#but maybe he unnecessarily stabbed sticks into it and then did the thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

delimeful · 3 years ago

Text

my virtues uncounted (6)

warnings: panic attack, fear, arguing

there will probably be an epilogue after this, but we're nearing the end of this story! :)

Virgil floated into consciousness with surprisingly little pain, considering the last thing he remembered was bleeding out from a stab wound.

He wasn’t entirely sure how the others’ returned after discorporating-- they weren’t much in the habit of randomly sharing vulnerabilities-- but for him, it was always rushed, his reformation slapdash at best. It was probably part of being Anxiety: he couldn’t stand the idea of being ‘out of it’ for long, not when anything could be happening to Thomas with his influence muted.

So, he would come back to himself with whatever injury that killed him barely knitted back together, and grit his teeth and bear it for the next few weeks while it slowly healed. One of his recurring nightmares was the Light Sides finding out about it, using it to keep him out of commission to ‘help’ Thomas. It seemed… less likely, after meeting them.

Meeting them. Right. He’d done that.

A low thrum of panic in his gut chased the lingering sleepiness from him, and he pushed himself into a sitting position as quickly as he dared, figuring that he might as well test the boundaries of his lack of stab wound pain before he snuck over to check that the core parts of Thomas had all made it through okay. Or before he encountered Remus again.

The first thing he registered was that there wasn’t any pain, none at all.

The second thing was that everything was proportionally huge around him.

The third thing was that these absolutely were not the Dark Side commons.

His heart rate spiked immediately as he whipped his head around, staring at what could only be the Light Side common area. He’d only caught a glimpse of it before, with the whole ‘bleeding out’ thing, and it looked impossibly different from where he stood on the living room table. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel the way Thomas was so much closer here than in the Subconscious, like the difference between shallow water and the depths.

He shook himself. Now wasn’t the time to get caught up in how much easier core Sides had it. There were bigger things to worry about, literally. He hadn’t discorporated, he was in the Conscious part of the mind, and he was tiny-- through no doing of his own.

Oh. They wanted revenge.

Virgil kicked away the assortment of tiny blankets around him and got to his feet, blood rushing in his ears. He’d been an asshole to them while they were stuck in the Subconscious, so they were returning the favor. Why else would they have healed him and turned him pocket-sized? It was the only explanation that made sense.

The commons were just shy of completely disorienting while empty, so he certainly wasn’t going to stick around for something as overwhelming as a Side to appear. He hurried to the edge of the table, eyeing the drop with no little trepidation. Was he lighter like this, or would he land heavily on the carpet below and break half his bones?

He shouldn’t risk it. No point in doing half the work for his captors.

If he could get a running start to the other end of the table, he might be able to make the jump to the couch, though. From there… maybe pushing a pillow to the ground. Could he even move a pillow at this size?

Another shudder worked its way through him, something small and terrified in the back of his mind shrieking at the way everything around him had changed. Had this been how the others had felt? He shook his head, stepping back from the edge and turning to face the other end of the table. He couldn’t freak out yet. Not until he was safe.

There was a distant phone alarm, the generic sort that Thomas had come to resent after using it for his morning alarm for months on end. Virgil felt a chill of foreboding pass over him, and a heartbeat later, he heard the telltale woosh of one of the core Sides rising up next to the table.

Their shadow fell over Virgil, impossibly large, and he bolted.

There was a voice, but he couldn’t pick out the words past the blood rushing in his ears, his own breathing, and the panicked rush of thoughts that came with picking flight. He focused on the jump ahead instead, the length of table ahead of him growing shorter and shorter until he was nearly to the edge, muscles tensed to leap.

The light around him being blocked out was the only warning he got before his view of the world was suddenly cut off. Half a second later, his momentum was halted by a collision with something soft, warm, and alive. He recoiled as sharply as he could, but there were already what could only be fingers curling around him, his stomach dropping as he was lifted clear off the table’s surface, his center of gravity shifting against his will.

If he hadn’t been panicking before, he certainly was now, his breaths coming shallow and shaky, barely bringing in any air as black spots started to dot his vision.

He was in someone’s hand. They could do anything to him, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it, would probably deserve it, but it would hurt and couldn’t they have just let him discorporate--

The low, calm voice that had been rumbling in the background paused for a moment, and then they were moving again, his nausea growing as everything moved too fast around him, like a car someone else was driving but a hundred times worse.

And then, abruptly, there was solid ground under his feet again. The hand opened around him.

Virgil dropped to his hands and knees immediately, pressing his forehead against the table to both quell his dizziness and find something to ground himself. He was hyperaware of the warmth emanating from the hand that still bracketed him on one side, like a shield or a threat.

The Side was still talking, though Virgil still couldn’t quite parse the words. Despite his incoherence, the hand didn’t even twitch, no underlying threat to whatever it was they were saying to him. His breathing settled a bit despite himself. The implied promise that they weren’t going to outright attack him shouldn’t have been so reassuring, but it was.

His head slightly clearer, he slowly pushed himself back up to sit back on his heels, looking up to see who had found him.

It was undoubtedly Logan, though he’d never seen those glasses and tie at such a warped scale before. He could have figured it out earlier, if he’d just been listening; neither Roman nor Patton tended to be so carefully enunciated with their words.

Logan’s words, right. He was counting, which confused Virgil for a moment-- was this an experiment? Something to see how long the local idiot spent caught up in a panic attack when he was supposed to be a survival instinct-- until he caught on to the way Logan’s chest rose and fell along with the numbers. A breathing exercise.

He was kind of surprised, in that pleasant ‘pessimist-proven-wrong’ sort of way, but it figured that the Sides up here would offer even their captive literal time to breathe. He let himself follow along with the pattern for a few more moments before clearing his throat roughly and forcing himself to speak.

“Hey.”

Logan paused, looking down at him. “Hello.”

There was a short, slightly awkward pause, in which Logan seemed to flounder while Virgil refused to apologize for being kidnapped and reduced to doll size, even if he’d just had a completely image-ruining breakdown over it.

“Are you alright?” Logan finally settled on, his gaze piercing as it swept over him as though searching for injuries. “I apologize for not warning you, but I needed to stop you from recklessly endangering yourself. I didn’t intend for my actions to trigger a panic attack.”

“Yeah, who would freak out over some little old thing like being picked up by a giant hand,” Virgil snapped back sharply, his sarcasm coming out a little less biting than usual after such a draining attack. “It’s not like I’m the embodiment of Anxiety or anything.”

“You are Anxiety, though.” Logan shifted, the motion jarring his hand slightly, and Virgil barely managed to contain his flinch. “And as such, I’m surprised that you would entertain the idea of unnecessarily trying to fling yourself off of a considerable height at your size.”

Virgil squinted at him, trying to figure out if he was serious. “Unnecessarily?”

“Clearly? I cannot imagine why your first solution would be to attempt something so risky, though it’s possible I’m missing some vital context,” Logan replied, his face scrunching up slightly in confusion. “Perhaps the others--,” he lifted a hand.

“Wait!” A surge of panic forced Virgil to his feet, but it was too late. The summons registered, and Creativity and Morality wasted virtually no time in rising up, both of them instantly looking to him instead of Logan.

“Anxiety!” they both cried, and they didn’t sound mad, but that didn’t really mean anything, did it?

They crowded forward, and Virgil couldn’t keep himself rigid this time, his whole body jerking back and bumping into Logan’s hand.The mixed signals-- hide versus get away-- left him frozen, cowering under that pitiful defense.

“Anxiety?” Patton tried, and the concern in his voice was enough to convince him to look up and meet the other Side’s gaze. “Are you okay, kiddo?”

“I’m stuck in a room with three giants, what do you think?” he spat automatically, his shoulders hunching up like they could protect him.

Patton’s mouth twisted in a sympathetic sort of way, and he moved to sit, scrunching his body down slightly so that he was more-or-less level with the table. “It’s all kind of overwhelming, huh?”

With a simple glance from the moral Side, Roman followed suit and Logan settled back on his heels, having already been kneeling. Virgil stared between the three of them, his skin prickling with nerves.

Behind him, Logan’s hand moved. Virgil immediately crouched, ducking his head down and lifting his arms in an ineffective attempt to ward off whatever was happening. There was a beat of silence, and when he glanced up, he found that Logan had simply retracted his hand, apparently convinced that Virgil wasn’t planning on a repeat of his escape attempt. Or that the three huge Sides surrounding Anxiety was enough of a cage in itself.

“We’re not going to hurt you, Jack and the Beanstalker,” Roman lied, doing an impressive job of sounding confused and harmless. “You’re not in the Subconscious anymore.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up in Virgil, one that he didn’t bother to stifle. “Yeah, right. I’m not an idiot, Princey. Remus got you all twisted up over what he did and I was an asshole and now you’re paying the favor forward, I get it. You don’t have to lie about it.”

The three of them exchanged complicated glances, ones that admittedly looked more upset and horrified than conspiring, but Virgil refused to buy the act.

“We’re not lying to you!” Roman insisted, making Virgil scoff. Patton’s face started to take on that kicked-puppy cast, and Virgil averted his gaze, feeling hot anger bubble up in him at Patton’s involvement. How was any of this right and moral?

“I live with Deceit, you’re not going to fool me. Just get whatever you’re going to do to me over with,” he forced out, grimacing when his voice wobbled slightly at the end.

“Anxiety.” Logan leaned forwards, meeting his gaze with utmost seriousness. “Perhaps it will help if you understand our motives for your current state. Can you tell me how much you remember from our escape?”

“Remus found us and turned me into a pincushion,” Virgil deadpanned, a hand moving to settle over his gut. He knew now that he probably hadn’t discorporated, but he could still barely believe that there was no pain there. Core Sides could just do that? “And then you three decided to turn me pincushion-sized, I guess. How is that not revenge?”

“It was to save your life!” Roman cried dramatically, looking very put-out. “And to keep you from going back to the Subconscious and my brother, y’know, the guy who was tormenting us for fun!”

“To save my-- we can’t die!” Virgil snarled, pushing his complex feelings about Remus down in favor of twisting the fabric of his hoodie in his hands. “You trapped me up here, no room, no powers, no height, and you expected me to be grateful?!”

“We weren’t trying to trap you,” Patton interjected, looking between him and Roman worriedly. “And we aren’t going to hurt you, I promise.”

Roman, who had drawn himself up in outraged offense, visibly deflated. “Patton’s right. You know he wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.”

Virgil hesitated despite himself.

“The problem of your current stature is one that we know how to fix,” Logan took the opportunity to add, fiddling with his tie. “Once you summon your room to this level of the mind, you will be able to find security and power within it, and we won’t bother you while you recover your lost energy.”

“Woah, woah,” Virgil held his hands up to stall further explanation, feeling thrown off. “Who said anything about putting my room up here?”

Roman raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “What, you want to be that size around a vengeful Remus?”

“I wouldn’t be this size if you hadn’t meddled!” Virgil snapped, scowling fiercely

“We weren’t going to just let you die,” Patton burst out, looking downright distraught. “You saved us. You didn’t want to rise up and you knew it would make your friends upset, but you did it anyhow. It wouldn’t be right, to just… not try to save you back!”

Virgil gaped for a moment, his next prepared retort completely upended. “No, I… that’s my job. Of course I did that. You don’t owe me for it.”

“Anxiety, Roman prevented your discorporation because he wanted to help you. Not to repay a perceived debt,” Logan informed him, his words stiff but genuine.

Roman shot Logan a look, heaving a dramatic sigh before turning back to Virgil. “All of us wanted to help, Gloomy B. Jones. Who wouldn’t choose to revive a party member who nearly perished heroically on a quest?”

In what universe was Roman calling him a hero? Inside his hoodie pocket, Virgil pinched himself, his confusion rising when everything refused to turn out to be a dream. Even a terrible plot twist like that would be more understandable to him than whatever was happening right now.

For that matter, they couldn’t really be implying what he thought they were implying.

“You really want me to pull my room up here. And be a… a core Side.”

Looking from face to face, he found no trace of anger or mockery, only earnestness. A genuine offer. He shook his head, his heart somehow racing even harder.

“What about when I have to do the other part of my job? The part you guys all hate me for?” he reminded them harshly. “I bet you won’t be so keen on my presence then.” He could easily imagine how well that would go over. Could a Side be cast out from both parts of the mind?

Patton shuffled forward a bit, his hands flapping like he wanted to reach out reassuringly but knew that Virgil would absolutely lose his shit if he even tried. “It’s like you said, kiddo. You want to keep Thomas safe, and we want that, too!”

“You’ve more than proven yourself willing to compromise when it counts,” Logan said, and then added wryly, “Statistically, the three of us already spend a fair amount of our time arguing before we come to a decision anyways.”

“Seriously?” Virgil asked, and Logan gestured to the necktie emphatically.

“That’s right! You may be as contrary as your jittery little heart desires, and you’ll still be in excellent company,” Roman piped up, gesturing to himself magnanimously. After a moment, he let the posturing fade into something more serious. “Anxiety, we don’t have to agree on everything for you to deserve better. Won’t you at least give us a chance?”

Virgil scrubbed his hands through his hair roughly, turning away despite his misgivings. Apart from that first incident with Logan, they hadn’t grabbed him, hadn’t even touched him despite knowing that he couldn’t do anything to stop them. At some point between that first disastrous meeting and now, they’d stopped treating him like an enemy.

He’d have to go back down there and explain at some point, but he couldn’t deny that the idea of not being repressed was one that seemed almost too good to be true. Deceit wouldn’t be happy, but maybe this would be the proof they all needed, that separating the Sides and hiding some of them from Thomas wasn’t working as well as they pretended it did.

It could be an opportunity. It could be… good.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to where they’d all been waiting, “I’ll pull my room up. I’ll-- I’ll try. That’s the best you’re going to get.”

And as the others cheered or smiled victoriously, he felt like maybe it was worth a shot after all.

#sanders sides #sanders sides g/t #sanders sides fic #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #remus and janus are mentioned #g/t #mvu #my virtues uncounted #my writing #writing

171 notes · View notes

kirric-the-fan · 2 years ago

Text

Pirate au ficlet: Armour.

(This is one of those fics that pings hard between fluff and angst.)

Follow up to this drabble here (can also be read stand alone).: As Julieta updates a pregnant Pepa on the ship's business for the day, Pepa realises she seems particularly distracted. They have a talk about the best way to protect Isabela.

Warning: Mentions of stabbing as a thing that can happen to pirates.

It wasn't a hammock that took the corner of the cabin, but something more solid. A wooden half-egg shape filled with cushions and a very pregnant Pepa who had just collapsed into it moments before. She laid back, relishing the weight off her feet, and the peaceful steadiness the free-hanging seat brought. Closing her eyes, the perspective changed, and it was the cabin that swung, and not her. It was nice. She found herself about to drift off when there was a knock at the door, and a familiar voice called out. "Pepa? Can I come in?"

Pepa sighed. She pushed herself upright, shifting a bit more to try and remove the uncomfortable lump that was now sticking into her back. It was bad enough the little one was running a one child war against her innards: she did not need the same from outside. "Sure."

Julieta let herself into the cabin, a pile of papers in her arms and already talking about ships business, not seeming to notice Pepa's struggle to reach behind her. Her voice washed over her head.

Pepa kept searching for the uncomfortable culprit. She could feel something: cushions, a blanket and- Pepa squirmed, something popped, and she finally found herself eye to eye with the grey cloth toy that had been menacing her kidneys.

"Julieta!"

Julieta started, cut off.

"Can you give Luisa her donkey back?" Pepa held out the teddy, a rather worn looking grey flop of a donkey. The tactical phrase a mother might have used would have been 'well loved'. "That's the third time this week I've sat on it, and it keeps staring at me if I try to put it on the shelf."

"Oh." Julieta blinked and looked at the toy. "Oh. ... No."

"Juli-" Pepa whined.

"She gave it to you as a gift." Julieta leaned forward and added, rather unnecessarily, ‘for the baby,' then straightened up again. "Gifts don't get returned, not unless you want to look her in the eye and explain why. And," Julieta continued further, cutting Pepa off as she tried to interrupt, "stay around to comfort her afterwards for inevitably breaking her heart." For such a strong girl, Luisa had a soft soul. She was very kind, but she still wasn't great at taking rejection of that kindness.

Pepa let out a frustrated grumble. "It just keeps appearing. Everywhere I turn…" She shot daggers at Julieta as her sister stifled a laugh.

"Sorry. It just reminds me of a certain little mouse that kept following me around when I was carrying Luisa."

One of Bruno's creations. At least when they'd both been pregnant, they could convince the various good luck charms to stay elsewhere. Nice and high and out of sight to keep watch for them both. But no. 'It's just for you, It's got to be close!'

"Maybe Camilo could look after it for a bit?" Pepa perked up at Julieta's suggestion. "He could keep it safe until his sibling arrives. Your cabins are right next to each other after all."

Pepa blinked. "Right." That might work. It was soon now, and for all the love she already had for this child, she couldn't wait for it to be over. The child was already an active one: She could swear they were moving around more than the ship sometimes.

Julieta pulled the donkey out of her hand, and set it aside, before launching straight back into business, Pepa quickly realising she was lost as Julieta rattled on.

"Julieta!"

She stopped again.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Pepa confessed. "Too many donkeys. Wasn't paying attention."

"But I didn't mention the- oh."

Pepa offered what she hoped was an apologetic grimace at her sister as she tried to gather herself.

It was odd though. Julieta was usually much more alert to this sort of thing- how Pepa was feeling. In fact, she usually picked up on it straight away. Pepa watched her shuffle through her notes again, and quietly cursed herself for not paying attention either. She definitely seemed distracted.

"Alright. From the top. And-" Pepa winced a little- for a change, nothing to do with the baby, "-I'll be listening this time."

It went a lot smoother, the two finally skipping through the list of jobs with ease.

"-and that seems to be it," Julieta rounded off.

"Finally." Pepa flopped her head back with a sigh. She may have just been sitting there, but running the ship was hard, and she could really use a nap right now.

"I'll leave you to get some rest."

"Mmm."

Julieta paused, her usual line to the door on hold. "Oh, by the way," she started, nonchalantly tapping at the armour on her chest, "you don't happen to remember where you ordered this from?" Her fingers laid a drum beat, bouncing hollow off the hard leather that covered the top half of her chest.

Pepa quirked an eyebrow at that, and looked around. "Finally getting tired of getting stabbed?"

Julieta scoffed, batting against her sister's arm. "No! I'm thinking of getting something for Isabela," she explained. "She's getting older now, so she's going to be out on more missions and fights, and I just thought she could do with something to keep her safe."

Oh.

Pepa remembered now. The last skirmish had not gone well. They'd fought them back, but Isabela had been hurt, almost taken beyond what Julieta's gift could do.

"-that's all," Julieta hurried to finish, the casual wave of her hands just a little too tight, a little too quick. "Maybe it could be a nice birthday present. We could even have a matching set!"

Oh…

Pepa's heart fell.

"It's not going to work."

"What? What do you mean?"

She pushed herself forward, a hand on her head and grounding herself against the floor. "You can't just slap some armor on someone and say, 'you're safe now'. It doesn't work like that."

"It would at least help stop her getting stabbed."

Pepa shook her head slowly. "No. It would stop her being afraid of being stabbed. And you know what that means? It means she'll throw herself into even more danger than before."

"You don't know that. Isabela's more sensible than that, she'll-"

Pepa's eyes stayed fixed on her sister. "Yes," she said quietly, weight hanging on the back of her words, "I do."

Julieta opened her mouth: looked like she wanted to argue. Pepa stopped her.

"Okay, I'll break it down for you." Her tone became sharp, hard. Matter of fact. Cutting, but some wounds needed to be made. It was better in the long run. "One: Isabela's powers can keep her out of the fight while still fighting. If she thinks she needs to, she can just pull herself out of the way easily enough. She already has a sword. You put her in armor, what do you think's going to happen?"

"I-"

"Two: you've seen how she moves. You've complained to me enough times about how restrictive your armor is, and there's barely any of it at all. Do you really think Isa will ever be comfortable in the same?"

It was true. The way Isabela twisted and turned in and over the ropes, an acrobatic dance, she could never retain the same range of movement as she did now.

"Three: She's headstrong. Even with her recent experience, she wouldn't agree to it anyway. It would be wasted."

"I didn't agree to mine, at first."

"You had a reason to come round to it."

Pepa leaned back and sighed again. "We'll push her to do more training. Less focus on the sword, more about the long range stuff. Maybe if we phrase it as keeping watch..." Pepa pondered.

"She's not going to like that."

"She's going to have to deal with it. I'll make it orders if I have to."

Her words came harder than she intended, and Pepa couldn't bring herself to meet the tense shock of her sister, the sheer waves of disagreement and fight that poured off her, not at first. She steeled herself, and looked up.

Julieta looked so hurt.

She knew that look.

Her heart softened, but she held her ground. "I know you want to protect them, but sometimes that means thinking further than just wrapping them up in steel."

Silence. Julieta didn't answer, and finally looked away.

The two sat there, the ship creaking around them.

"Do you remember when Agustín tried on that helmet we found?" Julieta eventually said, changing the subject. "The shiny one, with all the flaps?"

Pepa snorted, stifling the laughter with a hand. "Dios mio: the way his moustache stuck out? Just two little-" she put her fingers over her lip and wiggled them, making Julieta laugh too. Pepa crossed her eyes and started making funny noises, mimicking her brother-in-law and drawing peals of laughter from her sister. She doubled down on her efforts until Julieta was doubled over, tears in her eyes, half-heartedly begging her to stop as she laughed.

The door burst open, Félix falling through and quickly picking himself up again, a ten-year-old Camilo clung onto his back. "We saw rainbows!" Félix declared, somewhat out of breath, leaning heavily against the door as he tried to catch up.

Camilo's little head poked up above him, beaming at them with a toothy grin, "and we want in!"

(Want to know more? Mosey on up to my pinned post here for links to more pirate AU thoughts, stories and drabbles! Also, got a question for the au? My askbox is always open!)

#kirric's encanto pirate au #pepa madrigal #julieta madrigal #encanto #my writing #fanfic #isabela madrigal #cute camilo and Félix moment at the end if you squint #Isabela takes after her mother #Luisa is a kind softy in any au #fluff and angst #the armour #or armor #also happy birthday isabela

7 notes · View notes

my-soul-sings · 3 years ago

Text

kiss the girl: ch 2

Fandom: Tears of Themis Characters: Artem x Reader

Summary: Armed with a trusty book, Artem Wing attempts to win the woman of his dreams.

ch 1 | ch 2

***

“Surprise her with flowers.”

Artem has skipped to the second half of the book where the practical suggestions are, because he doesn’t have the patience to carefully read the lengthy explanations of the “psychology of love”. The practical tips are simple enough, but the explanations following each of them are unnecessarily long and repetitive.

Ignoring those, he highlights the ones that stand out—those that sound more doable for him, at least.

The first one he notices is a classic: flowers. Of course. He’s done it before actually—he’d given her a bouquet of garden cosmos because she told him that she liked them. She didn’t really show much of a reaction back then, but he recalls the warm smile it had put on her face for the rest of that day. He doesn’t mind seeing it again.

But, would it be boring to do the exact same thing? Maybe he can change it up slightly… If he recalls correctly, the book said something about how to send a bouquet of flowers in a way that will “keep her on her toes”.

It doesn’t take long for him to scan the book and find the relevant page. However, as he goes over the detailed suggestion, his brows gradually turn downwards into a frown.

“Will this really work...” he mumbles to himself, pressing a finger to his temple. Frankly, it sounds unnecessarily cliched and cumbersome… not to mention embarrassing. No doubt, if Celestine catches wind of this, she won’t let him live it down.

But, he supposes, if he’s going to take relationship advice from a book, then he might as well go through with it fully.

Having made up his mind, Artem picks up his phone and begins typing up a draft message.

***

You’ve barely stepped into the office when you hear Kiki calling your name in an unusually high-pitched voice. Your first thought is that she’s managed to get tickets for the upcoming concert for her favourite idol group.

But then you arrive at your desk and realise a marked change from how you had left it the night before: your usually clean and neat desk now has a large bouquet of garden cosmos placed right in the middle of it.

Artem’s is the first name that comes to mind, but you dismiss the thought quickly. With his shy and reserved personality, it’d be strange to expect him to send you flowers out of the blue.

Your sharp eyes don’t miss the little pink rectangular card sticking out from the side of the bouquet. Kiki spots it at the same time as you do, and her eyes widen with a playful gleam, not even trying to be subtle with the way she’s leaning over to you, to take a peek at the message.

With a cheeky smile, you lean away from her too, deliberately hiding the card from her view, which only makes Kiki kick up a fuss about wanting to see too. Thankfully, Celestine isn’t in the office yet. You don’t think you can deal with two overly-enthused friends this early in the morning.

Ignoring Kiki’s protests, you open the folded card to read it. As it turns out, there’s not much to hide from her. The message is a simple and curt one:

I hope this makes you smile. Have a good day.

“There’s no signature,” you remark, handing the card to Kiki who practically lunges for it. Her disappointment at the short message is obvious. “Why would someone give you flowers without signing off on it?”

“Maybe they forgot?” you venture, although you carefully search the bouquet in case you missed something else.

“Don’t tell me… Did you send this to yourself?”

You’re unable to hold in your laughter at the absurd idea, and the both of you simultaneously burst into giggles. Just then, your finger feels the edge of another piece of paper hidden between the wrapping paper. You pull it out, and it’s just a small, square card with the letter ‘M’ written on it in fancy, embellished lettering.

“Maybe it’s the first letter of his name?” Kiki suggests. “Who do you think it’s from?”

The letter ‘M’... You don’t know that many people whose name starts with that letter, and a familiar face is already coming to mind—he’s the only one who would pull a stunt like this, especially after you told him specifically a few days ago that you did not want him to send flowers to you, and especially not to your workplace. You don’t want to be teased by your colleagues and worse, Artem might get the wrong idea if he sees it.

“I think I might know who the culprit is…”

With a clenched fist, you pull out your phone and search up the contact before hitting the ‘call’ button. Kiki is left behind, cleanly forgotten, as you storm out of the office to give the culprit a piece of your mind.

***

When Artem enters the office that morning, the first thing he notices is Celestine and Kiki whispering to each other at the pantry while stealing glances at a certain attorney’s way. He follows their gazes to her desk where she’s seated and doing work as always, although today there seems to be a frown etched onto her face, and the bouquet of flowers are nowhere to be seen.

He panics for a moment, wondering if something had gone wrong with the delivery, but then he notices the wrapping peeking out from underneath the table when he walks past her desk and heads towards the pantry, where her two friends are obviously talking about her behind her back—literally.

“What’s going on?” he asks in a low whisper after exchanging morning greetings with them. “Did something happen?”

Celestine discreetly points in the direction of their sulking friend with a grimace. “She’s been like this ever since she got the flowers this morning.”

Artem’s brows knit together, and his mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally manages to piece together his thoughts into a coherent sentence. “I thought... she’d be happy to receive flowers.”

“I thought so too,” Kiki nods, “but when I asked if she knew who the sender was, she suddenly got angry. Said she knew who the culprit was and stormed off. Then she came back and she’s been doing work like this ever since.” She finishes her explanation with a drawn-out sigh, and her eyes return to the back figure of the junior lawyer who’s furiously typing away at her computer.

Artem follows her gaze, and nervously swallows a lump that had formed in his throat without him realising. As always, Celestine is annoyingly quick to catch on to what he’s thinking, and she startles him slightly with an elbow nudge to his arm. “Shouldn’t you put your things down in your office? Or are you here for coffee again?”

He’s not even in the mood to humour her right now. With an absent hum, he nods and quietly trudges towards his office.

Once he’s inside and the door is shut, his bag falls to the ground by his desk and his jacket is flung unceremoniously onto the back of his chair before he sinks into it, fingers entangling in his hair.

He’s screwed. Did he send her the wrong flowers? But she said she liked garden cosmos and he had sent her the same flowers before, so that can’t be it.

Then, was it the message? But he took pains to make sure that it was short, simple and pleasant. Or was it because it was too short? Had she been expecting more?

No, no, but Kiki said she got angry after she figured out who the sender was… which meant that she was angry at him. Had he overstepped the boundaries by sending flowers to the office?

That’s probably it. He messed up horribly. Of course she would be upset that her boss sent her flowers to the office—that was inappropriate. Entirely inappropriate. Why didn’t he think this through properly? Stupid, stupid stupid…

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even register the sound of knocking on his door. It’s only when he hears his name being called that he looks up, only to meet the gaze of his colleague whom he can’t bear to face right now.

Hastily, he fixes his hair from the crazed pulling and tugging just seconds ago, and sits upright in his chair while eyeing her cautiously. He’d better pick his words wisely here. “Yes?” The word comes out strained, as if he’s choking.

“I’ve completed the draft statement of claim for the Macrosoft employee issue—the one about the breach of restraint of trade clause and the conspiracy claim,” she says, placing a set of papers on his table. “I’ve also completed the legal opinion you requested for the resulting trust analysis on the Williams’ matrimonial property issue, and I will send you the draft affidavit for Mrs Jones’ case by the end of today.”

“Ah. Thank you…” Artem waits for her to say something else, all while scrutinising her face. She doesn’t seem as angry as before—although she does look a little confused when she meets his gaze.

“Did I miss anything?” she asks, already visibly starting to panic.

“N-No, it’s not that...” Should he just apologise right now and avoid letting the issue fester? He’s not sure if he should be happy or unnerved by how perfectly normal she’s acting. Is she not angry anymore? Or is she just doing an exceptional job of holding her anger in? All those reminders he used to give her about maintaining composure in front of clients and in court must have paid off.

“Okay. Then, if there’s nothing else, I’ll go—”

“Wait, just— just a second.” She peers at him curiously as he stands to his feet and walks over to her, all the while refusing to make eye contact with her.

“T-The morning... flowers… you...” For goodness’ sake, he makes a living off speaking before the court, and yet here he is, reduced to the equivalent of a blabbering toddler in front of his colleague.

“Ah... you saw those?” she looks away, and he sees the frustration from earlier returning to her face.

“You… don’t like them?”

“It’s not that,” she replies, twisting her lips. “It’s just a stupid prank to play on someone.”

“A… stupid… prank?” Each word is like a stab to his chest. Did he do something to give her the impression that he was making fun of her, or playing a joke? Most people think he’s too serious to crack jokes in the first place...

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve settled it with the culprit.”

For the first time in the conversation so far, Artem doesn’t sink further into his internal pool of self-pity. Instead, he’s now genuinely puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I just called him to tell him to not send me flowers to the office anymore. I’ve told him before, but he really doesn’t listen to people.”

“Who?”

“Marius. You know how he is.”

“You think… Marius… gave you the flowers?”

“Yeah. He kept denying it over the phone, but I know better than to believe him. Who else would send me flowers for no reason?”

She’s staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to laugh at her rhetorical question or respond to it in some way.

Artem doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how, because his mind has drawn a complete blank at this point, save for the one question ringing in his mind:

Where the heck did she get the idea that the flowers were from Marius?

In his stupor, Artem doesn’t realise that the silence in his office has been stretching on for far too long for it to be comfortable. And he doesn’t notice the realisation that clicks in her eyes after a while, until he hears a quiet, “ Oh .”

She sheepishly meets his eyes. “By any chance, was that letter on the card meant to be a ‘W’? As in, ‘Wing’?”

Should he admit it? If he does, will her anger shift to him? Should he just let Marius be the scapegoat and live the rest of his days in quiet atonement and regret?

Artem doesn’t get the chance to admit it, because she easily reads the answer off his very perplexed and obviously guilty expression. Obviously, he’s far better suited to defending criminals than acting like one.

“Are you mad?” he asks her, when she too, falls silent.

“Huh? No, no, of course not. Why would I be?”

“You were angry when you thought Marius sent you flowers.”

“That’s because it’s Marius. But I’m glad the flowers were from you .” Her lips spread into a warm smile, and in that instant, all of Artem’s worries dissolve into thin air. “I love the bouquet, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

A smile of relief makes its way onto his face, and he nods. “I’m glad you like it.”

So there is some truth to the book that Celestine gave him after all.

In that case… maybe next time, he can send her roses. He hopes he’ll have the occasion to, anyway. For now, he’ll take it one step at a time.

#artem wing #tears of themis #artem fanfiction #artem fanfic #tears of themis fanfiction #tears of themis fanfic #my writing #this is up on AO3 as well if u wanna read it there!#my handle is morninwarri0r #kiss the girl

83 notes · View notes

my-bated-breath · 4 years ago

Text

Closing Thoughts on Vincenzo

No one asked, but here you go.

I watched the last two episodes of Vincenzo yesterday, but even in the midst of my viewing experience I was able to synthesis and analyze what I was enjoying and not-enjoying, what worked and what didn’t work (for me), so that itself says something about how immersive it was. Of course, Vincenzo is a great show — the action is sharp and satisfying, the schemes are elaborate and spectacular, the humor is cracky yet genuine, and the characters are so, so lovable. And I loved the romance side plot, because yes, I am weak. Still, the last 2-4 episodes strained some of that, and this is my take on why I felt not exactly disappointed, but underwhelmed in the final stretch. I’m also including what I did like at the very end, as that makes sense with how I’m structuring this kind-of-analysis.

spoilers below

Tension, Stakes, and Pay-off

The tension in Vincenzo has been ramped up ever since the death of Vincenzo’s mother, loudly and painfully declaring in that moment that “this is not a game” (contrary to Vincenzo telling Hanseok in jail that he’s toying with him). This leads to a chilling confrontation between Vincenzo and the antagonists while also uniting the residents of Geumga in all-out, unapologetic war. And there is no more game of chess — just one of cat and mouse, with Vincenzo descending upon his prey.

Hence, Vincenzo is noticeably less soft, and he strikes Babel with the steel of his resolve. His schemes feel much more sinister than mischievous as they had been before; he is ending this, once and for all. So, how does the show amp up the tension and stakes from there?

Well, it’s all in what I said before. The tension is teased out in Vincenzo stealing everything Hanseok has ever treasured and then taunting/threatening him in prison, and then with the Babel villains descending into chaos and desperation. The stakes, however, are less noticeable, because Vincenzo is kind of obviously winning. The stakes have already been established with Vincenzo’s mother, then paid off with her death, and then paid off even more with Vincenzo mercilessly seizing the upper hand.

That’s why I feel like Myunghee and Hanseo’s death just... happened. Because it’s been 3 whole episodes since Vincenzo has founded this new resolve, that sort of dragged out follow-up loses its thrill and gratification. They’ve been defeated now, completely and totally. But so what? They’ve been on the losing end for more than 3 hours of screen time now, and even their last resort of a counterattack didn’t hold much narrative weight (which is something I’ll get to later). Their deaths are not boring to say the least — I saw a post that said something similar to “Myunghee, a woman who danced to the music of others’ pain, died dancing to her own” and “Hanseo, a man with no heart, has a hole drilled into that empty cavity.”

But their deaths also happen very isolated from everyone else, not just physically, but emotionally as well. It’s almost as if Vincenzo’s clapping his hands and saying, “Let’s wrap this up now, I’m getting a little tired.” And while I wouldn’t say their deaths are unnecessarily cruel, given everything they’ve done, I don’t think Vincenzo does this in response to anything particularly substantial. Is this for his mother’s death? For Chayoung’s injury? For everyone else? Well, maybe, but it sure didn’t feel like he was contemplating that during or after torturing them. If I put the Vincenzo from the beginning of the show there in those two scenes vs Vincenzo from the end of the show, post character development and all, I think the only difference would be that beginning-of-the-show Vincenzo would still be unfamiliar with Babel’s crimes and see this as a waste of time.

A sort of side note: Now, one of the strong points of this show is its use of comedy in its otherwise very serious schemes (I still thinking about episodes 8 and 15 all the time). But with the impending climax and increasingly serious tone, there was no comedy to make said-serious schemes as engaging to watch. So now unable to rely on one of its greatest strengths, the show must rely on emotional impact. Or similarly: narrative weight.

Narrative Weight

In episodes 19-20, Chayoung is shot, Hanseo dies, and Chulwook is stabbed (and you think he’s going to die but he doesn’t). Who said there was no emotional impact in these episodes again?!

Oh right. Me.

Beyond Hong Yuchan and Oh Gyeongja’s death, injuries and fatalities suffered from our protagonists’ side don’t really have that many consequences. You can argue the consequences of Hanseo dying is that we’re all very sad, but both we and the characters are barely given a moment to grieve before we have to move on. What does Hanseo die for? He dies as an abuse victim just beginning to break out of the cycle he was trapped in, and that itself isn’t necessary a bad narrative choice, and he dies as a warrior in this Mafia vs Conglomerate war, but what does he die for? If it’s for Vincenzo and Chayoung to live, they pretty much get lucky with Hanseo running out of bullets. If it is to show that he had changed, and that this tied into some greater theme of redemption, then his death really isn’t really given enough thought for it to resonate well. I would’ve loved to see Vincenzo reflecting on Hanseo learning to trust and love again, despite all the mistakes he made in the past, and how that influences his own decision to embrace his version of villainous justice. But no. This is something I only thought of after reading a few Vincenzo posts and trying to justify my own moral for the show.

Don’t forget that Chulwook almost dies too. Like I genuinely believed he was dead, shed a tear for the daughter he would never meet, and then the show went like, “Guess what? Psyche!”

I’m not very fond of that injury/pseud-death-but-not-really.

And now we have Chayoung, the person who Vincenzo is the closest to. Don’t get me wrong, I amso weak for her never giving into Hanseo and asking for death over Vinceno getting hurt, for guarding Vincenzo from the bullet, for Vincenzo’s shocked and empty eyes, for Chayoung’s glazed gaze, for him desperately and powerlessly hugging her tightly because that’s all he can do for her now. Afterwards, she’s in the hospital, her shoulder is recuperating, and there’s a nice Chayenzo parallel to episode 4 when Chayoung was waiting by Vinny’s hospital bed. But afterwards afterwards? She’s just in the hospital. Sidelined from the climax.

Vincenzo told her, “I will finish this, for you.” That could’ve worked, because we could’ve seen Chayoung emotionally or spiritually with us during the climax and Myunghee and Hanseo’s deaths. But like I mentioned earlier, it really didn’t feel that way. Ultimately, the narrative tells us that Chayoung’s injury just means she can’t strain herself for a couple of days, despite initially delivering it so dramatically and emotionally.

As one of my friends said while we were discussing this episode: Vincenzo is the titular character, but Chayoung has so much to care for too. Her father died because of Babel, and she said, “We should share the danger.” Instead, we got a decentish-but-slightly-underwhelming scene where she is driven to see Vincenzo off. Okay then.

Characters

Speaking of, Chayoung receives much of the short-end of the character development stick in the last 4 episodes. I found this to be acceptable in episodes 17-18, and she does have that moment where she looked uncertain and nauseated at the death of the “hunting dogs” before shoving down her misgivings, clinging onto a facade of strength as she says “this is what I wanted.” Also, even though it wasn’t episode 14, I wasn’t complaining about the Chayenzo moments either.

But still, this is the second most important protagonist in the narrative and nothing about her really changes in these last few episodes. Nor does she experience catharsis alongside Vincenzo, emotionally or otherwise. There had been some buildup about whether or not Chayoung can swallow the cruel path that she has chosen, but if she’s not even the given the chance to make her own decision on said cruel path, that’s just wasted set up.

(I know that during the Babel Tower party-fiasco Vincenzo told Chayoung that he originally wanted her to push the button that’ll kill one of the hunting dogs, but then decided against it upon seeing Chayoung’s wavering face, but like. Narratively, if she was the one to press it, and then we had some follow-up character arc about her coming to terms with her decision... Oh, we could’ve had it all.)

Another thing I want to point out is that Chayoung has been a foil to Vincenzo in that she represents the happiness, love, and innocence now unattainable to him. (This is just his view, by the way, since Chayoung isn’t exactly innocent herself, which he could’ve seen if the show had only taken this direction.) That is to say, Vinceno’s most interesting character moments are drawn out of him by Chayoung: In his apartment, when they are under the ceiling-stars, and she asks him whether he has ever killed anyone. On the rooftop, when they decide that Hanseok must lose everything before he dies, and he promises to her that he’ll stay in Korea to see things through to the end, in direct contrast to himself at the beginning of the show. In the highway pass, when she embraces him after a gunfight, the closest he’s ever grazed past death. When they drink makgeolli together and he tells her about what her father wanted to say to her. When they sit together by the riverside and she tells him that his mother would have been proud of him.

One of my favorite parts of episodes 11-12 during the gun fight is just how emotionally present Chayoung is, despite not wielding a gun herself, or even being anywhere near the action. I’m not sure if I’m getting this right, but I think this is the first time Vincenzo had killed people on screen, so to see Chayoung embrace him so tearfully afterwards almost felt like he was being reminded of his humanity. And this also shows that Chayoung, despite saying that she would feel distant towards Vincenzo if he did have blood on his hands, loves him closely, so closely it hurts.

We think about Vincenzo, what it means to be a consigliere, and his distorted flashbacks of flesh and blood and killing and losing himself, and that teddy bear, slowly panning out to a child, staring at him in fear. We think about how is it possible for him to love again? Can he even know what love is?

Then Chayoung appears, a woman whose very presence unraveled the mystery that is Vincenzo. But the moment that Chayoung’s development was stunted, that was the moment Vincenzo lost his foil, and we, the audience, lost the ability to see how his past, present, and future reconcile.

Themes: Loving in Sin

In episode 20, Vincenzo and the monks have a conversation about whether he was worthy of love or not before being told that he was Vaisravana — and though he could never be accepted by Buddha, he would be appreciated at times, and he would have his own role to play too. I like this conversation a lot in concept. In execution, it would’ve left much weightier an impact if only we had seen Vincenzo’s journey to reconcile his villainy and humanity play out more, if we had a glimpse into the moral conflict warring in his mind. The last time the drama showed that to us — not told it to us — was with the death of Vincenzo’s mother.

I would add more, really, but I feel like my review up until here says everything I want it to. In my opinion, there was no real epiphany that Vincenzo reached upon hearing those words from the monk because he hadn’t reflected on it enough for there to properly be one. And the ending to Vincenzo and Chayoung’s romance would’ve felt a lot better if it was Vincenzo choosing to love her despite his fear of himself, despite his belief that he could only hurt people. (Also that ending monologue wouldn’t have felt so tacked-on, like, oh wait this is supposed to have a theme right? Here, this is vaguely related, right?)

Because a lot of this emotional potential was not quite met, I think the finale also had to resort to some cheaper ways to make us feel for the romance, such as Chayoung rushing to see Vincenzo off and Vincenzo leaving the diplomacy-relations party early (he very poetically disappears while walking behind this sculpture, but I thought it was hilarious that if the shot didn’t get cut off there in another 2 seconds we could’ve seen him walking out of where that sculpture thing blocked him lol).

Overall though, I’m pretty happy with the romance’s ending, at least conceptually. The way they incorporated the story of cow herder and weaver girl and the bridge of pigeons (not magpies!) that will allow them to see each other again every year was so bittersweet, and as someone familiar with this myth, it made me very nostalgic. Also, I do think it works better with Vincenzo’s themes that he would be apart from Chayoung in some way. They each have their own lives to lead, but although they met by coincidence, they’ll remain by each other’s sides by intention. He is a villain, and so is she, but villains love tenaciously.

#vincenzo #chayoung #chayenzo #chaenzo #which one is it huh #jang hanseo #kdrama #i'm so tired i tried posting this so many times #i made a whole side blog so i could post this review without exposing myself as a kdrama fan #but it's not worth it #anyways these are my thoughts #please let me know yours #but only if you phrase it in a kind way #apparently this is 2279 words of me breaking down #my bated breath analyzes #my bated breath's posts

86 notes · View notes

my-brothers-corrupted · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter Four: Part 1

Anti finds a new home for himself and his puppets and makes a couple violent power plays.

Tws: physical abuse/beatings, stabbing, imprisonment, temporary major character death, and extreme distress

Part 1 - Reversal

It’s an awkward car ride, to say the least.

Red hot-wired the truck from the parking lot and Trick climbed into the driver’s seat with Anti still wearing Blue’s body beside him. Dapper sits between Red and Dok, enduring periodic lovingly-concerned glances from both of them in quiet silence, his head against Red’s shoulder. Trick and Red won’t meet each other’s eyes in the rearview and Dok rubs absent-mindedly at his side and at his necklaces, trying to decide his next move.

“Turn here,” says Anti, once they’ve got about an hour away from the motel. The trees grow huge and beautiful around them and everything smells of earth and water. Red perks up. Staying somewhere around here would rock.

Trick turns the car and they keep on down an unkempt dirt road until -

“Okay,” says Anti, pointing. “Here you go.”

“Motherfuck,” whispers Trick.

“What he said,” agrees Red, leaping out of the truck as he parks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s a nice house,” says Anti.

“It isn’t a house,” murmurs Dok. “That’s a motherfucking mansion.”

Huge windows stare out into the forest around them from the square and stylish body of a grey-stone house, the doors curved like those of old Roman buildings, lights dangling from every other piece of rock. Balconies protrude from room windows and a tall proud brown fence surrounds a big piece of land in the backyard. Squirrels and birds flicker overhead in the warmth of the early morning, the trees sighing in the wind.

“Red, ditch the car later,” Anti commands, heading towards the door. With a blink of his eyes, he unlocks the electronic handle and opens the way for his pets. “The man who lived here was a paranoid recluse. The whole house is coated in cameras and there’s all the medical supplies we could ever need in the bathroom. It will be the perfect place to get their attention from. Come on, then, darlings. Don’t you want to explore?”

Dapper walks into the house alone, behind his siblings, almost envious of Blue’s cane, as he feels, for whatever reason, the need to collapse.

Blue does collapse, the moment Anti is gone from his body. One moment they’re standing together at the foot of the great dark stairway with its twisting rail - a moment later the body collapses, and Red is racing forward to catch his twin. Blue slumps back into his arms, bleeding a little from the right eye, and Red is quick to pull him away into a big sitting room, dragging him onto a couch.

“Roser,” Dapper hears Blue murmurs.

“Azul,” replies Red quietly, knocking their foreheads together.

The two of them have had little time together. Since Peru, all Blue seems to do is sleep. Red just lets him. All they want is to take care of each other. Now they’ll at least get a couple minutes to catch up.

Dok and Trick are entertaining themselves with ransacking the house, even Henrik looking happy with the change, though Dapper sees how he limps as he tries to keep up with his over-excited twin.

“There’s a motherfucking pool!” Trick shouts from one side of the house.

“The pantry is stuffed!” answers Dok from the kitchen.

“Hey, ping pong, haha!”

“Oh… a library.”

“And all sorts of instruments, Dok, come look!”

“Fuck, a whole alcohol cabinet. Trick, you’re going to - ”

“Stay away, I know, I know!”

“The doors all lock electronically anyway,” answers Anti mildly, examining the garage, where a couple old-fashioned cars in need of repairs are exhausted against the earth or jacked up on a long-abandoned raise. He shuts the garage and turns away, his dark gaze flickering over Dapper for a moment, who stares back without challenge in his eyes. “So don’t go trying to pull a fast one on me, I’ll lock you in.”

He steps closer to Dapper, patting his back as he passes.

“Upstairs is all for you and me, love,” he says. “We can stay in the master bedroom. Isn’t that nice?”

Dapper nods, glancing up at the stairs. No. He doesn’t think he likes this house. But he knows to say yes.

“It’s good,” Anti re-iterates, tilting his head at him.

Dapper feels the need for more of a response waiting in the air between them, but Anti just looks at him.

“Thank you,” he says after a moment.

Even this does not seem to satisfy Anti. His brother draws back uncertainly, touching his back again, looking at him.

“Your moods will steady out again soon as the medicine kicks in,” says Anti, tugging on a curl of his hair. “Go, go upstairs and get settled.”

Dapper glances at Blue and Red whispering together on the couch and Dok and Trick playing with the settings on the fridge.

He turns and heads upstairs.

Just settle, something in his head is telling him. Be excited. It’ll be nice here. You’ll be spoiled because of the attempt. Just settle down again. Settle. Settle.

He wants to. He always has before. And it has kept him alive and favored and sometimes even sane.

But he doesn’t know how to settle again. There was, for just a moment, on the side of that cliff, a taste of freedom.

The craving has not died.

Anonymous asked: red, blue, how are you two doing?

“How are you feeling?” asks Red, rubbing his thumb over Blue’s beard.

“Better now that you’re here,” answers Blue, grinning up at him.

Red purses his mouth in an exaggerated kissy face and leans in. Blue bursts into laughter and swats at his head, pushing him away - but his laughter devolves into deep coughing and he ends up splayed across Red’s shoulder, his head down on his back, wheezing through the fit.

“The cameras said you were sick,” says Red. “And all I could do was just know about it and do nothing. And know it was my fault.”

Blue’s face contorts. “No… it wasn’t your fault.”

“I left you behind.”

“You were scared,” says Blue, stroking the back of his head. “I understand.”

“No, Blue, really, please… I’m sorry. Okay? I want you to know you’re important to me. You’re more important than - ”

“Don’t,” whispers Blue, cutting him off. “Don’t say things that will get you in trouble.”

Red sighs, gripping his hand. “I am sorry.”

“Thank you,” murmurs Blue. “I was angry for a while. But mostly I’ve just missed you.”

“Dumb old me?”

“Dumb old you,” chuckles Blue.

“I’m never going to leave you behind again,” says Red. “I swear.”

He draws him into a tight hug. For a long moment, they just rest together, and they hold each other.

“I think there was something else you were going to tell me all about,” adds Blue after a moment.

“Hm?”

“Something about… a boyyyy?”

Red flushes even deeper than the night before, burying his face in Blue’s shirt, and his twin just laughs and holds him tight, rocking them against the fancy couch.

Anonymous asked: Blue, is he possessing you EVERY night? Like have you been allowed any recovery time between possessions at all?

Blue coughs again and rubs at his bleeding eye. “It’s been at least every morning,” he says. “It’s horrible. And then I’m so tired I just sleep all day… but yeah, night and morning is when his sickness is the worst, he says, so if he wears me, he doesn’t get sick. The magic just thinks it’s back in my skin. Where it should be.”

“Morning sickness,” says Red wisely. “Like a pregnant lady.”

“Fuck, imagine a baby Anti.”

“That’s just Dapper.”

“You take that back!” snorts Blue, punching him in the arm. “How fucking dare you - I am enraged - he is the sweetest - fuck you, Ro!”

Red laughs, getting up to adjust Blue on the couch, trying to make him more comfortable. “No, he isn’t. I’m just kidding. Dapper isn’t really like Anti at all. But he did tear the guy who owned this house to shreds last night.”

“He’s got a little of Anti’s ferocity in him,” sighs Blue, listing back against the pillows. “If he could, he’d use it for nice things.”

“Maybe I can convince Anti to possess me at night sometimes instead of you.”

“I don’t think it’s the same.”

“There’s only so much more of this you can take, Blue.”

Blue shrugs, rubbing at his face. “At least Dok’s allowed to look after me.”

Anonymous asked: Hey dapper, are you doing alright? Relatively, anyway.

“Doing alright, doing alright,” he answers politely. “Just… yes. Fine…”

He climbs the stairs step-by-step, weaving his way up to the second floor. He glances over the side of the banister as he reaches the top, and then just as quickly draws away, stepping back, blinking rapidly. He puts an uncertain arm around his stomach and turns away from the ledge, his mouth twisting.

Anonymous asked: dapper? are you ok?

“Never been nervous about heights before,” he signs, laughing a little, though his arm wraps protectively around his stomach again as soon as he’s done talking. He spots the fanciest door yet and nods his head at you, drawing you towards it.

“Big master bedroom!” he signs. “Big, big!”

He holds his arms out comically wide and smiles at you. This is, you suspect, his attempt at being cheerful, but it’s pretty weak, especially considering how sunken his eyes seem.

It is a big room, though, and the bed is just as unnecessarily enormous, spreading across one whole wall, a big California king.

Dapper killed the man who used to sleep there just yesterday. His hands reach gently out and smooth over the pillow, pushing the wrinkles away, leaving it smooth and white and blameless.

It’s a clean white room with some dressers and drawers. There’s a big bathroom attached, with a tub and everything, but he doesn’t much care. At least there’s a wide window with a nice sill. He pushes the glass open and sticks his head out for a moment, taking a deep, deep breath.

“It’s gorgeous out here,” he tells you. “See, look.”

Ah, the world spreads wide from out this window, as if every beauty there is to be had can be found somewhere in the gaps between the trees and the glowing of the sun over the leaves and the movement of the birds in the air. The forest sweeps faraway from him, gold and red and glowing. The wind ruffles his soft hair.

Dapper sinks down onto the ledge of the window and folds his arms beneath his chin.

Do you remember the days when you would sit with him on the sill of his window in Norway, and he would wait for the Northern lights to come? Do you remember the faint smile on his face and the way he would chatter to you and the joy in his eyes over things like fish and chips and trips to the store? Do you remember the smudged wall where he drew something he once loved and then covered it up once again, because remembering was so much more trouble than it was worth?

He is not that man now.

He does not speak to you. He does not smile. His eyes are fixed on the sky, but he knows there is nothing coming.

Anonymous asked: Dap, I don't mean to pry if you don't want to talk, but remember you have support in your brothers and with us no matter how strange things get. I know things have changed (again) And we can't tell you HOW to feel, only it is OKAY to feel.

He turns to glance at you and he tries to smile again, bringing you fondly to his chest, the better for you to see the world outside.

“I feel sad,” he admits after a long moment. “But what’s the point in that?”

“How do you like it?”

Anti’s voice startles him and Dapper jolts, slamming his head into the top of the window. Anti gives a sharp “oh!” and glitches even closer, cupping his face in one hand and running the other through Dapper’s hair, looking for a goose egg.

“Poor thing,” he says, frowning down at him. “That’s no fun, smacking your little head.”

Dapper shakes his head wearily, his face scrunched up with pain.

“But you like the room?”

“Yes, Anti.”

“Well, you can have the whole top floor to yourself, except Blue and Dok will be around at night. And brother, of course.”

“Of course.”

Anti stands behind him for a second, petting his hair, looking out at the world with him.

“Pretty, huh?”

“I hate all these fucking squirrels,” says Anti. “And the birds. Yuck.”

“You’re the worst,” signs Dapper, with an odd sort of fondness.

Anti kisses the side of his head. “No more hurting yourself, right?”

“Yes, Anti.”

“Okay. Cause if you ever scare me like that again - ” Anti’s grip tightens around his chin. “You’ll really regret it, alright, little man?”

“Yes, Anti.”

He smiles and lets him go, moving around the room and beginning to explore.

Anonymous asked: you don't need to pretend, dapper. you can be honest with us. i take it you're still feeling bad, and i can't blame you after all that happened. at least this house is nice? a tiny silver lining in amongst everything else.

“I’m hoping I will feel better soon,” Dapper agrees, watching Anti move around the room. “I was hoping he would get me a kitten or a puppy or a mouse or something since Trick got a kitten after his attempt, but I don’t think anything would convince Anti to let a pet in his room. But, yes, the house is nice. We will not be cold or too hungry I’m hoping!”

“This bathroom stinks,” complains Anti, throwing his head and retreating from inside. “That’s horrible.”

“It smells bad?”

“There’s like a million lotions and bath bombs and soaps and dumb shit in here. That’s so strong. It reeks of rose.”

Dapper blinks, getting up from the sill and stepping over towards Anti. He steps into the bathroom.

The flowery scents are almost overwhelming and Dapper’s pretty sure Anti’s nose is stronger than a normal human’s. But to him, it still smells pretty nice. The tub is huge, coated in little baskets of soaps and bath fizzies and shampoos and things. There’s even candles and bubble bath. It’s a little pretentious, but pretty fun too.

“Does it smell that strong to you?” asks Dapper, turning to frown at his brother.

Anti gags, backing away from the room. “Feel like I walked into a Bed, Bath, and whatever. Better keep that door shut. Check there’s nothing rowan, too. I’m going to go look around the forest.”

“What? You’re going down to the forest? You hate nature.”

“Apt. But I have someone I need to find, and if I don’t start looking, they’ll just find me first.” Anti grins coyly, eyes trailing away. “It’s an excellent game to play.”

“Okay. I - ”

Anti has already glitched away.

Dapper pauses, looking around the room.

An idea starts to form in his head.

cest-mellow asked: jameson, things are gonna be okay. you can have your family again, you’ll get them back. but you all have to work together in this. don’t. settle. just wait for the moment to strike. all five of you need to be in on this.

Dapper can tell when Blue and Doktor are plotting.

A change has come over them from the last time he saw them. It isn’t something he can put his finger on - more of a feeling.

More like deja vu. Like he’s seeing someone he hasn’t seen in a long time.

But the point is that when they come up the stairs at ten o clock exactly, he knows from the way they exchange looks and brush each other’s hands - they are thinking of something they should not be thinking of.

He knows he should tell them off, but he doesn’t have the heart.

“I don’t think Trick acts normal at all. I worry he’s only getting worse.”

“Red is a wreck since Anti took him back. He can’t focus.”

“And Dapper?”

“I haven’t spent much time with him yet - I never do - but he’s melancholy, he’s tired, he’s - sitting at the top of the stairs watching us! Hi, buddy!”

Dapper smiles softly, letting his head rest against the bars of the stairs. “You two are not very sneaky,” he signs.

“We’re not sneaking,” protests Blue, pausing for a breath halfway up the stairs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dok doesn’t seem to think it’s funny, though. His face is lost and afraid. He doesn’t want to wait. He doesn’t want to scheme. He wants to act.

His family can’t take any more of this. It’s only a matter of time before the cracks become chasms.

But you’re right, and that’s the worst part. He can’t save his siblings from themselves. He needs all five.

Dok and Blue make it to the top of the stairs and give their little brother a hug, feeling him meld against their bodies. This is the only way they have to promise it right now - you can have your family again. Here we are.

“Boring day?”

“The cameras and I did some exploring.”

“Good. Come on, then. Let’s get ready for bed.”

Anonymous asked: Are there others allowed upstairs here? Are you allowed down? I know Trick is technically "in charge" now but I don't know if any rules have changed with the hierarchy.

“Anti told us to come up at ten, so we did,” says Blue, sitting on the bed. Dapper sits down by his feet, scooping his puppets into boxes. Though he endures bouts of clarity, he felt himself justified in spending most of the day distracted, day-dreaming with his toys.

Dok paces in the doorway, eyes narrowed, mouth taut as a drawn bow.

“Dok, relax,” says Blue quietly.

Henrik shakes his head hard, fists gritted. “He should stay away from you.”

Blue’s face contorts with stress. He wraps his arms around himself, trying to immortalize the feeling of his body belonging to him before it’s taken away yet again. And again, and again, and again…

Dapper rests his head against his knee and hugs his calf, staring up at him.

Anti, if you switch through the many cameras connected to your system in the great house, is coming back out of the forest. He has been gone most of the day, letting them have their peace, but Henrik knew that wouldn’t last.

“Where was he?” asks Henrik.

“I fear to ask,” answers Dapper. “I fear to imagine. There are few people in the world Anti would call his ally, and I wouldn’t like to meet any of them ever again.”

“Anti’s never introduced us to anyone.”

“Anti’s never introduced you to anyone,” Dapper corrects him coolly.

Blue’s back slams against the door of the shower, pinning him hard along the glass. He cries out and hears Henrik shouting on the other side of the bathroom, screeching for Anti to stop. Dapper is noiseless, but, opening his exhausted eyes, he can see his youngest brother staring back at him from the doorway, eyes wide.

“Dok, don’t fight, don’t fight,” he croaks.

Anti’s foot connects with the side of Blue’s head. Henrik shrieks and throws himself at Anti, tearing at his face with his long white nails, and Anti slams him into the bathroom sink hard. Henrik grips at his jarred hip with a gasp, crumbling to his knees on the cold tile of the floor.

Everything smells like blood and rose.

“You are the one who’s fighting,” laughs Anti, turning his attention back to Blue with something burning like a flame in blackened eyes, as a match already consumed by its fire. “So weak. So frail. And still he thinks he can resist me by closing his eyes and walling up his mind.”

Anti grabs Blue by the collar and hauls him to his feet. He starts to shake Blue, shoving him against the shower door, and Blue can only gasp as his head is struck back against the door.

“You two think you have any control?” hisses Anti, slamming him back again. “You think you have anything? You think you can do anything? I’m in control. I’m in control! Stop - trying - to fight me!”

The defenses in Blue’s mind crash to the ground and he cries out in his last moment of being his own for the night. He hears Dapper make a soft, mournful noise, and perhaps even sees his white hands reach out for Anti as though to tell him to stop - but it isn’t enough to save him.

Oil floods beneath Blue’s skin. Heat crawls across his face and buries itself in his stomach. His thoughts paralyze and then sink, and he is drowned back into the back of his mind, struggling to breathe but feeling Anti’s lungs moving instead, struggling to speak but feeling Anti’s lips part with words, struggling to stay conscious but sinking, sinking, sinking down into a place with no awareness.

It is Anti who opens his eyes.

“Monster!” Henrik is howling, trying to get up from the floor, his side bleeding anew. “Fucking monster, fucking creep! We’re not yours! We don’t belong to you! You can’t steal his own skin from him like that! You’re a monster, fuck you!” He curses at him in German, throwing himself forward again. Anti intercepts his punch. Dok never has been his strongest fighter.

“Anti, don’t hurt him,” Dapper’s hands beg. “Please! He’s just scared!”

Anti slams Henrik’s head into the clean white porcelain of the sink.

“Blame it on the magicians, Anti, he isn’t himself!”

Anti slams Henrik’s head into the blood on the porcelain of the sink.

“Trickshot can probably hear this, Anti!”

The sight of the name on his hands in the mirror stiffens Anti’s shoulders.

Henrik groans, his glasses broken on one side of his face and blood dripping through his hair. Anti lets go of him and he slumps to the ground, dazed and nauseous, gripping meekly at the wound in his head, a whimper falling from his mouth. Dapper moves forward to be with him, but, without even turning to look, Anti snags his throat and shoves him away.

“Go get in your fucking bed,” he growls, his eyes dark. He’s flickering through the cameras. Did Trickshot hear that? Did Red? He’ll break the pair of them down to atoms too if he has to, but he’d prefer to let good dogs be good dogs, and not incite their snapping.

Trickshot is in the kitchen in a pair of new shorts Anti bought him and a shirt covered in cacti, nibbling on a Poptart. He hasn’t reacted to the banging or the shouting. He might not have heard it. Red, for his part, is picking at the poetry books in the library, his eyes faraway and dreamy. Anti relaxes.

“Motherfucker,” Henrik slurs. He tries to get back to his feet, but only succeeds in slumping back down to the tile. Anti regards him coldly.

“You really did let yourself get stupid,” he says. “You really have forgotten just how much better it is to be obedient than rebellious.”

He reaches down to grab Henrik by the hair, dragging him up. Henrik moans, struggling to balance himself, staggering as Anti pulls him towards the door.

“I broke you in once,” hisses Anti. “And you hated me more then, believe it or not. You hated me more then and I shattered you like the broken thing you were always meant to be. Come on, Henrik. If this is the game you want to play, let’s play. I’ll take you to your room.”

Anonymous asked: Trick, Trickshot, go upstairs, go upstairs right now, Anti is hurting Dok, Anti is beating your twin, please if this gets through go help him

“No, no, no, no no no!” laughs Anti, snatching a camera from Dapper’s hand as he marches Dok down the hall. “This is a new era, ladies and gents and all my lovely prefer not to answers out there! I’m sick of your bullshit. You’re here for my entertainment and I am the ONLY one in control. I am the only one here with any power over what happens next. Good luck fucking wrestling it from me. I’m a god among ants. If I say this message doesn’t go to Trick, then it doesn’t go to Trick. Not that he’d come upstairs anyway. He knows the rules and the master who sets them.”

Dapper races out onto the first floor after them, whistling for Anti’s attention, trying to catch up. Anti moves two doors down and finds the third at the back of the floor, a white door, tightly closed. He throws it open and pushes Henrik inside.

It isn’t a finished room. Clearly someone - someone a very long time ago, it seems - had plans to redo it, because half of the carpet has been stripped down to hard grey flooring and the room is bare and cold and undecorated. Henrik sees something skitter in the side of the room. He is too concussed for his pupils to shrink in fear.

“Tr-iiick,” he slurs out, grasping at Anti’s hands. “Trick, plea…”

“He can’t help you now,” snaps Anti. “Unless you want to tell him what I’m doing and have him take your place?”

“No!” cries Henrik. “No, leave him ‘lone. Bruder… he’s lost in his hhhead…”

Anonymous asked: henrik, is he still hurting you right now?

Anti opens a white closet and shoves Henrik to his knees, slamming the door behind him. It takes him only a second to fetch chain, ignoring Dapper’s protests the whole time. He chains together the wooden doors of the closet, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

“I don’t like this, I don’t like this, I don’t want to do this anymore!” Dapper is screaming at him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “Please, he doesn’t need to be hurt!”

“Stop it, Dap!” snaps Anti, whirling to grab his wrist. “If you start causing me problems you’re going to get the same treatment, damn your freak snaps! I’m not losing what’s mine now. He’ll be Dok before you know it and then everything will go back to normal again, and you and I can be brothers like we were.”

He steps into Dapper’s space, grabbing his chin and walking him back towards their room, his eyes boring into him. “Isn’t that what you want? Don’t you want to be brothers again? Don’t you remember when we were friends?”

“The person you showed me you were since the time when I loved you is more terrible and cruel than I ever let myself imagine. A child loved you. I am a man.”

Something more horrible than rage burns in Anti’s eyes. He does not let go of Dapper’s chin, backing him up, up, up, towards their bedroom, ink and blood dripping from his canine mouth.

“I am going to forget you said that,” he whispers, his eyes crimson. “Just. This. Once. Do you understand?”

Dapper closes his eyes, his back thumping against the door of the bedroom.

Anonymous asked: If he can't get into your brain then he's fucking powerless compared to you, Henrik, you are strong beyond wildest imagination. The only reason he got you the first time was because he wormed and hypnotized his way into you mind but he can't do that now. Remember the necklaces he's useless to remove. You have power. You have strength. You have control. He can never take the "Henrik" out of you completely.

Henrik is so concussed he can barely see straight.

It takes him long minutes to find you in the dim light of the closet, slowly leaning against the wall and hoisting himself up until he’s reached an approximation of a sitting position, his head swaying when he takes it away from the wall even for a moment. He can’t quite read the message on the camera in the corner of the closet, but he thinks he gets the gist. You see his hands enclose around the triplet necklaces on his breast, coughing.

“I am Henrik no matter what he tries to mmmake of me,” he whispers, slumping down against the wall. “I… am…”

His eyes are closed.

cest-mellow asked: anti, obviously torturing and hurting the boys hasn’t worked so far, what in the HELL makes you think it’ll work now?? they will ALWAYS rebel. always. you will go down and all five of them will be dancing on your grave.

“I saw the lights go out of their eyes one-by-one,” he hisses, his eyes like those of a dog’s. “I saw them die in the blood on my hands. I made Jameson kiss me and Jackie risk his life for mine. I made Marvin a loyalist and Henrik a torturer. I made Jack’s perfect, loyal, loving little copycat boy mine.”

He pushes Dapper onto the bed. His little brother stares back at him. In the moonlight, Dapper’s eyes, for one moment, look as black as Anti’s.

“It worked,” says Anti, turning his back on him to fetch him PJs from their backpack. “It worked. It just needs a refresher. I am already dancing on the graves that I buried them in.”

pine-storm-season asked: Anti, what are you doing to him?

“I won’t do anything if you’re good,” says Anti, with the much-too-level voice of an aggressor who thinks that non-violence is mercy. “I told you - I think we should be friends again. You’re a good boy and I’ve always liked you. You’ve been under too much stress lately and you’re very ill, that’s all that’s wrong. You’ll come back to yourself soon enough. You and I, after all, are intertwined.”

He leans into Dapper’s face. Dapper can smell Blue’s toothpaste.

“Don’t make me meld you back into me through fire,” warns Anti, a bright orange begonia curling around his ear.

Anonymous asked: Dapper you need to reverse, please. You can prevent this, change this.

“Don’t you dare,” warns Anti, pointing back at him. Dapper does not quake underneath his gaze. “Don’t you even think about it. I’ll know. Your eyes will be silver for at least twenty minutes and you’re not getting that long alone tonight. Besides, I’d smell you. That smell that imprinted on you when you were new to the world. I would know the smell of your magic anywhere. You better watch what those cameras tell you, Mr. Monochroma… one of these days, they’re going to get you in trouble.”

He throws red fleece pants and a penguin t-shirt at Dapper.

“Get changed, puppy,” he orders. “I’m tired. Let’s sleep.”

Blue’s body sways and Anti shakes his head out, dizzied. It’s a lot of strain for this body.

cest-mellow asked: dapper do you think if you turned back time and just stabbed anti before he could take over blue it could do anything? especially when he’s sick, just a good JAB right in the heart?? i am being 100% serious.

“Yeah, try that, Dapper,” mocks Anti, pushing into his space again. “Put a dagger into my heart. Go on, do it.”

Dapper turns his head away. He won’t hurt Anti while he’s wearing Blue.

“But even if I wasn’t in this skin, could you do it then?” asks Anti. “Could you stab big brother who raised you?”

“You and I both know stab wounds can’t kill you,” snarl Dapper’s hands, his blue eyes flashing. “Nothing ever kills you.”

Anti laughs, throwing his head back. Dapper sees Blue’s molars.

“You are a clever boy,” he murmurs with a strange, hateful sort of affection, wrapping a hand gently around Dapper’s throat. “Much cleverer than you know, most of the time. Tomorrow you’ll be like a child again - or a fucking nutcase.”

Anonymous asked: You’re gonna lose them all if you aren’t careful Anti. Keep pushing them and you’ll lose all of them sooner than rather than later. -🍂

“Red and I made the rules very clear,” says Anti, his eyes seeping to black. He pushes Dapper again and his little brother takes the hint, lying carefully down on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Anti circles the bed, watching him for any sign of aggression. “One more try, we said. If I can’t tame them this time, it’s finished. I’ll set the house on fire and burn them all down. So let them break from me if they want to - either way, I’m finishing this charade we play.”

Anonymous asked: Reverse, Dapper. Roses and rowan.

“Rowan? Don’t threaten him. He’s allergic.” Anti crawls into bed beside him, sitting up against the headboard and staring down at Dapper, still at his side. “You know if you reverse I’ll see your silver eyes and I’ll beat you til you have to eat through a straw.”

Anonymous asked: Interesting fuckin philosophy there. Do buried and dead people commonly resurface like every month and try and murder you, run away, find themselves, love each other more then they've ever loved you, abandon you like you deserve, and consistently hate you in whatever fantasy land you live in Anti?

“You always all try to rile me up,” says Anti. “Sometimes you’ve succeeded, I’ll give you that. I was not created for anger management. But in the end, you are powerless spectators. Harassing me is all you can do. You know I’m in control.”

Anonymous asked: You just left Henrich there?? Anti he's so concussed he passed out and he has a major bleeding head wound what the fuck are you thinking? I wouldn't be surprised if you find him dead tomorrow, just leaving him there!

“Then Dapper can have the password and reverse,” says Anti happily, snuggling down into the covers beside him. “It’s happened before, hasn’t it, love?”

“Yes… Red bled out after you tortured him, back when I was young… sometimes you would kill him for fun, just to make me reverse it.”

“Your memory is clear right now. You are incredible, Dapper. No one else ever gets memories back after I take them.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, I'd genuinely like to know, what is your plan here? I don't think you can change how they feel about you by hurting them worse, especially since that's what caused it in the first place. You can't fix the effects of what you've done by just doing it more fiercely.

“I told you I came here to get help,” says Anti. “They like to play hard to find… I suspect we might have to get their attention, haha. Worth it, though. They’re the only one who was ever any fun.”

He reaches down and tangles his fingers in Dapper’s hair, scratching warmly at his scalp. “Them and my pets, of course. You’re all naive to say violence couldn’t turn them to my side. That’s what worked in the first place. The only thing that worked. Violence and the need to belong and the conviction that I was a part of their family. The violence comes easy to me, the need to belong is created by the separation from their twins, and the conviction that I belong - well, you saw what I did to Trick is Singapore. It’s mind games, baby. I’ve got my little brother to cover my tracks if anything goes wrong. Only I got the password to this little ace in my sleeve.”

He tugs on Dapper’s hair, smiling down at him. “I’ve been lax, that’s all. I’ve been lax. I won’t be again. If someone steps a foot out of line - ”

Glurk.

Anti’s throat splits open so wide you can see his spine and he bursts into laughter, the threat written in the blood dripping down his neck.

cest-mellow asked: you can make up a story, dapper. theres rats in that white room, one got out and into the bed and anti panicked so bad and it scared you snd you turned back. no password needed.

“Wow, they really want you to,” says Anti, smiling at him. “Go on, then. Do it, Dapper. Reverse. Go back. Make up a story. As if I would ever buy that you’d be afraid of a rat instead of trying to keep it as a pet. As if the first thing I always scream when I’m scared isn’t the password to let you go back and save me. As if I didn’t just promise that the slightest slip-up in behavior - the slightest bend in the rules - would lead you to a beating.”

Dapper swallows dryly.

“I’ll kill all four of your siblings in front of you and make you watch,” whispers Anti, leaning in close, his breath warm against Blue’s ears. “I’ll take you off your medicine. I’ll feed you your fingers and make you murder Henrik with your own two - ”

Dapper goes back in t

This post was reblogged with the following addition.

Anonymous asked: Are there others allowed upstairs here? Are you allowed down? I know Trick is technically "in charge" now but I don't know if any rules have changed with the hierarchy.

my-brothers-corrupted:

Dok paces in the doorway, eyes narrowed, mouth taut as a drawn bow.

“Dok, relax,” says Blue quietly.

Henrik shakes his head hard, fists gritted. “He should stay away from you.”

Dapper rests his head against his knee and hugs his calf, staring up at him.

“Where was he?” asks Henrik.

“I fear to ask,” answers Dapper. “I fear to imagine. There are few people in the world Anti would call his ally, and I wouldn’t like to meet any of them ever again.”

“Anti’s never introduced us to anyone.”

“Anti’s never introduced you to anyone,” Dapper corrects him coolly.

Addition:

Dapper’s calm facade shatters in a second.

“Whoa,” says Blue, seeing the sudden change in his face. “Honey, are you - ?”

Dapper throws himself forward and wraps himself like a hungry octopus around Blue’s body, tackling him onto the bed and burying himself in his chest, hiding, hiding, holding him.

“Dapper,” cries Blue, worried. “Dap, Dap… it’s okay, baby. It’s okay. What’s wrong? Oh, love.”

Dok murmurs his concerns beside them, coming up to put his hand gently on Dapper’s back. He clucks his chin once, twice, but Dapper won’t look up. Dapper won’t let go. He hides.

Blue whispers reassurances to him. Henrik strokes the back of his head. They exchange scared looks.

Anonymous asked: blue, hen, he rewound. if you need to disguise his magic, the bathroom full of stuff will cover the scent. if you knock a few things over and make it look like an accident and get it on him, that might work. i don't know how to hide his eyes, though.

On the path that leads up to the forest, you see Anti stop short.

“I’m sorry, he did what?”

Anonymous asked: Go into the bathroom before Anti gets here. Boy that soap and bath salts and lotion sure does sound smelly and potent *coughcough*

“Fuck!” snarls Anti, stalking towards the house. “That fucking bathroom covers the smell of him, doesn’t it? I’m going to waterboard him. That little shit. He thinks he can stop me? He thinks anyone else can control me? I’ll lock him into a fucking box like I did when he was small.”

pine-storm-season asked: Anti, Henrik wasn't cooperating and you decided to punish him, but you hurt him really badly and Dapper panicked and rewound without thinking.

“No, he thought,” says Anti, face shifting with rage, teeth building in his mouth. “He thought because I have ingrained into him throughout the course of his entire life that he should never, never, never rewind without thinking. He just pretends. You let him fool you. He’s always thinking. Snake child… he takes after me.”

Anonymous asked: blue fell and hit his head so dapper rewound, yes

“Uh-oh,” sings Anti, smiling coldly at you. “Two conflicting stories, how strange - and I bet if I went and asked Dapper right now, he would tell me a third. It almost makes me wonder if you’re not all fucking liars.”

cest-mellow asked: trick, do you think you could distract anti? just for a little bit? blue isn’t ready to be possessed again, it’s making him so so sick and anti just won’t pay attention :((

Trick looks up from his Poptart, blinking at you, worried.

He was already stressed about being separated from Dok for the night, and the thought of Blue being possessed makes him want to throw up. He drops his Poptart immediately, turning to see Anti stepping in through the back door.

“Anti!” calls Trick, moving towards him. “Hey, what’s going on? You look pissed. Hold up, please. Blue’s not well.”

Anti blinks, pausing. “Come on, Tricky. You’re letting them manipulate you.”

Trick’s eyes water. “Look, Anti, it’s just - there’s been, like, a lot of change lately, and now I can’t be with Dok even though we were apart for like, weeks, and Blue is really seriously sick, but you’re still p-possessing him, and - you know that I don’t really like possession, it makes me feel - ”

Trick shakes his head quickly, a little green in the face. Anti tilts his head at him, alarmed, but his eyes keep looking up to the stairs. “Trick, come on, my love. You can handle this just fine. I need to go talk to Dapper.”

“It just makes me feel really scared, and I don’t want to be alone! I don’t want to, don’t - can’t I have Dok, Anti, please? I hate this new plan, I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say, but - ”

“Trick,” growls Anti, but it turns into a sigh. “Fine. Have Dok for tonight. I need to go teach Dapper a lesson.”

Anonymous asked: Fine, here's the story that's the truth and it's the one he'd tell you if you got the true one. You hurt Henrik and Blue so badly that Henrik might have died locked in a room alone, bled out. You were being a stubborn asshole and refused to check up on Henrik or do anything to keep him from potentially dying. It scared your audience, scared Dapper too, so we convinced him to rewind without your permission.

“What? That doesn’t make sense. Dapper could have just waited til the morning to see if Dok was fine and rewound then if he wasn’t. Why would he just disobey me like that if he wasn’t being rebellious? He knows I’d let him rewind if anything deadly ever happened to them.”

pine-storm-season asked: Henrik, he rewound because you got badly hurt from not cooperating and he panicked and did it without thinking, as far as we could tell. Anti might be mad though.

Henrik looks up, alarmed, but a moment later only fury is flashing through his eyes.

“He does mean to torture me,” he says, voice low. “It’s true, then.”

Dapper grabs Dok’s face between his hands for a second, demanding his attention. Henrik stares back into his silver eyes, startled by the intensity he finds there.

“I know what I said,” signs Dapper rapidly, tears coursing down his cheeks. “That I didn’t want you to fight. But I was lying, Healing. I was too scared of what he would do to you. But the truth is I can’t live like this anymore! I need you to fight for me, Henrik. I need you.”

Fire lights up Henrik’s blood. He grips Dapper’s arms, staring at him, something vibrant and warm and familiar crossing through his chest. He laughs and doesn’t know why.

“For you,” says Henrik, shaking his head in astonishment. “For you, let him torture me.”

Anonymous asked: He rewound, you didn't get back in time to tell him the password. That's why he's so terrified.

“Still naughty of him. He should know better.”

Anonymous asked: Maybe this time around don't nearly murder Henrik and we won't be so rash. You claim to have control but can't control your own outbursts.

Anti stares at you dead in the eye of the camera.

“Trick,” he says. “Sit down.”

“What?”

“Sit down,” repeats Anti coldly.

Trick sinks to the floor, frightened.

Anti stalks up the stairs.

Henrik turns around, standing over Dapper and Blue on the bed.

Anti takes one step forward

and Henrik straightens up, proud

and Anti shanks Henrik through the ribs.

Blue screams like he’s the one being murdered, staggering to his feet, his cry shrill enough the birds scatter. Dapper lurches forward as if he’ll be ill, clutching at his throat, closing his eyes desperately. Anti stares down at him, his eyes piercing through him.

And Henrik?

He tumbles to the ground, staining red the carpet, and he chokes as his lungs fill.

“Is this what you wanted?” shouts Anti, slapping Dapper’s face and shoving him off the bed. “Is that what you prefer, that outcome?”

Dapper sobs, burying his face in his hands and backing rapidly away from Anti, his hands clutching at the golden hilt of the knife in his pocket. He’ll kill him for this!

“And you!” snarls Anti, whirling on the camera, pointing the life-blood-stained blade up at your one black eye. “Never tell me what to do again. Never tell me what to do ag

This post was reblogged again with a third addition.

Anonymous asked: Are there others allowed upstairs here? Are you allowed down? I know Trick is technically "in charge" now but I don't know if any rules have changed with the hierarchy.

my-brothers-corrupted:

Dok paces in the doorway, eyes narrowed, mouth taut as a drawn bow.

“Dok, relax,” says Blue quietly.

Henrik shakes his head hard, fists gritted. “He should stay away from you.”

Dapper rests his head against his knee and hugs his calf, staring up at him.

“Where was he?” asks Henrik.

“I fear to ask,” answers Dapper. “I fear to imagine. There are few people in the world Anti would call his ally, and I wouldn’t like to meet any of them ever again.”

“Anti’s never introduced us to anyone.”

“Anti’s never introduced you to anyone,” Dapper corrects him coolly.

First time jump

Dapper’s calm facade shatters in a second.

“Whoa,” says Blue, seeing the sudden change in his face. “Honey, are you - ?”

Dapper throws himself forward and wraps himself like a hungry octopus around Blue’s body, tackling him onto the bed and burying himself in his chest, hiding, hiding, holding him.

“Dapper,” cries Blue, worried. “Dap, Dap… it’s okay, baby. It’s okay. What’s wrong? Oh, love.”

Dok murmurs his concerns beside them, coming up to put his hand gently on Dapper’s back. He clucks his chin once, twice, but Dapper won’t look up. Dapper won’t let go. He hides.

Blue whispers reassurances to him. Henrik strokes the back of his head. They exchange scared looks.

Second time jump

Dapper is sick beside the bed, vomit dripping from his lips, his eyes a fervent silver.

Anonymous asked: Fight, but be rational Henrik. Be safe, wait for the perfect opportunity. I know you and us both can't wait to take down the evil, but caution is a must. You nearly died in the last go through.

“No!” cries Dapper, lurching up from the bed, both of his siblings rearing back in alarm, still calling worried questions at him. Over the both of them, he is signing. “No, Dok, I take it back, don’t fight, don’t - I can’t - coward, I’m a coward!”

“Dapper, what’s going on?”

“Carve, it’s okay, just take a deep breath - Carver!”

Dapper races away from them, his stomach churning.

Anonymous asked: Oh no Dapper you're sick! Better go into the bathroom and lean over the toilet. Blue, Henrik, help him there?

Tearing away from them, he is sick again in that rose bathroom, his eyes reminding him of Blue crumpled against the shower and Dok bleeding against the sink as he gags, just one more memory for no one but him to hold on to. He breathes in panicked gasps, shoving himself back to his feet and locking the door before Blue and Dok can come racing after him. He nearly collapses over the sink, washing his beard and face harshly with a soft cloth and golden milk and honey soap, crying in short bursts, his eyes red and silver. With frantic hands, he starts the bath and leans over the tub, heaving and tearing off his shirt, his heart thumping terribly in his chest.

He covers his face with his hands, sinking down over the side of the tub before he can finish stripping, whimpering in a weak exhale of air.

Anonymous asked: Dap, take deep breaths, okay? Why are you doing this?

Dapper tugs on his hair, shaking his head, too distressed to speak for a long time.

“Why? Why?” he manages finally, swiping at the rapid tears on his face. “You know time travel takes a toll on me and you saw what just happened! What do you mean, why? No matter how many times I watch them die, it never gets easier.”

He buries his face in his arms, feeling broken and useless and stupid and weak.

“I’m not a mistake-fixer, not really. I try to be, Anti wants me to be, but I’m not! I can’t make every situation that goes badly right, no matter how much I want to. I just can’t. If that’s how Dok and Blue are planning to get out of this, tell them it won’t work. I’m not strong or brave and even if I were, time travel never makes everything alright. It’s a trick. It’s a lie. It’s just a curse.”

cest-mellow asked: trick, can you keep anti downstairs for a while? blues gonna be possessed again and it’s making him really really sick. maybe you should get jackie to go upstairs to spend some time with him while he can until his time tonight is gone :((

Trick looks up from his Poptart, blinking at you, worried.

“Anti!” calls Trick, moving towards him. “Hey, what’s going on? Where were you?”

“Heya, lil man,” says Anti, tugging Trick to his chest and pressing their foreheads together. Trick grins, relieved to find him in a good mood. “What do you want, trouble-maker?”

“Anti,” grumbles Trick with a laugh. “What am I, a four-year-old?”

“You’re about six, actually.”

“Haha.”

Anti grins at him and draws away, clucking his chin. “I’m going to go get ready for bed. You and Reddy can have whatever room you want down here. Night, my watcher.”

“Anti - wait. Hey, please. Um…”

“What?”

“I think Blue’s really sick, Anti. I’m worried. Can’t Red stay with him?”

“I’m also really sick, Trick, it’s just that Blue’s keeping it under control for me. I need him right now.”

“He’s getting worse, Anti. I hate to say it, but… I think you’re being too rough with his body.”

Anti stares at Trick.

Trick shuffles on his feet, his eyes flickering around the room.

Anti sighs.

“I’ll be gentle, alright?” he says. “For you. I promise.”

“But what if that isn’t enough?”

“You’re paranoid about possession,” says Anti gently. “You always have been. It’s going to be okay. Go get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay, Anti,” murmurs Trick, chewing on his lip.

“And don’t tell Red to go upstairs, alright? You and him aren’t allowed up there. I catch you up there, I’ll throw you right back down.”

“Okay.”

cest-mellow asked: jackie, you’re gonna need to help your twin and dok and dapper upstairs. hes gonna kill one of them these days. dapper is in serious trouble and antis probably gonna possess blue again, make him even more sick. you saw how he was today. can you imagine the toll it’s taking on him? you have to protect him!

Red sits in the library.

He looks up at your beeping and you see his eyes.

From a distance, his gaze was dreamy, faraway, enchanted, perhaps.

From up close?

Red looks sad.

He reads your message once and he blinks. He glances up at the ceiling. For a moment, he breathes. He thinks. He grieves.

“Blue,” he says once, with feeling.

But he doesn’t move. Looks down at his hands. His hands on the pages of a book.

“Listen to this,” he says, and he reads:

It is as if everything else had slept Many an age, unforgotten and lost – The men that were, the things done, long ago, All I have thought; and but the moon and I Live yet and here stand idle over a grave

Where all is buried.

He stares down at the poem.

“I don’t really get it,” he says. “But I think Blue will like it.”

He tears the page from the book. He folds it into a paper airplane. He can’t go upstairs.

Anonymous asked: Yeah I'd say the moral of most time travel stories is "don't screw with time travel." Anti only sees you as an advantage but it's blown up in his face before, I just wish there was a way that the consequences ONLY fall on him without the rest of you getting hurt.

“If I was cleverer I could make that happen,” signs Dapper miserably, wiping at his face. “If I was all the things Jack made me to be. He was the only friend I ever managed to save.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, maybe you could leave Blue himself for just tonight? He's already weak, and the possession is making it worse. His magic doesn't like your body, so I can sort of see why you possess him, but it's making him sicker. Give him a night as himself, and it's quite possible he'll recover a bit.

“I really don’t know how to express to all of you how little I care about Blue’s recovery. I’m inclined to think that him being sick makes him easier to manage, and all I need the body for is sleeping.”

pine-storm-season asked: That's true, but there's going to be a point where he's weak enough that he's harder to manage simply because of the limits of his body. If you let him have occasional nights to recover, I don't think he'll end up getting there.

“Let me know when he gets to that point and maybe I’ll give a fuck then,” answers Anti mildly.

Anonymous asked: Time travel may be Anti's go-to fix for things he doesn't know how to deal with but it doesn't have to be yours, Dap. His over-reliance on your time travel, Blue's magic and body, and his hypnosis to twist things to his liking is going to be his downfall. Despite his efforts, memories linger and he can't hide his tracks in blood.

“I hope that’s true,” signs Dapper.

The lock clicks behind him.

He turns.

He isn’t collected enough to hide the evidence. He isn’t calm. He isn’t determined. He isn’t in control. He never seems to be. Anti sees his silver eyes before he can think to hide himself.

The monster steps forward, staring at him.

He touches JJ’s chin.

“I see you’ve learned a lesson,” says his broken, glitching voice.

Dapper turns away from him, ashamed.

“Yes,” he nods.

“Good, then,” purrs Anti, slapping lightly at his chin. “Silly boy. Stay here. Have your bath. And if you ever try anything like this again…”

He leans in close, eyes flashing. “I will - ”

“Kill all four of my siblings in front of me. Take me off my medicine. Feed me my fingers and make me kill Dok with my own two hands.”

Anti smiles.

Success.

Control.

“Good boy,” he murmurs. “I’ll be back soon.”

He goes.

Anonymous asked: Oh Dapper, JJ, buddy... You're not weak or a coward, not in the slightest. It'll be okay. I know that sounds empty, but it will be, it will. You did good, look what you've prevented now. Those deaths will only be memories, they don't exist in this here-and-now. Chin up, have a bath if you still want one. Baths make good cover-ups for other emotions, other... smells.

Dapper sniffles.

Then snorts out a laugh, looking up at you with his teary eyes.

“Other… smells,” he repeats, finding it funny despite everything, despite his whole life. He stares down at the water in exhaustion.

And Dapper does have a bath. He turns you away - he is, despite everything, a firm believer in the importance of being a gentleman - and he steps into the bath, pouring in the bubbles and the soaps, letting the smell wash across his skin, letting the blood and dust wash away.

Coward, his brain tells him.

Yes, he nods.

And when Anti goes to get Blue and Dok, and Dok raises his hackles, and Blue isn’t complying - well, Anti is gentle with Blue. He promised Trick. But when Anti hurts Dok the same way he hurt him the first time, when Dok is bleeding from the head, when Dok is calling for Trick to help him -

Well.

Dapper doesn’t do anything but sit in his bubbles and let his salt drip into the warm, rosey, coward’s bathwater.

Until, after a moment, he turns you back to him, trusting the bubbles to cover him.

“Hey,” he says, very small and very sad. You hear Henrik give one short cry of pain. “Will you come with me somewhere?”

Anonymous asked: yeah, we'll come with you. and i don't think you're a coward, dap. there are very few things you could do to help, and several of them would put you directly in danger. you're keeping yourself safe. i don't think that makes you a coward.

He breathes out a long sigh, resting his head against the back of the tub. He lets his body relax. His mind drift and search and reminisce. This is a new era, after all, and Anti is sick of uselessly wiping his memories. After all, he doesn’t know that they give Dapper any power.

He finds his clock in the pocket of his discarded pants and wraps his fingers around it. He finds the body of the camera. He touches your side.

Yeah, we’ll come with you.

Okay, he nods. Okay.

For the third time that day, Jameson goes back.

cest-mellow asked: where are we going, jamie?

In his mind, memories are like scrambled eggs.

To place them where they came from is almost impossible. His mind, he feels, has been tossed and turned and stirred into a mess of mashed-together knowledge and recollection, leaving him largely lost and often confused.

But there are moments he recalls. Sometimes. Some days. More and more often, there are moments he recalls.

He can only travel down the timeline, and to do so without splitting the delicate spiderweb of reality requires that he remember something and move towards it. And right now, he just wants to be at peace for a moment. He just wants to feel safe and not to have to see his family in pain.

He goes to the darkness of a closet.

It’s a faint memory in his mind. More than anything, what he recalls is feeling safe.

Dark clothes hung around him. Soft carpet beneath his hands. Something warm pressed to his chest and a pillow at his back. Aloneness and the crack of light through the bottom of the closet door.

The silver rush of time changing around him does not make him sick like it did Red. He is a surfer on a steady wave. When he opens his eyes again, he is in darkness, and you are beside him, and his clock gives a soft light as its silver timer begins to count down.

He sighs and closes his eyes, hugging a stuffed dog to his chest. No one screams. No one raises a hand at him. He sits in the darkness of the closet.

Anonymous asked: Yikes forever :(

He lets out a soft, tired sigh, sinking down onto the pillow and blankets beneath him. Yikes forever is right.

aether-mae asked: Where to J-spirit?

“I guess I don’t know where we are…”

He stares around the closet, blinking.

“It doesn’t feel like one of Anti’s prisons. But this was reckless of me. I probably shouldn’t have come.” He runs a hand through his hair. It’s the same length it is in the present, or at least it feels that way between his fingers.

Anonymous asked: Where are we now, Jameson? Do you know?

“I don’t know if I even want to find out,” he signs in the lowlight, closing his eyes. “Maybe I’ll just stay right here as long as I can. Take a nap with no one touching me. With no one shouting or screaming.”

An interruption in the light beneath the door startles him. He sits up, staring at the socked feet standing in front of the door.

Someone knocks, just gentle.

“Hey. It’s me. Are you okay?”

Anonymous asked: ooooh, jj, are you okay? that can't have been easy to go back again, are you safe where we are?

“I feel safe,” he says. “But sometimes that’s a lie.”

bupine asked: you ok, dap? what are you doing?

“I don’t know,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut like he’s in pain. “I just want everything to leave me alone. I want everything to stop.”

He’s curled down low against the blankets and pillows, hiding his face in their warmth.

“Can I come in?” asks the voice at the door, soft and careful. They sound Irish, though the accent, he thinks, isn’t quite as thick as Red’s. Maybe Blue or Trick. Or Anti, of course. It could always be Anti. “Henrik just cut his thumb, okay, he’s fine. The blood’s all gone now. You don’t have to hide in here if you don’t want to. Wouldn’t you prefer your room, buddy?”

pine-storm-season asked: Do you want to see who that is? I think they're a safe person, but we can't know for sure.

Dapper stares at the door, a shred of light making the blue of his right eye seem endless and clear, golden at the edges, like the eyes of a cat reflecting light. He watches the doorway, at war with himself. He doesn’t want to open the door and find someone who will hurt him. But he wants to be comforted, too. He would like to be comforted even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it. But it could be Anti. It could just be Anti, or Red to pull him by the hair back to his room, or someone he doesn’t even remember who wants to hurt him. He sits up, feeling anxious, grateful for the softness of the toy in his hand. He doesn’t care if it’s childish right now. He just wants to feel okay.

Anonymous asked: We'll be with you wherever you go, Dapper

He nods once. Right. You’re with him. Okay.

bupine asked: who's that at the door? think it's one of your brothers? i don't think it's anti, but i could be wrong. are you gonna open it?

Dapper climbs to his feet even as the figure at the door lets out a sigh. He tiptoes towards the door and feels the other still, noticing his movement on the other side, waiting patiently for Dapper to make his move. He puts his hand on the doorknob and pushes it gently open, staring out with one big blue eye.

The face looking back at him is familiar, and he’s grateful despite the fact that Anti too shares this face with him. His brother cocks his head at him, smiling real gentle at him, trying to be comforting and slow. Dapper’s glad. He feels like he could fall apart.

The room they’re in is a hectic mess. It almost makes him laugh. Clothes and papers and trash and dishes are scattered over the furniture and floor, a Switch and a DS somewhere in the mix and a row of nice caps lined up on the top of one drawer. One wall is lined in baby and toddler pictures of a pair of small, dark-haired kids JJ doesn’t recognize. Someone’s kicked off their Converse by the door.

Dapper smiles and looks back at the person who’s come to get him. His hair is short at the sides and fluffy on the top. He wears a black hood and colorful shorts. He doesn’t remember exactly what all of his siblings used to look like - this person seems so much younger even if only a few years separate this moment from the present - but between his appearance and this room, Dapper thinks he must know who this is. Trick.

No… that wasn’t his name.

It was something different, he doesn’t… he doesn’t quite recall.

“There’s my guy,” says not-Trick fondly, smiling at him. “Doing okay, tough stuff?”

Dapper can’t help the small smile on his face. He rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue in disapproval at being teased, and not-Trick chuckles, stepping back from the door to let him step out.

Anonymous asked: I think I have a hunch on who the person behind the door is, but I really hope i'm wrong

Dapper’s eyes flicker with fear. He turns to glance at you, confused.

“What have you got there?” asks not-Trick. “Camera?”

Dapper shrugs, not sure how to explain. He stares up at his brother, trying to remember his name, chewing on his lip.

“Still nervous?” he asks gently.

Dapper can’t help but nod. He is. He really is. All the time, he feels like. He just wants… he just wants…

He holds out his arms uncertainly. His brother smiles and, without hesitation, moves forward to pull him into a hug, wrapping his arms around him, letting him bury his face in his shoulder.

“I’m really glad you’re here, JJ,” he says. “You know that, don’t you? We all are.”

JJ whimpers and curls his fingers into the soft brown hair at the nape of his neck.

bupine asked: i think that might be chase, if you need to remember his name. be careful, dap.

Chase, that’s it, Chase. He likes the sound of it. He turns his face into his neck and makes his best approximation of the name, hissing air from between his teeth. “Ayy-sssss.”

“Ssssh,” answers his brother, chuckling. “That’s right, that’s me.”

cest-mellow asked: chase, i think you call him c- happy? that’s his name. and he loves you very, very much.

Dapper grins. Stop that, that’s sappy. But it makes him really glad. He hugs him tighter and makes him laugh.

“Okay, little man?” he asks.

“Okay, yeah.”

“You are tough stuff, wasn’t joking. Is there anything you need?”

He shrugs, looking around. He doesn’t know. Maybe to see the others? If they’re here? If they’re safe? If they’re not having their heads beaten in against the counter of the sink?

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, rubbing JJ’s back. “Stay with me, Jay. It’s okay.”

pine-storm-season asked: His name is Chase, Jameson. Do you remember more about him now?

Hmm. He glances around.

Certainly he thinks this room is familiar, now that he sees it. He thinks the babies are Chase’s babies, but he doesn’t remember them, not even a flash of their memory. It hurts his chest. The room is messy and loud and enthusiastic in its own way. He thinks that’s things that Chase used to be. But Trickshot - though he’s happier these days than he has been in some time - is often quiet and nervous and bitter, keeping everything arranged in his nests, close at hand, protected. He doesn’t have the wildness he used to have. Dapper stares down at the ground, curling his fingers through Chase’s hair, wishing he could hold on to the memory of him forever.

cest-mellow asked: is anyone else in this place with you? are you in a house?

“Are the others here?” asks Dapper.

He squints his eyes up apologetically, tilting his head as he tries to think. “Ah, sorry, man, you know I’m still so slow with sign.”

Dapper doesn’t mind. He’s here and he’s learning, so that’s all that matters. He takes his hand and tugs him towards the door.

In this hallway, there are two more doors, a closed one across from Chase’s room and a bathroom at the end of the hall. On the other side, stairs. Dapper lets his feet rub against the soft carpet, pleased to see that his past self has picked out a white t-shirt and a pair of blue shorts with flamingos patterned all over them instead of something formal and uncomfortable. Fun but not too childish. Comfortable but not humiliating. It’s nice.

He moves down the stairs with an optimistic timidity, peeking his head out before he lets his body appear. His brother follows patiently behind him, letting him go at his own pace.

He can hear, in the kitchen, a pair of his siblings arguing cheerfully, teasing each other and clanking dishes as they wash them in the sink. The dining room smells of curry powder and the living room is coated in the gold light of the setting sun. A fluffy white cat is kneading her claws into a grey one. She meows when she sees them, leaping off the couch to come and wrap herself around them, purring at their legs.

Now there’s no doubt that the person next to him is not Anti. Dapper lets out a low sigh, feeling warm and content, and closes his eyes.

Anonymous asked: Can you ask to see the others JJ? Would that follow the timeline properly?

Yes, he wants to see the others. He moves into the kitchen, finding two siblings standing together at the sink, washing and drying together.

“Hellooo,” calls Blue. “Everybody feeling okay?”

Not Blue. Marvin. Dapper feels his face light up in a smile.

He looks so happy.

His hair is long and clean and lovely, tied up neatly on the back of his head, and his face is full of health and self-satisfaction. He hands the last pan to his brother and steps towards them, smiling, a cover-up with elephants printed on the thin fabric flickering in the wind from the open back door. Outside, Jameson sees a forest - but this one is not like the one he came from. Instead of pines, deciduous oak and willow and birch. JJ feels the wind in his hair.

“I think we’re doing okay.” Jameson feels him squeeze his hand. “Right, JJ?”

JJ nods, letting Marvin come closer, smiling at him.

“Good!” Marvin chirps. “But you have something behind your ear.”

He reaches beside Jameson’s hand. When he pulls away again, he is holding a big yellow rose. JJ grins shyly and takes it from him, and Marvin, his eyes glowing blue, presses a kiss into his cheek.

“Love you, James.”

“Love you,” he answers gently, patting Marvin’s hand.

“Chase, your room’s a fucking mess, by the way,” says the person holding his other hand.

JJ stops short, alarmed, turning to him.

“It’s organized chaos!” protests the person at the sink, turning to him. He has short hair too, but he wears a backwards hat and his wrists are covered in bracelets, gauges pinned into his ears. “I know where everything in there is, it’s just… everywhere.”

The person at his side laughs. Dapper supposes it must be Jackie. He relaxes again, drifting against his side, enjoying the sound of his laughter. It’s good to see Red and Trick get along. Usually, in his experience, they are enemies.

Anonymous asked: Oh thank god my hunch was wrong, that's a relief. Anyway, whatcha gonna do now Dap? Stay with Chase for some more time?

“I want to see H-healing,” says JJ, looking around at his siblings.

“He’s okay, buddy,” promises Chase, drying off the last dish and placing it in the rack. “He just cut his finger. But I bet he wouldn’t mind a visit from you.”

“Here, I’ll take you upstairs,” promises the brother holding his hand. “And we can go check on him. He should be hanging out instead of working in his room anyway, huh?”

Yeah. Dapper nods, letting himself be lead back towards the stairs. As you go, you see a familiar hallway on the ground floor - a door with newspaper clippings and pictures and notes plastered all over it, and beyond that, the room where Red and Marvin talked. Chances are you recall the sight better than Dapper does.

Anonymous asked: Oh, they all look so happy and healthy... So this was your family? This seems like the dream life. I'm even more impassioned to help you get them back in any way we can, JJ. You all deserve health and love and light again.

“This,” he says, looking around, looking back at his family, looking at the house and the forest and the cats and the sun. He takes his hand back to speak. “This… this isn’t something that I can have again.”

He holds the rose Marvin gave him carefully, petting at the flowers for a moment before sticking it into his pocket, his face downcast.

“Even if I can get them back, we won’t be the same.”

He closes his eyes for a second, moving towards Henrik’s room.

“Max thought I was hopeless,” he says. “But these days, I can’t tell the difference between that and realism. The truth is, this isn’t my family anymore. Most of us aren’t family at all. The twins love each other. That’s what remains of us. The love between them and, every now and then, in small ways, the recollections between the rest of us - the ghosts of what it was to love each other for who we were at this moment in time, and the disappointment that follows when we realize we are no longer the people that we once were, and that that love did not survive the change.

“But for this moment… for this moment, I can have it again. It’s alive inside of me. For a moment. For a moment. It’s alive.”

darkiplurrr asked: *hugs Dapper* You’re doing great and we’re proud of you!

“Thank you,” he chuckles, smiling. “That’s very nice whether or not it’s true. Thank you.”

Anonymous asked: Where are you taking us JJ? A memory? And... do you think Henrik will be okay?

“I… don’t know that H-healing will be okay in the future. I don’t know. I think, perhaps, he will not be. But for now…”

“Here, bud,” says his friend, following him up the stairs to knock on Henrik’s door.

“Come in,” answers a voice, unpained and unafraid, calm and safe.

For now he can be okay.

Dapper pushes open the door and Henrik smiles back at him from the bed, putting aside his laptop to see him. “Hey, Jamie. Is everything - ”

JJ leaps into his arms and tackles him back onto the bed, wrapping his arms around him. Henrik yelps and then laughs, hugging him with one arm and pinching him in protest with the other.

“Little terror!” he snipes, digging his fingers into his side, and Dapper squirms from being tickled. “I am under attack.”

“Yes, you are stuck,” Dapper pauses to sign before wrapping his arms around his neck again.

“I’m okay,” murmurs Henrik after a moment, rubbing gently at his back. “You know that, right? We’re safe here. You and me are safe.”

JJ feels tears welling in his eyes. To think that they all used to feel safe.

“It’s not fair, H,” he says, pulling back. “I just want to keep all of you safe. But I don’t know if you even know that. And the truth is I still love him too no matter what he does to me. I don’t know why. I’m a coward.”

“What are you talking about? You’re going too fast for me. James?”

He sighs and buries himself in Henrik’s shirt. He just wants to stay here.

“I’m sorry, H.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, my heart.”

“I’m sorry.”

Anonymous asked: Sorry, but you're wrong Dap. Love did survive it. You saw how hard Henrik fought for Blue not to be possessed. You saw Red care for you, fight for you, be happy and loved as himself for those days with Max. We saw the love still alive between Trick and Blue while you all were separated, even though they're not "twins". It's still there, in familiar and different ways. It's still inside all of you.

Dapper sighs, stroking his fingers through Henrik’s beard. His brother stares back at him, worried. It isn’t so different from sitting on the bed with Blue while Dok paces, trying to find ways to protect him.

Maybe pieces. Maybe pieces are still there.

Anonymous asked: Time changes people. Trauma changes people. It can't be easily reversed if it can be reversed at all. But time can heal, even if it's only a little. The family around you now is just a memory but recovering just a fraction of who they were will be worth it. It's hard to move forward when you don't know if things will be okay but you'll accomplish a lot more moving forward than going back. Even if things are never returned to normal, it's still worth more than what Anti has tried to reduce you to

Henrik’s bed is warm and comfortable. Henrik’s body is steady beside him, his hands gentle on his own body. And he feels safe and well and alright, and Henrik is here, and Henrik is okay, and Henrik loves him.

Things have changed, yes. But maybe… maybe with the bits and pieces that remained, the bits and pieces that have been strong enough to survive torture and amnesia and separation, the bits and pieces that have been stronger even than Anti and his hatred - maybe they can be the foundation to rebuild.

JJ stares at Henrik. Dapper stares at Henrik. The longing in his chest has not gone quiet - the longing not for death, as he thought it was, but for happier times to come. The longing that he mistook for suicidality. He never wanted to die. He just wanted to hope again. Just a little. Just enough.

For a moment, that longing is content.

Anonymous asked: You're right, Jay, you all can't go back to this. But you are where you are now, loved and with family, and you can enjoy that. And given time, with the brothers of your own time and all the friends you still have, you'll be able to move forward. But for now, you're here, and you can focus on that. Here you are. :)

“Want to just lie with me a while?” asks Henrik.

He can just be here. He can just be here for a moment.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay,” murmurs Henrik, stroking his hand across his hair once before turning back to the door, smiling at the figure still standing there. “You heading out soon?”

“If you’ve got everything covered,” he answers warmly, smiling at the both of them.

“You look tired.”

“Mh, a little. I’m okay.” He shrugs and stretches out his arms, digging his knuckles slightly into his eyes.

Dapper jolts, sitting up straight.

The man stares back at him, frowning.

“You okay, Jameson?”

On his left arm, a neat, symmetrical map of a tattoo JJ does not remember.

A neat, symmetrical map of a tattoo Jackie does not have.

This isn’t his brother.

Anonymous asked: Jamie, we think that might be Jack, the creator. But don't panic, it's okay. He's nice right now.

What does he say to him?

What does he do?

He remembers -

Anti moving towards him.

“Leave them the fuck alone! You give them back to me now or I’m going to make you regret I ever fucking created you!”

He remembers -

Blood on his face and a fierce scream of rage, his right eye neon green, the iris glowing like Marvin’s used to, the left iris silver and ringed in pure black. Brown eyes, blue eyes, green, mismatched, unnatural, supernatural, changing, constantly, as fast as Anti’s can.

“You can’t kill me, Anti, not in any way that means anything.”

He remembers -

Shaking in the corner, that fucking rope around his throat, his hands bound, his mind storming and his brain unmedicated, hallucinating and delusional and so confused and afraid he thought it might kill him. He knew it would kill him if he didn’t act.

But Anti told him no!

He remembers something breaking inside of him.

He remember the snap.

And then -

Blankness in his eyes, just for a moment.

Horror in his eyes.

“Jamie, what did you do?”

Jameson is tearing himself off of Henrik’s bed almost without realizing it, his breaths panting from his mouth, his heart racing in his chest.

“I didn’t mean to!” scream his hands. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to make you forget!”

“JJ! Stop! Calm down, man, calm down. It’s okay!”

“I was scared that he would hurt you! That was all! That was all!”

He catches Jameson’s hands and pulls them to his chest. They are left staring at each other, twin confusion in their eyes, twin distress.

“Jack.” He pulls against his grip to sign it. “Jack.”

“Jamie.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Jamie, I’m here.”

Jack holds his head between his hands and draws him close, and their foreheads fall together, and Jameson is known in the gaze of the man who created him.

cest-mellow asked: how much time do you have left here, jameson?

He grips his clock in a shaking hand, blinking his eyes rapidly.

The countdown is continuing. He has twenty, maybe fifteen minutes left.

But he can’t use them. This was a mistake.

“I’m sorry,” he cries. “You don’t know how much. I broke everything and now you’re not here to help my brothers get free.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” says Jack, and if Jameson didn’t know better, he would think for a second that his friend’s eyes were silver instead of blue. “And I will make it better.”

“I have to go.”

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. I will fix it for you. I am always going to be there to fix it if you need me.”

“That’s not true! It’s not your fault but that’s not true. It’s my fault.”

Anonymous asked: It's okay, Jameson. You're safe. I don't know what you're remembering, but you're safe.

“No one’s here but you and me,” says Jack. “You and me and the others. You’re okay and I will keep it that way.”

Jameson huffs out a breath, closing his eyes.

“I would tell you not to blame yourself,” he says. “But the truth is, you won’t even remember who I am to feel guilt for me.”

He stops the time on his stopwatch and lets the silver river devour him whole again, whisking him back to the present. And that - that’s the end of it. He’s gone. That’s it.

Or it should be.

But in the river beside him, in the crashing waves of his power, in the screaming of the storm, there is still someone beside him, his eyes glowing twin silver.

“Listen to me!” Jack shouts, standing steadier even than Jameson in the belly of the storm, the wind whipping his hair. “Listen! You are exactly what I created you to be! Do you understand?”

Jameson crashes to the ground, stunned, gritting his eyes against his own power.

“You are all what I created you to be! Don’t let anyone try to take that from you because it will always, always, always be true, Jameson!”

“It’s not enough!” Jameson signs back desperately, not even sure if he can see, not even sure if he can understand, not even sure if he’s here at all. It’s impossible, isn’t it? Impossible that he can see him through time, impossible that someone else can move through this place the way he can. Impossible that someone else understands what is to hold power like this. “It’s not enough to be what you made me to be! I’m not enough!”

“You are worthwhile all on your own,” answers Jack, fierce as the sky around them. “But if you are in trouble and I am not there, I didn’t make any of you to fight alone. Be enough together. I’m not perfect, Jay, but I promise you - I did everything I could to make the five of you into enough to be safe from him. To give you the weapons and the story to be safe from him, even if it gets derailed sometimes. I meant you all for happy endings, JJ. Trust your brothers. Trust yourself. You are exactly what I created you to be! And you are always, always, always my - ”

Jameson sits up straight in the rose-scented bathwater, gasping for air.

Jack is gone.

The bathroom is silent.

He sits up straight in the bath, staring at the wall, his mouth open in shock. The last ray of sunset turns one eye clear and gold and endless. As though he can see another world in front of him.

I meant you all for happy endings, JJ.

He puts a hand over his heart. He can feel it beating fast. He can feel himself alive.

cest-mellow asked: are you okay james? what are you gonna do now?

“I… I…”

The bathroom door slams open.

Anti stands there staring at him.

Eyes huge. Chest heaving.

When he speaks, his voice is a shattered whisper.

“I heard someone,” he says. “I heard someone talking.”

JJ stares at him, panting. He shakes his head slowly.

“I heard someone!” repeats Anti, a little louder. His hand rises, falters, rests over Blue’s heart. “I heard… I heard…”

The water laps softly at JJ’s body, gone lukewarm. The lights buzz quietly and the crickets sing. The dark shape of a bird flickers past the window and Anti shudders, backing away, shaking his head.

“I thought I heard…”

“It’s just me, Anti,” says Dapper. “It’s just me in the bath.”

Anti closes his eyes, shaking his head. He puts a hand over his eyes for a moment and lets out a long, trembling breath.

“Come to bed,” he says. “Five minutes. I need to lie down. Blue’s mind plays tricks on me and I’m tired.”

“Okay, Anti. I’m coming.”

“Good,” says Anti, glancing at him as he turns to leave. “Yes, good, just… come quickly.”

“Okay.”

He leaves him alone with you. There is water lapping, and crickets singing, and the flicker of a bird.

JJ turns you away and climbs out of the bathtub.

Anonymous asked: What did you hear Anti?

“Nothing,” he spits at you, whirling on you with bright blue eyes. “Nothing, just… it was nothing.”

The door to the bathroom pushes open and Dapper steps out, looking small and sweet in his big dinosaur hoodie. Anti relaxes a little, sitting on the bed and waiting for him. “Come here,” he beckons, snapping his fingers at him. “Come on, bedtime. Geez, you smell like shampoo. Don’t use so much of those scented things next time.”

“Can’t help it, Anti. That whole bathroom smells like nice stuff.”

“Just lie down,” says Anti, tugging him towards him.

Anti finds a comfortable position and lets out a long sigh, wrapped around his little brother’s body.

“Your heart’s beating fast,” he mumbles.

Dapper doesn’t answer. They fall back to silence.

It’s dark by the time Anti speaks again.

“Do you ever think this isn’t what we were meant to be doing?”

Dapper stares at the ceiling, not sure what to say.

“Maybe I was supposed to die that night Marvin and Jackie beat me down to a wisp of a spirit and took you from me. Maybe that was supposed to be it.”

Dapper doesn’t know. Dapper doesn’t remember.

“Do you remember when it was just the two of us?” whispers Anti, lying close to him on the pillows. His hands are around his waist. “Do you ever think about it?”

Dapper looks over at him.

“Sometimes,” he signs meekly.

“Hm.” Anti rubs at his sides mindlessly, his eyes distant. “It was a different time.”

“It was a different story.”

“Yes,” says Anti. “I guess it was. This is a better one, isn’t it, my brother? All six of us together?”

Dapper doesn’t know what to say.

Anti does not seem to expect an answer.

“But sometimes I think about when it was just the two of us,” murmurs Anti. “Sometimes I think about that.”

Dapper feels something in the pocket of his hoodie. He blinks and reaches down for it, trying not to disturb his brother, and pulls it out. In his hands, a single yellow rose.

Dapper looks over at Anti. Anti is asleep.

#chapter four #jse egos #writers of jack

6 notes · View notes

slutforgoodliterature · 4 years ago

Text

Draco Malfoy x Original Female Character - Devil In Me (part I)

DID SOMEBODY SAY DRACO MALFOY?!?! *cheering erupts as I arise from the grave*

Trying something a little different with this one! should be about 3-5 parts, lots of nice smut but also a pinch of character development, a smattering of fluff, a sprinkle of angst and (shock horror) an original female character??

Let me know how y’all feel about this, should be fun!

BTW IT IS SET IN THEIR FIFTH YEAR (GOF) TIME BUT IS NOT CANON OK? OK.

“Hufflepuff!”

The shout echoes off the stone walls of the great hall and I slide off the chair, praying I didn’t leave any sweat marks behind me; it would be just my luck. Walking over to the table of cheering Hufflepuffs all wrapped up in their yellow scarves, I try not to let my prejudices get the better of me.

But seriously, Hufflepuff is the worst house, everyone knows that. It’s for the kids who don’t belong anywhere else: the rejects. We’re basically just a band of outcasts with a reputation for being overly friendly. Maybe it is the perfect house for me.

“Welcome to Hufflepuff! My name’s Phillip, I’m head boy. Come take a seat next to all the other first years.” A heavyset boy with an upturned nose and big eyes welcomes me warmly. I shake his pudgy hand and slide in next to an asian girl with jet black hair. She smiles awkwardly at me.

“Hi, I’m Joe.” She says over the uproar coming come Gryffindor table; a lanky kid with fire-truck red hair slinks over to them.

“I’m Marnie. Nice to meet you.” I smile back, hoping to god I’ve just made my first friend.

“Draco Malfoy!” The voice of the hat booms out and a pale kid with white blonde hair saunters up to the chair. He has an unmistakable air of confidence and he smirks as the hat hover above his head for a second before declaring loudly: “SLYTHERIN!”

“God, he looks like a twat.” Joe says to me. I laugh in agreement, something about his eyes reminds me of a snake slowly constricting around its prey and watching them closely with sick fascination, waiting for them to notice that the end is nigh.

“Too right. I tell you what, I’d rather be in Hufflepuff than in Slytherin.” We both turn up our noses at the raucous table full of green scarves and sly smiles.

“I’m with you on that one mate, bunch of lunatics over there. No wonder they keep them in the dungeons.” I laugh loudly at Joe’s remark and the silver haired boy, Draco I think, looks up at me. Our eyes meet and my laugh dies off, quickly turning into an awkward stare down which he wins without contest. I look away quickly and study the engravings on my fork.

“Don’t look now, but Mister Albino just caught me laughing at him.” I whisper to Joe. She very obviously whips her head up and stares back at him.

“Oh yeah. He just saw me look as well. Awkward.” She goes red and we both duck our heads down.

“That’s why I told you not to look, dumbo!” I whisper yell at her, giving her a side-eye through the curtain of my brown hair.

“Well sorry! There’s a reason I’m in Hufflepuff, not Ravenclaw!” She whisper yells back, and we both burst into uncontrolled laughter.

Yep, I’ve definitely made my first friend.

FOUR YEARS LATER

“Ugh, you’d think they didn’t know what a shower was in Romania.” Joe turns up her nose as some exceedingly smelly Durmstrang students skulk pas.

“Is that where they’re from?” I ask absentmindedly, flicking lazily though the pages of The Quibbler. My head is resting on Joe’s back and we lounge in the sun, enjoying the final days of summery weather. Joe picks at the grass, her feet kicking in the air behind her.

“What are you two losers doing?” A gleeful voice calls out across the grounds. Our friend Reggie makes his way over, not without gawking at some Beauxbatons girls strutting past.

“Something that requires more than your one braincell, sorry Reg.” I quip back as he nears us.

“Yeah, sorry mate! You don’t meet the requirements for our exclusive club.” Joe squints up at Reggie as he towers over us, which he doesn’t do often. The five-foot eight blondie with cherubic features is cute, in like a coochie-coochie-coo way. A shame, really, as Reggie has the biggest crush on Joe, who I’m pretty sure has no idea.

“Damn, and all this time I thought you were too threatened by my knack for comedic timing to be my friends.” He pouts playfully and splays on the grass next to us.

“I think an owl shat down your back.” Joe points out, sending Reggie into a fit; rolling all over the grass.

“What?! Get it off me! Where??” He squeals, trying to tug his robes around to see the back.

“There’s no owl shit, is there.” I mutter to Joe, not trying to hide my smile.

“Of course not.” She whispers back before pointing to an unreachable spot on Reggie’s back. “Just there, Reg! You’re so close!”

He rolls towards us with unexpected speed and begins to steamroll on top of Joe, which I guess has more to do with an excuse to be near her than any imagined owl shit.

“And this is my cue, see you lovebirds back in the common room later.” I laugh as I heave myself off the ground, slinging my book bag over my shoulder.

“What! Where you going?” Joe looks up at me from under a writhing blonde.

“I need to return some books to the library and give Professor McGonagall her copy of trans-fig four back. I spilt ink on mine, remember?”

“Okay Marnie! See ya later!” Reggie has no problem waving me goodbye and pretty soon, Joe is back to laughing in fits as he continues to roll around.

I walk back into the school and start making my way towards the library. I see a flash of silver and green disappear into an empty classroom as I turn into a deserted hallway. Draco Malfoy.

Curious, I creep quietly towards the door. As I near it, I begin to hear sniffles and shuddering breaths. Is he... crying?!

Not wanting to intrude on an obviously private moment, I back away slowly. Before I can make it two steps, however, the door swings open and there stands an incredibly pissed Draco Malfoy.

I freeze in my place, looking up at him startled. I didn’t mean for him to know that I knew that he was crying, but now, as he stares down at me with his cold blue eyes and permanent scowl, I know that he knows that I know that he was crying.

Good god.

“I’m... I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” I straighten up, looking up at his towering figure sincerely.

“Eavesdropping a habit for you, is it?” He spits at me.

“No, it isn’t. I heard crying and just wanted to make sure that whoever it was was ok.” I explain, holding my hands out in a pacifying way.

“You’re a stupid little busy body, go stick you nose elsewhere.” His anger only rises as I stand my ground.

“Well that was unnecessarily rude, wasn’t it?” I raise an eyebrow at him, crossing my arms. He looks taken aback.

“Who do you think you are? You’re just a stupid Hufflepuff.” He laughs devilishly down at me, taking a step forward towards me.

“And you’re an emotionally fragile little boy who can’t see a helping hand if it slapped him.” I shoot back. “Apparently.” I add, unsure as to why he was crying and not wanting to jump to any conclusions.

“Help?” He scoffs, laughing sarcastically. “Does it look like I need help?” He spreads his arms out to apparently show all the great things he has going for him, but all I see is a sullen, silver haired boy with red rimmed eyes, wet eyelashes and dark circles as deep as tartarus,

“I don’t know, Draco, I’m not the one crying in empty classrooms. Do you need help?” I ask him sincerely, taking a step towards him. My mother always said that too much of anything was a bad thing, including compassion. That was always going to be the death of me. I’d likely get stabbed by someone and hope it made them feel better.

“Not from the likes of you.” He seethes

“Well, no accounting for bad taste. See you around.” I shrug, turning my back on Draco and continuing down the hall. Silence stretches out and the only sound is the clop of my shoes on the concrete.

“I know who you are, Marnie Millicent.” He calls out after me, and the way he says my name has the hair on my neck standing up. “You’re on my radar now.” Although it sounds like a threat, I’m not too sure what being on Draco’s ‘radar’ entails.

“Like I said, see you around.” I call back just before rounding the hallway and attempting to wipe any trace of Draco from my mind.

But just like a red wine stain on white leather, he won’t leave.

#draco fanfiction #draco malfoy

27 notes · View notes

gingerwritess · 5 years ago

Note

I was watching Brooklyn 99 and felt inspired by the dialogue. “Am I just a piece of meat to you?” “Yes. Now put on a smile, pork chop.” I just got strong pre dating idiots vibes when I thought about it.

“You.”

Tony Stark slams his hands down on the bar top.

“You are the one dating Dr. Who, yes?”

“Actually,” you sigh and take a sip of your beer, “I’m one of your employees, thank you very much, and you recently promoted me.”

“Well of course I know that.” He chuckles and slides into the seat next to you, raising a finger at the bartender. “I don’t mean that in any disrespect. I hear you’re a whiz in the language department?”

“One of my stronger suits, I guess.”

“We’re thinking of moving you up a few more levels.” The bartender slides him a glass; Stark clinks it against your bottle with a small smile. “I’m…not supposed to tell you yet.”

Stay cool. Stay cool.

“That’s neat.” You laugh nervously—what the hell are you supposed to say to that?? “I appreciate it, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony,” he corrects with a smile. “Thing is, you’d be working at the same level as loverboy over there, which from what I’ve heard, is quite the workplace love story?”

He tips his glass towards Loki—Laing—who seems to have decided that standing in a corner alone, watching everyone else mill about while still wearing his lab coat, is normal human behaviour.

Well…okay, maybe he’s not too far off. Dr. Banner is doing the same thing over in that other corner.

“We’ll just break up,” you blurt before you can stop yourself—then mentally slap yourself across the face.

“Wow. Okay, well, uh, that’s unnecessary,” Tony laughs. “Unless you’re looking for a way out, all you’ve gotta do is fill out a quick form just for HR to keep on record. Y’know, just to make sure he’s not using our rooms, equipment to give you any private checkups…”

You choke on your drink, spewing beer across the bar top.

“That’s not gonna happen,” you cough, furiously shaking your head. “Really, I swear, we don’t—no, god, no, we don’t do that.”

Tony’s eyebrow quirks. “Sure. Just fill out the form for me and we’ll get you movin’ as soon as we can, alright?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, of course! Thank you, Tony!”

He winks and pushes off the bar, heading back out into the crowd—stopping to shake Laing’s hand and engage him in a quick little conversation.

Oh, if only he knew.

You’ve been trying to avoid him all night, trying to make this first little (okay, unnecessarily giant) staff “meet your bosses” party as enjoyable and progressive to your career as possible.

Judging from the fact that you just spoke to the boss of all bosses over a beer about your love life…things are going pretty well.

Yeah, you can risk a quick chance to mock how awkward Loki looks at this party.

“Hey, loverboy.”

You slide up next to him and bump his hip with yours.

He just nods.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Shaking his head, he brings his glass of dark liquor to his lips and downs it in one gulp.

“Holy shit,” you laugh as he lowers the glass. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s been an interesting night,” he sighs, running a hand through his blond hair.

“Same here. I got promoted, like, a week and a half ago, and Tony Stark just told me they’re moving me up even higher.”

He glances over at you, finger tapping the rim of his glass. “You, too?”

“What?”

“I was promoted as well,” he explains, pushing off the wall and heading back towards the bar, you trailing not far behind. “I now have access to the scans of the brain belonging to a certain super soldier.”

Your jaw drops. “You’re joking.”

“Afraid not.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe, mind spinning. “You’ve barely been here a month, how the hell did you pull that off??”

Glass refilled, he raises it and clinks it against your half-finished beer with a lopsided grin. “I have my ways, darling.”

“Nuh-uh, tell me how you did that.”

“Robert Laing is the most qualified person in this building,” he chuckles, clearly enjoying your bewilderment. “I have…eight? Eight PhD’s, putting me even over our beloved Dr. Banner, and I may have told them I’ve worked for SHIELD for over a decade.”

“God of lies,” you mutter, spinning back around on your stool to slump against the bar top. “So that’s why I’m getting promoted, too, right? What’d you tell them about me?”

He cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

“I got promoted to the same level as you. You lied about me, too, right? Said I worked with Howard Stark or some shit, just to help your little charade?”

“No…” he slowly shakes his head. “You earned your promotion by your own hand. All I’ve ever said about you is that you’re good in bed, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Y’know, sometimes I forget I hate you. Then you remind me.”

Loki raises his hands with a laugh. “Only speculating. I have to act the part, don’t I?”

“Robert Laing doesn’t need to be a class A douche,” you groan, dropping your head to your hands. “How about you make your fake self a sweet, dorky guy with a soft heart? Not some dick who’s only with his girl for the sex?”

“He’s a minimal effort character,” Loki replies smoothly. “Being two people at once is rather trying. If I spend too much time trying to be Robert, I could lose focus and let my duplicate slip.”

“And how terrible would that be—”

“Careful,” he cuts in, leaning towards you to speak low in your ear; “do I need to remind you what could happen if you intervene with my cover?”

“I know who you are,” you snap, grabbing a fork off the bar top and jabbing it into his stomach—he’s a little too close. Two can play this game. “And you just got yourself promoted to work right alongside your big bro. All it’ll take is one good yell from me and you’re back where you started, Loki.”

He scowls, teeth gritting in your ear. “Go on. Stab me, right here. Tell my brother the truth, show everyone here who I really am.”

“Maybe I will,” you hiss, pushing the fork into his gut a little harder. His fingers wrap around your bicep and squeeze as he starts to laugh, quiet and low, his breath tickling your neck.

“So fearsome.”

You grab his glass and slosh the drink in his face, dripping down the front of his precious lab coat.

“Aren’t I?”

With that, you hop off your seat and wrench your arm from his grip, leaving him sputtering at the bar behind you.

Of course, your smug satisfaction is momentary, screeching to a stop when a large hand wraps around your bicep again and with a sudden gust of wind, you’re no longer walking away from the bar.

“Not another word,” Loki hisses, fingers still tight around your arm. “Seems that I haven’t made myself clear enough as to the discretion our little arrangement.”

Your back hits a wall—and something else, crashing to the floor as you try to yank your arm out of his grip.

Ah. Mops.

“You are so—hmph—predictable,” you grit out, struggling to find your footing amidst the dark janitors closet. “You’d be a wonderful fanfiction character from 2012, whisking damsels off to dark closets—”

��Romantic, I know. Now stop—moving—” Loki grabs your other arm when you punch him in the gut and try to duck away, pushing you back against the wall—ooh, he’s almost sort-of panting. Guess he’s not invincible after all.

You stick your nose in the air, stomping your foot with a small huff of annoyance when you find you can’t cross your arms. “What now, Robbie? Gonna kill me or kiss me?”

“Robbie—oh, kill you. Definitely, without a moment’s hesitation, kill you.”

The knife to your throat was expected. So far almost every interaction you’ve had with this lovely old god has ended with one of you at the other’s throat, so you’re not exactly surprised.

You clear your throat, attempting to roll your eyes at the god pinning you to the wall. “Predictable,” you mutter, kicking pointlessly at his knees.

His eyes narrow, jaw clenches, fingers tighten around your arm…and he lets go.

He heaves a huge sigh, twirls the knife around his finger and pockets it, stepping away from you.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he says, long fingers pressing to his chest, “I don’t actually crave blood on my hands.”

“Couldn’t tell,” you scowl, rubbing your neck and shoving past him to the door of the little closet. Oh, perfect.

Locked.

“You planned this, didn’t you.”

Loki smiles. “Makes you more likely to listen to me, doesn’t it?”

That might be your best glare yet. Not that he could see it, with how dark it is in here, but it still counts.

“I was trying to not have to threaten you for silence,” he sighs, having the nerve to sound annoyed with you. “But it seems that you’re not overly fond of me nor the other version of me, so you really have no one to blame but yourself.”

“You self-righteous son of a—”

“You don’t have to like me,” he cuts in, lifting his hands in front of him. “I just need you to cooperate. Otherwise…you know too much to be kept alive.”

“Y’know, if this is how you present yourself to everyone new you meet, I’m not—ugh, surprised—no one likes you.” Giving the doorknob one last helpless yank, you bang your forehead against the wall with a huff of defeat. “You’re the worst.”

“So I’ve heard.”

He steps closer, hands still raised, palms open to you. Good, no knife this time.

This “relationship” is so screwed up that you’re almost touched by the fact that this time, he’s not trying to kill you.

“Can I trust you? Or do I have to silence you myself?”

You sigh, loud and exaggerated beyond belief just so he knows you’re not happy about it.

“Fine.”

“Good girl.”

A shocked, indignant little sound leaving your throat, you immediately raise your hand to slap the everloving shit out of him for that, but he chuckles and the lock on the door clicks.

“After you, darling.” He shifts back into Dr. Laing and opens the door for you with a wave of his hand.

“I’m not your d—”

“Having fun in there?”

Okay, mental note to tell Loki that the next time he picks a random closet to teleport to, don’t pick one in the restricted levels locker rooms.

“I-I’m so sorry, we got lost,” you stammer, not expecting to have ever run into the Black Widow in a locker room at work—she and the other avengers aren’t exactly at your paygrade.

“Lost,” she repeats, an amused grin tugging at her lips. “Okay. Laing, zip up and get out of here before I have to escort you.”

You spin on your heel to find Loki—once again your fake doctor-lover—slipping out of the little closet, a hand in front of his crotch zipping his pants, sheepishly grinning as he tucks his shirt into the waistband of his pants.

Oh, the little shit.

“You can’t blame me,” he chuckles, grabbing your hand and squeezing—he must’ve guessed you were about to slap him, for real this time. “Actually, you can’t blame her, either…can’t resist, what can I say?”

“Sorry. We’re leaving now,” you mutter, storming out of the locker room and dragging Loki along behind you before he gets any more detailed.

“You’re doing better already,” Loki laughs as you round a corner and practically shove him into the elevator, waiting until the second the door closes to bitch-slap him right across the face.

There’s a moment of shocked silence—you’ll treasure that forever. But then…

“…was that supposed to hurt?”

For the record, it hurt your hand more than it probably hurt his annoyingly defined cheekbones, but man, did that feel good.

“No,” you growl, turning around and crossing your arms as the elevator drops. “Just wanted you to know that I could do it.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

You can hear the patronising amusement laced into his voice.

“You’re the single worst person I’ve ever met.”

He smiles, glancing over at you. “You’ve mentioned, and yet you still play along with my charade.”

“Only because you threaten to kill me!”

“I think you like it,” he hums, rocking back and forth on his heels. “You’ve at least dressed your part tonight. You could pass for a love interest.”

“So that’s it? I’m just a piece of meat to you?”

“Yes.” The elevator dings and the door slides open, the staff party still in full swing. “Now put on a smile, pork chop.”

SMACK.

As long as you get to keep slapping him whenever he pisses you off, this little fake-lationship might just last long enough for Loki to leave.

If anything, seeing his stunned, flushed face after your palm meets his cheek is doing wonders for your confidence.

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

hope you enjoyed, please reblog and feel free to send me ideas!

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda @padmeisgay @authordreaming13 @lokisironthrone @theunknowinglys @highfuncti0ningfangirl @epicfallenismine @stubby-toe-589331 @fandomnerdsarecool @retrofantasyland @arch-venus25 @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @littleredstarfish @marshyrebelcloud @okie–loki @atterodominatus @stfxlou @pandacookieowo

#loki x reader #loki reader insert #loki slowburn #loki enemies to lovers #loki fake dating #loki imagine #pre-dating idiots

721 notes · View notes

yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years ago

Text

Constructive Critique

‘Hiiiii-’ Joan swung herself into Maggie’s cabin, narrowly avoiding the myriad of shoes and cigarette packets that littered the floor, and flopped down onto the bunk. ‘Are you ready to go?’

‘Mmm.’

Maggie didn’t look up from her laptop.

Joan was used to this- when Maggie was in her ‘creative zone’ (otherwise known as the ‘fuck off and dont talk to me zone’), it sometimes took her a while to be able to leave it.

She settled in for a wait and made herself comfy on Maggie's bunk- as usual, the bed was unmade. Unable to help herself, she twitched the covers into place before she sat down.

No response.

Hm.

That was odd. Maggie usually hated anyone tidying up after her.

Joan could still remember the time she’d relegated Anne to sitting on the floor for having the audacity to fold up her pajamas for her. Granted, Joan was never subjected to quite the same level of temper as everyone else….but still, even she was used to being ordered sharply to ‘just leave it alone Joan, jesus-’.

She smoothed out the bedspread.

Still no response.

Weird.

Biting the bullet, she rolled onto her stomach, rearranged Maggie's pillows and started to order the bits and pieces scattered on the bedside table, expecting every second for Maggie to look up and bark at her to stop.

Nothing.

Sitting up, she looked at Maggie more closely.

She was staring intently at her laptop screen, but she didn’t look how she usually looked when working- the peaceful faraway look was gone. She wasn't typing or clicking through. Her hands were in her lap.

In fact, they were clenched into fists.

‘Maggie?’

Nothing.

‘Mags- are you ok?’

Joan crawled off the bed and came over.

‘Mags?’

Maggie jumped as if waking up when Joan touched her arm. ‘What? Oh, sorry-’

‘Are you ok?’

‘Fine...did you want something?’ Already, her eyes were drifting back to the screen and Joan felt wrong footed.

‘I just….we were going to get something to eat?’ She wondered if this was Maggie's way of letting her know she wasn't in the mood- a bit of a change from her usual ‘Fuck, can we take a raincheck?’ but still a possibility. ‘We don't have to if you don’t want-’

‘Oh-’ Maggie seemed to catch onto Joan’s hesitancy, to notice the way her fingers twisted anxiously ‘Sorry- of course we were....’ She shook her head. ‘Of course we can-’

But her tone was off- Joan was more used to Maggie's flat affect than anyone, and she could tell what was normal and what wasn’t. This….wasn’t.

She put out a hand to pause Maggie in the middle of her perfunctory hunt for her wallet and keycard.

‘Mags? Something's up. Tell me? Please?’

Maggie got her stubborn look for a moment- as if planning on flat out denying all and making Joan fight her over it- but then she sighed and shrugged.

‘Oh, it’s nothing. Honestly. Really really stupid-’

‘What?’ The suspense was killing Joan. She was seconds away from breaking her new year's resolution to give up biting her nails. (Three months in and going strong. Maggie’s- to give up smoking, at Anne and Joan’s joint request- had lasted all of two hours and twenty minutes.)

Maggie bit her lip, obviously debating whether or not to actually finish.

‘-someone left a review on my last recording-’

‘Oh!’ Joan bounced happily for a moment. She knew how much reviews meant to Maggie- despite her repeated claims that her music was for her not for anyone else, Joan knew that the rare confirmations that someone else had actually noticed the piece of herself that she’d thrown into the void of cyberspace were precious. ‘What did they say?’

In answer, Maggie tilted her laptop screen so that Joan could read for herself.

‘-know you’re only starting out as musician….constructive criticism….whoever taught you really missed out on a few things didn't they?.....irritating tendencies….poor technique...know you’re sensitive…..would be happy to point you to some online resources….’ And then the sweetly poisonous ending ‘Please know this comes from a place of wanting you to be better and improve...’

There was no name, no address, no picture icon.

The first time she read it, the faux-concern and almost paternalistic tone made her want to laugh.

Then she read it again- and looked at Maggie, drooping in her chair and looking so very tired- and hot anger took over.

‘It’s...polite, isn’t it?’ Maggie quirked an eyebrow in her usual sardonic manner but her hands didn’t unclench. ‘I didn't think people talked like that any more-’

‘Oh Maggie-’

‘I feel like blaming my teacher was a bit harsh….poor Mr Greyson isn’t even here to defend himself. And it’s hardly his fault I never paid attention in class-’

A muscle gave a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch, just under Maggie's right eye.

‘Mags-’

‘Nice of them to concede I’m still learning though. I guess. Although-’ Maggie turned to face Joan properly for the first time. ‘They think my technique is bad? Imagine how much worse it is for me, I’m the one actually trying to play despite it, jesus, like c’mon, cut me some slack-’

‘Maggie!’

‘What?’

‘Fuck them!’

Maggie blinked at her. ‘What?’ It wasn’t often that she was able to surprise the other girl, and Joan made a mental note to let Maggie know just how adorable she looked when she was really, truly taken back, when things were less fraught.

‘Joey?’

‘Fuck them, Mags! Fuck whatever patronising little-’ she paused. It wasn't that she was reluctant to swear, more that she was afraid of Maggie laughing at her for her choice- she’d never heard the end of it when she’d frustratedly called a queue-jumper an ‘inconsiderate dick-face’.

Ironically, it had been an attempt to prove to everyone that she was adult enough to swear if she wanted to. The attempt had, she had to admit, backfired spectacularly well.

‘Go on-’ There was an amused quirk to Maggie's eyebrow- obviously their thoughts had followed a similar vein. ‘A little-?’

‘Never mind. Point is-’ She stabbed a finger at the laptop screen. ‘I cant believe anyone would have the nerve to say shit like that- as if they’re the arbitrator of what good music is, when they’re not even brave enough to come off anon!- and to then call you sensitive!’

Maggie shrugged. ‘Constructive criticism and all that-’

‘No! Constructive criticism is-’ Joan groped for a good comparison. ‘When I tell you that I want tips on how I can make the others listen to me. Or when I direct you guys during rehearsal. Not….this. This….’Oh I’m such a good person, I’m so wise and talented, let me point out all your faults in a really unnecessarily nasty way and then call you thin skinned’...if they really care, why aren’t they linking you to their own page? So you can get tips from them, if they’re so good. Or even so you can ask them questions privately?’

Maggie shrugged. ‘Maybe they just don't want to- I mean, they don’t have to-’

‘Maybe they know exactly how nasty the message was and don't want to face any consequences from it, you mean-’ Internally, Joan wondered if it was bad form to snap at someone when trying to stick up for them. Oh well. She’d ask Maggie later, Maggie would know. ‘Maybe they just like patting themselves on the back by pointing out non-issues or things you’re already aware of and are working on by presenting themselves as this master musician, but in a way that means you’ll never ever be able to respond to them! Well, I have a response-’ she leans forward ‘Fuck you! Fuck you and fuck your help and advice!’

She was breathing a little harder by the time she’d finished: Maggie was leaning back slightly in her chair.

‘Um…..wow....are you….ok?’

‘Yeah….’

‘....I already wrote a response, you’ll be sad to hear. It was a bit different to yours.’ On the screen, Maggie's finger pointed out her polite, calm message of reply: ‘Thanks for your interest….always appreciate feedback...thanks for listening’.

Joan suddenly felt foolish. Maggie clearly didn’t care that much. What was she even doing, ranting and raving when what Maggie probably wanted was just to forget about it?

She probably wasn’t even all that bothered by it- sure she’d seemed a little off, but Maggie was the absolute pinnacle of taking things on the chin, she’d probably barely registered the thing. Stupid Joan, overreacting; stupid overemotional Joan….

Hic-

Joan had never wanted to die more. Hiccups- was it possible to have a more childish marker of distress?

‘Yeah…..’ She tried to hold her breath surreptitiously and then gave up. ‘Sorry, just….I got cross…’

‘I can see….’ Maggie's lips twitched. ‘Pity whoever wrote that if they come across you, huh?’

‘Yeah….’ Her face was burning. Why was she so stupid? Why couldn't she have just passed over it like Maggie obviously had?

Because you’re thinking about how you’d feel, the little voice in her head responded immediately, because you’re imagining how you’d feel if you got a message like that, how you’ve felt when you have got messages like that- like you don't want to make anything anymore, like you're embarrassed for people to see any of your work-

She shut it down. That was her, not Maggie- cool, collected, talented Maggie. As if Maggie would be affected by a stupid review.

She shook away too the image of Maggie hunched in her chair and staring sadly at the screen. She’d probably imagined most of it.

‘Shall we go get food then?’

As if in evidence of her okay-ness, Maggie almost bounced out of her chair, grabbing her phone from the floor and stuffing her keycard deep into her pocket as she made for the door, Joan trailing behind.

‘Ok-’

‘Where do you want to go?’ Maggie pulled the door firmly. ‘We got pizza the other day, so I’m feeling maybe Thai- or ramen, we haven’t had good ramen in ages-’ She paused. ‘Are you ok?’

‘Yeah.’ Joan nodded quickly. ‘Fine-’

‘Cool- so….maybe ramen? Unless you’re not feeling noodles….also there’s that creepy guy who works there and I think I heard he works extra shifts now so maybe not-’

Half way down the corridor, Maggie suddenly stopped. Joan wondered if she was going to say she’d forgotten something, but instead, she grabbed Joan's hand and squeezed it hard.

‘Joan?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Thank you-’

Joan felt a bit nonplussed. ‘What for?’

Maggie looked at her as if she was an idiot. ‘For….you know….’ She gently bumped her shoulder against Joan’s. ‘For caring enough to get angry on my behalf? For saying fuck a million times- it was funny, cheered me right up-’ Her expression sobered. ‘Just...thanks. I know it’s ridiculous to let some internet random get to me but….yeah.’

She gave Joan’s hand a parting squeeze and let go, straightening up, back to normal again. ‘As you say, fuck them, next time i’ll just let you reply and save myself the trouble…’ Her lips twitched and she tilted her head. ‘Anyway…back to important stuff….food choices and that.’ She looked at Joan ‘Shall we go?’

‘Yeah-’ Joan hid her smile and started down the corridor. ‘Let’s go.’

#I saw the title and I already knew what this was gonna be about #AND SIS YOU SNAPPED #you said what I couldnt!! and it’s all true!!#DRAG EM SIS #okay but actual comments!!#maggie not liking people picking up her things? love that 👌#I also love the bit where joey bites her nails! and then maggie not giving up smoking haha #god the parts where joan defended maggie is so valid and well stated and true and 👌👌👌#I love joan snapping!!#and then her cussing the anon out oh my god #that’s so funny!!!#and maggie being actually pretty shocked #THE HICCUPS!!! YES!!!!#bro put joan’s hiccup tendency in a fic and it automatically becomes good #just some tips 👀#aww joan beating herself up over yelling :( poor baby!#but maggie coming in clutch and making her feet better!! 🥺🥺#AAAA I JUST LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!!#THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR SATING MY HUNGER THE BA GIRLS!!#but you know im gonna need more now right? 👀 I crave your writing #not my writing #six breakaway #breakaway joan on the keys #breakaway maggie on the guitar #submission

25 notes · View notes

mklesbianlit · 5 years ago

Text

Heroes and Hangers On

There are heroes and there are hangers-on. That’s me. Third wheel to the greatest heroes in the land.

Hanging with the chosen ones is all very fun, until you realise you’re in love with one of them. I could never hope to deserve her, and it stings. Worse yet, she’s clearly destined for him.

She’s kind. That’s what I love about her. She cares about making the world a better place. I could never carry the burden she does.

What I can do is help. Neither of them cares enough for themselves, and if I watch their backs, some part of this great adventure is mine.

I feed the fire a few branches and sigh. Kayden and Anna are sparring with sticks, half in practice and half in jest. They hardly need the practice - we were attacked by zombies yesterday and their skills were as sharp as ever.

She knocks the stick out of his hand, and brings her stick to his neck. They laugh together. There’s something about them together that’s very easy and free. It’s never easy for me when I’m near her. On top of the fire, dinner simmers in the pan that just yesterday I hit a zombie on the head with. One of my finer moments, really. It’s almost ready, the rabbit nearly cooked through. Anna and Kayden make their way over to the fire.

“Smells amazing,” says Anna. “I always look forward to the nights when you cook - you’re better than either of us.” Kayden nods in agreement. I smile.

I take the pan off the fire, and divide it up between our three plates. Rabbit is plentiful around here, but if it’s all you eat, your body won’t get enough fat. We’ll have to look for something else tomorrow.

We all eat ravenously - using only our hands. The only utensil we have out here is my knife, and it’s more meant for stabbing than cutting. There is silence but for the sound of chewing. Long silences normally make me uncomfortable but in this case, I know it just means we’ve had a long day.

After washing our hands in a nearby creek, it’s time for bed. I crawl into my furs. The night will be cold. She sleeps beside me, and Kayden next to her. It’s never easy for me to sleep. Kayden snores terribly.

Anna sleeps fitfully. I hear her tossing and turning for half the night. She’s been troubled since the last undead creature she sent back to hell. From what little I’ve been able to get out of her, the zombie looked like her long-dead father. Of course, zombies can only be made from the newly dead and not old bones, but it shook her anyway.

In the middle of the night, I hear her crying. I leave my furs and go to her, only to find that Anna is still asleep. I shake her lightly and then harder. Next to her, Kayden continues to snore. I see Anna’s eyes open.

“Bad dreams?” I ask.

“Only the worst,” she replies, sitting up. “I don’t think I want to go back to sleep.” She wipes the tears off her face with her sleeve, and touches the sword at her side for reassurance. “Thank you for waking me up.”

“I couldn’t just leave you there like that,” I said. The light from the embers of the fire was reflected in her eyes.

“Could I hug you?” she asks.” I just… need something solid. So I know I’m not still asleep.” And how can I deny her that.

“Sure,” I say. And then she’s holding me tight and my heart is beating so hard in my chest I fear she may hear it. For a second while we’re parting, she rests her forehead against mine.

“I dreamed you were dead. That you came back as a zombie and I had to put you down,” she said quietly. Anna has lost a lot of people. Enough that even the death of someone like me would sting.

“Very much alive and not undead,” I reply. She chuckles quietly, reaches out and holds my hand in hers. One of the most difficult parts of being around this woman is that she’s affectionate. She always wants to touch and hold and hug. Every time it reminds me of how I feel for her.

“I worry about you, you know. You’re strong in so many ways, but not in the way that Kayden and I are. Our magic only protects us. And still you’re always trying to protect me.” I frown in the dark. I never mean to worry her. I squeeze her hand in mine.

“The most important thing is that the two of you survive. So we can find the necromancer and stop him from animating any more dead,” I say. She shakes her head in the moonlight.

“I can handle myself, Lucky. But I don’t want to have to fight without you,” she says. I swallow. “Just… don’t go putting yourself in danger unnecessarily, okay?”

“We’re in danger all the time.” I say, trying to bargain.

“And all the time you put yourself in danger. Sometimes I think I’d feel better if Kayden and I just set you down in a town and came back for you when all this is over.” she says. It’s what I always worry about. That I will not be useful enough to keep going with her.

“I’ll stop. Don’t just… get rid of me, okay?” I ask. Next to Anne, Kayden’s snores become even louder. I don’t know how he can make all that noise and not wake himself up.

“I don’t want to get rid of you. I just want you to be… as safe as possible given our situation.” she says. She’s squeezing my hand now. “You matter to me, okay? I don’t want to see you dead.” And then, she does something I never would have expected. She leans in close to me and brings her lips to mine. I pull back almost immediately.

“You shouldn’t kiss me,” I say. She cocks her head to the side.

“Do you not want me to kiss you? I’m sorry if I’ve read this wrong. You can forget about this, we can wake up tomorrow morning and have everything be normal.” she offers quickly. She pulls her hand out of mine.

“I desperately want you to kiss me. But you’re in love with Kayden. It wouldn’t be right.” I say. I want to tell her to kiss me again. But I couldn’t do that to him.

“You, Lucky Perrymore, are an idiot. Have you ever seen me do anything more than friendly with him? Have I ever kissed him?” she asks. “That bard. In the last village. He sang songs about your love! You laughed!” I say, trying to understand.

“I laughed because he was so wrong. Kayden laughed too. We’re not together. We’re close and people have always taken that for something it isn’t, but we’re not together. I love the man, but he’s just not my type. You’re my type.” she says. She kisses me again, and this time I kiss her back, softly. I’ve been so distracted by all this that I don’t notice that Kayden has stopped snoring.

“Did you two finally kiss? About time!” he crows. Anna laughs, her mouth inches from mine. I pull her into another hug. “Get some sleep lovebirds. We’ve got a long road ahead of us tomorrow. Maybe we’ll even find you two an inn!”

“Shut up, Kayden,” Anna says goodnaturedly. “But we should sleep,” she agrees.

I pull my furs close to Anna, and lie down next to her. She’s so warm. I don’t know if I’ll sleep tonight, but I know that if I did my dreams would be joyous.

#femslash #My writing

8 notes · View notes

book-mess · 6 years ago

Photo

"But I don’t want to go banging on their door, begging them to be my friends.”

“It wouldn’t be begging. If you put on one of those pretty sundresses you wore in Florida instead of this.” Mom tugged on the hem of my shirt. “It would be flirting.”

I glanced down. It said My Blog Is Better Than Your Vlog. There wasn’t a thing wrong with it.

For those who haven’t read this book - I’ll give you a reason to. Have you ever considered aliens to be a part of those supernatural romance novels? I sure didn’t. It was as insane as the existence of honest politicians, a USB drive that connects to a port on the first try, a perfectly organized bookshelf with killer aesthetic that manages to fit all of your impulse book buys - you get the picture. I didn’t think that romance and aliens mixed well together. Praise the Lord Almighty that I was wrong. So intensely, profusely wrong.

Unnecessarily Lengthy Synopsis

Katy, our fierce, book-loving protagonist (never heard of that one) is introduced to us in a relatable manner - obsessing over her book blog Katy’s Krazy Obsession (still a better blog name than mine) that reviews the latest and greatest novel she has been reading. She would much rather be stalking her blog comments and number of followers than socializing with her new same-age neighbors, yet still finds herself curious about them. Especially when her well meaning mom encourages her to go out and make friends after making a mad dash to start over in a new town. In her attempt to make an effort to make good with the neighbors so she didn’t feel so isolated on her first day of school, she finds herself frozen in front of the alluring, overwhelmingly attractive boy-next-door Daemon Black. Confronted by totally lick-able and touchable abs, thick sooty lashes a girl would trade her first-born child for, curled, black hair that cascades wildly around his head, partially obscuring his face and his unnatural emerald green eyes, Katy’s only option is to admire this chiseled god. Until he opens his mouth. Quick-witted with a rapier tongue and a patronizing demeanor, he quickly angers Katy, causing her normally non-confrontational personality to flip her bitch switch like it’s nobody’s business. He’s infuriating. Arrogant. Stab-worthy. Forcing her away from the friendship of his twin sister, Dee, in a rabid, almost cruel manner, Katy can only surmise that there is something seriously wrong with his mental state. And physical. Holding breath for 10 minutes, crossing a great distance within a blink of an eye, blurring in and out of vision... That’s just not normal.

“But when a stranger attacks her and Daemon literally freezes time with a wave of his hand, he marks her. Turns out he has a galaxy of enemies wanting to steal his abilities and the only way she’s getting out of this alive is by sticking close to him until her alien mojo fades. If she doesn’t kill him first that is.”

Subpar Review

I genuinely love this book. I did not expect to love it as much as I did. As much as I do. Maybe it’s because it’s a blast from my awkward high-school past that validated and encouraged my love for books (even the trashy young adult supernatural romances) or maybe because it’s genuinely a good book.

Katy Swartz isn’t just spunky. Sure, she follows the general trend of “shy, book-loving girl who is confronted by an asshole and steps up to shove it right back up”. It’s a cliche that’s been over written, but who doesn’t like to indulge in the occasional creme-de-trash novel. She’s incredibly relatable. Her pain, her confusion, her embarrassment doesn’t feel like second hand emotions. It’s as if I’m right there in her shoes experiencing these vivid scenes. More often than not, many misunderstood heroines with a love of books can come off unintentionally as condescending, emotionally unavailable, unreachable. This is not the case with Katy. Her love of books isn’t a barrier to others, but rather a source of leisure activity and quality time spent together among the characters.

This book was meant to be a rewrite of Twilight. If this book really is an author’s fan-fiction of Twilight, she fixed that catastrophe and made it right. For one, although Katy is curious, possibly obsessive about boy-next-door with the not so boy-next-door personality, she actually values her friend over him and wastes no time in defending her. On top of that, from the beginning, she knows her self worth and refuses to let others violate her boundaries. Instead of acting like she inhaled a dictionary and started vomiting up words at random, she actually speaks like a teenager.

Thank you for reading this crappy attempt at a first book review. I really hope I left an impression. This author, Jennifer L. Armentrout, is an amazing writer and always manages to bring me back to her worlds. And there are many to be a part of.

#lux series #daemon black #katy swartz #luxen #book review #young adult #ya #extraterrestrial romance #thirst #bookworm #booklife #supernatural romance

80 notes · View notes

virmillion · 6 years ago

Text

Some Kind Of Magical - Chapter 1

Chapter 2 / Masterpost / ao3

Warnings: Food mention, let me know if there’s any more

Words: 4630

“Yeah, no, I’m definitely switching,” Logan says, tracing a finger under the bolded guidelines on the syllabus. The only marring on the pale blue paper is the corner, folded just enough to be a gripping point in the event he might need it quickly. Even the pad of his finger hardly leaves a trace of oil or sweat. “Says here the only requirement is a clear and concise direction for my project, and if Research is willing to accept my TryMyts, I should be all set. Shouldn’t be too difficult, and trust me, I’ve seen a few successful TryMyts in the past. I’ve nothing to worry about.” Logan smooths out the corner on the cafeteria table, careful to avoid the remnants of food and drink littering the surface. “Patton, any particular way you intend to sneak desertion past your dad?”

Patton slouches down in his seat, nearly resting on his back as his head tips to groan at the ceiling. “He threatened to take my bedroom door off while I’m at school today, what with me daring to leave five minutes earlier than usual, so I’m open to suggestions.”

“Have you considered staying with Resolute and pretending to be happy about it?” Roman prods a plastic fork at his lunch, poking his tongue at a canker sore aggravating the corner of his lips.

“Have you considered lying to Pib about what you want to go into?”

“Fair point.” Roman scrapes up some heavily burned vegetables, slathered in a generous heaping of grease and pepper, and watches them drip between the prongs of his fork to splatter on the styrofoam tray. Logan grimaces, blotting up the new stain from his oversized black glasses. “Maybe put off telling your dad until you get into Rehabilitate, then. Not much he can do once you’re officially in a different Trytsu.” Scooping a carrot slice into his mouth, Roman stabs his fork in the air to emphasize his point as he talks around the food. “Plus, I mean, it’s not like he’ll be able to stop you if he doesn’t know it’s happening to begin with, right?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what I was thinking.” Patton leverages himself up to a more proper posture on his wobbling stool, resting his chin on a fist. His elbow nearly shoots out from under him when more grease sprays at it from Roman’s dropped fork. “Sorry for bringing Pib into this, I know that’s not really my business. Force of habit, deflection against the lecture I’ll get later and everything.”

“Of course, your father’s famed ‘Resolve via Resolute’ speeches. A crowd pleaser, to be sure.” Logan shoots Roman a wry grin as Patton elbows him in playful annoyance. “I do believe myself to be familiar with the concept.”

“Mocking his grammar is your favorite part and you know it.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that.”

“Deny it,” Virgil cuts in, slamming an overflowing tray down beside Roman.

“You don’t even know what you’re telling him to deny,” Patton accuses, reaching over to snatch something from Virgil’s tray. Virgil swats the hand away as he drops into the empty seat, warily stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. No further attempts on Virgil’s lunch are made.

“Irrelevant.”

“Your face is irrelevant,” Roman retorts. The mere threat of Virgil’s whiplash glare is enough to keep his paws off the new food.

“Nice comeback, where’d you find it? A tide pool for newborn selkies? Because trust me, that’s about how deep it cuts.” Ignoring the look of high offense on Roman’s face, Virgil sets about shoveling his towering stack of food down his throat.

“So what’s with the delay?” Logan doesn’t look up from the syllabus, still tapping his fingers lightly over certain lines. Doodles scribbled in pen crawl over his skin, shining an unnatural dark blue in the fluorescent lighting of the cafeteria.

A spray of crumbs and spit accompanies Virgil’s response, as well as a thumb jabbing behind him. “Than.”

“Is that so?” Patton swivels around on his stool, bracing a hand against the table. “I’ll go tell him a thing or two about delaying one of my friends, and if he’s got any sense about keeping that pretty blond hair on his head, he’ll listen close.”

“Not going to help your probation situation,” Logan sing songs under his breath. He anchors Patton down with the barest trace of an ink-covered finger on his hand. Patton slumps back down in defeat, the righteous fires of rage crackling down to burning embers in his eyes. “Virgil? Care to spare more than four letters in regards to your delay?”

“Adoptive parents, undeclared TryMyts, a bottomless pit for a stomach, a tattered friendship that he seems hell bent on repairing, the usual. Roman, if you so much as touch my tray, my next snack is going to be your hand.”

“Says the vegetarian,” mutters Roman. Regardless, he draws his hand back to his chest and shields it with the other. “So you’re really sticking with undeclared?”

Before letting Virgil get a word in edgewise, the other three chime in with their own opinions. “Do you know how rare it is to have a successful TryMyts without declaring your intended Trytsu beforehand?”

“What did your moms say about it?”

“If Pib goes undeclared, I’m calling it on you.”

“Do you have any ideas for an all-purpose project?”

“Do you need any help with it?”

“Speaking of help, can you give me some with my homework?” The clamor of conversation halts as Virgil casts a quirked eyebrow at Roman.

“Topic jump much?” Virgil slides his somehow already empty tray to the side, letting Roman’s notebook fill in the gap. In the midst of Roman pointing out his issue, Virgil tugs more snacks from his bags and crams them into his mouth.

“So are your parents really okay with you switching?” Patton asks, angling his knees toward Logan. He lowers his voice so as not to interrupt the studying pair across from them. “I know they’ve always been really proud of their Rehabilitate lineage.”

“I discussed the matter with Ren last night,” Logan says, shuffling through his stack of papers, “and we’re going to talk it over with my mother once she finds a break in her work. Ren was all for it, but they’re always like that, so it’s not like I’m overly concerned.” The slight furrow in Logan’s brows betrays that he probably is, in fact, overly concerned, but Patton elects not to comment on this.

The warning bell to end lunch period chimes, sending freshmen scattering and seniors groaning. As a whole, the air of the room turns from relaxed to agitated. “Wish my dad could act the same way.” Patton rescues a fallen blue pen from the floor, handing it off to Logan before tossing his own garbage in the rolling bin.

“Punch him in the jugular,” Virgil suggests, stowing some wrappers in his pocket instead of trying to catch up with the freshman dutifully pushing away the garbage bin. “It’ll prove you mean business, and isn’t that what he wants?”

“What he wants is to keep me from shipping out like my mom did, but how’s that working out for him?” Patton’s hazel eyes dart to the loudspeaker that sounded the bell, an analog clock ticking away seconds to its left. “Speaking of working something out, I’d better get going. I’m supposed to be making up an assignment with Myjhyrr Pentheon between periods. Later.” The remaining trio forces back a collective laugh as Patton shoulder-checks Than on his way out, sending a considerable amount of papers flying. Even more amusing is how the three inches of differences means that Than’s chin knocks into Patton’s shorter shoulder as the former goes down.

“Where might you two be headed?” asks Logan. He swings his bag across his back with surprising ease, given its numerous and overflowing contents. Roman tucks another pen in one of the side pockets—not Logan’s, to be sure, but the guy certainly has a penchant for collecting lost writing utensils that don’t belong to him.

“Myjhyrr Senthyirr wants to meet me in his room for his off hour, undeclared Trytsu and all. Have fun being studious nerds.” Virgil gives a two-fingered salute to Logan and tugs on a strand of Roman’s short, brown hair as they approach Than. He takes an offered stick of gum from Roman, busying himself with reading the label to ignore Than.

“Still showing your face, I see. You know, I hear it’s remarkably difficult to live past twenty when you can’t even sort yourself out at seventeen,” Than jeers, still bent over to scrape together his fallen papers. He tightens the knot of the plaid jacket tied around his waist and dusts off his knees. “Guess that’s why your parents didn’t want you though, right?”

Virgil slinks past in silence, still a good head taller than Than despite a chronic slouch. With a choice finger in the air behind him, he strolls through the yawning double doors into a refreshingly cool hall, filled with the last few stragglers of the final lunch period.

Unnecessarily deep into the far end of the school stands a nondescript door, completely unremarkable. Aside from its inconvenient location, of course. Virgil knocks, three quick raps, before tugging on the handle without waiting for a response. The knock is more a show of courtesy than a request for permission, anyway.

“Myjhyrr Senthyirr? You, uh, you wanted to see me?” Virgil flinches as the door slams shut behind him—just the wind, he tells himself. Right, because an empty hallway is just so famous for its spontaneous tornadoes. The room ahead seems to recoil from light, shrouding itself in shadow as an even darker silhouette materializes. It takes impossibly long strides, arriving before Virgil with a shapeless blob hovering between them. A hand, Virgil informs himself, probably more desperate to believe it than he’d be willing to let one. Just shake it. Shake his hand. He doesn’t. The floating mass retracts.

“Yes, well, let’s just have a seat, shall we? Make yourself at home, I’ve excused you for the whole class period.” The silhouette floats away, sinking down into what’s apparently a chair, its posture indicating for Virgil to follow suit. Heb shuffles along, keeping his arms outstretched into the darkness. The gum smacks loudly in his mouth. Its resounding echo shrieks in Virgil’s ears.

“Actually, I’ve got this exam coming up, and I really should be—”

“Nonsense. You’ll be fine. I’ve seen your scores. Remarkable, truly. Not to mention, the year just started. There are no exams yet.” The vague outline of a person shifts, allowing its eyes to shine in the slim beam of the pale sun peeking into the room, its brilliance marred by clouds. “Try harder to think of an excuse the next time you deign to lie to my face, hm?” The eyes, just barely bright enough to be called human, stare Virgil down in the vast emptiness of the room, big and brown and seeming to know something he doesn’t. Virgil twitches.

“Let’s see here, adopted into a blended home of Research and Resolute? Interesting, we don’t often see cross-Trytsu pairings, especially successful ones. More so in regards to those particular Trytsun, what with Resolute’s prevailing penchant for involvement in wars.” Virgil bites back a snide remark of how he’d certainly never heard that opinion before, not in all his seventeen years of existing. “Why don’t you just run me through the reasons for your uncertainty? If I know what’s got you running around that wheel in your head, I can better know how to assist your year.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, sure. So Resolute, I’m just not much of a fighter? And I know that’s not what Resolute is about, it’s about defending others and keeping the peace through physical means, but like, that’s just not me. I want to protect people, yeah, but it’s not like I want to have to get violent against other creatures to do that, you know? And yeah, I know, that’s not what it’s about, and I, um, I love my mother and how, like, caring she is, despite everyone touting her as being a member of ‘Revenge’ or whatever, but still.

“And then there’s Rehabilitate, which, I don’t know, maybe? I like caring for creatures and ensuring their survival and stuff, and working on projects when we’re supposed to come up with innovative solutions to environmental problems regarding trystopian creatures, but the selflessness aspect of it all? It just feels wrong, like I put more value in the lives of those I’m supposed to help than I put in my own, which definitely isn’t the point, although I guess I sort of do that already. Plus, it’s not like I grew up with a Rehabilitate influence, either.

“If I can’t decide in the end, then I’ll probably just end up in Research, mostly because it’s the easiest, and my mom would probably be thrilled. I mean, I haven’t talked with her about it, but I don't think she’d be disappointed. Logan and I—Logan Thylktor, I mean—help Roman Thyrrak with his homework a lot, so that’s alright, and I like learning stuff, but the whole, like, ‘hands-off’ approach when it comes to dealing with the creatures? That’s just not me, not my style. And my mom swears she’d support me even if I don’t go into her Trytsu, but I just don’t want to disappoint her, or my mother, or anyone. Sorry, it’s just that I’m completely lost, and I don’t know what to do anymore.” Virgil busies himself blowing a bubble to keep from spilling any more thoughts than necessary—his usual rule of ten word sentences or less evidently does not apply here.

More light crowds into the room through the yawning gap by the window, having grown ever wider through Virgil’s rambling. It washes over Myjhyrr Senthyirr, making those brown eyes twinkle and that violet hair glow. Virgil chooses the latter to focus on, to wonder at the unnatural coloring, to ponder over why a teacher would intentionally look unprofessional like that. Certainly an easier task than to meet that piercing gaze, unrelenting and undeniable.

“It seems to me,” the teacher begins, steepling his fingers together, “that you just need somewhere to start. As the general advisor of the TryMyts in this region, as well as this school’s specialty counselor for undeclared students, I personally feel that you, Virgil Thriyv, need to stop thinking so much.”

“But I—”

“Nope, not done talking. You just need to decide what you’re passionate about. Anything. It doesn’t even have to connect to a specific Trytsu. If you get your giggles from watching insects crawl over rotten food, then I might suggest finding a new hobby, but more power to you. It just has to be something you enjoy, that you can actively pursue, and over the course of the year, I’m sure it will eventually turn itself into whatever Trytsu you decide you need it to be. Does that sound goo?” Forcing back a tidal wave of reasons as to why this could go wrong, Virgil nods. His gum pops. “Excellent. Now, there’s just about twenty minutes left until the assembly, so why don’t you just stay in here and get to work? I’ll let you know when it’s time to head down.”

Virgil nods again, retrieves some bound papers and a purple pen from his bag, and gets to work. Not preparing for his project, of course not, but doodling aimlessly while keeping a careful eye on Myjhyrr Senthyirr. At least, as much as he can in the impossibly dark room. The teacher bustles about the room, repositioning bottles that weren’t in disarray to begin with, changing the order of books on the shelf without rhyme or reason, moving chairs between desks that already have enough seats. At some point, Virgil allows the drawing to consume most of his attention, only stopping when the sound of shattering glass jerks his head up. Myjhyrr Senthyirr grins sheepishly, stepping around the mess of dropped bottles he’d so carefully organized mere minutes earlier. Assured of a lack of imminent danger, Virgil turns back to his drawing. It’s certainly nothing to write home about, and it’s nowhere near the caliber of Logan’s portfolio, but it could be worse. He stuffs it in his bag as Myjhyrr Senthyirr motions to the door, ignoring the still-rattling shards of glass.

“Shall we?” Following him out, Virgil casts a final glance into the dark room, baffled by how he could have managed to see the paper at all, let alone well enough to put a cohesive drawing on the thing. Maybe his eyes adjusted to the relief from the terribly blinding hallway lights. Sure, he’ll go with that. Of more importance than eyes that can see in the dark is the massive swarm of people barreling for the auditorium—all seniors and teachers, by the looks of it. Virgil draws his shoulders in, one hand gripping the opposite arm protectively as a pair of yelling girls jostle against his side.

All too quickly, not soon enough, somewhere in the blurry fog that lies between the two, the grand wooden doors to the auditorium loom before him. Myjhyrr Senthyirr pats Virgil’s back reassuringly before breaking off for a separate teacher’s entrance, but it’s not the touch that makes Virgil flinch. It’s the murmured, “I couldn’t see an inch past my eyes in that room,” and the immediate disappearance without further clarification. Before he can even begin to search for the missing teacher, Virgil feels a warm hand clap on his shoulder, followed by a bare arm slinging around his neck.

“Logan’s already in there,” Roman says, squeezing the hand tighter on Virgil’s shoulder. “Said to look near the back, toward the end of the row.” Virgil finishes the side-hug with Patton and peels off Roman’s fingers, stepping through the gaping doorway. Some kid lingers behind to hold it open for the crowds with their foot, causing Virgil to wonder at their patience to wait for so long.

“Look, there he is!” Patton exclaims, pointing to the only straight back in a sea full of slouched adolescents. He drags Virgil and Roman by the hand to greet the person that reveals himself to be Logan, his books spread over the three seats nearest him. Logan shuffles them into his bag as Patton climbs over his lap to sit to his left, leaving Virgil and Roman to sit on his right. On Roman’s other side is only the aisle, a stampede of students from which e shields Virgil.

“I assumed you’d want to be in the back, so as to safely observe everyone else from a distance. Is this location agreeable?” Logan turns his head to face Virgil, snapping shut the book in his hands. At a grateful nod, Logan turns back to his written words, leaving Virgil to scope out the room, rather than the impossibly large mass of writhing bodies. Granted, the meticulously carved walls, with their reliefs and murals of glory in battle and study and protection, all look otherworldly, carefully crafted and displayed as they are. A wonder to behold, right along with the columns scattered by the many doors, scored with thin lines to mark every class of students to succeed in their TryMyts, to successfully enter a Trytsu, to make it where they want to be. A testament to the school’s pride in its students, to say the least, but more than that, more than the decorated walls, more than the grand doors, Virgil loves the splendor of the wooden stage at the front and center of it all.

He loves the fake satin curtains that tie off in copper ropes to frame the platform. He loves the three steps that let the audience run onstage and the actors hide in the crowd. He loves the drop away spots in the floor for dramatic entrances. He loves thinking back on that glimmer of pride in Roman’s face as he’d help redesign the stage in their first year here.

Nothing had seemed to be able to make Roman happier in that moment besides, of course, his demands that his friends be allowed to help. Virgil still remembers seeing the reluctance of the design committee morph into ecstatic anticipation as Logan facilitated the layout of burned details into the wooden floor. Even in the little nick in the curtains from where Patton got confused with scissors remains, an integral part of Virgil’s enjoyment of the set. Somewhat less significant is the speeches he’d been made to give there, how every eye in the room seemed to zero in on him, on his flaws, on his stutters and murmurs. Deep down, he knows that’s not the case, that it was never the case, that getting a pack of teenagers to all focus on the same insecurity at the same time is nigh impossible, but his head always has a hard time believing that.

This disbelief is evidently well-founded, as each and every last head in the audience snaps to the front, where Myjhyrr Senthyirr brandishes a glistening sword at the front row. The clamor of voices dies down into hushed whispers of panic as the blade cocks back, gearing up to strike. Cries and shouts not to do it, to have mercy, to get help, to hold him back, all fall on deaf ears as Myjhyrr Senthyirr swings the sword down at the student before him. They gasp, flinching back and squeezing their eyes shut.

The sword comes to a screeching halt, its silver surface hovering inches from the kid’s face. “Now that I have everyone’s attention, let’s begin.” He hands the sword off to some teacher that scurries out from backstage, thanking the decidedly-not-emotionally-scarred kid for playing along. “TryMyts. Trytsu Commitments. Deciding who you want to be in thirty years when you’re only seventeen or eighteen. With the Trytsu thesaurus out of the way, I’m not going to waste any more of your time. As a senior student body, each of you is to decide which Trytsu truly fits you, then you’ll all do individual projects to pass and graduate, or else you’ll repeat the year.” Myjhyrr Senthyirr rolls his eyes as he speaks, clearly just as bored with the rehashing of information the students have known since birth as the students themselves are. “Pay attention, or I will bring the sword back out, and I will not be kidding this time,” he snaps, glaring at some kids goofing off in the front. At their snickers and jeers, he continues, “or I can just guarantee your projects get the harshest critiques because you weren’t paying attention during the mandatory explanation, so surely your work will be flawless if you don’t think you need my input. If you want to come back here next year, that’s your prerogative.”

Despite his own trembling nerves at the man he’d stood by not thirty minutes ago, Virgil can’t help but feel an impressed fearfulness at the guy. He certainly knows how to command a room, that’s for sure.

“If you all would be so kind, please join me in welcoming to the stage Myjhyrrs Kenthykyrrn, Ryhanthyrri, and Kessyn-Syrru.” Myjhyrr Senthyirr steps to the left edge of the stage, making room for three more adults to step into the light.

The willowy one, taller than anybody Virgil could remember seeing before and twice as thin, speaks first. Her braided brown hair sits atop her shoulder, spilling down to her waist. “I am Myjhyrr Kenthykyrrn, and I will be working with those of you intending to enter the Research Trytsu. I dearly hope you will not disappoint.” She casts a slow, deliberate once-over across the room, as if she has all the time in the world and then some.

“Myjhyrr Ryhanthyrri, at your service.” Large in both size and demeanor, the one in the middle bows. “Of the Rehabilitate Trytsu.” He nods to the third and final person, letting them bow silently. “This here is Myjhyrr Kessyn-Syrru, and they’ll be representing the Resolute Trytsu.” They wave a hand at the growing thunder of applause—even as an advisor for TryMyts, they’ve evidently gained a following of students to favor them. Beside Virgil, Roman whoops loudly, cheering along with the crowd—no question which advisor he’ll be working with.

As the three file offstage, presumably to pack up their rooms and leave before the students can clog the exits, Myjhyrr Senthyirr nods his thanks to them. “I was told to break down every last detail regarding the trials and tribulations of the TryMyts, but who here is genuinely confused?” Not one hand rises, with northing so small as a cough ringing in the silence. “That’s what I thought. In any case, projects are due at the end of the year, and you can speak to the advisor for your target Trytsu if you have questions. Your specific designated times for doing so will be during your final period, as that will function as your work hour for your TryMyts. If you want to cut school and leave early, or goof off, or whatever it is you all do for fun, that’s up to you, but in the end, it’s your chance at a Trytsu on the line. I get paid either way. See me if you’re having trouble selecting a Trytsu or you have general questions that need not bother the advisor of your target Trytsu. Be sure to give your decision, as well as your project, a considerable amount of thought. Run your ideas by whoever will be helping you through this process, plan ahead, all that fun stuff. Until tomorrow, class dismissed. And remember—choose wisely.” With that trademark close off about picking Trytsun in hand, Myjhyrr Senthyirr makes his graceful exit.

Roman starts rambling about how excited he is to work with Myjhyrr Kessyn-Syrru, as well as ideas of how to sell his plan to his parents. Intentional or not, Virgil is grateful for the distraction from the horde of students trying to fit through doors far too small to handle all of them at once. On his other side, Virgil peers at Logan scrawling notes beside a remarkable portrait of Myjhyrr Kenthykyrrn. Patton appears to think the same, pointing out all the intricacies of the scratches from the pen in Logan’s hand. The latter tucks the paper in one of his books, ignoring the disappointed sigh from Patton.

“Looks like pretty much everyone else cleared out. We good to go?” Roman steps into the aisle to let the other three out in front of him. As a group, they head for the door in an uneven line, Virgil lagging behind to glance at the stage where Myjhyrr Senthyirr remains, watching them leave with those piercing brown eyes. Virgil walks a little faster, welcoming the warm sun on his face as they finally leave behind the stale air of the building.

“Do you intend to tell your father about transferring into Rehabilitate, then?” Logan asks, cocking his head toward Patton. “I would not be opposed to accompanying you home, should that lessen any blows you may receive, verbal or otherwise.”

“I think it should be fine,” Patton says with a smile. Something in his voice tips Virgil off that he won’t be telling his dad, but Virgil isn’t about to out the guy. If Patton wants them to know, he’ll say so, but until then, it’s none of Virgil’s business. Virgil busies himself with picking at an eyelash stabbing at his eye to avoid Logan’s doubtful humming. “If we’re still on for tonight, I guess I’ll see you guys later!”

“Later,” Logan echoes.

Chapter 2 / Masterpost / ao3

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #food mention tw #some kind of magical #labhwrites #mine

12 notes · View notes

fiercebunny · 7 years ago

Text

Been thinking about Infinity War, spoilers obviously within. Don’t read until you’ve seen the movie.

So I hadn’t read the comics about this storyline and managed to remain surprisingly spoiler free before seeing the movie. That there was probably going to be a lot of character death was like the most I knew ahead of time, so I was kind of prepared for that at least.

And I did kind of enjoy it at the beginning. It was fun to see the characters interact with each other, even though due to the sheer number of people present, there wasn’t really any time for anything in depth or development. There were a lot of funny one liners.

But at a certain point, I began to have an uncomfortable feeling that there was just a sense of mean spiritedness. In particular, it was the scene where Thanos was torturing Nebula by literally tearing her apart. (Nebula’s backstory has always creeped me out.) I was like, okay, that’s a bit much for what is essentially a kids’ movie. And that feeling of discomfort pretty much grew from there.

I think the Russos did a good job of handling a big cast of characters before in Civil War, but it just fell apart here. Maybe in part because it felt like they adopted the sort of Joss Whedon “No characters are safe” attitude where you kill them off for the sake of emotional manipulation. And the reason I liked their Captain America movies is because they weren’t being Whedon-ish.

Also, Thanos is a boring villain with a stupid goal. He lacks the empathy you get with Killmonger, he’s not fun like Jeff Goldblum, there’s not even the oily charm that Loki or Hela have. He’s just a giant malignant California fucking Raisin that is there to move the plot along.There’s not a reason to be interested in the character at all.

And I know. Most of the deaths are gonna get retconned in pt 2. There will be a few who will stay dead and maybe a couple new deaths (probably Cap) to give us a brand new reason to be sad. It’s just the way that it ended seemed unnecessarily manipulative to make it extra painful (Vision’s death is a good example of this). An extra grind of the boot to the heart.

It got to the point where I was almost surprised to realize, “I’m not liking this” and then that turned to “I don’t like this at all” and finally, “Fuck this.”

I think the Russo’s were trying to swing for a downer 2nd act like Empire Strikes Back or The Wrath of Khan and didn’t quite stick the landing. There isn’t that last note of hope or grace that those movies have. It wasn’t earned. This just ends. It was so quiet in the theater by that point that it was almost uncomfortable.

There’s gonna be some fun stories about parents trying to cheer up their traumatized kids this weekend, for sure.

Some random thoughts, because I haven’t talked about this damn thing enough already:

I did actually like Benedict Cumberbatch better in this (and Thor Ragnorok) than in his own movie.

I liked that instead of getting angry that Gamora was related to Thanos, Thor commiserated with her about how shitty families can be.

Carrie Coon! I thought that alien bitch looked familiar. Funny that she’s in another story where a large percentage of the populace gets disappeared.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if Tony died (and I teared up when he got stabbed), but I wasn’t expecting Peter and that scene between the two of them gutted me.

Was pissed off that a) Bucky died and b) it was in a fucking long shot. When Bucky says, “Steve” for the last time, you put a closeup on that bitch, god damn it.

I suppose if you judge a movie by how much it sticks in your head, then this was successful in a way, but man, I am not enjoying that.

#avengers #Infinity War #spoilers #marvel #mcu

7 notes · View notes

babylon-bitch · 7 years ago

Text

Just Friends ~ Cat's Out Of The Bag (part 76)

A/N: this is the second to last chapter whooooop. Idk how I feel about the last scene, but it'll do.

Harper White is best friends with Luke Hemmings, they always have been. Not only is she friends with the rockstar, but with the rest of 5 Seconds Of Summer, as well as a really nice girl named Erika.

Harper has a few secrets, she can play all the instruments the boys play and many more. It's a talent she has kept hidden, only very few people know.

What will happen to the six teens, wondering around the world together?

***

Scrolling through my Twitter timeline on my laptop as I rest my head on top of Luke's stomach, enjoying the half-hearted head massage from him.

"This is the first time I'm going on Instagam since we got together." Luke states.

"If you don't stop doing that, I'm going to punch you." I reply. "Plus we've only been dating for a few hours."

"Best few hours of my day?" He says but it comes out as a question.

"Hm." I grunt, going back to my laptop. "Hey!" I whine when he pushes the screen down.

"I wanna cuddle." He mumbles.

"Cuddle your pillow."

"But it's not warm like you."

"Put a hot water bottle in it then." I tell him, look in up at him.

"Harper." He throws a tantrum like a little boy.

"But I'm so comfy." I pout.

"Be comfy with me up here."

"Fine." I exaggerate a sigh, and sit up, laying down next to him. "You have to give me tickles though." I request, putting my arm out on top of his stomach.

He huffs, looking at me in disapproval but trails his fingertips up my arm. I smile smugly, pressing a kiss on his clothed shoulder, as I play with his fingers.

"This is nice." Luke comments after some time.

"Yeah?" I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head to look up at him.

"Mm," he hums, "lazy is nice."

"Excuse you, I've been building a plan on how to kill someone without anyone knowing."

"And how does that plan go?" He asks intrigued but slightly amused.

"Well, I'd probably take them somewhere cold, then I could stab them with an icicle so the evidence of that is gone." I begin.

"Then what would you do with the body?" Luke questions, intertwining our hands.

"Feed it to a polar bear, or just leave it there, because something will eat it." I answer, looking up at the ceiling.

"Right..." he trails off. "What about when you go back home, won't their family ask you what happened to so and so?"

"Well I hadn't got that far yet, but I've got a couple options." I tell him.

"Go on." He laughs,

"Pick someone who doesn't have any family, go off the grid for the rest of my life and hope I appear on Buzzfeed Unsolved."

"Is that your dream? To appear on Buzzfeed Unsolved?"

"Infuriating the whole world because they have no idea what actually happened, can you think of anything better?" I reply.

"Would you kill me right now if you could?" Luke proposes.

"Do I get away with it?" I ask.

"I'll tell after you decide what you would do."

"Honestly?"

"Yep."

"I'd kill you."

"What? Why?" He asks, severely offended.

"You get kinda annoying sometimes." I shrug.

"You absolutely do not get away with it, you spend the rest of your life in prison."

"Solitary confinement?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"I could throw you out the window right now." He huffs, and I roll on top of him.

"Go on then, pretty boy." I smirk, pressing a feather like kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"I would, but I think you're a little heavy for me to lift." He sheepishly says, and I feign a gasp.

"Now that's just rude." I reply, slightly pouty.

"Saying you'd kill me is rude as well." He tells me, poking my nose, which I try to bite.

"You win some you lose some." I shrug.

"I'd say I've won today." He smirks and closes the gap between us, burying his fingers in my hair.

After some time of lazily kissing, there's a knock at the door which makes both of us spring apart.

"You guys better not be naked in there." The voice of Calum Hood speaks up.

"Why would we be naked?" I question and the door opens, in comes Calum, Ashton, Michael, Erika and Maddie.

"I don't know what you do when we're not here." He shrugs, sitting on Luke's desk chair.

"So you assume we have sex?" Luke raises an eyebrow.

"Last time you two left alone you did." Michael remarks.

"Fuck you." I groan.

"Nah, that's Luke's job."

"Oh my god." I groan in annoyance but it ends in laughter.

"What are you guys doing here anyway? It's like 6 P.M.." Luke questions.

"We were bored." Erika shrugs.

"So you decided to come here?" Luke asks.

"Originally we were going to go to Harper's but then we saw her car here." Ashton explains.

"Great!" I sarcastically reply.

"Feeling the love as always, Harper." Ashton smiles.

"You know it, Irwin." I stick my tongue out.

"Should we go downstairs as there's more space down there?" Luke offers.

"Yeah." Maddie nods, and soon they all pour out.

"Guess we're back to this again." I say as Luke holds his hand out to help me get up.

"What?"

"Sneaking around." I answer, placing my arms on his shoulders, fiddling with the hair on the back of his head, making him wrap an arm around my waist.

"Ah, back to the good old days." He jokes, pressing his forehead against mine.

"Shut up." I laugh.

"Can't deny that I don't like the thrill of sneaking around." Luke says.

"Yeah?" I inquire as he nudges my lip with his.

"Mhm, the fact that we could get caught any moment now." He mumbles, grazing his lips against my jawline.

"And then the secret is out." He whispers, biting my lip.

"Can't have that," I tell him, going for an open mouth kiss and he hums in agreement. I take his tongue between my lips and flick my tongue against it, provoking a moan from him,

"Are you guys coming or what?" Someone asks from the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah." I reply, pulling away from him with a smirk, leaving him hot and bothered

***

"I'm going to miss you guys." Ashton sighs.

"Cool story, bro." I mumble, not taking my eyes away from my screen.

"Stop running from your feelings, Harper." He tells me, flicking my arm.

"Ow." I whine, lifting my head up from his shoulder.

Some time has passed, Luke's family invited everyone to stay for dinner and we're now all waiting for dinner to be served. I did offer to help, but Liz ushered me out of the kitchen.

"It's going to be weird not seeing you guys everyday." Maddie says.

"Yeah, but we'll get used to it soon enough." Calum reassures.

"Be right back." I mumble, getting up and going upstairs to get my laptop.

Trotting down the stairs back into the lounge, I place my laptop on the coffee table, sitting on the floor by Luke and Michael.

"We should throw a party for you guys when you leave." Erika comments.

"Because you're happy we're gone or as a nice send off?" Luke questions.

"Both." Maddie answers.

"Maddie you just like getting drunk." Michael states.

"It's not as fun getting drunk on my own." She sighs.

"And you like organizing things, lists, and decorating." I add.

"Don't forget being a psycho." Calum chimes in.

"And unnecessarily mean." Luke says sitting up, picking up a bunch of my hair to twirl around his finger.

"At least I'm not unnecessarily obvious about my feelings." She remarks.

"That doesn't even make sense." He replies.

"Hm." She hums.

"Dinner!" Liz calls from the kitchen, and I hear plates being placed onto the table.

Everyone gets up, making their way to the dining room. I hold my hand out for Luke to help me up, and he intertwines our fingers before he pulls me up.

"Thanks." I mumble, beginning to walk with the others before Luke pulls me back with my hand.

"Where do you think your going?" He raises an eyebrow, tucking me impossibly close against him.

"To see my first and only love." I reply. "Food."

"Um, that's incorrect." He comments.

"It is?" I ask.

"Yeah, and you know it." He answers, kissing my lips briefly. "Now let's go see my competition." Luke teases, pulling me along by our hands to join everyone else.

Pulling my chair out, I sit down, Luke sitting in the chair next to me, sparking up a conversation with a mixture of people. Glancing across the table, I notice Erika and Calum staring at me.

I raise an eyebrow as a silent question, and Calum looks between Luke and I. I shrug, trying to steer the silent conversation away and pick my cutlery up, beginning to talk with some people.

"You're going back to England soon?" Jack questions from beside me.

"Yeah, next week." I nod.

"Are you going to miss me?" He coos.

"I barely see you." I deadpan.

"Speaking of which, you never texted me back."

"Because you only send me pictures of your dog." I reply, amused.

"I want everyone to see him, he's worth the look, you just don't understand dogs." He exclaims.

"I've had dogs before and I just prefer cats."

"You would say that."

"As always, lovely to talk to you Jack." I smile.

***

Putting my napkin on the table, finishing my meal as I'm so full that I just want to lay down and sleep for 48 hours.

Sitting back in my chair, against Luke's arm that is draped over the back of my chair.

"You okay?" Luke asks, facing me as he drifts away from his conversation, brushing his fingertips against my arm.

"Yeah." I nod, dropping my head against his shoulder briefly.

"You tired?" He questions.

"Little bit, guess someone never did let me sleep this afternoon." I answer, having to talk in his ear as everyone is talking so it's quite noisy.

"If someone else heard that, they'd think it was a very different scenario." He chuckles.

"Shame it wasn't, huh?" I tease, with a small smile, making him raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah it was." He replies.

"Maybe next time, Hemming." I smirk.

"I'll hold you to that." He winks.

"Didn't doubt that for a second." I tell him, giving him a look.

"Do you know what could happen in seconds?" He asks.

"What?" I ask, then feel him place his hand on my thigh, slowly travelling upwards. "Um that's rude, I last way longer than you."

"Really, do you remember that weekend your parents were away?" He smirks, stopping his hand on my upper thigh, and my eyes widen slightly at the memory.

"That was one time." I exclaim and he gives me a look. "Okay twice!"

"Exactly." He mumbles into my ear.

"Okay Hemmings, do you remember every time we've ever done it?" I ask and he laughs.

"Nope."

"How about that time when I snuck over to your house that summer?" I remind him.

"That was only because I hadn't seen you for a while." He claims, getting defensive.

"You saw me like 2 days prior." I explain.

"Who can even remember that far back anyway?" He shrugs. "Time doesn't really exist, that's just kinda how the world works."

"Sure, Hemmings." I laugh.

"Real talk for a second though." Luke says.

"Yeah." I look up at him.

"When are we going to tell everyone about us?" He asks and I naturally look over the table at our friends, who seem to be in a conversation with everyone.

"When do you want to?"

"Sooner rather than later."

"Whenever it is, do not do it tonight because I will leave you." I warn.

"Nah, I couldn't do that to just yet, I'd like to keep you around a little bit longer." He smirks, tucking a some stray pieces of hair behind my ear.

"Just a little bit?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah, get bored of you otherwise."

"Funny you've never said that in our 19 year long relationship."

"You know I wish we weren't around all these people so I could shut you up by kissing you." Luke states.

"Shame, you'll have to wait a little bit longer, lover boy." I drawl.

"We could just start making out and that way everyone will find out." He suggests.

"What like last time when the boys and Erika walked in on us?" I laugh.

"It worked didn't it?"

"Not to be dramatic or anything but I'd rather die than start making out in front of your family."

"Love my dramatic little baby." He laughs.

"Do you guys want pudding?" Liz interrupts us, as she puts a hand on Luke's chair.

"Not for me thanks." I decline.

"What even is for pudding?" Luke asks.

"Trifle."

"Uh, sure." He nods.

***

"Hey." I smile at Ashton as he opens the door.

"Hello!" He greets, closing the door, following me into the kitchen.

"Hey guys." I wave, walking through the doorway as a series of greetings go around the room.

"So what's going on?" I ask, situating myself beside Luke leaning on the work top.

"Nothing interesting, Maddie is thinking about getting a new car." Calum sighs.

"Wow, we really need to get lives." Michael says.

"Speak for yourself, the car I'm looking at is super cool." Maddie claims.

"Let me rephrase it, you need to get a life."

"It's weird when you're at this point because everything is booked, you're just stuck waiting around for a week." I point out.

"Can't relate." Erika speaks up.

"Uh, uni?" Luke reminds her.

"Oh yeah."

"It's going to be so good getting away from the heat." I say.

"Lucky you." Erika replies.

"Let's go up to my room." Ashton suggests.

"'Kay." Calum mutters, following his best friend down the hallway.

"Hey." I say to Luke once everyone leaves the room.

"Hi, I missed you." He smiles, placing his hand on my neck.

"You saw me yesterday."

"Exactly." He says before connecting our lips.

"What are you guys doi- oh shit!" We get interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Oh no." I mumble, not turning around yet.

"Yeah just checking your dental hygiene, it's all good." Luke states, then giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder, beginning to walk away.

"Not so fast."

I turn around, seeing Michael slightly wide eyed but with a growing smirk leaning against the fridge.

"So did I just ruin a moment or is this a thing now." He questions.

I look over at Luke in the doorway and he looks as speechless as me.

"Um, it's a thing now." I admit.

"Really?" He excitedly asks.

"Yeah, why are you so happy?" Luke asks.

"I don't know, you guys always seemed so happy together, and I was just waiting for you guys to wake up and realize it." He explains, making Luke and I make eye contact. "And I bet on January, so I win $50."

"You guys bet on when we'd get back together?" I question.

"Yeah, it was obv-" he cuts short when he sees the look in my eye. "I mean, yeah, it was obvious I would never do that, pfft why would I bet on something like that."

"I hate you guys." I pout.

"So how long has this been going on for?" He asks.

"Since the middle of last week." Luke answers.

"Really? I thought it would've been earlier than that."

"Why?" Luke raises an eyebrow.

"You seemed all loved up for a while." He shrugs, opening the fridge.

"We only made it official the other day, it all started on New Years." Luke fills him in.

"Ew, I just remembered we're going to see you make out every 5 minutes now." Michael groans.

"We?" I ask.

"Yeah, you're gonna tell the others now, right?"

"Um no." Luke shakes his head.

"Um why?"

"Because we just want to keep it on the down low, see if this is going to work out again." Luke explains.

"Fair enough, I guess." He shrugs. "How long do I have to hold this in for?"

"I don't know." Luke shrugs.

"Wow, helpful." He sighs.

"Just keep it to yourself for a while, I'll repay you some day." I plead.

"I'm still waiting on that $10 I gave you back in year 9, I'm not going to trust you at all." Michael says.

"Here." I huff, placing $10 on the counter and then walk over to Luke, taking his hand in mine, dragging him upstairs.

***

"Who took my last M&M?" Erika asks accusingly.

"Not me."

"Not me"

"Not me."

Everyone but me answers, and Erika looks at me expectingly.

"Oh, I don't care." I reply, going back to my phone.

"Okay, so it wasn't Harper." Erika concludes. "Calum stand up."

"Why?" He asks.

"Because I've got a suspicious feeling."

"Even if I did have it, it'd be gross as I was sitting on it."

"Just stand up!"

"No." He protests.

"This is why I don't like liars."

"Ash, tell her, I don't have it." Calum points at Erika.

"I'm so done with this group." Ashton sighs.

"Hey, I didn't do shit, name names don't put me in a group I don't belong in." Maddie unnecessarily defends herself.

"Well you belong in that group now, because you overreact to everything!" Ash exclaims.

"Erika I don't have it, stop whining." Calum says.

"I will when you stop being an ass." She responds.

Soon enough Calum and Erika are arguing over absolutely nothing, and Ashton and Maddie are following in their footsteps.

"I was the one who broke your phone." Erika confesses in the heat of their bickering.

"Yeah, well, I'm the one who changed your password when you needed to finish writing your essay but I forgot it so you went down a grade." Calum fires back.

"You bitch."

"Oh my God, you're so bossy." Ashton groans

"Someone needs to grow up here." Maddie huffs.

"For someone who is grown up, why do you still live with your parents and why didn't you confess to it being you who kicked a hole in my room?" He asks as I tune into Ashton and Maddie's arguing.

"Oh shit." I laugh with Luke.

"Hey, that wasn't all me! Michael made it a lot worse than it was originally."

"Dont bring me into this!" Michael innocently exclaims.

"When one of us goes down, you bring everyone down." She says.

Luke and I look at each in annoyance when everyone is bickering, both of their arguments joining into one as they throw around insults they don't mean at all, and confessions are being made left right and centre.

"We should get a better friend group." Luke tells me.

"Maybe we could sneak out as they're all so distracted." I suggest but I speak too soon.

"Luke and Harper are dating." Michael admits and they all go silent, Luke and I looking at each other.

"What?" Calum questions.

"Yeah, what the fuck." Erika agrees.

"Oh, is it my go?" I ask. "I stole your M&M, it was really good thanks. Luke you want to have a go?"

"Sure, Harper and I are dating again."

7 notes · View notes