

“Dark made me afraid!” Red protests. “Just being near to them, it was like my heart was shaking.”

“Red, that’s what they’re doing now too. Don’t you get that? They manipulate emotions. That’s why you were so scared of them, and that’s why you’re convinced it’s Max now. Red. Red. They’re making you feel that way. It’s not real.”

The energy drains out of Jackie in a moment. He stares at Dok, mouth trembling. “I just… I just…”

“I know, my brother,” says Dok.

Anonymous asked: On another hand... If that is Max you need to shout to him to get out of here, I definitely don't think he's safe in these woods.

“Max, go!” cries Red, something in his chest snapping open and oozing out hurt. “A chuisle mo croi! Before he hurts you!”

He wants him to go. He wants him to turn around and go, and prove that it is him, it’s Max, he’s going and he’ll come back!

But the little figure of Max in the forest does not turn away from him. Red shakes his head, turning to stare at Dok, begging him to make things different. Dok just shakes his head at him, eyes apologizing.

Anonymous asked: red, tell max to come into the house for a minute. okay? harmless request, buddy. just have him come into the house for a few seconds.

“Yes, tell him to come over here,” says Dok, holding Red tight.

“He wouldn’t want Anti to know he was here…”

Dok covers the camera with his hand, blocking your view. “Tell him to come over now,” he suggests.

Red is silent for a long moment. There’s a shift of light as Dok’s body relaxes, letting go of Red’s arm.

He could call out for the fake Max to come over here, but he already knows the truth. Dok moves his hand away. Red is still staring out at the woods, eyes wide.

“Hey,” laughs Max’s clear rich voice, accent and all. “Hey, come over here. I miss you. Hey, come here.”

“My little brother was right about you!” Red reaches down to snag a rock and chucks it towards the woods. “You’re a creep!”

“Well, that’s not very nice,” says Max, laughing too long and too deep. “That’s not very nice, really. Don’t you think it would be fun? Wouldn’t you like to? I think you’d like to.”

“I think you’d love to,” repeats an echo of his voice, and then it wells up in Red so powerfully that it makes him double over, falling to his knees in the grass - affection, warmth, joy, love! Max, his Max!

“Leave him alone!” cries Dok, stepping in front of his brother. “Stop it!”

“What’s this?” purrs Max’s voice, growing deeper and deeper, the accent smoothing out, Americanizing. “What’s this? He doesn’t want to play? Why don’t you feel it, little doctor? Is that what you are? A doctor in his tattered coat? Maybe you’d rather sulk a little.”

Red’s joy turns to grief. He gasps against a wave of sorrow, deeper than oceans, about to tear him open. Dok grabs at him, alarmed, but he doesn’t feel the despair.

“Or anger?”

Red hollers, tearing out handfuls of grass with his hands, shaking his head, gritting his teeth so hard he might break them. Dok pants, nervous in the face of his fury, but he doesn’t move.

“No, how strange,” says Dark, tilting his head back, the daylight around them turning darker and darker. “How strange, that he doesn’t seem to want to share anything at all. What’s protecting you, little doctor?”

“Leave us alone,” snaps Dok. “We’re going back to our house.”

“Are you?” asks Dark.

“Are you?” laughs their echo.

Anonymous asked: blue, it's okay to be angry, and it's okay for dok to need space to calm down, but i think you need to be gentler with trick right now. you said it yourself that he's not fully in control of himself, and can't you see that he's sorry? i know you're tired of this, but he's terrified, and he needs some kindness. he deserves to be forgiven because it's not his fault that he's doing or saying hurtful things right now. he's sick, and anti did this to him.

“Come on!” protests Blue. “I am sitting here with him. What else do you want me to do, dude? Cuddle up with him and tell him it’s okay that he just assaulted the person who loves him most in the world? Tell him lies about how this is all going to be okay? I don’t have any comfort to give right now! I have limits. Aren’t I allowed have limits? Or am I supposed to be their caretaker to the point that I have to crucify myself on their altars even when they’re not in danger? Am I supposed to forgive him before he’s even taken a moment to look at what he did and stop it from happening again? Do I have to pretend it didn’t happen? I’m - I’m mad!

“Maybe you’re right, but I have to feel how I feel about this and Trick’s surviving for now. Can you give me ten minutes at least to be mad before you expect to come in here and kiss it better? I’ll comfort him when my head is clear and I don’t feel like my body is trying to destroy itself, alright? Please… I’m angry. I don’t have any hope to give him right now… I could use some comforting too, you know… but then again that’s all I need lately.”

He buries his face in his hands. “I wish I could make just one of them happy.”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, Dark is outside trying to get Red and Dok to go to him. He's disguised, and screwing with Red's emotions on a bad way. Do you know anything that might help them?

Dapper sits upright so fast that Noodle flies off his lap. The kitten, disgruntled by his long day, mewls as he lands on his feet and licks Dapper’s ankle in protest.

“Outside? With Red and Dok?”

Leaping out of bed, Dapper charges up the stairs without pausing to explain a word to Blue and Trick. He swipes his golden Christmas knife off the ground where Anti slapped it from his hand and races towards the doorway.

“Anti!” cry his hands, slashing across his throat. “Anti, come home now! I need you.”

bupine asked: dark? may we speak to you? we want to know how much you remember of anti. he told us much about you, much of his memories, but we'd like to hear what your side of it is. if that's alright by you.

“If it’s answers you want, I can provide. Just tell these little humans to come closer,” Dark entices, sliding forward, shape-shifting slowly as they go. They are masculine, feminine, feline, shadowed, shifting, but always terrifyingly beautiful, with eyes like dead stars. “I’ll talk to you, little doctor. Come on, don’t be so scared. You don’t look very well, you know. Has someone been hurting you? Skinny thing, pale thing, bruised beneath its shirt. I have food and medicine and shelter. Would you like to have a drink with me? Rich red wine til you’re drunk on it. I’ll give you whatever you need and make you stop wanting for anything at all.”

“You stay away from me!” shouts Dok, dragging Red back towards the house. “We don’t want anything to do with you here!”

“What’s around your throat, little creature? I’d like to see it up close.”

Anonymous asked: red, love, trust dok, go with dok, okay? dok is safe, let's keep you safe too, red. go with dok back into the house and you'll be safer.

“Red, come on,” begs Dok.

His brother is clutching his head, shaking, silent, curled taut against the ground.

“I know it’s a lot, I just need you to stay with me a moment longer! We have to get back to the house!”

“I think we’re close enough to the house,” manages Red in a whisper. “If they were going to attack us…”

“They would have done it by now,” finishes Dok, a little relieved. “Wouldn’t they have?”

Dark lunges forward in a cloud of shadow. Dok yelps as darkness blacks out your camera entirely. Dapper is whistling frantically from the porch.

Anonymous asked: Red and Dok, get in the house, now!

Dok staggers back in the direction he thinks the house is, dragging Red completely, who can’t do much else but holler and shake his head a little too hard to be safe. He slams into someone’s chest and recoils, but hands are already grabbing him and pulling him back. Terror burns across his chest until his fingers are pressed to - hair? Oh! Dapper’s mustache.

“Dapper,” he croaks, gripping his shirt.

“We have to get out of here!” answers a clear British voice. “It’s this way.”

“Oh, nice try, idiot,” snarls Dok, driving his elbow into Dark’s ribs. The fake Dapper falls back, snarling, and transforms. Red shrieks in alarm as gold panther’s eyes burn into them from the shadows - and then Dark is tearing forward, and the teeth of the panther latch into Red’s hoodie and yank.

“Red!” screams Dok in a blackness so deep he can do nothing but stumble forward as he feels his oldest brother tugged away from him. Red screams so hard his throat stings, completely paralyzed by everything happening all at once.

A body slams into both Dark and Red. For a moment, Dapper’s golden knife glints in the light of his own silver irises.

“Get the hell away from my brother!”

Dark lunges at Dapper and bites.

pine-storm-season asked: I know, Blue. I'm sorry. You're trying your hardest, and thank you for that. And it's okay to get fed up with them, and to need a break. You're human. No one should expect you to care for them every minute of every day. This sucks, I know. You're doing incredibly well in an awful situation, but you shouldn't have to be doing this at all. It'll get better, Blue, I promise. I know that's hard to hold on to, and I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you. But it won't be this bad forever.

“No, you don’t have to…” He lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to coddle me or anything like that, I’m just being a fucking mess as per usual. Oh. I mean… thank you, though. Thank you, really, I…”

He runs his hands through his short hair, his fingers loving at the places it’s begun to grow out again. He has an intense desire, almost suddenly, almost painfully, for his old hair back. But… then again, he can’t remember what that was like. He woke up one day in a bathtub, his hair dyed blue, Anti’s fingers against his scalp. There were strangers downstairs and a twin at his side and he was told to look after them. That’s all there ever was. The truth is, he remembers less than anyone of the person he used to be before this all started. He has no glimpses of past lovers, no connections to old friends still searching for him, no random memories to which he can travel for a few minutes of peace, and what time has he had to remember and explore the person he was and will be without Anti hanging over his throat? He’s their caretaker. That’s all.

“And not even a good one,” he mutters, letting his white hair go. “Not even a good one.”

A sharp scream makes him jolt up straight. For a second, there is a flash in his eyes like he might know magic once more - but it’s just the vitriol that lights up in him when he hears his twin cry out.

“Red!”

Anonymous asked: Blue there's something of a ruckus going on out back. With the emotional and physical state you and Trick are in, I don't know the best way to help out or if it's worth putting you two at risk as well. We don't really have a guage on the situation. I thought dap might explain but he just took off

“Fuck! I love that little shit, but he’s gotten way too used to having to clean up everybody’s messes all on his own. Trick, wait!”

Trick is on his feet, staggering towards the stairs. Blue grabs his arm, pulling him to his chest. “You need to sit down!”

“If that thing takes him away I’ll never get a chance to make this right!”

“We’ll go, but carefully!”

“No, I’ll go. You can barely get up the stairs on your own. Stay here, Blue!”

“Hey!”

Trick yanks away from his siblings and races up the stairs, panting and pale, leaving Blue limping after him.

“Where’s my fucking cane?” he hisses, staring in despair at the mountain of the stairs. “You gotta be joking.”

pine-storm-season asked: Trick, Trick, do you have your gun? Your brothers are in danger outside

Trick does have his gun. He always knows where it is. Always, always. Dok’s silver handgun fits venomously against his palm. He pushes outside - nothing but darkness.

The world has gone cold and silent. He stands in the doorway, pupils blown by the shadow, heart thumping in his chest. You can see his back illuminated. His front disappears into darkness.

He can’t see a goddamn thing.

Until Anti’s fire goes up in a blaze of white light, and a huge black dog races towards the jungle cat dragging a struggling figure back towards the trees, a howl of joy and adrenaline and anger all at once tearing from its fiery throat.

bupine asked: dark, you you earlier that we should bring the boys to you. how can we trust you when you're hurting them? i believe there's no way you can be worse than anti, although maybe i shouldn't speak too soon, but you need to stop this, please. don't hurt them.

“Don’t tell them anything!” Dapper says - or you think so. It is difficult to tell with half his arm mangled in the mouth of the panther. “They’re always learning and they’ll use it against every - ”

He cuts himself off as the teeth dig deeper into his wrist, tearing sinew. He throws his head back, eyes rolling from the pain, but not for a second does he stop struggling.

And then Anti is there.

“I’ll show you worse,” laughs his voice from every side, the dog crashing into Dark and biting its yellowed teeth. “You clever old gobshite, going for my strongest. I’ll tear your pretty white throat open for that, hahaha. Come on, get a better form out and let’s fight like the mangled excuses for living beings that we are.”

Anti shifts back into Jack’s form, his eyes blazing with color, his throat sopping blood, a huge white smile on his fanged teeth. From the porch, the bang of a gun, and Dark’s shadowed form falls back, dissipating into a heavy, buzzing smoke.

“Dance with me!” shrieks Anti, and he leaps forward, burning with fire and thorn. Whether or not Dark remembers, here is one truth - Anti has learned new tricks since last he saw them.

bupine asked: dapper, get back. are you alright? stay away from dark, get with your brothers to safety. let anti handle it.

“Dap!” Dok wraps his arms around him. Dapper gives a heaving gulp of air in lieu of a scream, struggling. It isn’t Dok’s job to save him. It’s Dapper’s to save them. He can reverse this if he just - if he just -

The pain stabs through him, disorienting any plans for time travel. Dok pulls him back towards the house as Trick grabs at Red, both of them moving towards the porch and hunkering down together, holding each other.

“I don’t want Anti to die,” confesses Dapper. “Especially not to leave us with the Darkness!”

“Stop trying to use your wrist!” cries Dok. “I need to clean this up! Anyway, it looks like he’s burning them down to ash.”

“He’s going to set the forest on fire,” fears Trick.

“They’re learning things about us! If they had really wanted to take one of us, they could have, I’m sure of it! They wouldn’t have come alone - they’re hiding their allies while they learn about all of us!”

“Stop goddamn signing, Dapper, I’m not joking! You’re losing blood! Can we just get inside the house?”

pine-storm-season asked: He's not going to die here, Dapper. Dark won't kill him.

“I don’t trust Dark with anything, anything, anything - ”

Dok pins his arm down against the kitchen table, trying to see the wound through the rapid blood flow. Trick sets an unresponsive Red down on the couch, pulling his brother’s hood up over his eyes before turning back to Dok.

Dok looks at him, putting all else aside for the moment. “I need - ”

“To stem the bloodflow before you can stitch it. I’ll get you a towel and try to find something for the pain.”

Outside, the foliage thickens as plants burst up from the ground, trapping a shadowy figure beneath bluebell and redwood, though it won’t last long.

pine-storm-season asked: Anti's said that Dark won't kill him. They know each other. He's not going to die here and leave you to them, okay? It's okay. You're in the house, you're safe.

“Safe from Dark,” moans Dapper, squirming. “But he has pets of his own.”

“I’ve got you. Just try to stay calm,” says Dok. “I’ll sedate you if I have to, wild man, don’t doubt me.”

“I don’t like them.”

“Dapper, we are all so, so aware of that fact. Acutely aware. Now hush. Doesn’t this hurt?”

It does. But it’s just pain, and Dapper’s had worse. He looks around at the others, checking their bodies for wounds even as his head swims.

bupine asked: dapper, you should all get inside. anti will be fine - he's survived everything up til now, and unfortunately, i doubt this old acquaintance of his will be the one to kill him. i'll be greatly surprised if so. but you guys need to be safe, because while anti can fight him, you can't. get dapper fixed up, doc, can you? everyone else, stay inside and wait for anti to come back.

Dok slams the door shut behind them and locks it - for all your reassurances, he can’t help but wish Dark would just kill Anti, or maybe that they’d both kill each other, like digging your teeth deep into something poisonous. But Dapper seems a little convinced, his eyes roaming the messages, and he goes stiff against the kitchen table, his eyes sliding shut as Dok takes a towel from Trick and applies agonizing pressure to his wrist.

“He can’t lose his hand,” says Trick quietly. “He kind of needs that.”

“You think I am not aware of this? Get me water.”

They always tell patients it’s to make sure they stay hydrated, but it’s mostly psychological - this will help! You’re doing something to stay alive! Good work! Focus on that! Trick knows the drill.

pine-storm-season asked: Everyone's safe for the moment, right? All five of you in the house?

Blue slams open the door to the basement, panting hard, and shoots a glare around at his brothers, though the venom dies in his eyes within seconds and his worry makes him gentle again. He swoops forward on shaking legs to kneel at his twin’s side, staring up at Red’s scrunched-up face.

“Did he scare you again, love?”

Red doesn’t answer, gripping his hood over his eyes. Blue gets up to dim the lights and find blankets.

“We’re okay, we’re okay,” he chants in a loving rhythm. “Here we are, we’re alright. Fuck’s sake.”

He looks out the window, but either the fight has gone quiet or Dark and Anti are too deep in the woods for him to see anything. The birds have begun chirping again, unsure as they peep back out into the open.

bupine asked: trick, are you ok? talk to us if you need to, i understand this is a lot to handle.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he says quickly.

He is good in a crisis, truly. It’s part of the reason he and Dok have always gotten along - trauma and all.

“Just need to help Dap and Red and make sure Anti gets back okay. And he will. That thing doesn’t stand a chance against him. I’ve seen Anti wipe out police squads and gangs in one night. Especially when he’s protecting us.”

For a second, his hand swipes past Dok’s stomach, meeting that familiar old bullet wound in his belly. It’s almost subconscious. Like Dok’s skin is his own. Trick pauses for a moment, staring at the bruises in his brother’s neck. Bruises. He gripped him hard enough to leave bruises. And Dok was just quiet with him. Dok let him grab him.

“Just need to help Dap and Red and make sure Anti gets back okay, yeah,” mumbles Trick, bringing water to Dapper’s mouth. “Here I am, little man. Take a drink. You’ll feel better.”

pine-storm-season asked: Red, you okay? Okay-ish, anyway?

Red is well past the point of answering, stiff and silent on the couch, hiding from everything. Blue does not try to touch him. Red does not hum or rock or fidget. He just wants the buzzing in his head to stop. It’s so much at once that it’s painful. Nobody should be able to feel as much as intensely as he just did. He wants to be under his bed and alone and in the dark - but not dark too deep. Not dark too deep.

“I think he’ll just need a couple minutes,” says Blue. “He usually steadies out pretty fast unless he’s hurt or sick or something. He’ll just be a little brain-dead. I mean – just tired, mentally, you know?”

Red reaches out without opening his eyes to put his hand on Blue’s shoulder. Blue lets him massage at the fabric of his shirt in silence, unmoving beneath his brother’s palm.

Anonymous asked: Dok, what I'm about to say doesn't excuse Trick from what he did to you, this isn't meant to be eye-for-an-eye bullshit or an apology on his behalf (only he can give you that) but you know you've done the same to him months and months ago, because whoever you were seeing wasn't your brother in your eyes. You two have changed drastically but have always stuck by each other and communicated to resolve things. Maybe words aren't as helpful as they once were, but silence and violence won't help

“Okay, you know what, what the hell?” Dok bursts out, turning away from Dapper’s bloodied arm for a second to stare at you in bewilderment. “Silence and violence? I have not for a single second been violent with him today. I walked away from a brother who had just physically attacked me so that I could calm the fuck down and not start sobbing all over him, and you think I did something wrong? Should I have stayed there and kissed it all better? What the fuck?”

“Dok, you have to concentrate,” Trick pants, wiping blood from Dapper’s wrist. “Please?”

“I have attacked him before and I’ve attacked myself too,” cries Dok. “You’re the only one here who’s still holding old grudges, camera. Trick and I moved past that. And goddamn, I’ll move past this too, but I did what was best for all of us by not yelling at him or excusing his behavior or telling him it’s okay, because it isn’t okay! It isn’t okay! None of this is okay, it’s not - ”

“Dok!” cries Blue.

“Can I have five goddamn minutes to step away from him after he fucking throttled me for not being obedient to Anti before you expect me to be telling him he’s perfect? Fuck! I don’t care if he’s changed. He made a goddamn choice and I’m allowed to believe that was wrong! He fucking hurt me! Just like Anti does, just like we’ve always comforted each other through! I used to believe Trick was the only thing in the world that would never mean to hurt me. That’s so fucking unfair to act like I’m the one in the wrong here!”

Trick gives a dry sob, bent over Dapper’s arm, but he doesn’t protest. He doesn’t want you to defend him either. He shouldn’t have done what he did and it’s alright for Doktor to step away from him when he’s being violent with him. Dok responded as appropriately as he could have - and they were genuinely only separate for about ten minutes before Dark attacked, so he doesn’t really know what you mean.

Anonymous asked: Dok I sincerely didn't mean that as an accusation. You aren't wrong for feeling your feelings. All I meant is you guys should talk things out but I'm timing my words poorly and not giving you guys time to process since so much has been happening. My mind is on worst-case-scenario mode and I'm sorry if I'm trying to solve things before I even know what the damage is. I'm sorry for over-stepping

“Some of you are young,” says Dok, his voice shaking. “I don’t want you to think that someone hurting you isn’t a big deal. In most circumstances… I wouldn’t tell you to let that person back into your life. And it’s never your responsibility to make sure other people are making up with each other - I don’t want you to carry the burden of other people’s relationships. Be careful with what you tell people to do just because you want things to go back to normal. Normal isn’t always healthy.”

“I’m worried shit is torn in here, Dok,” says Trick lowly, trying to be careful with Dapper’s arm even as he pushes at the wound. “That was like a whole big cat in his arm.”

“On the contrary, I would expect wounds from a big cat to be far worse,” answers Dok tersely, re-focusing. “Wild it may sound, but Dark was gentle with him.”

Anonymous asked: Whether Dark was being gentle or not, you can fix Dapper up, right? Or does he need to be added to the waiting list for the hospital in four days?

Dok laughs weakly. “Waiting list for the hospital… ah. No, no, it’s alright, I believe. I may not be able to do much, but I can still stitch, disinfect, and bandage as well as any real doctor.”

Trick looks up, blinking. “You are a real doctor.”

Dok is bent low over Dapper’s arm, holding it carefully in place.

“We’ll just have to keep it very clean,” he says after a moment.

pine-storm-season asked: Trick, is everything going okay? Dok knows what he's doing, I'm sure, but is Dapper okay?

“How are you holding up, buddy?” asks Trick, gripping Dapper’s shoulder. He can see the adrenaline fading off his little brother, his eyes getting glassy. Blood soaks into Trick’s socks.

Dapper holds onto his sleeve, blinking slowly.

“Dok, let’s lie him down.”

“On the carpet, then.”

They take him carefully towards Blue and Red. Dapper doesn’t protest when they put him down on the ground, his eyes rolling dazedly back.

“It’s quite a lot of blood.”

“He’ll be alright.”

Trick squeezes Dapper’s good hand. “Just hang in there, tough guy. You can sleep if you need to, it’s okay. Dok’s got you.”

bupine asked: anti, you ok out there?

“They’ll send PEOPLE to the house next, you mark my fucking WORDS.”

Everyone jolts - exception Dapper - as Anti glitches back into the house shouting as loud as he can. And as loud as he can is pretty damn loud.

“What are you going on about?” snaps Dok, hovering over Dapper’s body as Anti leaps through the kitchen towards them, his whole body shivering with computer-error colors.

“Dark!” he yells, clapping his hands together, his hair shifting rapidly between different shades of green and brown. “That was just the pre-game show! Aren’t they clever? Aren’t they FIERCE?”

Blue rolls his eyes, standing up to cover Red’s ears with his hands.

“They’ll send people here?” asks Trick. “I thought you said they wouldn’t come near the house, Anti.”

“No, they won’t, but they have soldiers of their own, and now they have an idea of what’s going on in this house, because SOMEONE had to go looking for his little boyfriend, didn’t he?”

Blue hugs Red to his chest, scared Anti will come over and punish him for it.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” babbles Anti, bouncing on his feet and whirling around, flipping his knife in his hand. “Had to happen, had to happen. If it wasn’t Red, it would have been one of the rest of you.”

“Anti, you’re bleeding,” says Trick.

“What’s blood to me?” hollers Anti, throwing his knife straight up, where it impales in the ceiling and stays. He laughs, rocking back on his heels. “What’s blood at all? Nothing ever kills me, nothing ever makes me die. All part of the game, my darling, and finally there’s someone worth playing with. Ah! I’m not watching the cameras! Be quiet and don’t go in the forest again, you little morons, unless you want to get stolen away, away, away!”

He vanishes in a flash of blinding color, glitching back to his room.

Dok, Trick, Red, and Blue look around at each other, eyes wide.

Anonymous asked: Wait, Anti, do you know if people they send will be able to come into the house? I want to know how alert they need to be to stay safe.

“Why not?” asks Anti. “Only spirits and humans like Jameson are bound by spirit rules. Though, I must tell you, it is never clever to enter a place where a spirit lives without permission. You ever seen that movie Spirited Away? Shit is fucked, man. But anyway, I’m not quite a spirit, am I? Not quite anything. Thank you, creator, for having absolutely no clear ideas in mind when you created me. Now I’m bound to so little, so little. Species have rules they have to follow - fairies fear iron, changelings choke on rowan, spirits respect each other’s spaces, magicians grow weary, demons run from priests, tricksters fool themselves, gods are forgotten, mortal things age and choke and rot away. Me, I’m a glitch in the system. The N/A, does not apply, none of the above option. Fuck you, Jack.”

Glitches buzz down his body. He shifts between Jack’s form and Trick’s, surrounded by a circle of laptops.

“Now lemme alone! I got work to do.”

Anonymous asked: Blue, everything has been so one-thing-after-the-other these days and you've been so sick through it all... I feel like we haven't been able to talk with you in a while. And don't you dare brush yourself of as not as important as the others because I want you to know that despite everything going on, you still are.

“Oh,” says Blue, smiling weakly at you as he sits back down beside Red on the couch. “That’s nice, thanks. It’s not your fault I’ve been tired so much.”

“Speaking of which,” says Trick, looking up at his sibling as Blue leans against Red, the two of them resting together.

“Yeah, it might just be nap time,” sighs Dok, swiping away the last of the blood from Dapper’s arm.

“Is he alright?” asks Blue.

“I think he’ll be fine. Just got to change his bandages a couple times a day and make sure the wound stays clean. He’s always been a fast healer.”

.

They go quiet after that. Red and Dapper sleep. Trick goes back to the kitchen and cooks - again. The fridge is full of tupperware. The counters are lined with bread and desserts. He still feels scared that they’ll be hungry again soon.

It’s quiet.

No, wait -

How good are your ears?

Turn up the volume. Listen close. On the other side of Dapper’s bed, where Dok is sitting, turned away from you, watching over his patients.

“Guess our first plan isn’t going to work,” whispers Blue.

“None of this is working,” whispers back Dok. “We just need to run, Blue.”

“How can we run from a thing like him?” Exhaustion in his voice. An ache in his voice. “He’ll always find us again.

“Well, how the hell do we killa thing like that?”

No answer from Blue. No answer from anyone.

“Get some rest, Blue. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“Me too,” answers Blue quietly. “Me too, Dok. But it’s nobody’s fault. We’ll get through this.”

“Will we?”

No answer. No answer.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow. You need a rest too.”

“Alright. Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

On the bed, Dapper is not entirely unconscious.

.

There’s a knock on the door of the bedroom in the basement.

Dok looks up, letting Noodle slip off his lap to go greet the newcomer. “Yeah?” he calls.

Trick opens the door, an uncertain smile on his face. His cat yowls and winds around his legs, licking at his calf and purring like a little motorboat.

“Oh. Hi,” says Dok.

“Hi,” answers Trick. His eyes are slightly red. He steps into the room with a plate full of food. “I, um. I made bratwurst.”

Dok blinks. “Bratwurst?”

“Yeah. And brought you… a beer? And some chocolate cake with strawberry. Which was as close as I could get to, um. Black Forest Gateau.”

A lingering anxiety can’t stop the slow smile that builds across Dok’s face. “Cause I’m German?” he teases.

“Cause you’re German,” Trick teases back quietly, looking down at the floor. “But you don’t have to - ”

“I do,” says Dok, already anticipating what he’ll say. “I’d like to.”

“Do you want me to leave it here or can I eat with you?”

“You can eat with me, my brother.”

Trick sits down on the bed beside him and hands him a fork, setting the beer down on the table. Noodle leaps up behind them both and begins shoving his head into both of their backs, pawing for a bit of bratwurst.

“Should we talk about what happened?” whispers Trick.

“I don’t know,” whispers back Dok. “It wasn’t real, was it?”

Trick bows his head over the bratwurst and cake like it’s a funeral reception meal, picking at his sausage.

Anonymous asked: Apologies, Dok, but do you mind explaining what you mean by that? I don't understand.

“Mmh.” Dok rubs at his face. Maybe he should let the cameras turn away for a few, but ever since Norway he’s felt nervous without you nearby, like something will happen and he won’t find out in time to help. “It just doesn’t feel like it could have really happened. It was too - it was too horrible to have really happened.”

“Es tut mir leid, Deutsch, I’m sorry.”

Trick means it. Dok seems to melt, resting his head against his brother’s shoulder, letting the two of them sit quiet for a moment, close. Noodle seems pleased, sitting between their thighs and purring, the only noise in the quiet.

“Don’t do that to me again, Trick,” pleads Dok. “You are killing me.”

Trick hides against his hair, hugging him to his shoulder.

Anonymous asked: Do you both want a distraction, maybe? We could probably think of something to talk to you about.

Trick and Dok grin, their heads press close together. Sharing a plate and a cat, their bodies side-by-side, they do look like twins. If Dok didn’t have glasses and Trick didn’t have that lawn on his head, you might not be able to tell them apart - though I expect there are intimacies of the both of them you have come to recognize. Burn scars on the back of a pale hand. An uprightness to Dok’s spine. Ice or skylines in respective blue eyes.

“Sure, distract us,” chuckles Dok, putting a piece of cake in his mouth, and it’s rich and soft and sweet.

Anonymous asked: Hmmm... I could tell you a funny thing one of my chickens did when she was a baby? We had a little cardboard tunnel for her and the other chickens, and she was walking along the top of it very elegantly, and she stretched out a wing, and she turned to look at some parsley we had hung nearby, and she kept walking... and then she walked right off the edge of the tunnel like a goddamn cartoon character. (She was completely fine though, just very indignant that she'd fallen.)

“Hahaha. Chickens are dumb, is funny.”

“That sounds like Mr. Pot Noodle,” says Trick, kissing his cat’s head once, twice. “But when he falls off things he just cries like a baby for Papa to come scoop him up, don’t you? Don’t you, baby?”

Dok rolls his eyes at his brother’s coddling, amused.

“Trick!” echoes a voice through the floorboards. “Trickshot?”

Dok’s growing relief vanishes instantly. He shrinks against the headboard of the bed, eyes wide, and even Trick looks worried, setting Noodle down.

“Anti, I’m down here,” he calls back evenly. “I’m okay, what’s wrong?”

Footsteps thump down the stairs. Dok shakes his head rapidly, reaching out to grab Trick’s fingers.

“What’s wrong?”

Dok just shakes his head, mouth gone thin and pale, eyes closed.

Anonymous asked: Anti, is it Dapper? That's the only reason I can think of for you needing Dok.

“I said Trickshot! Pay attention, damn!”

Anti pushes open the door to the guest room. His form, for once, is mostly stable, an older version of his creator with his hair tied back and glasses on.

“Fine, you’re forgiven. What, can a creature not want to see his little brother? Trick, come on, let’s go watch that movie like we were talking about. I mentioned Spirited Away and now I wanna see that big black monster go apeshit and eat a bunch of frogs.”

Trick laughs nervously, glancing back at Dok, who stares up at Anti with wide eyes.

“What?” Anti mocks him, smiling wide. “You wanna come upstairs too, Arzt? You wanna go to your room and hang out with me?”

Dok shakes his head quickly, hugging Noodle against his chest.

Anonymous asked: Dok, you okay, bud? Do you want to go be with Red and Blue, if Trick goes with Anti to watch that?

“Don’t go,” croaks Dok. “Come on, stay with me.”

Doesn’t Trick know he feels farther away from him everyday?

“Dok, I - we’re just going to watch a movie, man. I… I just - we’re just going to watch a movie.”

Doesn’t Dok know he doesn’t have a choice?

Dok lets go of his fingers and turns away. Trick turns back to Anti, who smiles sweetly and takes him by the hand, jumping back as Noodle darts forward to try and follow Trick. Dok sees Trick looking back at him for a moment more before Anti slams the door on Noodle and takes his brother away.

Dok stares down at his sausage and cake. He isn’t all that hungry anymore.

Anonymous asked: I think Trick will come back when they've finished the movie, okay? Do you want to go be with Red and Blue, or stay here and talk to us, or just be alone for a bit?

Dok sighs and picks up his plate, wandering upstairs. Red and Blue, at least, are having some fun time together, playing Mario Kart on the couch and laughing their asses off.

He finds his littlest brother in the bedroom that’s meant to be Red and Trick’s, still napping. Gently, Dok sets his plate down and wakes Dapper.

“Need to clean up your bandages,” he murmurs. “Fresher we keep them, the better.”

Dapper smiles wearily up at him and lets him work.

“How’s the pain?”

“Not as bad as yours, I’ll warrant,” he answers.

“How dramatic you are,” chuckles Dok, brushing a curl of brown hair from his eyes, but Dapper doesn’t smile.

“This is what he does,” he signs slowly, his fingers and hand and wrist all aching.

“What is? Who?”

“Anti. He shows you a false version of himself, first - someone loving and affectionate, if complicated and bad tempered. And you can fall for him. You can love him, really. And then, once you’re in deep already, he starts to show you the awful parts of himself. Slow. One at a time. He normalizes everything, bit by bit. Uses hypnosis when he has to. But more than anything else, it’s just that love of him. Every day you convince yourself, more and more strongly - ‘he’s not really as bad as he acts sometimes. Just a bad temper. Remember how kind he was to me the other day?’ And you get sucked down deeper and deeper. Until you can let him use your hands to murder innocent people, and it won’t even make you hate him.”

Dok can’t meet his eyes. Can barely watch his hands. Slow tears drip down his face.

He thinks maybe Dapper is crying too. He isn’t sure he’s ever seen Dapper cry.

“Is that what happened to you?” asks Dok.

“It’s happening to Trick.”

“I know that,” he whispers. “So tell me how you escaped it.”

“Oh, love,” says Dapper, with a tenderness like a hearth in winter. “Oh, love. I am still stuck, most of the time. But I am trying to hope again. And that, I suppose, is where freedom begins.”

Dok wraps his injured wrist in clean, white bandages, soft linen surrounding the torn arm of his youngest brother. He wants to cry. He wants to surrender.

But he won’t.

He can’t do everything he wants to right now. Can’t save everyone. Can’t heal everyone. Can’t take everyone to safety and show them how much he loves them and how little they need someone like Anti.

But he can wrap Jameson’s wrist up, so he does.

In the clean bandages, his hope, for the moment, sustains itself.

Anonymous asked: Yeah. This is probably one of the hardest things that you all will have to do, getting free of him. But it'll happen, yeah? I believe in you guys. You're doing incredibly well handling all this, and I believe in you.

“Sausage?” asks Dapper.

A smile twitches on Dok’s mouth. “Yeah. Help me eat it?”

He hands Dapper Trick’s fork and his little brother digs in earnestly, splitting the pair of bratwursts with Dok. There are more in the kitchen if Trick comes back, so Dok doesn’t count it as a betrayal. Besides, nobody loves meat better than Dap. He feels he’s owed it after the day he’s had.

In reparation for yelling at Dapper the other day for getting drunk, Dok gets him a beer and they drink together on the bed, tired and worn, but holding together. Dok eats the last of the chocolate cake on his own, focusing on the warmth of the cat on his lap and the close-by younger brother.

“But you don’t know how to get free?” asks Dapper, returning without preamble to the previous conversation.

Dok blinks, looking up at him.

“You want to kill him?”

“Fuck,” hisses Dok, pushing you slightly away. “Dap, be careful, okay? I - I just want to get away from him. And stay away from him forever. And I think maybe the only way to do that is… is… yeah. Yeah.”

The clock on the wall ticks. JJ stares at him, his deep blue eyes rimmed in long, black eyelashes.

“If you did know how to kill him,” he signs slowly. “You would.”

Dok doesn’t know how to answer. He sticks the last bite of cake in his mouth.

“But you don’t know how. You don’t know how.”

“You were listening earlier,” Dok accuses. “When Blue and I were talking.”

Dapper barely seems to register the words.

“You don’t know,” he taps distantly, eyes faraway as he thinks. “You don’t know how.”

“Do you?”

Dapper shakes his head. “No… no.”

Dok deflates again, turning his head away. “Then there’s no point in talking about it, my friend. Let’s not give the master a reason to hit us again tonight.”

Dapper watches him take the plate to the kitchen, leaving him alone in the room. He stares at the floor, lost in thought.

No, he doesn’t know how. He’s seen his brother survive most everything - fire, bullets, knives, being turned into an animal, prolonged starvation, self-harm, electricity, iron and running water, magicians, Jackie and Marvin. No. He doesn’t know.

Could he find out?

“Can I sleep in here with you tonight?” asks a small voice at his door.

Dok has come back. Trick has not. Dapper’s heart hurts with pity for him.

“Yes, of course.”

Dok crawls into bed beside him. Their bodies lock together. Dok sleeps.

Dapper thinks long and hard, but eventually the warm purring of a kitten and the nearness of a safe brother’s body lulls him into deep and unanswering sleep.

[girlboss-molina]

Be Who You Are (No Compromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 2: A Tale of Punches and Pancakes

AO3 Link

Words: 9389

-----

Alex POV

...

The jet ride was nice from a glance, but insufferable for Alex. His wish to leave his anxieties in Tambor? Yeah, he knew that was bullshit. As the miles passed, his stomach bubbled and knotted more and more until he had no room for the small wrapped chocolates in the dish at the back of the plane. The fluffy clouds seemed to taunt him with their serenity, making him feel out of place with his disgust, anxiety, and anger. 

Why, why, did he have to be put in an arranged goddamn marriage when he was nineteen? The gods hated him, for sure. 

He was back to considering options in his fake-your-death-to-get-out-of-it plan when Luke finally broke the silence.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Have a guess.” The sarcasm in his voice was tangible. 

“Yes?”

“Have another guess.” Alex barely smiled at Luke’s laugh. “I just… I hate this. Julie’s awesome, dude, she’s one of my best friends. But I don’t want to marry her.”

“I feel you,” Luke responded. “I really, really want to get you out of it.”

“Thanks.” Alex went back to staring at the clouds.

…

As the plane touched down, the rumbling shook up the nerves in Alex’s stomach, and he had to shut his eyes and focus on his breathing and the feeling of Luke’s hand on his. He did his best not to crease his vest as he leaned over, holding on tight. 

When he felt the motion in his ears stop, he carefully opened his eyes, relieved when he wasn’t nauseous. Of course, he couldn’t get rid of the anxiety. 

They’d landed in the runway behind the Dahlia palace, and thankfully, the small amount of vision he had out his plane window only showed the back of the palace and, on the other side, the tall, forested mountains in which he and Julie had run around in many times when they were younger. The scene was calming, and settled his nerves. 

As the doors opened, sending a crisp blast of cold Dahlian air in his face, the familiar smell of petrichor and honey reminded him of when he and Julie would run for hours, climbing trees as high as they could, despite Ray’s constant warnings and pleas for them to be careful. How simple it would be, really, to run out the plane door and across the runway until he was back, surrounded by the branches. It would be a nightmare, of course; he barely knew how to make a fire, which was definitely a skill he would need if he were to survive on his own in the cool Dahlian climate. Surely he could figure it out, though. It couldn’t be that hard. And the motivation of not having to act straight for the rest of his life would certainly help. He wondered just how fast he could run-

He was jolted back to reality by Luke excitedly hitting his shoulder. 

“Your highness, as your Royal Best Dude™ I am legally required to get you up and moving so that you don’t start spiraling. Plus, I’m hungry.” Alex rolled his eyes and laughed despite himself. 

He wasn’t going through this alone.  

…

He should’ve expected the cameras, really. But the bright flashes startled him as soon as he stepped out of the plane, and he had to quickly struggle to compose himself. He gave small smiles and respectful waves, walking across the long runway to the limousine waiting for him. He would be making a round past the palace gates before formally entering the palace from the front. So he climbed into the lush leather seats, with Erik and Luke right behind him, and sat down, squeezing his hands into fists and then running his fingertips over the indents from his nails. 

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as he tapped his foot. He wouldn’t admit it, but the feeling of Luke’s and Erik’s hands on his shoulders helped. A lot. Tension melted away from him, and while he was still nervous, he somehow managed to stand and steadily walk out of the limo, a smile breaking out on his face as he saw Julie. 

Alex wasn’t sure why he was surprised at how beautiful Julie was, there really was no paralleling her beauty. And yet, his heart swelled with pride at seeing her elegant violet dress, embroidered with dahlias. 

“Alex, why the hell do you walk so fast?” asked Luke, breathing heavily and trying to keep up. 

“I’m gay. Next question.” 

“That’s fair.” 

As he ran to Julie, Alex was so caught up in the euphoria of seeing his friend in person that, for a moment, he lived in a world where the paparazzi wasn’t a thing. But he didn’t care. Julie saw him and ran through the gardens, a huge grin visible from hundreds of feet away. She ran to him, her gown flowing in the breeze, and as soon as they were within a few feet of each other, Julie jumped and Alex let out an “oof” as he caught her in a hug, spinning around and laughing.

“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, and Alex nodded.

“Yeah, you too! Even though we, you know, FaceTimed last night.”

“Eh, details. Besides, the press wants a happy reunion.”

“Fair.”

“How was the plane ride?” 

“Amazing,” Alex said. “Nothing better than being on the edge of a panic attack while you’re thousands of feet in the air.”

“I’ll fight your anxiety,” Julie decided. “Tell it to meet me behind the Denny’s tonight.” Alex snorted. 

“I’d rather you didn’t punch my brain. I kinda need it.”

“Do you?” Alex gasped in mock offense.

“Okay, rudeness aside, I think this is the part where we walk around the garden and pretend we don’t know there are photojournalists hiding behind the bushes.” Julie nodded and took his arm.

As they strolled around the gardens, the aroma of flowers settled some of Alex’s nerves. He never turned around to make sure Luke was there, but he somehow knew. It was the Royal Best Dude™ telepathy, probably. And Erik was probably bringing his suitcase up to wherever he would be staying. So, Alex did his best to relax and hang out with his friend.

“Ava’s going to be ascending soon,” he noted. “She’s pumped. Though I’m not sure how good of an idea it is to let a twenty-three year old run a country.” Julie laughed.

“I’m happy for her! And I’m sure she’ll be fine. She knows how to party, for sure, but she’s also responsible. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, I’ll let my anxiety know.” Julie burst out laughing, and Alex soon followed. 

“Her Royal Majesty, Queen Ava Mercer of Tambor,” Julie said. “It has a nice ring to it.” Alex nodded. 

“Yeah. I’m excited for her, too. All jokes aside, I think she’ll make a great queen.”

“Definitely.”

A few moments passed, including Julie gently picking a rose from the garden, one with a pale pink coloring, and sticking it behind Alex’s ear. When it wouldn’t stay, she scrunched her nose and carefully tucked it into the breast pocket of his vest. 

“You look absolutely dashing, your highness,” she said with a fake, posh accent. Alex giggled and rolled his eyes. 

“You’re a dork.”

“I know.” 

…

His room was really something. 

After he and Julie had finished their walk around the gardens, they’d given each other cordial bows (of course tied with a friendly wink, because they were just Like That), and Erik had shown him up to his quarters. Luke followed, and Alex noticed his cheeks were considerably red. 

It was chillier in Dahlia than it was in Tambor, though, and Luke had never been Plus, a breeze had flown in during the last ten minutes of their walk, on which Luke was shadowing. He was probably flushed from the cold air. 

He was down the hall from Julie’s room, in one of the guest rooms he’d used when playing hide-and-seek with Julie when they were kids. But it had been completely refurbished, since he would be staying there for a few months.

The soft carpet was a creamy tan, and the large, full-length mirrors let in sunlight that cast gentle shadows from the posters on the giant bed, which was adorned with blue sheets and pillows, with gold and pink accents. The dark, forest green walls gave the room a soothing effect, and the twinkling fairy lights were like fireflies in a meadow. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, glittering with diamonds and gold. A mahogany record player sat on a media table, along with wireless chargers for his phone and laptop, next to the sliding door that led to a huge bathroom. The tiles were light tan and grey, peppered with flecks of quartz that shimmered in the light. A giant tub sat near a tinted window, as well as a vanity with a majestic painted mirror. The shower could’ve fit his entire bed.

Even though he wasn’t keen on marrying Julie, he wouldn’t dislike his stay here. 

“Dude,” Luke whispered. “Your room is awesome.” 

“I know, right? Definitely nicer than my room in Tambor.” 

As Alex went to his giant suitcase full of neatly folded clothes, beginning to tuck them into drawers and onto hangers, Luke helped out. 

“So,” Alex began, breaking the silence. “How are you liking Dahlia so far?”

“It’s great! Kinda cold, but I’ll get used to it. And… Julie seems really nice.”

Alex definitely didn’t miss Luke’s blush when he mentioned the princess, and his lips raised into a smirk.

“Yeah, she is. You should get to know her at dinner tonight.” Luke cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

“You good?”

“Totally,” he insisted, though his voice rose an octave and Alex couldn’t suppress his laugh. 

“Sure.”

…

The dinner was incredible. Platters of roast beef sat next to giant bowls of mashed potatoes, and the bread appetizers were soft and delicious. And, even though he was legally allowed to have alcohol based on Dahlian laws, he thought better of it, instead filling his glass with water. He noticed that Julie did the same. 

“Not a fan of wine?” he asked. 

“Nah, not really. It always gives me a stomachache.” 

“Same.”

Alex went back to his food, before noticing a man around his age eyeing him. He had dark hair and was dressed in a red vest and dark grey shirt. He seemed quite kind, if the small smile on his face had any say.

“That’s your brother, Reggie, right? I think I’ve only met him once.”

Julie followed Alex’s gaze. “Oh yeah! You would get along great, I think.”

“Cool.”

…

Before dessert was brought up, everyone in the grand hall got to mingle for about twenty minutes and let their food settle. Alex let Julie introduce him to Reggie, with whom he immediately hit it off. 

“No way, you play the drums?” Reggie asked. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’m no good.”

“Yeah, I do! You said you play bass?”

“Yep!”

“That’s awesome, dude.”

Their conversation lasted a bit longer, and Alex felt confident that he and Reggie would be good friends, especially because of his lighthearted demeanor, and their bro-hug before Alex was pulled away to talk to another nobleman. 

He was bounced around like a ping-pong ball, being chatted up by guest after guest. Soon, though, he needed some air, so he searched to room for King Ray.

“Your majesty?” he asked, jogging over. Ray turned to him and gave a warm smile, shaking his hand.

“Hello, Alex. You can call me Ray. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, thanks. I was just wondering if I could sneak out the back for a moment? I need some air.” Ray laughed.

“Of course, son. I told them to give you some space,” he noted, guestering to the nobles, “but I doubt they were able to contain their excitement.” Alex nodded, grateful for Ray’s chill vibes. “Try to be back in ten minutes?”

“Of course.”

Ray nodded and patted his shoulder, and Alex stepped through the back door of the grand hall, grateful when he didn’t see anyone. He took a deep breath, fiddling with the hem of his vest. 

A voice caught his ear. 

“-yeah, don’t worry, Alyssa. The mousse is in the refrigerator-” 

Alex whirled around, searching for whoever had spoken, but before he could…

WHAM. 

A cold rush of air blew from behind him as a door opened, and someone ran into him.

Hard.

Alex stumbled forward, trying to catch himself but to no avail. His momentum swung him forward, leaving him on the ground. 

“Whoa!” he started, looking at the person who’d ran him over, and…

Oh fuck, he thought. He’s hot. 

“Agh, sorry, I really need to watch where I’m-” the man cut off, his cheeks flushing. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, your highness.” He scrambled into a bow, and Alex blushed. 

“No, you’re good, bro.” 

Alex got a good look at him, and felt his cheeks flush. He had long, silky brown hair that fell over his shoulders in waves, and smooth brown skin that had darkened in a blush. His dark eyes were kind and playful, adorned with long eyelashes. 

Alex inhaled slowly, trying to ignore the rising gay panic. 

“Are you okay?” the man asked. 

“I’m fine, yeah. Thanks. Just trying to clear my head. Until you, you know, tried to crack it open.” To Alex’s surprise, the man giggled, and holy fuck, if he wasn’t already adorable, that would’ve been the tipping point. Creases folded at the corners of his eyes, and his perfect smile turned lopsided as he laughed. 

“I did pancake you, huh?” Alex tried to laugh, and the man cleared his throat. “Sorry. Oh, uh, I’m Willie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Alex reached for his hand. “Alex,” he greeted, still hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt. 

“Well, I’d better make sure we’re clear to bring up dessert. But I’ll see you around, your royal pancakeness,” Willie said with a grin, spinning on his heel and going back to the kitchens. Alex nodded, even though he was already gone. 

-----

Julie POV

...

As soon as Alex’s plane touched down, Julie couldn’t hide her excitement. She rushed through her photos, and as soon as she could see him, she took off running, a huge grin on her face. The silky fabric of her dress flapped against her shins, and she sprinted even faster, ignoring the goosebumps on her arms. 

As soon as she reached him, she jumped into the hug, laughing as he spun her around. They might have FaceTimed the day before, but it just wasn’t the same as seeing him in person. He was one of her best friends, and the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in so long was frankly biphobic. 

But as she spun around, finally opening her eyes, Julie caught sight of Alex’s guard. She’d never formally met him, and she’d always thought he was cute, but wow. 

He had deep hazel eyes and pale skin, cheeks flushed from the cold, his wavy brown hair neatly styled, with a touch of personal flair. His chiseled jawline cast a shadow on his neck, and his biceps were visible through his dark jacket. Julie tried to look away and focus on her friend, because now was the literal worst time to develop a crush on someone she barely knew. 

Not that she had a crush on him, or anything. 

Julie forced those thoughts out of her head, and scolded her stupid heart for fluttering when she caught his gaze. She turned back to Alex, laughing when he insinuated that photojournalists would be hiding behind the bushes. 

“Ava’s going to be ascending soon,” Alex told her. “She’s pumped. Though I’m not sure how good of an idea it is to let a twenty-three year old run a country.” Julie laughed, silently agreeing.

“I’m happy for her! And I’m sure she’ll be fine. She knows how to party, for sure, but she’s also responsible. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, I’ll let my anxiety know.” Julie burst out laughing, soon followed by Alex.

“Her Royal Majesty, Queen Ava Mercer of Tambor,” she said, letting the words flow off her tongue. “It has a nice ring to it.” 

“Yeah. I’m excited for her, too. All jokes aside, I think she’ll make a great queen.”

“Definitely.” There wasn’t a doubt in her voice, either. 

Julie had met Ava when she was eight. Ava had been thirteen, and was the coolest thirteen-year-old ever, in little Julie’s opinion. She vaguely remembered hanging out in her room with her, and thinking she was just the coolest ever. Then again, she was an eight year old. To an eight year old, all thirteen-year-olds are cool (or gross, but we don’t talk about that).

Julie walked with Alex, chatting about random things, including plans to get out of the arranged marriage, each more complicated than the next. Julie couldn’t stop herself from laughing when Alex brought up his temptation to just run into the woods with no supplies or survival skills, and just be a gay forest cryptid. She was quite fond of it, to be honest. 

Unfortunately, they didn’t have any plans that didn’t involve either faking their deaths, or something treasonous, neither of which would be good. At least, not in anyone else’s opinions. 

…

After Alex went up to his room, Julie did the same, and immediately flopped on her bed, finally allowing herself to process her thoughts about, well, everything.

God, she wanted out of this marriage. She knew Alex did as well. They’d talked about it endlessly over FaceTime, texting, and just now, in person. But neither of them could come up with an actual plan or a good enough reason to halt it. Because, you know, the people actually getting married never get a say. 

Plus, it did not help that Alex’s guard, who she’d learned was named Luke, was really cute. She furrowed her brow. She’d never even had a real conversation with the guy. Not that it mattered, of course. She remembered when she was fifteen and had already decided that Nick Danforth-Evans was a sweetheart, even though she’d only had one real conversation with him. 

But this felt different somehow. She couldn’t help but feel like Luke was actually really nice. She just got those vibes from him. She cursed her stupid heart for making her feel things. No, Molina. There’s no such thing as liking a cute guard. 

It didn’t work. 

She stared at her ceiling, watching flecks of dust float around the air, and jumped when Flynn and Carrie walked into her room without knocking. It wasn’t like she actually expected them to knock, but she’d zoned out and the sudden sound took her by surprise. 

“I know that look,” Flynn said matter-of-factly. “What’s the crisis about?”

“What isn’t it about?”

“Uh uh, don’t try to deflect by answering my question with another question,” Flynn scolded, and Carrie bit back a laugh. 

“I just…” she searched for an excuse. “I love that Alex is here, but I don’t want to marry him,” she said, remembering that the best lies were based on the truth. “And he’s gay, so I know for a fact he doesn’t want to marry me. Plus, you know. We’ve expressed that multiple times. And I know there’s really nothing I can do about it, because it’s all arranged, and bitching about it does nothing to help, but honestly? I’m just feeling bitchy.” 

“As you should,” Carrie agreed, to Julie’s surprise. “If anyone deserves to be a little bitchy, it’s you. I mean, come on. You’re a teenage girl who never actually got a normal life because you’re frickin’ Princess Julie Molina, heiress to the throne of Dahlia. And you’re stuck in an arranged marriage with one of your best friends, and neither of you want it, but you can’t actually change it. I’d be bitchy too.”

“Thank you for summing that up,” Julie deadpanned. “But… it helps. Thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“She’s right, Jules,” Flynn agreed. “Be the bitchy bisexual you deserve to be.” That elicited a laugh, and Julie couldn’t help but leave the smile resting on her face. 

“Alright,” she decided. “We have self-defense in half an hour, so we should get ready.” Flynn nodded and pulled Julie off of her bed, leading her to the giant walk-in closet, searching the hundreds of options, but steering clear from the gowns. 

Flynn and Carrie must’ve known she needed cheering up, because they sarcastically suggested the biggest, poofiest gowns Julie owned, tied with a tight shawl and the wobbliest heels imaginable. Julie laughed despite herself, especially since she could barely walk in the shoes they’d picked. She was also taller than six feet, which was a plus, but she would pick stability over height any day, especially when she was going to practice kicking people’s asses. 

Eventually, she settled on flexible black leggings with a purple stripe going down the outside of each leg, and a simple white tunic that starkly contrasted her dark skin. It was fitted but she could move easily in it, stretching into a backbend to make sure. 

She sighed and allowed Flynn and Carrie to take either arm and lead her downstairs to the training arena. 

…

The training arena was a huge room, the floors completely covered in mats, aside from the giant gymnastic trampolines at the far corner and the running track that traversed the perimeter. On the far side opposite the trampolines were sets of weights and treadmills, as well as other equipment like bars and benches. Punching bags were hung sporadically around the martial arts area, which was also used for tumbling and floor routines. 

Lady Athena gave a smile as they walked in, soon followed by Reggie and Mira. Lady Athena was a tall, muscular woman with silky black hair that was always in a high ponytail. Her bronze skin glittered with sweat, and her two-piece athleisure outfit left her chiseled abs on display. 

“Alright,” she said, clapping her hands. “Reggie, since you’re bigger, you’re with me. You four, pair up and practice your hand-to-hand skills. Remember the blocks we learned last week.” Julie nodded and paired with Flynn, immediately getting into position.

“Head’s up,” she warned with a smirk, before lunging with a punch that would’ve hit Flynn square in the chest if not for her catlike reflexes. She knocked Julie’s hand out of the way, and Julie had to twist to avoid Flynn’s counterattack, letting herself lean backwards. But when she almost fell, she used it to her advantage, hopping backwards onto one hand and spinning, tripping Flynn by kicking her feet out from under her. Before Flynn could recover, Julie pounced over her, grabbing her shirt collar and pulling her fist back, ready to attack. She didn’t follow through, obviously, but she knew she had good form. 

“Well done, your highness,” praised Lady Athena. Julie blushed.

“Thanks.”

“Whatever,” Flynn grumbled, and Julie laughed. “Rematch?”

“You’re on.”

…

Julie had defeated Flynn four times to two, and was feeling very confident. It must’ve helped, exercising, because her worries about Alex and Luke were far away as she battled Carrie and then Mira. Or, they were until a certain brunette guard walked in the room in a sleeveless shirt and shorts that showed off his muscles. 

She shouldn’t have let herself get distracted, though, because in her haze, Mira managed to throw her off balance and win their round. 

“Hah! That’s two each!” She outstretched her hand, which Julie gratefully accepted, pulling her up. 

“Good job,” she said, still distracted but keeping her eyes far away from Luke. 

“Hi, is this the self-defense lesson?” Luke asked, and Julie could no longer ignore him. 

“It is,” Lady Athena confirmed. “You’re Prince Alexander’s guard, correct?”

“And certified Royal Best Dude™,” he added with a grin that was so adorable it made Julie flush. By some miracle, nobody noticed. 

“Alright, why don’t you train with Reggie? He can show you what we’re working on. I need to go make sure nobody’s going to throw out their back at the weights.” With that, Lady Athena stalked off, her ponytail swaying behind her. 

Luke walked over to Reggie, and Julie did her best not to stare as Reggie guided Luke, and they began sparring. Luke was surprisingly agile, but he was too enthusiastic, reaching for every possible blow, not realizing where he left himself vulnerable. But his puppy eyes when Reggie defeated him were too cute. 

Julie cleared her throat and turned away. 

“Tiebreaker?” Mira nodded, and they went to sparring. Julie ducked and dodged every hit of Mira’s, even getting in a few herself, but she was thrown off when she heard Luke laugh, a musical, joyful sound, and Mira took advantage of her momentary slip, finally beating her. 

“Yes!” Mira jumped and pumped her fist, then helped Julie up. 

“Nice job!” Julie grinned with the words, high-fiving Mira. 

“Alright, break time.”

Julie walked to the edge of the wall where she’d left her water bottle and towel, almost choking on her water when she heard Luke’s voice behind her. 

“Your highness?” he asked shyly. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met.” Julie smiled and outstretched her hand, shaking Luke’s. “I’m Alex’s guard, Luke.”

“Hi! You can call me Julie,” she said with a smile, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too! Oh, by the way, great job during your fights. I saw your takedown on the other girl, the one with the braids.”

“Oh, that’s Flynn.”

“Cool. But yeah, I saw your fight, and that was really impressive. I doubt I could spin on one hand like you did.” 

Well.

If Julie hadn’t been blushing before, she certainly was now. At least Luke’s cheeks were only red because of the intense workouts. 

“It took me forever to get that move right,” she admitted. “I only just got it down, if I’m being honest. I still slip up sometimes, too.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he complimented. And oh, his smile really was a beautiful thing. 

“Alright, break time’s over,” called Lady Athena. “No more flirting.” Julie’s stomach dropped, and she inhaled, a denial already on her tongue, before she realized that her coach was looking at Flynn and Carrie, who were chatting animatedly, both blushing. 

She practiced a bit more with Carrie, doing her best to ignore the boy next to her. When the class finally ended, she hurriedly thanked Lady Athena before rushing up to shower.

Letting the hot water wash over her, she pondered how the hell Luke had wiggled his way into her heart so quickly within one conversation. 

Was she being brainwashed into liking a guy she barely knew?

Was this some elaborate trick that whatever higher being existed had orchestrated as a ploy to get her out of the arranged marriage?

… And more importantly, would it work? 

The thought made her laugh. Not that she didn’t slightly believe this was all some sort of elaborate trick to get her to commit treason and fall in love with someone she wasn’t supposed to, but it was funny nonetheless.

…

After she’d done her best to set the record for hottest, soapiest shower possible, Julie wrapped herself in a towel, massaging peach lotion into her skin, the scent matching her shampoo. As she rubbed it into her hands, she imagined what it would feel like holding Luke’s hand, before quickly banishing the thought away to the depths of simpy hell.

This was worse than she thought. 

She changed into her evening gown for the dinner, allowing Mira to lace up the back. It was all navy blue, a long strapless dress that reached her ankles, with a see-through tulle layer over top that went up to a sleeveless halter neckline, leaving the rest of the tulle layer to flow down neatly over the rest of the silky dress, which tightened at the waist. Tiny diamonds had been sewn into the tulle at her waist, high in concentration before gently tapering off the lower in the skirt they went.

“Okay,” Carrie said, walking in with Flynn beside her. “I think I speak for everyone when I say, damn. That dress is fine.” Flynn nodded enthusiastically. 

“I know, right?” Mira said excitedly. “I actually helped tailor this one! It was one of my favorites to make.”

“And for a good reason,” Julie agreed. “Mira, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Not quite,” she said, turning Julie towards the vanity. “I’m thinking we do something simple but elegant for your hair?”

“I vote for that,” Flynn interjected. 

“Sure!”

Mira set to work, combing through Julie’s hair with her fingers. Julie closed her eyes. She’d always loved the feeling of people playing with her hair, and as Mira wove her dark locks into two thick braids that soon joined together, letting the rest of her hair poof at the base of her neck, Julie was transported back to her mother’s room when she was five. She remembered the feeling of her mother braiding her hair like it was yesterday, the gentle tugs and nimble fingers on her scalp. It wasn’t the same with Mira, of course, but it was refreshing and comforting at the same time. 

“Hey, Jules?” Flynn called from her closet.

“Mm?”

“Mind if I steal that asymmetrical dress for tonight? The jade one,” she clarified. 

“Feel free!”

The dress in mind was a slim-fitting jade green dress that reached her knees, but the hem was cut asymmetrically, leaving one side longer than the other. It had golden ribbon-like threads spun around it with no particular rhyme or reason, and a built-in sash made of pale, spring green tulle roses. The thin straps showed off her shoulders, and when Flynn walked out with it on, Julie noticed Carrie blush.

“Dude, you look awesome,” Julie complimented. Flynn twirled, letting the light play off of the shimmery fabric.

“Thanks!”

Mira finished doing Julie’s hair, and held up a mirror for her to see. Julie admired the thick, smooth braids that gently rejoined at the base of her neck, letting the rest of her dark curls loose in an elegant fashion.

“It’s amazing, Mira! Thank you so much.”

“Of course! And thank you for letting me do it,” she said with a giggle. “Your hair is so fun to style.” Julie blushed. 

…

The dinner was rather uneventful, thankfully. Julie wasn’t sure if she would’ve had the energy to constantly be answering questions. Instead, though, she got to introduce people to each other, and relax and eat, and try to keep her eyes away from a certain hazel-eyed guard.

She was grateful for the relatively simple task.

-----

Luke POV

...

Luke had heard about the self-defense classes in the training arena, and he was itching to get moving, so he changed into workout clothes and headed down there. 

The spiral staircase was wide and glittered with colored glass, the silver banisters gleaming in the light. He trailed his hand down it as he made his way down.

When he reached the training arena, he closed the door behind him and went to set down his water bottle and towel- but not before noticing Julie.

At the self-defense class.

Thankfully, she didn’t see him. He hung back for a moment, watching as she sparred with another girl with long braids. The way she moved was incredible, like water flowing in a current, unpredictable and smooth. Of course, if anyone asked, he was most certainly not admiring it. He could silently appreciate her skills, though.

As she dodged hit after hit, throwing her own blocks and blows, it looked like the girl with braids had gotten the better of her, but as Julie leaned backwards, she hopped and - holy fuck - caught herself on one hand, spinning around in the air like some sort of ethereal breakdancer, and knocking the other girl’s feet out from under her, before pouncing, grabbing her shirt collar, and pulling back her fist, before freezing and laughing. 

Whoa. 

So not only was she a wicked beauty, Luke realized, she was a human wrecking ball, too. 

He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from the beautiful badass in front of him, tuning out Lady Athena’s praise in favor of clearing his head before approaching to join. Not that it worked. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Julie. The other three girls (and the guy, if he was being honest) were all stunningly fit and agile, but there was something about Julie that enchanted him. The way she was always smiling even in the middle of a training fight, how, even when she was defeated, she brushed it off with a laugh, how she was light on her feet like a cat as she dodged and spun, how she was needlessly extravagant with her self-defense and yet somehow always made it work. Maybe that’s just what princesses were like; even when defending themselves against possible attackers, they had to be as beautiful as ever. 

Of course, right now, Luke knew she didn’t look how she normally would, in her silky gowns and expertly styled hair. Now, she wore matching athletic clothes and had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, with some strands coming out in a sweaty frizz. And yet, that somehow just made her even more breathtaking. Even when she was sweaty and working out, she managed to look like an angel.

An angel who could easily kick his ass, he remembered as she pulled the upside-down-one-handed-breakdancer move again, this time on a redheaded girl he didn’t recognize. 

Before he could stop himself, he approached Lady Athena. 

“Hi, is this the self-defense lesson?” He asked the woman.  

“It is,” Lady Athena confirmed, and he nodded.. “You’re Prince Alexander’s guard, correct?”

“And certified Royal Best Dude™,” he added with a grin. He would never let go of that title.

“Alright, why don’t you train with Reggie? He can show you what we’re working on. I need to go make sure nobody’s going to throw out their back at the weights.” Luke nodded again as Lady Athena walked away.

He walked over to Reggie, shaking his hand.

“Hey, I’m Luke,” he introduced with a smile. Reggie shot one back.

“Reggie!”

“Nice to meet you! So, do we just… fight? I’m not sure how this is run here compared to in Tambor.” Reggie laughed. 

“Yeah, pretty much. You good at hand-to-hand?”

“I’m not bad,” he admitted. “But I’m no expert.” He couldn’t help looking at Julie. “Is she always that much of a badass?” Reggie followed his eyes to Julie. 

“Pretty much,” he said with a laugh, and Luke dearly hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“Good to know. In that case, if I introduce myself to her, how scared should I be?” He asked it with a smile and a joking tone, but he was actually a bit nervous. But, you know, just because he now knew that she could kick his ass seven ways to Sunday.

No other reason.

“Oh, don’t worry!” Reggie assured him. “She’s actually really nice. I’ve known her since she was eight,” he explained. Luke nodded, grateful for the reassurance.

“Alrighty then,” he said, hopping into a fighting stance. “Let’s get cracking.” 

…

By “let’s get cracking,” he was hoping he wouldn’t be cracking his ego, but he was sorely mistaken. Reggie didn’t seem like it, but he was really strong, and really good at fighting. Luke was more agile than him, and strength-wise he could compare, but the Dahlian style of fighting was so different from the Tamborian style. They were similar in many ways, of course; they had the same moves and strategies. But the ways they moved were so different, the ways they executed their moves had an uncanny grace and deadliness.

He did his best, reaching for every blow he could, trying to get the upper hand. And, to his credit, he won a few rounds. But he accidentally left himself vulnerable most of the time, leaving perfect opportunities for his opponent to strike, because Of Course He Did. 

When they called for a break, Luke wiped his forehead with a towel, grabbing a drink of water. Then, he swallowed the lump in his throat and approached Julie.

“Your highness?” he asked shyly. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met.” Luke tried not to blush when she smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Alex’s guard, Luke.”

“Hi! You can call me Julie,” she said with a gorgeous grin, and Luke knew he was a goner. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too! Oh, by the way, great job during your fights. I saw your takedown on the other girl, the one with the braids.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he mentally kicked himself. Not smooth, Patterson. What if she thought he was creepy? 

Thankfully, though, she smiled.

“Oh, that’s Flynn!”

“Cool,” he said, relieved. Nice and smooth, Patterson. “But yeah, I saw your fight, and that was really impressive. I doubt I could spin on one hand like you did.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck nervously, and he couldn’t help but feel accomplished when Julie’s cheeks flushed. Of course, his were probably just as red, but hopefully he could blame it on the workout.

“It took me forever to get that move right,” she admitted. “I only just got it down, if I’m being honest. I still slip up sometimes, too.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he complimented with a smile. And it wasn’t a lie, either. 

“Alright, break time’s over,” called Lady Athena. “No more flirting.” Luke cleared his throat, getting ready to insist that he wasn’t flirting, before he realized that Lady Athen was looking at Flynn and another redheaded girl, who were chatting animatedly, both blushing. He sighed in relief. 

As he went back to sparring with Reggie, zoned out but fighting just as well as he was before, maybe even better, he pondered Julie’s abilities. How did she manage to be so beautiful, so graceful, and yet so kind and badass? It shouldn’t have been possible for any one human to do that all, much less a teenage girl who was already juggling the responsibilities of being a princess. 

Julie was, Luke realized, even more incredible than he’d ever thought possible.

…

All throughout the dinner, he was trying not to stare at Julie. Her dress was absolutely gorgeous, and the way she flitted around the room like a butterfly was absolutely ethereal. Tie that with the diamonds sewn into her navy blue dress that looked like fading stars and twinkled in the light, and she looked like she was wrapped in starlight. He knew it was appropriate for that star of a woman, but still, he thought it should’ve been illegal for anyone to have that effect on him. 

His cheeks were red, and he stared at his plate, inhaling the scent of roast beef and mashed potatoes, along with the aroma of warm bread from his appetizer. 

Even with the cool air of Dahlia and his thin shirt and suit vest, he was still sweating. He was absolutely gone for a girl he’d only had one conversation with, a girl he’d only known for a maximum of five hours. 

A girl who his best friend was being forced to marry. 

That was the worst part of all of this. His best friend, who would never be in love with Julie no matter how good of friends they were, had to marry her because of goddamn international relations, and there was nothing he could do about it. And, a selfish part of him thought, it means you never had a chance. He shoved the thoughts out of his head, hating the lingering ache they left in his heart. 

Not that he would’ve ever had a chance anyway. She was a beautiful, badass princess, and he was just a guard she didn’t even know. 

-----

Reggie POV

...

As soon as the plane landed on the runway behind the palace, Reggie smiled at Julie, letting go of her hand as she readied herself.

He understood her worry. No matter how close you are with someone, being set to marry them - especially when you didn’t want to - was daunting. Of course, he’d never been through the same thing, but he was always an empathetic person, and he could practically feel his own sister’s worry and ache.

He saw Prince Alexander walking to the gardens, and smiled when Julie broke into a grin, running to him. He twirled rose petals between his fingers, letting out a small laugh when she jumped into Alex’s arms. He didn’t want to seem like a helicopter brother, though, so he went back inside, leaving Jules with Prince Alexander. 

When he stepped inside, he nearly ran into Ray.

“Whoa, sorry!” Ray laughed. 

“You’re perfectly fine, mijo. Everything okay?” Reggie sighed.

“I’m just worried for Julie. I’ve never really gotten to know Prince Alexander, and-”

“I’ll stop you there,” Ray said. “Believe me, I know what you mean, and if I could stop it without huge consequences, I would. But Alex isn’t someone you need to worry about. That boy is one of the sweetest, kindest people I’ve ever met,” he assured him. “And while I know neither of them want to get married, I know that they’re both mature, and good friends.”

“Thanks,” Reggie sighed. “I just wish I could get her out of it, you know? I mean, that’s my little sister.”

“I understand,” the king agreed. “But unfortunately, there isn’t anything to be done other than let Alex settle in.” Reggie nodded glumly. “Hey, wasn’t there a progression you wanted to show me? On your bass?” Ray clarified. Reggie immediately lit up. 

“Yeah! Julie and I have been working on a song called Icarus, and she’s got a killer piano melody worked out. I went off of some of her chords and found a super cool progression on my bass that adds a really nice line underneath hers, and it sounds-” he did the chef’s kiss thing with his hand- “divine.”

“Alright, well now I’ve gotta see it!” Reggie’s grin lit up even more and he ran to his room, followed by Ray, who was jogging behind him. 

Reggie’s room was huge, the walls painted dark blue. He’d always found the color soothing. He snatched his red and white bass guitar from its stand, spinning on his heel as he ducked under the strap, letting it settle by his waist. 

When Ray met him there, Reggie grinned, plucking the strings animatedly until he remembered the notes. He didn’t bother grabbing his phone to try and find them from wherever he’d written them down in the endless scrolling of his notes app. Soon, though, his chaotic ADHD brain remembered, and he began excitedly plucking specific notes in a rhythmic pattern, his fingers stretching to reach each fret as he hopped from the E string to A, then G back to E and D. He smiled even brighter when he saw Ray grinning and tapping his foot to the beat.

“So, it kinda just goes like that, until we get to the chorus. Then, I come in with a little…” he slid his finger down the string, letting the note slide down before he hopped back into the rhythm, the same notes as before, but ordered differently, giving a new feel to the music. 

He hopped around, spinning as he played his bass, humming the lyrics under his breath.

“That sounds super cool, mijo!” Ray exclaimed, one eyebrow furrowed, as was custom for him whenever he was excited. Reggie hopped up and down happily, fixing the cuff of one of his sleeves. 

“Thanks! Julie and I are gonna try to record it. I’m trying to learn how to play the drums, to add a steady beat, but I can’t seem to figure it out.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it soon.” Reggie beamed. “I’m so sorry, mijo, I have to go. I’d love to hear more later or tomorrow, though!”

“Okay,” Reggie said. “Bye!” He continued playing marking down cool progressions he found, and just hopping around to get out his wiggles. 

…

At the self-defense class, he sparred with Lady Athena. Sometimes he would spar with Julie or Flynn, but even though she was no doubt better at fighting, he was also bigger, and she was paired with Flynn. 

Lady Athena was amazing at fighting, and Reggie got his ass kicked most of the time, but he was able to win a couple rounds, which he was quite proud of. Lady Athena complimented his form, and he had no doubt that he would be gathering serotonin from that compliment for weeks. Even then, though, he got plenty from seeing his badass little sister master her insane breakdance-style move, with which she completely demolished Flynn in a few seconds. His chest swelled with pride when she won.

Soon, though, a man named Luke entered the studio, and Reggie definitely didn’t miss Julie’s blush when she looked at him. She might’ve been supposed to marry Alex, but it wasn’t like either of them wanted it. Plus, he was always down for a little treason, especially if it was with Julie. 

Lady Athena paired Luke with Reggie, perfect timing for her to go check on some of the other people in the arena. 

“Hey, I’m Luke,” the man introduced with a smile. Reggie gave his trademark grin.

“Reggie!” He outstretched his hand, and Luke shook it. 

“Nice to meet you! So, do we just… fight?” Luke asked. “I’m not sure how this is run here compared to in Tambor.” Reggie laughed. He’d never sparred with anyone from Tambor before, so this would be fun.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You good at hand-to-hand?”

“I’m not bad, but I’m no expert.” Reggie followed his gaze as it shifted over to Julie. “Is she always that much of a badass?” He asked, clearly in awe.

“Pretty much,” Reggie replied with a laugh, grinning at Luke’s blush.

Simp.

“Good to know. In that case, if I introduce myself to her, how scared should I be?” Luke was fiddling with the hem of his shirt by that point. 

“Oh, don’t worry!” Reggie assured him. “She’s actually really nice. I’ve known her since she was eight,” he explained.

“Alrighty then,” he said, hopping into a fighting stance. “Let’s get cracking.” Reggie grinned and reciprocated, taking the first strike. 

The first thing he learned was that Luke was very opportunistic in his fighting style. He went for nearly every possible blow, even if it meant leaving himself vulnerable. Reggie, of course, took advantage of this. He had to make sure his new friend (and sister’s possible future treasonous boyfriend) knew he could protect people. 

Luke pouted, and Reggie couldn’t help but admit that he had adorable puppy eyes. 

He helped him up, laughing. A few more sparring rounds passed, and Luke turned out to be quite adaptable. He found ways to get past Reggie’s blocks, and even put some up himself. Soon, they were evenly matched, and Reggie was impressed. Although, he soon found that he could get in another blow by telling a horrible joke, then striking when Luke laughed.

He thought it was pretty genius.

…

The dinner was rather uneventful. He did, however, get to meet Prince Alexander, which he was very happy about - even more so now that he was confident in Ray’s assurance that he was a good person. They’d chatted about politics and whatnot, before both admitting that they were bored. Somehow, the conversation strayed to music.

“No way, you play the drums?” Reggie asked excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’m no good.”

“Yeah, I do! You said you play bass?”

“Yep!” He beamed, making a mental note to ask if he wanted to see, sometime later.

“That’s awesome, dude.”

“Thanks!” 

They talked for a little while longer, before Alex was pulled away to talk to some other Dahlian nobleman whose name Reggie kept forgetting. Plus, Alex seemed tired; unsurprising, given the long day he must’ve had. 

Reggie eventually settled down and ran through his thoughts.

He knew he couldn’t protect Julie, not like he wanted to. Plus, she didn’t need protecting, he’d come to realize after Luke’s “badass” comment at the training arena. Julie Molina wasn’t just a badass in self-defense, she was also a badass in every other sense of the word. She was a teenage girl, the heiress to the Dahlian throne, juggling her academic lessons and royal lessons, along with making time for her friends, free time, and she managed to (usually) get enough sleep. She was a complete badass who didn’t need protecting. 

She needed support, instead. That was something Reggie could do. He could be by her side every step of the way, no matter how hard it got. He was her brother, and he loved her more than life itself, loved every crooked smile, every curl of hair, every eye roll after one of his famously bad jokes. She didn’t deserve any of this, but by God, he’d do his best to make it bearable for her. 

-----

Willie POV

...

After lunch, the burn on Willie’s hand had calmed. Rather than the angry red mark it was earlier, it had shrunk into an annoyed red streak. Still a nuisance, but he didn’t really care.

As Willie whipped the mousse, his mind strayed to Prince Alexander. 

What was he like? Was he as cute in person as he was in photos? Probably, Willie decided. Photos never fully captured someone’s beauty unless they knew what they were looking for, and that was always more of an emotion. Photojournalists aimed for lighting and composition. There were always emotion in the photos, yes, but they never actually got to see the people in the photo. 

He wondered if he would get to meet him. Would it go well? Would he like the bread he’d so carefully baked? Would he enjoy the mousse cake he was whipping up right now? All of these questions whirled around in Willie’s brain as he whipped the mousse, letting it become airy and fluffy. Sprinkles of cocoa powder dusted the counter next to his mixing bowl, but it was fine. It would all get wiped up later. 

He grabbed a tub of fine cinnamon, sprinkling in a pinch for a little bit of kick. It was barely noticeable, but it gave the mousse an extra depth that it normally would’ve lacked. He’d never told anyone his secret, despite prying from Lilian. 

Sprinkling in a tiny bit more to account for the large batch, his thoughts wandered again.

How was Princess Julie dealing with all of this? Willie had never had a real conversation with her, but she seemed to be very well put-together. She managed everything so well, at least from the outside. Though he knew better than anyone that, no matter how organized someone may seem, there’s always a storm underneath. 

Willie finished up, putting plastic wrap over the mousse and sticking it in the giant refrigerator, before taking off his apron, washing his hands, and heading for the door.

“Willie?” Called Alyssa from behind him. He turned around, walking backwards. 

“Yeah? I’m just going on break.”

“Did you finish making the mousse?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Alyssa,” he said, walking out the door. The mousse is in the refrigerator-” 

WHAM. 

Willie let out a slight “oof” as he ran into the person in the hallway.

He stumbled, catching himself before he fell, though not as gracefully as he would’ve liked. He’d fared better than the other person, though. 

“Whoa!” The man said.

“Agh, sorry, I really need to watch where I’m-” Willie cut himself off, his cheeks flushing as he realized he’d just ran into Prince Alexander.

Well, so much for making a good impression.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, your highness.” He scrambled into a bow, and blushed. 

“No, you’re good, bro.” Willie was taken aback by the casual response, but he wasn’t complaining. 

Willie finally got a good look at him, and wasn’t at all surprised when he found that he was even more stunning in person.Of course, it made it a whole lot harder to hide his gay panic.

He had blonde hair that was expertly styled, and a crisp, blue suit vest with minimalistic gold embroidery that brought out flecks of blue in his eyes and highlights in his hair. His muscles were defined and visible through the sleeves of his white dress shirt, and even when he was frazzled after just having been knocked over, he still looked as handsome as ever.

“Are you okay?” Willie asked, concerned. 

“I’m fine, yeah. Thanks. Just trying to clear my head. Until you, you know, tried to crack it open.” Willie couldn’t help himself from laughing, and dearly hoped it wasn’t the wrong move. But the prince had a small smile on his face and pink dusting his cheeks, so he had a feeling it was okay.

“I did pancake you, huh?” He tried to laugh, and Willie nervously cleared his throat. “Sorry. Oh, uh, I’m Willie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Willie outstretched his hand, delighted when the other man shook it. “Alex,” he greeted, still blushing a little bit, which could be chalked up to the embarrassment of being plowed over. Willie was worried things would get awkward soon, so he searched for an excuse, hating that he had to leave.

“Well, I’d better make sure we’re clear to bring up dessert,” he said. “But I’ll see you around, your royal pancakeness,” Willie added with a grin, spinning on his heel and going back to the kitchens, hoping Alex hadn’t noticed his internal gay panic.

…

“Well, that was a quick break,” Alyssa pointed out.

“Yeah, I guess it was,” Willie agreed, not fully listening. 

He’d fucking pancaked the prince. Prince Alexander Mercer of Tambor. And Willie, despite his constant hoping for a good impression, ran him over because he wasn’t even watching where he was going. 

How the hell was he such a mess? And even more, how would he ever be accepted by literal royalty who was way too cute to even exist? 

Willie shook his head, letting his hair fall over his shoulders, ignoring the feeling of Alyssa’s eyes on him as he walked into the giant refrigerated room, grabbing the huge bowl of chocolate mousse and scooping it into a piping bag, grabbing some of the chilled cakes.

His hands were steady and meticulous as he gently piped the mousse onto the cakes, making a thick layer on top of each, then lifting into a swirl that peaked in the center, adorning each cake with a bit of wafer and chocolate. He set each one on a tray, waiting for Alyssa to pick it up. Plating was her specialty, because according to Lilian, any time Willie did plating, it ended up “chaotic” and “messy” and “unorthodox.” Personally, he thought it was cool. But, not everyone could have taste, he supposed. 

…

Later that night, as he wandered into his small room in the chefs’ quarters, laying down on the soft bed, his mind wandered to Alex. Despite constantly being on the news, he was a mystery, an enigma, a puzzle Willie had the urge to solve. What were his interests? His desires? His hopes, his dreams? 

Of course, he would never be able to act on his feelings about the prince, how adorably awkward he was, how gorgeous he was in any outfit, no matter the style, how even in one simple conversation, Willie had become so enamoured that he wanted to know everything about him. Not in a creepy way, of course, but in the way one wishes to know someone they’ve just met, who intrigues them to no end. 

That night, his dreams were haunted by a familiar face, a shy smile, and a piercing set of bluish eyes.

[relaxedreptile]

My House

Pairing: Bang Chan X Reader

A/N: This was slightly inspired by Chan’s rude cover of 2PM’s “My House” from the other day... I was considering a different setting but I thought this would be more fitting.

Hoping all is well.

-

“You look hot.”

You made eye contact with your best friend Felix in the floor-length mirror you and your roommate shared, smiling as you glanced over your body a final time.

“Can you help me decide on a pair of earrings to wear?” All of your allotted energy for fashion had been drained putting your outfit together; you couldn’t make one more decision.

When Felix stood up to walk towards your jewelry stash, you gasped dramatically, slightly scaring the poor thing.

“Forget about me, look at the legs on this one!” He was wearing a pair of tight black jeans that complimented his slender figure and making him look slightly taller than his actual 5’7” stature. A little bit of chest was exposed too, allowing for a tiny necklace to shine against his smooth skin. 

Felix brushed off your comment with a nervous laugh. You were each other’s hype-man and had been for years, but that doesn’t make accepting the compliments any easier.

“You do look really good, though. The belt was a nice touch,” you reassured him, nudging his hip with yours to bring attention to the aforementioned accessory.

He nudged you back with another laugh and started leafing through the available earrings you had brought to school. 

The two of you decided on a pair of silver hoops that you knew would cause regret in the form of tender red ears by the end of the night. Fuck it.

Both you and Felix were freshmen at your university and after spending what felt like years cramming for the final exams you had just completed today, it was a no-brainer when Jisung asked you two if you would consider coming to his frat house for a party to celebrate. The aspiring rapper was known for his crazy “gatherings” and while they may not usually be everyone’s cup of tea, a chance to unwind was desperately snatched up by anyone who was graced with an invitation.

“I still don’t understand how Jisung managed to charm his way into this frat.”

Felix shrugged. “One of the juniors heard his stuff on Soundcloud and snatched him right up apparently.”

“What?” You started walking backwards to be able to face your best friend. “Jisung never mentioned that to me.”

“I got it out of the cute guy in my French class, you know Changbin? He’s a rapper too. They’re thinking of making a rap trio for the showcase at the end of the year.”

“Who’s the third?”

“The junior. Name’s Chris or Chan or CB whatever-the-fuck… Jisung switches up constantly when talking about him.”

You turned back around, matching Felix’s pace as you trekked up the hill to the brick house. 

“Felix! Y/N! So glad you could finally make it to one of these!” Jisung greeted, making a slight jab at how unfamiliar you guys were with college nightlife.

A drink was shoved into each of your guys’ hands as if Jisung was waiting for you before you were ushered into the living room.

Purple LED lights allowed you to see the absolute chaos that was this party. Empty cups discarded on the floor, at least three couples getting acquainted against the wall, and a haze of smoke that escaped the bathroom any time the door opened. You and Felix scanned the crowd  for familiar faces, not really sure who to expect.

Your eyes fell on the guy in the corner, typing away on a laptop and seemingly supplying the huge speakers with the music that was rocking your body. His fingers bounced across his keyboard, face scrunched in what must’ve been the cutest concentrated face you had ever seen. The lights made his hair look like a bright magenta color and the silver ring curled around his bottom lip shine. 

You gulped as your eyes trailed up the rest of his arm. His white button-up was rolled up to his elbows, exposing his veins with every moment of his hands. The shirt just fit around his broad shoulders, stretching to do so in a way that left his collarbones available for your viewing. This guy’s skin was so pale that it basically blended into the fabric covering it.

His jawline was sharp, his nose strong, and his eyes were looking right into yours.

You spun around as quickly as possible to express your embarrassment to Felix only to find that your “best friend” had disappeared. You couldn’t help but smirk when you saw him practically cuddled into Changbin’s side on the couch, a muscular arm tossed around his waist. 

Betrayal forgiven.

Knowing you couldn’t turn back around but also couldn’t continue standing there alone like an idiot, you took a sip of whatever Jisung had given you and pushed through the crowd of people. You hoped this would make it harder for the super cute DJ to find you again and remind himself of your pervy moment of weakness.

Finding yourself in the kitchen that was fortunately better lit, you strolled over to the stack of pizza boxes and started to look for one that wasn’t empty yet. Before your lips could meet the slice of pepperoni you had been graced with, a body was slammed into yours and the pizza slice was barely kept off the ground.

“Shit. Sorry, Y/N!” Jisung, a pretty girl clinging onto his arm, was already halfway across the room before you could string together the perfect insult.

You leaned back into the countertop in defeat, promising to get back at your clumsy friend later.

“Y/N, was it?”

You groaned internally, ready to face some college kid who was as greasy as the pizza in your hand. Thank god you hadn’t been able to take a bite, because you definitely would’ve choked once you saw who was talking to you.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.”

The DJ from before— you know, the one whose shoulders you were staring at?—was standing right in front of you, leaning on the counter to his side.

“I saw you looking at me in the living room earlier.”

Not one for subtlety, are we? “Yeah, sorry about that. I couldn’t put a name to your face and was trying to figure you out.”

The boy shifted so his back was resting against the kitchen counter.

“I don’t think it was my face you were looking at. At least, not at first.”

Your eyes dropped down to his arms that were still exposed, completely giving yourself away.

“You’re the one in charge of the music?”

The boy’s eyebrow quirked, unsure of where this was going. He nodded.

“What’s with all the Jisung I’ve been hearing? Are you a fanboy or something?”

The boy’s eyes scrunched and his plump lips formed a smile as he laughed at your assumption. 

“Not quite. His voice isn’t the only one on these tracks.”

“I recognize Changbin’s too,” you admitted with a tilt of your head. “But the third…”

The boy stretched his arms out, a smirk on his face.

“…is you!” You finished.

You thought back to the conversation you had with Felix on the way to the party.

“You’re the guy with like… a million different names.”

Your ears were blessed with his laugh once again.

The boy stuck his hand out, “I’m Chan. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You shook his hand, a smile on your face to match his own. He squeezed your hand lightly before letting go.

The two of you found a spot on the staircase at the front of the house to chat, having to shift closer and closer together every time a couple rushed by you two to find an unoccupied room on the upper level.

“So, you run this thing? The frat?”

Chan, looking a bit shy, rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t resting on your thigh. 

“Not really. I mean, I play a part in picking out new guys but I don’t do it alone. My dad studied here too, was a part of this frat actually,” he nodded towards a class photo to his left, “so when I got accepted… he donated this building.”

Chan looked at you like forcing those words out of his mouth was the hardest thing he’s ever done. 

“And… you’re helping pay it off by DJing at college parties?” You joked.

The boy next to you laughed, obviously relieved, and squeezed your thigh before speaking again.

“No, no… I just don’t like to waste time that I could be using to work on music. It used to be just me making shit on my computer but now that I have Changbin and Jisung by my side, I don’t want to keep them in the shadows any longer.”

Even in the dim lighting you could see how his eyes sparkled when talking about the other boys.

“They’re so passionate about it. Changbin can rap as fast as Jisung can get an entire song’s worth of lyrics on the page. I feel like an old man working next to them sometimes.”

You both cracked up at that.

After talking back and forth about your respective majors and comparing embarrassing stories of Jisung (or, J.One, as you learned from Chan). The new drink in your hand was long forgotten and still practically full, time with Chan was too precious to waste.

“You know, when I caught you looking at me a couple hours ago, I was relieved.” Chan confessed. “When you walked in the door with that guy… I basically had to peel my eyes off of you.” He glanced at your body pressed into his for emphasis.

“Do you know how hot you look right now?” He had leaned in close enough to whisper in your ear, his breath sending sparks down your spine.

His finger hooked itself in the belt loop of your jeans, teasing you with a slight tug.

Your hand came up to rest on his exposed chest. It slid from his collarbone down to the first button that wasn’t undone. 

You used the slight leverage you had on his shirt to pull him closer to you, his head still tucked into the side of your neck. With a slight turn of your head, the two of you were kissing.

Chan’s lips were twice as soft as they looked and you dropped any doubts of him being a rapper when his tongue started moving against your own. One of his hands was wrapped around the back of your neck, holding you in place as his lips slotted against your own. 

You pulled his body into yours, alternating with grips on his collar and light tugs of his curly hair to get what you needed.

Chan pulled away suddenly, lips full, hair disheveled, and shirt shifted completely out of place. In other words, anyone would be able to tell that the two of you were just making out.

“There’s a guesthouse out there,” he explained. “My room is in there since it doubles as our studio.”

He placed another quick kiss on your lips.

“What do you say? Wanna go to my house?”

You smirked, rewarding his perfect idea with a kiss of your own.

[wonderland-in-bloom]

if only

[malleus draconia x reader]

@geodraconia asked: Hey there ! Love your writing ~❤ Can you write a piece for Malleus and a s/o who dies protecting him? They both loved each other but never confessed it and were always struggling.

good angsty fics for a good rainy day. also i wrote the whole fic on paper cuz i didn’t feel like typing it out on my laptop. it just gives me different vibes lolol~

♡

THE grueling memories ate at him. it clawed at him. it hurt him, demanding to be felt. he would spend the cold, lonely nights leaned against the fence of the ramshackle dorm. the place where he and the love of his life first met. he reminisced on the bitter yet sweet memories of him and his love. why did he even go back to that broken down dorm even when he knew it was no longer abandoned? why did he even go back every night to meet the human who would soon steal his heart? why did he even help them when they were in need? why did he even fall in love..? his love’s soothing voice still rung in his ears. “malleus...” how his name would gracefully escape their lips and be heard as a blissful melody to his hears.

you were his world. and he was yours. he would give anything and everything he had to be able to have you be beside him once more. after all, he never got to say the three words to come out of his mouth. those three word beings a declaration of admiration and affection, “i love you”. tonight however, was different. tonight had been a night of dread. a night where he got reminded who’s fault it truly was that you were now gone. 

“malleus please listen to me! it’s all too suspicious! do you not see?” you pleaded him to stay. malleus had received a letter from an anonymous sender. the letter consisted of an invitation for him to meet this anonymous sender at 5 pm in an unknown location to malleus.  “(y/n), please. there’s a possibility it might be something important.” he replied. you didn’t agree with decision. you knew he practically had a target painted on his back. you knew the many enemies he had as it came with his infamous title. “it’s worrying! the letter told you not to take lilia, silver, or sebek with you! please! how does this not sound suspicious at all to you?!” you grabbed his hand, trying to pull him back and hopefully just make him listen to more of your words. he thrashed his hand and pulled it away from you.

“(y/n) why do you even bother?” although he didn’t raise his voice, you were able to tell from his tone that it was cold and menacing even. because i care about you, those words almost slipped out. “well...it’s because...” you really couldn’t answer. you really didn’t know what to answer. “if you don’t even have an answer then why should you bother?” malleus hissed as he left the room. tears pricked the corner of your eyes. your suspicions still stood and you took it upon yourself to run as fast as your feet could take you and chase after malleus. malleus stood there in an unfamiliar are which was a clearing surrounded by trees and a dark forest. he examined his surroundings while waiting for the anonymous sender to show up.

“draconia.” a hooded figure stepped out from the shadows and presented himself in front of malleus. he recognized him. of course he did. he would recognize that face anywhere. it was his fated enemy, a student from royal sword academy. “i want nothing to do with you.” he started to turn away before the figure cleared their throat. “this rivalry has to end.” malleus stopped in his tracks. “excuse me?” his rival stepped forward towards malleus. “this has gone on for far too long!” you popped your head out from the trees to be able to witness the scene unravel in front of your very eyes. “i propose peace. i want this rivalry to end. what good has this rivalry brought onto us? it has brought both our sides nothing but disaster. i want that to stop today. please. i don’t want to see anyone suffer.” 

the first thing that came up in malleus’s mind was you. he could imagine the smile on your face when he’d tell you how the rivalry had stopped. how happy you would be. now he felt guilty for treating you the way he did earlier. “so, what do you say? allies?” malleus hesitated. no matter how much he hated him, he wanted to do this for you. his precious (y/n). oh how you’ve made his heart gone soft. he turned around to gaze into his rival’s eyes. you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. finally, the day arrived the stupid rivalry between the two of them was about to stop. while lost in your own thoughts, you could hear a click coming from a nearby distance to where you were standing. you were aghast to see the sight of many students from royal sword academy wielding crossbows with a red liquid coating the sharp edge of the arrow. you learnt well enough from professor crewel’s alchemy class, that the red liquid was one of the deadliest poisons which was able to kill anything, no matter how strong they were. an agonizing, painful death. 

your breath hitched as your body was filled with the rush of adrenaline. you realized that the signal was going to be when malleus and his rival would shake hands..! malleus had already extended his hand to shake hands. you took off running in their direction as fast as you can. however it was too late. the arrows were released and you didn’t have enough time to warn him. “malleus..!” you stepped behind him, shielding him from the incoming arrows. your back faced the tree-line as you slowly started to feel a sharp, hot, piercing sensation on your back. he failed to comprehend what was going on as when he turned around, your back was covered with arrows, piercing through your skin and coated you in a layer of dark red. “(y/n)!” he caught you in his arms. blood trickled from your mouth but alas you kept a smile. “b-before...i do ha..have an answer....for you.” it was hard for you to breathe, let alone talk. 

“i bo...bother...because...i...i care...about you, m..malleus!” it pained him to hear your words as you struggled to engulf large amounts of air as you could. it pained him to hear your usual sweet, alluring voice become so hoarse and lifeless. it pained him to hear you like this. a lump formed on the back of his throat, suffocating him. “no..no..! (y/n)! stay with me! please...” you felt yourself getting weaker and weaker, slipping away from life’s grasp by the second. “malleus...” with your weak, blood stained hands, you reached out to touch his face, for the last time. “i...i...i lo--” your eyes were struck with lifelessness as your hand grew limp, falling out of malleus’s reach and onto the ground. your final breath left your pale lips. you were gone. physically there but in all other aspects, missing. malleus had just witnessed his whole world crumble. tears streamed down his face. this couldn’t be real! this must be a nightmare! malleus held you close to his chest, sobs erupting from him. 

all those who wielded the crossbows retreated, afraid what would happen to them. malleus growled as his eyes glowed a dangerous green laced with malicious intent. “some alliance..!” green flames erupted and burnt everything around him, getting rid of his rival and al his goons in the process. there was no end to this flame, there was no end to this pain. there was no end to this grief. there was no pain to this guilt. lilia, sebek, and silver arrived moments too late as the three saw his suffering figure which cradled your dead body in his arms. if only he had just listened. if only he didn’t let himself but so full of himself. if only he was able to admit to you and himself that he truly cared about you. it’s all my fault. if i just listened to you, none of this would have happened. (y/n)...i’m so sorry my love. 

you were always ravishing in his eyes. both in life and in death. your body was encased in a glass coffin adorned with an array of flowers. malleus had cast a spell to prevent your body from ever decaying. even in your state, you still had a smile visible on your face. that was the same smile which you had when you parted with your love. malleus stood in front of your coffin placed in the middle of a secret garden he built just for you. in the past, he hoped that one day the two of you would spend time with each other in this secret garden of his, but now the circumstances were different. now one was lost in the depths of death while the other was roaming the living world however not feeling alive. “(y/n) my love...i’m so so so sorry.” he placed a blood red rose on top of your glass coffin. he bent down and kissed the coffin. “i’m so sorry. if only i wasn’t so dense. so stupid. so full of myself.”

“if only i realized sooner....things would’ve been different. if only i was able to tell you how much i love you. if only...”

♡

ok that was a tad bit angsty ehehehe. all that aside, i miss the comfort of writing in a proper notebook lol. i’ll make the drafts for all these fics in my book first i guess eheh

love, a♕

[writtenonreceipts]

In all honesty, Runaways was supposed to be a single one-shot.  And here we are.  Not sure how I feel about this one. Oh well…Takes place amid the main events of this fic and in conjunction with this fic.  Based on characters from the Throne of Glass series.

TW: None, mentions of addictions, death.

they are the runaways. before they set out on a trip to take aelin back to her family, rowan and aelin grow together in their past lives of addiction.  slowly, ever slowly.

a sinner in the sun

They have a hesitant friendship that has been established by phone calls that stretch all night long, phone calls that consist of panic attacks, and phone calls that consist of nothing at all.  Sometimes they say nothing.  Sometimes they say everything.

Because oddly enough, he has turned into someone that she depends on.  Too much, apparently, but she doesn’t realize that.  Not yet.

Aelin hates talking on the phone.  With a passion.  But texting is just as horrible because sometimes her words come too fast and her fingers can’t keep up and autocorrect is the literally devil incarnate.  Everything becomes a jumbled mess that is nearly untranslatable.  Just like everything about her.  So she calls instead.  

“I need your help,” she says one day into her phone.

It’s too early in the morning for hellos.  The sun is barely breaking through the clouds and the pale pink haze of morning stains her dingy old apartment.  Any other day she would curl up with a book.  Or she’d go out for a run.  Something to distract her from her mind, but today she has to be an adult.

Rowan is immediately at attention on the other side.  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Aelin pauses.  She realizes then that this is the first time she has called him while not in crisis mode.  Today, she is okay.  She is happy. She wants to be alive.

“Nothing,” she says as she realizes the mistake of the call.  One hand immediately tangles in her hair and she cringes.  “It’s nothing.  Really.  Never mind. I shouldn’t have called.”

“It’s obviously something if you called,” he replies.  “You hate the phone.”

She can hear the smirk. “Buzzard.”

“What do you need?”

“I found a new apartment and I need some help moving.” She forces it all out in a single breath and waits.

“I’ll be right there.”

#

He brings reinforcements.

Fenrys is too happy for life.  Dark skin, gold hair, and a rakish smile.  He bounces around her apartment telling her to steal what she wants from her old roommate who isn’t there.  He cracks some joke about her calling Rowan buzzard.  He smiles because he wants to.

Lorcan is the exact opposite.  Black hair, black eyes, and a scowl to rival Rowans.  He grabs what’s been boxed and labeled dutifully.  He says nothing about anything.  Aelin can feel the sorrow oozing off of him.  The tiredness, the angst.  He firmly believes he deserves his misery.

All Aelin can gather about how they know each other is from years ago when they were children and had started their own gang.  A gang that involved eating sandwiches and playing squirt guns, but a gang nonetheless.

Aelin realizes that this is just the start of Rowans family.  And it is strange she realizes.  Strange to see the three men, like brothers, laughing and joking.  It is strange to realize that Rowan has a past, a history. Because as much as he has talked about it before, it’s just now coming to life before her.  In the form family.  And that’s a language she never learned to speak.

“You have too many books,” Lorcan tells her as he stares at the boxes she has accumulated.

“Impossible,” she scoffs.

Lorcan makes no reply and begins hauling them out of the apartment.  It’s unfortunate really, seeing as how she lives on the third floor and it is getting close to reaching a hundred degrees outside.  She’s going to have to buy them all coffee and pizza after this.

When Rowan slips back into the apartment, he’s shaking out his hair that is distinctly shorter than the last time she saw him.  Less scruff on his chin too.  Which is nice because his face is far to lovely to be hidden like that.

Aelin realizes where her thoughts are going and distinctly turns away from him to stuff a drawer full of silverware into a box.  It all clatters together unceremoniously.  It’ll be a bitch to put away when she gets to her new place but she needs the distraction.  For now and for later.  Because now she can feel his eyes on her.  Those beautiful eyes that remind her of the forest and of running and of being free and she can’t take it.  Not now. Not after the other night when they’d talked for so long.  And later…when she’s alone with her thoughts all she’ll want to think about is him.  

“You’re going to regret that later,” Rowan says, eyes still on her.

“Probably,” she says and shrugs.  “I’ve come to live with my regrets.  By running away from them, burying them.”

He raises an eyebrow and amusement laces his voice.  “I don’t think it’s supposed to work that way.”

“Does for me.” She gives him a wicked grin and this one doesn’t feel forced.  Instead it’s almost lighthearted.  It’s followed by a small burst of laughter and it is glorious.

#

Hours later they’ve cleared out her old apartment and the boys have helped her move everything inside. They’re just bringing up the last of the boxes and Aelin’s ordered pizza and Chinese food.  Anything and everything she can think of so they know she’s grateful.  Because just saying it isn’t something she can do.  Not yet.

And hours later still, it’s just her and Rowan.

The studio apartment is impossibly small.  It’s got at least ten different fire hazards.  The hot water doesn’t work.  And the lock of the front door is dodgy at best.  But it’s hers.

She and Rowan are sitting on her floor staring at the unjust screen of his laptop trying to watch a show but Aelin won’t stop laughing at the paltry accents being used.  Because apparently hiring real actors from the country they were filming in was too much work.  So instead she laughs and Rowan is ready to smother her.

But he doesn’t. Instead he’s grinning stupidly at her as she laughs.  The sunset drifts through one of her windows casting long shadows around the room. She doesn’t notice the way his eyes ling on her.  Not really. She doesn’t notice the way they’ve been sitting so close together.  Not really.

What she is focused on is the fact that she doesn’t want the moment to end.  Because if the moment end, if the laptop goes away then she has to either let Rowan go for the night or do something about it.  And doing something about it… well…that would require change.

And the last time something in Aelin’s life changed she spiraled down deep than Alice’s Wonderland hole.

She tries not to notice him despite the fact that he is all she can think about.

“What?” Rowan asks.

Blinking, Aelin realizes she was staring.  Of course she was because with the way the computer screen lights up his face and the setting sun in the windows behind him—he is illuminated.  Suddenly she feels like she’s seeing him for the first time. Because today she learned about him.

She learned he’s always had a thing for hawks.  Loved reading about them as a kind and learning all there was to know.  He calls Fenrys “Pup” and treats him like a younger brother and damn Rowan would make a good brother to anyone.  Lorcan teases him about being old even though Lorcan himself is older than all of them.  Rowan hadn’t spoken to his friends in over a year.

And in secret—silent and careful—Fenrys thanked her for staying with him.  For being with him when they weren’t.

And that simple sentiment terrifies her.  Because she is rarely there for anyone.  Not sense the damn summer days of daisies and dirt bikes.

“Aelin?” Rowan repeats. His brow creases in worry and she finds herself swallowing stiffly as one hands reaches for something…something that isn’t there.

“Nothing,” she says and stands.  “Water?”

She doesn’t have alcohol in the kitchen.  Not since Rowan told her about Lyria not since she learned about how he fell all those years ago.

Instead of waiting for him to ask, she gets a prepackaged water bottle for him.  After tossing it his direction she digs around in the back of a cupboard she made sure to unpack herself.  She grabs the bag of taffy and immediately stuffs one in her mouth.  

Supposedly when she has an urge she can distract her body by eating something else.  But she thinks that only works with smoking.  Not anything she really wants.  But she can try.  She can pretend.

When she settles back beside him on the floor his eyes are on her.  And not like they were before.

“Aelin,” he says slowly.

He hasn’t touched his water. She eats more taffy.

It’s what she does. The distraction.  She doesn’t want to think about anything.  Doesn’t want to think about before with the dirt bike and Sam. Not the scars.  Not where she fell.  She doesn’t want to be that person.  Not after seeing who Rowan is and what he’s become.  Because today she learned that she doesn’t deserve him.

How could she?

He reaches a hand out and rests it on hers where she’s trying to dig out another piece of taffy. There are callouses on his fingers and she can’t help but shiver at the touch.  Can help but shiver at that gentle touch of his.  Because hell—how long has it been since someone touched her so carefully?

“Aelin?” he repeats. Slow.  Pity.  No.  No, Rowan doesn’t pity her.  She knows that much about him.  He wouldn’t pity her for this.

“It’s nothing,” she finds herself whispering.  Shaking her head, shea drags her fingers through her hair.  “Sorry, I zoned out.”

She can’t tell him what she’s thinking.  Can’t let him know that all she wants to do is see what he tastes like because maybe that will help her.  Distract her enough.

She doesn’t deserve him.

His fingers curl tighter around her hand.  When Aelin tries to pull her hand away from his, he intertwines their fingers instead.

“You’re not alone,” he says. “You know that right?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I know.”

#

The next day Rowan is already at her apartment.  He hasn’t bothered to change out of his scrubs.  There are bags under his eyes and she knows he didn’t get any sleep last night despite her insistence that he do.

“What are you doing?” she asks.  

He’s standing on her one kitchen stool glaring up at the fire alarm. “Fixing this.”

“It’s fine,” she tells him. She eases around him and slings her purse on the counter.  It had been a long day of answering phones.  Somehow, she’d gotten hired as a receptionist as a law firm.  The same law firm, it turned out, that Fenrys was interning at. She’d tried to corner him about it when she learned the truth but he merely winked and shrugged.

“With your cooking?” Rowan lets out a laugh.  “No. You’ll burn this place down in a day.”

“How would you know if I can cook or not?” She stares up at him hands on her hips.  

“Please, Aelin,” he says. He jams the cover into place and hops down from the stool. “I’ve seen your car.  You’ve hit up every fast-food joint in a thirty mile radius.”

“I’m just trying to find the best French fry,” she says, “you can’t blame me for that.”

The smile that crosses his mouth is sinful.  At least, it elicits sinful thoughts in her head.  Thoughts that she has no business having.

“You at least could have waited for when you had a day off and weren’t coming off a shift,” she says.

He shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“You’re exhausted,” she presses.

“It’s fine.”

“Rowan.”

They stare at each other. She is fascinated by his eyes—like always.  What he is so enraptured by in her she doesn’t know but she’s developed a long list about him. Too long.

“I ordered pizza,” he says.

She sputters a laugh. “You ordered pizza?  You were just making fun of me for my lack of cooking skills.”

“I’m a hypocrite.”

“Whatever,” she says and heads to her closet for a change of clothes.  She pauses and looks back at him. “How the hell’d you get in here?”

His expression holds no shame. “I convinced your landlord to give me a copy.”

“Ass,” she says under her breath.  Not quiet enough because he lets out a booming laugh.

It’s the first time in a while that laughter has been in her home, in her life.  And she has to admit, she loves it.  It is glorious.  For once, she can convince herself to be carefree.  Right up until the pizza arrives they are teasing each other. Insults and bickering and eyerolls and scoffs.  For the first time in a while, she could let herself simply be.

Maybe that’s why she does it.

Later, when he’s trying to convince her that she does actually need more than one chair in her apartment.  He’s so adamant about having more chairs that she can’t stop laughing.  He’s making jibes at all the pillows laying all over her bed so why can’t she have another chair?

Because the floor is perfectly comfortable is not a valid excuse.  Nor the fact that she has no friends.

“Fenrys will be highly offended by that statement,” he says.

It’s as he’s leaning over to pull her laptop closer because it’s his turn to pick the movie they watch.  He’s so close that she can feel his body heat. She can catch the faintest hint of cologne lingering on his skin.

And she moves.  It doesn’t take much to to reach out and tug his chin up.  Doesn’t take much to lean forward and kiss him.  It’s a barely there sort of the thing.  The graze so light that they could easily pretend it never happened.  If only her fingers weren’t pressing into his chin and holding him in place.  Of course, he could pull away.  He should pull away.  She should to.

But they don’t.

And Aelin is staring into those eyes that have undone her ever since she woke up in that hospital bed. Her heart is pounding ferociously in her chest and panic starts to snap through her blood.  What the hell did she do?

Her best friend.

Her only friend.

She is a terrible, terrible fool.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.  She drops her hand from his face and tears her eyes from his.  The flush rising on her skin reminds her of the sun from that summer and it’s quickly becoming too much.  Too much.

Everything is too much.

There is hardly a pause though when Rowan is reaching for her, his large hand cupping her cheek and he pulls her face back towards him.

The silence of the night echoes around them.  Not even a car back firing or howl of a dog.  Just them, left alone in the world.

He moves first this time and presses his forehead against hers.  His eyes flutter closed as he breathes her in and in that moment, Aelin swears it’s the most intimate she has ever been with anyone.  Even Sam.

When he kisses her, Rowan is insistent.  His mouth moves against hers it is with urgency and longing.  Aelin finds herself gasping and raising a hand to grip his arm so she has something to ground her—something to keep her steady.

And after all this time she should have known he would have been that grounding force.

They don’t have the time to move beyond that moment.  Not when Rowans pager goes off.

Cursing, he pulls away from her and fumbles for his phone and pager.  “Damn.  I need to go.”

Aelin nods.  What’s she supposed to say to that?  She looks at him.  “It’s fine.”

She’s certain he moves to touch her again, to kiss her.  But instead, Rowan rises.

He’s at the door before he looks back at her and in the dim lighting of her terribly sad, new apartment he smiles. “I’ll text you.”

And he is gone.

And Aelin doesn’t know if she believes him.

#

Thanks for reading my dears!

Tags:  @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover @esco--s 

[monsterlovinghours]

Concept: the dons dealing with an s/o that’s really insecure with them? Like, they all love you so much but you still just kinda isolate from them sometimes cause you think they don’t wanna be around you and they have to kinda smack some sense into you?

a smidge angsty and boy is this a fat mood

Bee cocked an ear, brow furrowed curiously as he heard the sound of distinctly human footsteps ascending the stairs to the third floor. It was rarely used, just spare bedrooms and galleries of Gio’s less precious collections. The staff turned the sheets once a week, and once a month it received a thorough cleaning, but no one really spent much time up there. No one, except you. Lately, you’d been all but shutting yourself up in one of the spare rooms, locking the doors behind you and making as little noise as possible. As if you were trying to hide from them. Scarabee sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if this was normal human behavior or if he had cause to worry. Muttering in his accented Creole French, he sent his shadows throughout the estate to search out his colleagues, to gather them in the smoking room. He would rest easier once they had reassured him that you were behaving normally.

Yet, as they gathered and he called to their attention the change in your habits, and the same ague expression of worry crossed each of their faces, he knew he would remain uneasy for a while longer.

“Has anyone spoken to them recently?”

Bajo lifted his hand, waggling it side to side in midair. “Sort of? They come down sometimes to grab food and drinks, and I tried to start a conversation.” His expression fell, the tips of his pointed ears drooping ever so slightly as his hair took on a faint bluish hue. “They hardly said a word to me, they barely even looked up at me. I tried to pull them close, but they ran off before I could get a grip on them.”

Zhuk muttered something unintelligible in Russian. “That is unlike them. What could have happened?”

“We’re not gonna find out what’s wrong with ‘em sitting down here frettin’ like hens,” Cia said impatiently, already getting to his feet. “Let’s go talk to ‘em.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, Gio stood as well, his expression stormy, though for once, his ire wasn’t directed as his associates. He was angry with himself for not noticing the changes in their human treasure’s behavior before now; or, if he had noticed, had done nothing to improve their mood. Following his lead, the five of them walked up to the third floor, up to your new hideout. 

There was no doubt you were inside, they could hear your heartbeat from the ground floor. It was slow, steady. Nothing out of the ordinary there. There was also the tinny sound of something played through speakers, something slow and modern. The door was locked, but a wisp of Bee’s shadows popped the tumblers, and the door swung open. You were curled up on a large four-poster bed, your laptop playing music, your eyes glued to the window. It didn’t escape any demon’s notice that they were slightly red, puffy, and hazy. 

“Darlin’?” Cia approached you first, sitting down on the foot of the bed. “Hey, love. Whatcha all hid away up here for?”

You looked over at them, as if just noticing they had entered the room, before dropping your gaze to your lap, pulling a blanket around your shoulders as you hugged a pillow to your chest. “Just felt like being alone,” you said softly, flatly. Slowly, they each took a seat on the bed, the mattress large enough to keep them a respectable distance from you; nevertheless, they watched you shrink back against the headboard, as if you were afraid of them reaching for you, and oh how that tore at their hearts. 

“Sweetheart,” Gio began softly, his gaze uncharacteristically gentle, “why do you keep coming up here? Surely the den or the smoking room would be more comfortable?”

You shrug, your gaze still not lifting. “I guess...I just figured I’d be more out of the way up here. You guys are always working downstairs and I didn’t want to....y’know, I didn’t want to distract you or anything.”

Five brows creased in unison. “Tsvetok, what gave you the impression that you were ever a distraction to us?”

“And if you were,” Bajo piped up, “you were a welcome distraction.” Gio’s head whipped around, eyes narrowed in a venomous glare. 

“Not helping, idiota.”

Bee shook his head, rolling mismatched eyes as he inched a fraction closer to you, nearly close enough to reach for you, though he didn’t. “Tell us the truth now, cher,” he coaxed in a tender voice, low and nonthreatening. “You’ve been distant for days now. Is it something we did?”

Slowly, you shook your head, and they all felt an unspoken relief that they had not inadvertently pushed you away. “No, it’s not like that.”

“Then what, darling?”

You sighed heavily, chewing absently at your lip. “It’s...I don’t know. I just feel like...y’know, you all have so much on your plates. You each run multiple businesses, and you’re always talking about paperwork and meetings and business deals, and I just…” Somehow, you seemed to shrink even further into yourself. “I just feel so...small compared to all that. Like it doesn’t matter how much I miss you when any of you leave for work, because you’re moving such big pieces around. And,” you gave an incredulous laugh, more of a scoff, to punctuate the word, “you’re all fucking demons. You have power and knowledge I’ll never have. You’ll live forever, or at least close to it. I probably won’t even make it a century. Why the hell would you ever want to waste time with someone as...as insignificant as me?”

For perhaps the first time, they were all stunned into simultaneous silence, their already pale faces even more ashen. “Oh...Oh, cara mia,” Gio breathed finally, and space be damned, he crawled up the bed to pull you into his arms, cradling you close. “Is that why you’ve been hiding yourself away up here?”

Willing yourself not to cry against the undoubtedly expensive material of his suit, you sniffled and shrugged again. “I guess. I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I should have just left, but I don’t have much money of my own, and I just couldn’t bring myself to run off with your money…”

Bajo was next to curl up around you, Cia hot on his heels. “Mi sol, will you forgive us?”

“For what,” came your confused answer.

“For ever allowing you to feel that we were too busy for you, or that you didn’t matter to us.” Gentle, ringed fingers stroked through your hair, though you couldn’t quite tell who they belonged to.

“You’re everything, mo chroi.” Cia’s voice wavered slightly, as if he were balancing on the brink of tears. More hands were on you, cradling your hands, stroking your cheek or your arm, each touching you in some gentle way. “Everything.”

“He’s right, roza.” Zhuk’s voice rumbled close to your ear, and something about the carefully measured pitch of it nearly caused your eyes to well up. “We were not beings meant to love another, or be loved in return. Before you, our entire empire was built out of hatred, spite, and bloodlust. We were shrewd, cruel, and vicious men. But you...you changed our hearts, gave them life and blood and a purpose for beating. We do what we do for you, little one. We love and live for you.”

“That ain’t an easy thing to do,” came Bee’s soft drawl, “not just any breather could pull that off. You’re somethin’ special, cherie. You mean the world and more to us.”

As if he could sense you holding back your tears, perhaps in the way you trembled in his arms, Gio gingerly brushed a kiss to your hairline before whispering, “It’s okay, amata mia. Cry if you wish, this isn’t one of my better suits.”

You laughed despite the flood of tears, clinging so tightly to them as they surrounded you, murmuring their love, their encouragement, their adoration of you in a mix of languages. Your tears dried up quickly, and you took Bee’s offered handkerchief with a soft smile of thanks, dabbing at your eyes and wiping the wet tracks from your cheeks.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I...I know you guys love me. I just...I don’t always understand why. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like I’m contributing much, and I start wondering how much you actually need me or want me around...and my first impulse is to isolate.” You stretched up to kiss the first cheek you encountered, which happened to be Bajo’s. “Thanks for coming to snap me out of it.”

Your face was promptly peppered in gentle kisses, like the falling of spring rain.

“Of course, love. Will you come downstairs?”

You nodded, and as gracefully as you could manage, you slid off the bed and got to your feet. There wasn’t a moment that passed for the rest of the night that didn’t see you wrapped up in someone’s arms.