#drunk with power ideation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 11 months ago

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i've been waiting for you

part three of daddy all along: part 1 here, part 2 here

pairing: older (dad's best friend)! leon x younger! reader

cw: brief mention of past suicidal ideations, oral sex, semi-public sexual activities, love

summary: the aftermath of daddy all along pt 2 (you had me at 'hello'). mild angst, mild smut, mild fluff. their trials and tribulations still have a happy ending

a/n: this is a commission for the lovely @porcelainseashore <3 !!

wc: 8k

title is a reference to the song of the same title by ABBA. (this story is best experienced alongside the song).

The kiss you shared was laced with the kind of love that was powerful enough to stop time. Until your father interrupted the sacred moment with a far-from-subtle “ahem”.

You turned to see him in the hallway, standing behind you. He’d just witnessed the spectacle. You weren’t sure whether to be angry that he interrupted you or that he wasn’t applauding your love, which had gone through trials and tribulations and come out stronger on the other side.

“I suppose I missed a lot while I was in rehab,” he said.

You looked at Leon, hoping he’d have an answer, but his mind was still hazy from the kiss.

“I think I deserve a briefing on this,” your dad said, nodding towards the living room, an order to follow him.

You silently did as he asked, but Leon lingered in the doorway, uncertain despite the simple directions.

“Leon?” your father called him back to reality.

“Yes, sir,” Leon said, still drunk on the kiss.

“We’ve been friends for decades, don’t call me ‘sir’.

Leon had to resist the urge to say “yes, sir” again. He nodded and stepped into the house, closing the door behind him. He followed you both into the living room and sat on the couch with you, placing a noticeable distance between his body and yours, in an effort to keep things appropriate in front of your father. Though it only served to make things more awkward.

“So?” your dad said, looking back and forth between the two of you, probing you both for answers.

“You saw what happened a minute ago. What more is there to say?” you said because you didn’t know how to tell the story. At least, not in a way that would be acceptable to him.

“I think there’s a lot more to say,” he said. “What happened while I was away? Did you two get together?”

You tried to be as diplomatic as possible, which meant being vague. “We got to spend a lot of time together while you were gone, and we realized that we have feelings for each other. Well, I already knew I liked Leon, but I didn’t know he liked me back.” You conveniently left out the part about having sex on your birthday.

Your father turned to Leon, looking for his explanation. It was about as revealing as yours. “I know it might seem a little weird, but I love your daughter, and I care a lot about her. I always have.”

Leon looked at you affectionately. He even dared to reach across the couch and grab your hand as proof of his love.

“Are you mad?” you asked your dad.

“No, I’m not mad. Like Leon said, it’s just weird for me… to see you two like this.” He turned to Leon, and said, “I know you’re a good man, Leon. I’ve always known that, but I know your history with women, and I need to know that you’re not going to use my daughter… as a hook up. I don’t want her heart to get broken.”

It pained you to hear your dad mention Leon’s past relationships, or lack thereof. Was it worse to think of him as a man with a history of one-night stands, or a man who’s truly loved other women before you?

Your dad played it as cool as possible, holding in all the things he wanted to say, until you decided to head to bed. You hoped Leon would come with you, but your dad asked him to stay downstairs under the guise of hanging out together for the first time since he’d been home.

Still, you sat at the base of the stairs to listen in on their conversation. You always did. Any information you had about Leon or your father – their lives outside of being your caretakers – was gathered through this method.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t. You’re gonna break her heart, and I can’t let you do that.”

“You know I’d never let her get hurt.”

“She’s gone through so much lately… with the accident, me going to rehab, and now, coming home. It’s not fair to shake up her life even more.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now? You’re asking me not to shake up her life because she’s dealing with the problems you’ve caused?”

There was a pause, and you swore you could see the looks on their faces. Your father’s horror, Leon’s regret.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it like that,” Leon backtracked.

“Go,” your father said, stern, but not aggressive. “I’ll tell her you had to leave and you didn’t wanna wake her.”

You heard Leon’s heavy footsteps walking towards the door and you bolted up the stairs, slipping in your socks and falling face-first on your way.

Leon saw it happen, but didn’t move. He used to pick you up when you fell. His arms were strong, but the awkwardness weighed them down, and he couldn’t reach out to catch you. Your father heard the thunk-thunk-thunk sound and ran over.

You turned to them, realizing the option for flight was gone. You had to fight — for Leon, for you and Leon.

“You were just gonna lie to me? Both of you were gonna lie to me?” You were used to your father lying. As angry as you were, you weren’t surprised by his behavior. Leon’s near-instant agreement to go along with his lies was what made your heart sink. How many times had he done this? Was your whole life a series of your father’s lies and Leon’s willingness to cover them up?

“Listen, sweetheart,” your dad said, “I was just trying to keep you safe.”

“You only care about me now that you’re home, and all you wanna do is control me again,” you said. Holding back tears, you turned to Leon. “And you, you wouldn’t even fight for us? After you came here to confess your love for me? Is it all just bullshit to you?”

“No, I care about you,” he said, “just like your dad does.”

“No, that’s bullshit. Neither of you care about me,” you said, stomping up the stairs and shutting yourself in your bedroom. Nothing good would come out of arguing further. It was 2 vs 1, an unfair fight, you’d better quit before you embarrass yourself.

It was ironic, you realized, how — mere hours ago — you would’ve given anything to have your two favorite people here with you. Now, you got what you wanted — what you thought you wanted — and you would give it all away in an instant. Maybe you were right, back at the dinner table, when the realization came to you that you couldn’t have it all. You’d have to choose between leaving Leon and disappointing your dad.

It was wholly frustrating that you did have them both for most of your life – there didn’t have to be a choice, there was always dad and Leon. Leon was right, sleeping together was a big deal, and maybe you should’ve heeded his warnings.

Questions flooded your mind, all unanswerable. Is this what regret feels like? If you could turn back time would you change it?

Who can you cry to when the people you love most are the ones who hurt you?

When you snuck downstairs later that night to grab a glass of water, Leon was gone. He’d left hours ago. You weren’t sure who to be more angry with – dad or Leon. Their previous togetherness multiplied the amount of love you received as a child, and now it multiplied the loss.

You refused to speak to your dad for days. You didn’t have to refuse to speak to Leon, as he didn’t try to reach out. You learned how to draw and ripped up the pages, you started journaling and ripped out the pages. You called a friend and tried to avoid explaining what was going on. But it was hard to think about anything else. Your life was filled with Leon, Leon, Leon. Like always. Sure, you’d lived with him for months during your father’s rehab, but you had a life before him – no, not before him, but before his constant presence. But where was it?

Leon left. Clearly you weren’t in the mood to see him, and your dad had explicitly told him to leave. What’s that saying? “If you love something, let it go”? Leon tried that with Ada many years ago. He let her go, and she came back, and then she left again, sticking them in a perpetual cycle of what he perceived to be intimacy and completely ignoring the others’ existence. They’d been seeing each other periodically for decades. Leon’s love for her faded a little bit every time she left the morning after. He let her go and she let him go. If she wasn’t willing to fight for him, then he wouldn’t fight for her. But, you were different. The way Leon loved you made him consider the possibility that whatever he felt for Ada wasn’t love. More likely it was a deadly combination of admiration, attraction, and misplaced trust. Plus, the inextricable link that forms between people who’ve saved each other’s lives.

Usually, Leon didn’t give himself time to make mistakes in his relationships – he tended to leave the morning after, never wanting to be a nuisance. If a woman ever came home with him, he’d make her coffee in the morning and lend her a clean towel so she could shower. He didn’t think he had much else to offer.

He knew how you took your coffee and how you liked your eggs. He knew how to set the thermostat to your preferred temperature. There was always more in his heart for you.

A woman thought he was being considerate when she noticed that he had tampons under the sink, but really they were for you, not her. Another thought he was seeing someone else when you left your toothbrush at his apartment. How could he explain to her that you were the most important woman he knew, but no, he wasn’t seeing you. That was well over a year ago. It should’ve been easier after “I’m in love with you.” Who is she? She’s my girlfriend. A one-word explanation.

He tried to devise a plan to win you back, like the male love interest in a cheesy rom-com. He seriously considered the prospect of showing up at your house with a boombox playing Peter Gabriel like Lloyd from Say Anything. It would probably give you second-hand embarrassment, he decided. If only he knew, you’d still take him back.

Leon knew you well enough to know your idiosyncrasies. You stayed up to watch American Idol on Monday nights. You’d be in the living room if he came over around 9. He could park around the corner and sneak up to your window. Your dad wouldn’t be watching unless he had a complete change of heart. (He’d refused to watch American Idol since the contestant he liked didn’t win in Season 2 – he was convinced from then on the competition was rigged.)

Leon got home from work, quickly changed, and headed over to your house on his motorcycle, hoping he could convince you to go for a ride with him. Something you’d never done before. Because he hadn’t allowed you to. Maybe he should have worried about the possibility that he was letting his protectiveness over you slip to accommodate his need to please you. As much as you used to beg him to do things he considered too dangerous, he’d never budge. Watching you throw a fit always pained him, but being a father figure meant protecting always superseded placating.

Had you broken down his ability to refuse you? Or was he a selfish man looking for love in a girl he should be hesitant to pursue?

Monday night came and he knocked on your window in the special pattern the two of you had established many years ago when you were afraid of letting a “bad guy” into your room by accident as a child. Knock – pause – knock, knock – pause – knock.

You immediately knew it was him. He could see in your face that you were ready to run out the door to him, so he held his finger to his lips to remind you to be quiet. Thanks to the summer weather, you could step outside without having to make a ruckus by putting on your coat.

Your teenage years weren’t far behind you, and with a former cop for a father, you knew how to sneak out. Under the porch-light, you were barely visible, but Leon could hear your smile when you spoke.

“You came back,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I told you I’d never leave you.”

“Are you gonna come in?”

“I don’t think your father would like that very much.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I love you. And I want you to come out with me, just for a little bit.”

You learned your persuasion from Leon. You’d watched him talk his way in and out of endless situations, from speeding tickets to free food. And those people were strangers. He already had you wrapped around his finger.

“Okay,” you said, “but I should leave a note, so my dad doesn’t think I went missing.”

“Good girl,” Leon said, and when you looked in his eyes you could tell he was trying to get you worked up. And he was succeeding.

“Wait- where are we going?” you asked.

“I was going to let you choose.”

“Can we go to the hill? I’ll get a blanket for us to sit on.”

Leon was ready to blow his salary on you, and all you wanted was to lie down in the grass. His worries about your safety riding on the back of his bike were no longer a problem, since the hill was within walking distance.

“That sounds great to me.”

You returned to him moments later with your hair tied up, cherry-flavored chapstick on, and a picnic blanket under your arm. Leon carried the blanket with one arm, and held out his other, offering you his hand.

Somehow – after sex, after a love confession, after knowing Leon for your entire life up to that very moment – holding his hand made your heart flutter. You hoped your hands weren’t too sweaty. His were warm and calloused with a scar on one palm. You discovered this long ago. His hands were the ones to bandage you when you fell off your bike, the ones that wiped your tears after a nightmare, the ones that rubbed your back when he hugged you. You knew them well.

You walked to the hill where you used to go sledding as a child. It was tucked into a corner behind a thin curtain of trees, a little neighborhood secret. Leon put down the picnic blanket in a secluded spot where the street lamps couldn’t outshine the stars. You laid on your back, unsure of where to put your hands. They remained awkwardly on your stomach. You could feel Leon’s eyes on you. You turned to him and he snaked his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer.

“What’s up with you?” he asked.

“Nothing. Why?”

“No, not nothing. You’re nervous.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Yes. Are you worried about your dad finding out? I’ll make sure you don’t get into any trouble with him. You can blame it all on me.”

“No, I’m not worried about him.”

“Then what’s got you all anxious?”

“This is gonna sound so stupid.”

“It might, but that almost makes me wanna hear it more.”

“You’re so smooth, like, you’re giving me butterflies and I don’t know how you do it. I feel so awkward and I wish I was better at this.”

He laughed, really laughed.

“See? I told you it was stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, baby.” He put his hand on your arm before you could turn from him. “I was laughing because I am the exact opposite of ‘smooth’. Ask anyone I know and they’ll tell you that I’m awful at flirting.”

“But you’re so good at it right now.”

“This isn’t flirting. I’m just having a good time with you. I’m not trying to get you in bed or whatever. I love you and I wanna spend time with you.”

Leon didn’t know that he felt that way until the words left his mouth. It didn’t miss him that you didn’t say “I love you” in return. He was old enough to accept the fact that sometimes people don’t say it back, or at least, to cover up whatever anxiety he felt when it happened.

“I love you” wasn't sufficient to describe how you felt in that moment. You grasped for words for as long as you could bear the silence. You ended up concluding that in this case, actions could substitute for words. So, you kissed him, letting your lips guide you unrestrained so that soon you were engrossed in a full-blown make-out session, hands in each other’s hair, grasping at each other’s shirts. Every time you pulled away to catch your breath, you thought you’d stop to talk – but you found yourself giving into the desire to kiss him endlessly. At least, until your breath was heaving. All you’d done was kiss.

“I want you,” you said, reaching down past Leon’s hips to find him hard.

“We shouldn’t,” he said, though you could see the intrigue in his upturned lips.

“No one’s around.”

“I’ve taken enough risks for one night. Your dad is going to murder me if he finds out I helped sneak you out of the house, and I think it’d be a lot worse if he found out from the one free phone call you’re allowed when the cops take you in.”

“What if we didn’t have sex? What if we just did a little bit more than kissing?”

“What does ‘more’ look like to you?”

“I wanna touch you. We won’t even have to take our clothes off.”

He sighed, and a bashful grin appeared on his face. He didn’t agree with words, believing he could do much better with his fingertips on your skin. Leon kissed you from your lips to your neck to your collarbone, even daring to place one on one of your breasts. It was risky to pull your top down to do it, but Leon wanted to mark you someplace only he could see it.

As soon as his hand reached the threshold between panties and skin, you unzipped his pants and started touching him. You locked eyes and stayed forehead-to-forehead until he kissed you forcefully, capturing your moans before they left your mouth.

You were left in a daze after your orgasm while Leon was hit with a moment of clarity that was much different this time than the last. He understood the risks clearly, and yet, had no second thoughts. There was nowhere he’d rather be than holding you under the stars.

When you arrived home from your date with Leon, you found your father in the kitchen.

He knew.

“We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Where were you tonight?”

“With a friend.”

“Is your friend’s name “Leon”?”

“Don’t get mad. Please, dad.”

“Why didn’t you ask me before you went out?”

“Because I thought you’d say no.”

“At least you’re honest.” He picked up a can from the table and took a sip of it, and for a second, you thought it was beer, you thought you could turn the tables. You noticed it was a can of soda about a second before you opened your mouth to yell at him.

“I can’t stop you from sleeping with him, but you’re not doing it while you live under my roof.”

“Why are you so obsessed with the idea of us having sex?! It’s not the only thing we do.”

“Sure. You hang out. That doesn’t mean it’s love, nor does it mean that it’ll last.”

“You don’t know anything about love.”

“Maybe so. But Leon is a man in his forties who’s never had a serious relationship. And there’s a reason for that.”

“Maybe he hadn’t found the right person.”

“All I’m saying is that I can’t remember the last time I saw him go on a second date with a woman, let alone have a long-term relationship.”

“And? You ended up being a single father because you fucked up so bad that mom left you!” And if Freud was right, then that’s why I have daddy issues.

“I will not have you talk to me that way.”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’ll ask you to go upstairs and think about your words or you can pack your bags and go.”

The second option was hyperbole. He would never kick you out. But you took it as truth and grabbed your purse. You called Leon from the driveway.

Your father’s disapproval became the least of your worries once you began staying with Leon. What was eating at you was the comment your father made about Leon’s love life. Over dinner one night, you confronted him.

“You said you’ve been in love before, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you still love her?”

“No.” He was sure of it. He liked Ada, liked having sex with her, but he’d fallen out of love with her a long time ago. That ship had sailed.

“How did it end?”

“What?”

“The relationship with whoever you were in love with.”

“There wasn’t really a relationship. There was nothing to end.”

You hummed in contemplation.

“Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?”

“I don’t want you to fall out of love with me.”

“I don’t plan to, and that situation was entirely different than what we have. This, what’s between us, is much stronger.”

He looked you in the eyes, and said much softer, “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I can’t fall out of love with you. I tried to, multiple times. It didn’t work and that’s why I’m here.”

“What do you mean you ‘tried to fall out of love’ with me?”

“I slept with other people… as you know,” he said, nearly wincing at the awful memory of you catching him with another woman in your living room. “And, the night I came to your house, I had just left a date.”

“So, you slept with someone before you came over and-”

“No, I went out to dinner, and she offered me… the opportunity to go back to her place, but I said no.”

“Was she ugly? Unfuckable by your standards?”

“No, wait- what?” He shook his head and tried to explain it the best he could. “I was thinking about that night in the hotel room when you said that thing about Celine and Jesse and I actually brought it up to the girl.”

“You told her about that night?”

“No, I just mentioned how I liked the movie.”

“And?”

“And she said she didn’t like it.”

“And that’s the reason you decided I was a better choice? Because she didn’t like your favorite 90s romance movie?”

“No, well, sort of, but no… I just started thinking about how you love that movie and how she’s nothing like you, and how I love you. And then I saw your picture in my wallet and… I just knew what I had to do.”

For a moment, you wondered if he was just trying to get in your pants. If he was, it was working. You gave in, telling yourself that his intentions shouldn’t matter because he wasn’t manipulating you, you were hoping he’d ask you to sleep with him anyway. You weren’t going to let your dad’s assumptions get to your head.

Leon scavenged the house but couldn’t find any condoms. “I think I’m all out,” he said, sounding very apologetic. “The drug store’s still open, though, so just gimme like 15 minutes, and I’ll be back.”

You beckoned him closer. “What if we just didn’t use one?” you asked, putting on your cutest face.

“Uh-uh,” he said, “and before you try to talk me into it, I’m serious.”

“But Leon…”

“No, that’s my final answer. I can go to the store or we can do this another time.”

“Or you could just pull out.”

“You went to health class, right?”

You nodded.

“Then, you know that the pull-out method isn’t 100% effective. Or did you convince me to pick you up the day they taught that?”

You actually had convinced him to pick you up that day, but you were still aware of the pregnancy risk if you didn’t use protection.

“What if I wanted to get pregnant?”

“You’re joking, right? This is a hypothetical.”

“Sort of, but you’re getting older – no offense – and if we wanna have kids, then maybe we should start before your sperm count decreases.”

“My sperm count is fine, and no, we are not ready for a baby.”

“You might not be.”

“Sorry, I meant you are not ready for a baby. I could take care of a child, but you’re 21.” Suddenly, your age-gap seemed to widen in Leon’s mind. He felt like he’d already raised a kid and you weren’t close to being ready to have one.

“Okay, fine,” you said. “But you wanna have kids someday, right…?” It was wishful thinking, and though you had no reason to believe Leon had the same idea in mind, you believed he did. In all your daydreams you were parents.

He was completely taken aback. “Uh…” The last time he’d been asked if he wanted to have kids it was a theoretical question, from Claire, decades ago. Back when they thought it might still be a possibility in this lifetime. “I don’t know…” He decided not to say any more, fearing he’d disappoint you.

“But, I do, and I think I’d be a good mom.” After the words left your mouth, it hit you, the horrible realization. No, you might not be a good mother, and in fact, if you had to put money on it, you wouldn’t bet on your success. If you were anything like your parents, you’d be terrible at it. It must’ve shown on your face because Leon’s expression shifted from stern to sympathetic.

“Hey,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I think you could be a great mom one day, but let’s not talk about it tonight.”

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes and wiped them away with the back of your hand before they could fall. “Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. You tried to awkwardly laugh your way out of the discussion and Leon must’ve felt bad enough for you not to call you out.

Sex was no longer on the table – that conversation had gone stale. The idea was wholly unpalatable that night, for both of you.

“Sorry,” you said, stopping yourself before you could start your own pity party.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. If you were apologizing for being obstinate and trying to manipulate your way into unprotected sex, he’d take the apology, but he knew what you meant: I’m sorry for killing your boner and crushing my own dreams. It wasn’t your fault for hoping Leon could be more than the man he was.

You fell asleep quickly, as one does after crying. Leon’s arms around you eased your pain. Some things never changed.

When you were younger, like many little girls, you liked to play with baby dolls – you bottle-fed them, pushed them in a stroller, rocked them to sleep, but it was all pretend. You believed motherhood would be easy back then, and it wasn’t like Leon was going to crush a little girl’s dreams by telling her the harsh realities of being a parent.

When you were very little – little enough that this memory is one only Leon bore the burden of keeping – Leon mentioned something about you pretending to be a mommy, to which you remarked, “I don’t know how to play mommy.”

Sure, kids talk nonsense, but regardless of your intent, you didn’t have a mother figure, and you never would. Leon didn’t have the same delusional optimism that your father had in the beginning. He was convinced your mom would come back to him. Leon knew better than to get his hopes up, not that he had much at stake.

Ironically, the father you grew up with, the morbid, ever-pessimistic father, was a direct result of his prior optimism. He decided being a cynic would protect him from being disappointed. He never perfected the art of acting happy in front of the kid quite like Leon did. Then again, Leon knew depression, even suicidality, but he’d never been heartbroken to the extent that your dad had because he’d never given himself over to someone entirely. After watching your dad fall headfirst into alcoholism, Leon was being reasonable by keeping himself guarded. Or so he thought at the time. Now, he began to consider the fact that he may not have been as brave as he’d always thought he was. He was a hero, risking his life to eradicate the threats of bioterrorism worldwide. But, he didn’t choose that life, he fell into his position as an agent due to his own cowardice – at least, that’s how he felt when he couldn’t pull the trigger when he held his own gun to his temple.

In retrospect, he was glad he hadn’t gone through with his plan to off himself. Classify it how you want – cowardice for backing down or bravery for deciding to stay alive – Leon was still alive decades later. And before him stood another one of life’s toughest decisions, though the answer was much clearer this time. Would he let himself fall in love with you, knowing you could break his heart? Yes, though, he didn’t have much say in the matter by the time he realized what was happening. He didn’t choose to set his soul on the table in front of a starving woman. You pulled it out of him with every kiss, every laugh, every steady breath you took while you lay next to him in bed.

When Leon walked in the door, you were there to greet him like a pet who’d been left alone for hours, desperate for affection. Unlike a puppy, you didn’t pounce on him immediately. With his arms behind his back, he said, “I got you a present — pick a hand.”

As skeptical as you were, your intrigue was stronger. You tapped his right arm and he held out a box of condoms. “Surprise,” he said.

“I think this ‘present’ might be for you,” you said.

“You caught me,” he said, already leaning in for the kiss that would lead to the night’s escapades.

Leon planned to take you to the bedroom like a gentleman would, but you dragged him over to the couch, shoved him into a seated position, and stripped in front of him. He had to resist the urge to speak, knowing he’d say something stupid since the image of you in your current state had taken over his mind entirely, turning everything else to mush. The only organ still at work was the one in his pants, and that one was working overtime.

You straddled his lap once you were down to your underwear – a matching lace set. Since you and Leon had become official, you made sure you were always prepared. Not that he expected you to dress up for him. Maybe it was the nagging voice in the back of your mind that constantly reminded you that he’d been with other women. You had others to compete with for the top spot in his mind. He didn’t. He was your best and your only.

You had no idea how many women Leon had been with – romantically or sexually, and you were afraid to ask, worried that the amount would be high enough that he wouldn’t recall the exact number. He told you that you were the best he’d ever had, but people lie. All the time.

You tore off Leon’s dress shirt, haphazardly popping one of the buttons off. “I liked this shirt,” Leon mumbled, momentarily disappointed.

When you sank to your knees, all was forgiven. There was a tiny voice in the back of his head that told him this was wrong. He should be taking care of you, right? You’re his baby girl, you can’t do this – not that he’s naive enough to believe that you’re the innocent little girl you used to be, he knew for a fact that you’d left that girl in the past for a woman who was looking at him bright-eyed, kneeling at his feet – but you could get hurt doing this, you could choke if you overexerted yourself.

You were teary-eyed and gagging before he could think of a way to protect your poor throat. An overachiever. Part of Leon’s mind was enraptured by the sight and begging him to let you continue. If you were any other girl, maybe he would give over all control to you. But the reasonable man he became the day he met you, a baby wrapped in a pink blanket, remained stronger than the sex-crazed idiot he was before.

He pulled you off of him gently. Maybe it was just an illusion from your watery eyes, but you looked hurt.

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, soft and sweet, “but you’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing it like that.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“You are.”

“But I wanna do more, I wanna please you.”

“You wanna please me, huh?” You could see the glint of mischief in his eyes, but you hadn’t figured out its source yet.

“Yes, please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” He pretended to be astonished by your offer. You were being hyperbolic, he assumed – he hoped. “Okay,” he said, standing up, “c’mon.” He held out his hand for you to take.

You grabbed his hand without hesitation, and he led you to the bedroom. The tables turned the moment you entered the room when he pushed you down on the bed. He climbed atop you and kissed you forcefully, undoing your bra with his deft fingers.

With open-mouthed kisses he made his way down your stomach stopping only to remove your panties, only a thin layer of lace between his mouth and your core. He was more careful when he undressed you than you were when you did the same for him. He wanted to see you in this again.

His lips teased your inner thighs first. He placed soft kisses everywhere except the place you wanted to feel his mouth most. He only gave in when you started to squirm. The sound you made when his tongue touched your clit told him how much you longed for this.

“You taste so good, baby,” he said, words muffled as his mouth was occupied.

“Leon, wait-”

He looked up at you, with kiss-dark lips and a dazed expression, clearly having been somewhere else mentally.

“I said I wanted to please you, so-”

“Trust me, I am more than pleased with what I’m doing right now.”

You were conflicted. Maybe he was a rare breed of man who truly got off on going down on women, or maybe he was lying. But if he were, he would be doing it because he wanted to make you happy. Because he wanted you.

And who were you to deny him?

You were multiple orgasms in when you finally got Leon to come up for air. His hair was a mess all thanks to your hands tugging at the strands. You were surprised he came up looking relatively unscathed when you’d worried you’d suffocated him with your thighs, maybe twisted his neck too. But, no, he met you face-to-face with a grin, only superseded in prominence by his hard-on.

You ran your thumb over his tip, through the fabric of his underwear which now had a small wet spot, and he groaned.

“My offer still stands,” you said.

His eyes flickered to your smile, which was wider than his and even his ever-bleeding heart couldn’t protest. His dick wasn’t the only part of him that wanted you.

Leon always had an acute awareness of his own mortality. From the moment his parents were ripped away from him as a child, he realized the harsh reality that death can never be fully anticipated and all too often it happens far too early in one’s life. He was aware of that fact, but hadn’t watched anyone die in front of him until the Raccoon City incident. It takes seeing to believe. And even after believing the truth, it took him years to accept it.

It took him until he was 40 to get to that point. Even then, every ill-fated day that Hunnigan called him while he was with you, he was confronted with the same unsettling feeling, the fear of death that he thought he’d gotten over.

If he had to leave unexpectedly, he’d wake you up before he did, give you a hug goodbye. Sometimes, you were in such a deep sleep that you didn’t remember him saying goodbye at all. You’d later accuse him of leaving without telling you, and from then on, he’d leave a note by your bedside to confirm that he’d been there.

You kept them in a box in your closet. They were the sad reminders of the fact that he was gone, but they smelled like him. You always wondered how it was possible for paper to absorb the scent of someone’s cologne so easily. As it turned out, it wasn’t magic or an obscure fact of science, but rather, Leon spraying cologne directly onto the paper because he knew you liked the smell of it.

In the beginning, you watched Leon get dressed in the morning just as you’d imagined back in the hotel room months ago.

Leon got up early while you stayed in bed, but he never left without kissing you goodbye. It was a bit of tradition and a bit of superstition. When he cupped your cheek, you felt the cold metal from the watch on his wrist against your skin.

Eventually, you became accustomed to the sound of Leon’s 6:30 AM alarm and the feeling of his weight being lifted from the bed. You could sleep through his morning routine until the goodbye kiss he always gave you on the forehead. Loving, but so sadly superstitious on his end.

You realized that part later.

You were awoken bright and early by Leon, which was generally a beautiful thing – though, that morning you could hear the apprehension in his voice. You were acutely aware that something was wrong. Sometimes it seemed his hyper-vigilance was wearing off on you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He held himself back from asking you how you knew. “Nothing major,” he sighed, picking his words carefully. “I have to leave this afternoon.”

“Where are you going?” Based on his tone, you could guess that it wasn’t a tropical island vacation. He had business to take care of, and you certainly weren’t going with him. It didn’t really matter what city or country he was leaving for; it was all equally dangerous.

“Romania. I might be gone for a few weeks.” So, I woke you up early to spend as many hours with you as possible before I leave.

“I’m going to miss you,” you said, though your voice gave way to something you wouldn’t say until hours later, when you were naked in the sheets together, having one last bout of intimacy before his flight: “I’m scared of you dying”.

Often, in the post-orgasmic bliss, you tell him how much you love him, how good the sex was, and infinite praises. That morning, you told him you were scared he was going to die, and the minutes before that meant something entirely different. While he was away, memories of you beneath him would permeate his mind. It wasn’t the first time you had affected his ability to focus in the field, but now, he was overcome with not only longing, but also sadness and an unprecedented wave of guilt. How could he leave you like this? You must be worried sick. Hopefully, you’ve patched things over with your dad.

While Leon was gone, you moved back in with your dad. You rung his doorbell, ready to beg for his forgiveness, something you never thought you’d have to do.

To your surprise, he opened the front door with a smile.

“It’s good to see you,” he said when he pulled you into a hug. “I missed my little girl.”

You had convinced yourself that you’d made yourself immune to your father’s actions, that he couldn’t make you cry anymore. But, you broke down in tears. You were so used to apologies, excuses, and bargains. He rarely said he missed you, and never with such conviction.

“I missed you too, dad,” you said, refusing to let go of him. You had the shared knowledge that you didn’t mean that you’d missed him for the small period of time you spent at Leon’s, you missed the person he was when he was sober, the person who was standing in front of you. There was a significant period of your childhood during which he was sober, or at least rarely drunk, but you’d accepted that the man he was then had abandoned you. He was home.

He noticed your suitcase, and asked, “Are you planning on staying awhile?” He was trying not to get his hopes up. That was something you had in common.

“Can I?” you asked.

“Of course. I haven’t changed your room into a man cave just yet.”

He carried your suitcase upstairs, he helped you put the fitted sheet on your bed, he cooked dinner and sat across the table from you. It didn’t feel like a transaction or a placation either.

The topic was inevitably brought up.

“So, Leon…” he said, hoping you could fill in the blanks.

“I still love him, and I want to be with him,” you said.

His pointed gaze asked, why are you here?

“He had to leave for work,” you answered.

He nodded, accepting the situation. “I’ve been thinking a lot while you were gone.”

You braced yourself for impact.

“I think I was being too hard on Leon… and on you. I’ll admit, I still think it’s a little weird to see you two like that.” He looked up from his plate and made eye contact finally. “And I don’t want to find you two getting it on in my living room.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“But, as long as he’s good to you, I’ll learn to be supportive. I don’t want to lose either of you in my life, especially my daughter.”

“Me neither. I want to be with Leon, but I need my dad too.”

“I know.” He paused before saying, “Plus, I thought about it, and if you insist on dating a middle-aged man, there are much worse ones you could pick.”

Leon came home with a bloody nose, broken fingers and too many bruises to count. His clothes were torn and dirty, his eyes were tired, but his smile was warm as ever.

You wanted so badly to run into his embrace but you approached him slowly. Much like when he fell from the pedestal you kept him on the day you found him with another woman in the living room, his facade crumbled in front of you. His injuries were proof that he was breakable. He was made of skin and bone, powered by blood pumping through his veins just like you, not stardust or whatever angels are made of.

“I missed you,” you said, holding back tears.

“I missed you, too,” he said. He looked oddly well-adjusted to the situation. You wondered how many times he’d come home beaten up like this. Moreover, how many times there was a woman waiting for him.

This was the first time he'd tell you if you’d asked.

He headed towards the kitchen, but you stopped him.

“I’m just getting a glass of water, baby. I promise I’m not leaving.”

“I’ll get it. You should sit.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay,” he said, backing towards the couch. He was too exhausted to argue. It was emasculating to have you take care of him, but he’d have to get used to it. He realized, then, that you’d do this for him – you’d have to – if you stayed with him through his old age. If he made it that far.

You brought him some water and sat down on the couch next to him. You surveyed his injuries. You tried not to stare, but failed. Even if he wasn’t covered in blood, you’d stare – he was the love of your life, how could you not?

“What?” he said, turning to you.

“Just looking at you,” you said, trying to remain cheery, though your tone gave way to something sad.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’ve been through way worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

He shrugged. “You told me to come back alive, not to come back unscathed,” he said.

You frowned. He grabbed your chin and moved closer to you, going in for the kiss. “If you don’t want me like this, then-” he started.

You cut him off with a kiss. You were lucky his lips weren’t injured. You could kiss him as hard as you wanted. And you did. When you pulled back, you said, “I want you like this. I’ve wanted you for weeks.”

He tried to speak, but you put your finger to his lips, shushing him. “But first,” you said, “I want to get you cleaned up.”

“Don’t worry. I planned on taking a shower before getting into bed.”

You stood and offered him your hand. He took it and headed for the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the linen closet on the way. When he noticed you were following him, he asked, “Are you coming with?”

“Yeah,” you said as if it should have been obvious. “Who else is going to help wash you?”

He sighed, and you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face.

“You’ve taken care of me my whole life. Let me take care of you for once,” you said.

“Fine, but don’t get used to it. When I’m all healed, I’ll be taking care of you.”

“Whatever you say.”

You watched him strip and all of your thoughts faded – aside from one, which you spoke aloud. “You’re so hot. Your dick better not be injured.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I kept it safe just for you.”

He turned on the water and tried to adjust it to the optimal temperature, but he got distracted when your clothes came off. He whistled.

“Leon!” You covered up instinctively, feeling flustered by his whistling.

“Oh come on,” he said, “You’re gorgeous. I couldn’t help myself.”

His shower was not made for two – and it was further complicated by the fact that Leon had to bend over for you to be able to reach his head. But, you made it work. It felt emasculating, borderline humiliating, on his end to be so incapable of something simple, and to have to rely on his girlfriend to do it for him. But your soft hands washing his skin and your fingertips massaging his scalp, the way you made sure not to miss a single spot on his body, the way you cared – all he had was gratitude. And a whole lot of love for you.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader

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byjove · 4 months ago

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TLDR: do not read a loved one’s diary.

During Hurricane Helene while the power was out, I was rummaging around in the garage looking for rechargeable battery packs. They happened to be housed in a plastic tote with a number of small notebooks. I decided to take the notebooks and look through them while I sat in my car waiting for my phone (and power bank) to charge. They were mostly blank. Some were mine.

One was my mother’s therapy notes from 2016. I should have closed it and put it back when I noticed what it was. I wish I had. I didn’t. I read it. I’m fucking evil. I invaded her privacy and I read it. Most of it was things I knew she had thought and felt at the time but something hurt me. She called me selfish and self-centered several times. This wouldn’t bother me if she was calling 2024 me selfish/self-centered but I was a SUICIDAL FIFTEEN YEAR OLD at the time.

I spent the ages 12 to 18 essentially locked in my room. My parents had an extremely toxic relationship and whenever I left my room, I ended up in the middle of their arguments trying to mediate and trying to get my mom to leave my father. When I was 13, I remember her busting down my door to take my phone to call her boyfriend because my father had taken her keys and her phone and she had no way to escape the house because we lived in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors. She left that night and LEFT ME WITH HIM.

I didn’t leave my room because my parents would both get drunk and scream at each other and my dad would PUT HIS HANDS ON HER IN FRONT OF ME.

I begged her to leave him for years. I begged. She kept going back. She finally left him when I was 14 but by then I was already traumatized, actively suicidal and failing school due to the stress at home and my worsening mental health. She was not good with my suicidal ideations and spiraling mental health. She didn’t neglect me medically, I saw several different physiatrists and therapists and was on so many psychiatric medications that I cannot remember what I’ve tried and what worked and what didn’t. But whenever I reached out for help, looked to her for support, told her I was suicidal or too anxious to leave the house, she treated it like it was a manipulation tactic on my part. She treated me not like I was faking for attention but like I was faking to hurt HER. One time, when I was 14, I told her I was contemplating suicide and she DROVE AWAY AND LEFT ME ALONE IN OUR NEW HOUSE.

So I locked myself in my room and essentially greyrocked her. I didn’t listen to her problems anymore. I didn’t tell her my problems anymore. I told my problems to 20 and 30 somethings online on Skype and KIK. And she called me selfish and self-centered because I pulled away.

I understand she was an extremely emotionally injured, traumatized and abused woman but I was an extremely emotionally injured and traumatized child. A 15 year old child. A little boy who couldn’t trust and confide in either of his parents. But to her I was selfish and self-centered. Because I did not want to play psychiatrist anymore.

Our relationship only really improved in senior year/into my adulthood. My mental health improved and I learned to cope a little better. I still keep an element of emotional shallowness between us but we don’t fight anymore. I love my mom. I have no doubt my mom loves me. I just cannot trust her with my mental health. That’s okay.

But reading her therapy notes, which I only saw because my ass was snooping and violated her privacy, reopened some horribly healed wound within me and I’ve felt myself disconnect from her again? I don’t know how to explain it. I felt it but I don’t think I really realized what it was until she broke her foot on my birthday while I was home alone an hour and a half away. It’s like this emptiness. I’m struggling to respond to her texts and show appropriate concern and love and pour from that glass within me. I’ve withdrawn back into that snail shell, back into the safety of my own little sphere. And it shouldn’t be something I take out on her. All because I’m hurt by something she felt/wrote 8 years ago, something deeply personal that she expressed privately to a therapist and in her journal. Something I shouldn’t have read. This is so fucked up. I’m so beyond fucked up. I hate myself.

#suicide /#abuse /#< tags are about events long in the past #will be deleting this shortly I just don’t have anyone to share it with

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coreofmyfruits · 11 months ago

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Man's best friend is a dog.

★ Stu Macher x Billy Loomis

Warnings: manipulation, degradation, self doubt, homicidal ideation, homicide, power dynamic, blood pact, blood, blood consumption, freak behavior, implied smut

Summary: If Billy Loomis told Stu Macher to gut his own parents Stu Macher would, because Stu Macher loves Billy Loomis like a dog.

Note: I bet on loosing dogs or uh something...

↓

Guts guts guts! Stu loves guts too bad he doesn't have any. At least that's what it felt like when Billy had tore the palm of his own hand open handing over the same piece of glass he had used to Stu. "Do it." What Stu had no desire to slice his palm open.

Billy furrows his eyebrows and rolls his eyes at the settled confusion on Stu's face. "Cut your hand open." Billy doesn't add anything else instead taking Stu's right hand, his non dominant hand, with his own non bloody one flipping it palm side up.

Stu doesn't mind the scene of blood pooling at the edges of other's wounds but Stu is selfish and he hates the sight of blood pooling at his own. Still Stu doesn't flinch doesn't even look away from his hand in Billy's he likes Billy and the cold he brings, Stu is always very warm.

So when Billy picks back up the broken glass from his now blood splotched blue jeans and places it in Stu's open palm Stu has no choice but to comply. Stu doesn't even know why Billy wants him to cut his palm open but he doesn't care because he'll do it anyways.

The pain is dull and only aches for a moment but Stu doesn't feel it anymore when Billy takes his own sliced hand and brings it to meet Stu's. Their clotted blood mixes like syrup and Stu can't help but want a taste.

Their hands stay there for as long as Billy deems it necessary and when they break apart it almost hurts because the blood has slightly started to harden. That doesn't stop Stu from bringing his right hand up to where their wounds have met and danced and kissing it devouring it like it was his first and last meal. Stu doesn't dare look at Billy when he does this because he knows he looks disgusting like a wild animal, a starving animal. He only stops when he feels Billy touch his chin and yanks his head to face his own.

"Your disgusting." Stu knows this and he loves to hear it be confirmed by Billy. He doesn't get to spread a knowing smile or say something stupid because Billy kisses him hard and their teeth meet shutting up anything Stu had in mind.

There's no hiding it Stu Macher is a freak but Billy Loomis is no better. Stu knows this because as Billy is kissing him he can feel Billy lick the blood from his teeth and when Billy pulls back he doesn't pull back to breath he pulls back to lick the remaining blood that has accumulated in the corners of Stu's mouth and cheeks. Billy is a freak who loves the taste of Stu.

Stu is left dopey and drunk from Billy and he feels like he's dirty and in the best way possible he especially feels all these things when he watches Billy wipe his face off with the neck if his shirt. Fuck Stu wants Billy to-

"Shit it's almost six my dad's going to be home." Billy gets up doesn't mind to dust his pants off or help Stu up and turns to leave back through the trees and twords his house.

Oh.

"Do not fallow me, Stu. You know how my dad is." Stu doesn't get up he never gets up until he knows Billy's gone. He sits there for a while his and Billy's mixed blood on his hand starts to oxidize making the wound itself slightly sticky, he doesn't mind. He also doesn't mind the drying of what's left of the blood and saliva on his cheeks and chin.

Stu waits until he can no longer see/hear Billy trudging through the trees anymore before he stands back up to stalk back through the foliage himself. He feels sick so sick so lovingly sick.

When he gets home later that evening it's dark out he doesn't bother to be quiet as his parents are out on a trip anyways. When he slips into his pajamas he goes to wash his face and clean his new wound, but he doesn't. Instead he stares at the scab that has formed and hopes it scars. He then trails his eyes up to his face, the corners of his lips and the skin around them (base of his cheeks and under his bottom lip) are more than what he wanted then what he hoped for.

For a moment he contemplates leaving the dried and smeared blood there liking the the look, the idea of having something of Billy left on him. Even if that something is as gross as saliva. In the end he decides against it for he knows what it'd be like to pop up at school the next morning blood smeared all over his mouth and face dried between his teeth, it wouldn't be good. So reluctantly he cleans the wound and his face making sure to brush extra hard to get any and every last bit of crusted blood off of his teeth.

Finally he's done after what seems like forever, he took his time on purpose, and he feels drained not from being tired but from feeling lonely like because the blood is gone so has Billy. Shit fuck. He needs to get a grip on himself.

So he does.

On their third killing Casey Becker, Stu's first killing by his own hands, Stu grips the handle of the hunters knife like it's his heart the blade his veins and when he cuts into Casey Becker he cuts into his own grip on reality. He likes seeing her blood pull from her chest cavity he wants to taste it and savor it, like he did Billy and his own blood a couple of days prior. But he can't Casey doesn't deserve it, she doesn't deserve to be tasted let alone savored that's why he killed her. The only ones that are going to be tasting her are the magots that will feed from her dying flesh.

So Stu gets up feeling like he's not so alone anymore, under the mask he smiles a terrible smile a comfortable smile. When he hangs Casey from the tree he doesn't care to look back or hear her parents cries he's full, he's here and he's not alone. He is quickly reminded of this when Billy piles into Stu's car that's parked under some trees down the road.

Billy is busy shredding the remains of the costume off and when he's turning back to face the windshield he's promptly thrown off guard by the pull of his shirt.

Stu can't help himself he needs Billy any confirmation that Billy is there they just killed two people and they are both here together in his car slightly damp with blood a sweat but here. So he grabs Billy by the front of his shirt not giving neither him or Billy a second to collect themselves from the bloodshed they had just accumulated and kisses him. Stu kisses Billy hard oh so hard to the point where he's not sure if he's tasting saliva or blood coming from Billy's mouth, he doesn't care and Billy doesn't seem to either for he let's out moans of pleasure. The only confirmation that Stu needs to know that Billy is pressed between his teeth kissing him no, bleeding for him and shit does he want more of that.

Stu and Billy stay like that for hours moving twisting, pulling and mixing until they ache together. Pressed up against one another in the back seat of Stu's old BMW Stu can't help but feel at ease comfortable underneath the weight of Billy's bare stomach. Billy has drifted off into what Stu hopes is sleep, he knows Billy needs it, he doesn't dare move in danger of waking Billy up and besides he likes seeing him in such a comfortable state. On top of him naked feeling his back rise and fall under the palms of his hands.

Stu cards his fingers through Billy's hair repeatedly for a couple of minutes because it brings Stu comfort. Stu knows he loves Billy and he knows Billy loves him thats why they kill for each other, that's why they bleed for each other.

Stu Macher loves Billy Loomis like a dog, yes. It's hard to say if Billy loves him in that same way and that's why they work. So Stu will continue to heave and pant like a starving animal and only eat when he's fed do things only when he's told to because that's how Stu loves, that's Stu Macher and Billy Loomis loves Stu Macher.

↓

This was errrrm alot but I enjoyed writing it. I thought the blood pact thing was smart and would make sense. I'm probably going to write a Billy's POV version of this so have yer eyes peeled! Or just opened (peeling them would probably hurt!) but yeah hope you liked the read just as much as I enjoyed writing the read. Uhh anyways I guess I'll see you later, idk how your supposed to end these things... Ok bye!

- 🫁

#fan fiction #scream 1996 #scream movies #billy loomis x stu matcher #stu macher scream #stu x billy #billy x stu #stu macher x billy loomis #billy loomis scream #billy loomis #stu macher #mlm #scream movie #scream fanfic #stuilly #gay #male x male

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butcherlarry · 1 year ago

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Weekly Fic Recs 29

I can't believe I've done 29 of these so far! Holy moly!

I'm going to be traveling next week, and I'm not sure if I'll be able to post my fic rec list next Sunday. If I don't, expect an extra long one the following week ;)

On to the recs!

come morning light by TheResurrectionist - Bruce & Clark friendship, Clois, complete. A lovely short fic about Clark getting married and Bruce calming him down from wedding jitters.

Dr. Wayne AU series by Sohotthateveryonedied - Batfam, series incomplete but the fics are :D AU where Bruce becomes a doctor and acquires his kids through doctoring.

what price glory by TheResurrectionist - Batfam, complete. Bruce gets drugged by a strong batch of Poison Ivy's pheromones and the kids decide to ask him some personal questions. Many regrets are had by all. heeheehee!

Growing Pains by Janie__loops - Batfam, complete. No powers AU where Bruce adopts Dick when he's two.

More Things in Heaven and Hell by JustGettingBy - Superbat, wip. More of the X-files fusion fic!!

Patchwork Pod by Ktkat9 - Superbat, wip. More of the mer Bruce fic! Mer Tim is getting to know his new family more! It's super cute!

Simple Ideations And The Consequences That Come With by Nonsensicalwitheringrambles - Batman, complete. Tim joins the family early AU! Also, instead of Tim finding out Batman is Bruce, he thinks they are dating instead :) :) :)

Nominal by Unpretty - Batman centric, complete. Bruce has spreadsheets about why he is sad :( He also has spreadsheets about why he's happy too! A fun (and funny!) read :D

speaking through shadows plain by nickelthecoin - Batfam, Superbat (if you squint), complete. Batman gets hit with a truth spell and talks about how much he loves his children to the JL. It's super adorable!

F*ck, Marry, Kill...Bruce Wayne? by Ortholeine - Batman, complete. Inspired by that one thread on Tumblr. The JL plays fuck, marry, kill as a team bonding activity. Bruce Wayne is eventually thrown into the mix. Shenanigans ensue.

Why Bruce shouldn't try to drink in pace with superhumans by SolaceInSpace - Batfam, complete. Batman gets a bit drunk while team bonding with the JL. Shenanigans ensue.

Just A Little Bit... by HaleHathNoFury (My_Trex_has_fleas) - Superbat, wip. Hale. Hale. HALE. YOU ARE KILLING ME. I AM CLUCHING MY PHONE AND SHAKING IT. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Some excellent updates of this fic. Some more villians enter the scene. Bruce gets creepier and Clark gets more alien as a result. I am LIVING.

#weekly fic recs #fic recs #fanfic recs #fanfiction reccomendations #superbat #batman #bruce wayne #superman #clark kent #batfam #batfamily #bat family

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mortumslab · 11 months ago

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Remembering to be Human - Chapter 9

One of my favorite chapters so far! Hope you enjoy it!

(I really wanted to post it, so here's a double-chapter day.)

And chapter 8:

Julia isn’t outside the containment room when you leave. The guard tells you she went upstairs a few minutes before you. You ride the elevator in a daze. Psychopathor knowing your identity doesn’t bode well, but you know Kurt Moran is a lot smarter than he ever lets on. His bloodlust gets him listed as a common monster, but he is one of Los Diabolos’ longest-running villains.

And Psychopathor is a much more well-connected monster than he lets on. You suspected the Directive’s initiative to take him down was spurred as much by his threat as it was by the Rat King. Your partner-in-crime had always seemed like a familiar creation, but until now it wasn’t clear. You are both natives of the Farm. This means that the Psychopathor’s information is invaluable. He knows about the connections you’ve been chasing.

The elevator dings and you follow the hallways back to the main break room. Steel is seated in a chair, browsing his phone. Drinking a protein shake. He looks up and nods towards Julia’s private office. The one that she claims is off the record.

Knocking on the door you only hear muffled noises. A wet-sounding “Come in,” and you open the door.

Julia is at her desk. She’s playing the televised funeral for you and Anathema. She rewinds it and then watches herself assault Vernon Brown. Then again. Tears coat her eyes. She doesn’t even bother to dab them. The file below her shows splotches. The file. Your autopsy. You can’t read her mind, but you know she hates herself for her stupid actions seven years ago. And maybe a year ago, you would have, too. But now all you have is compassion. Love for this woman. Love that you’re not sure how to express. You’ve never had this choice. You’ve never been given this option. There’s no one to mimic.

So you do what Julia would do for you. You cross the room, and you throw your arms around her neck and straddle her. Face to face. The chair groans in protest, but your slender form fits nicely. You don’t usually take the initiative. But you’ve already broken all of your rules. Maybe those weren’t your rules.

The sudden closeness seems to have startled her out of her crying, but she buries her face against your jacket. Muffling her voice in a cute way.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You couldn’t have known.” She couldn’t. You know she would have gone through hell, moved earth and sea to find you. Had she known you could be alive.

“I didn’t even let the poor bastard speak. He said something about there being a plot, and then I just hit him.” She sobs into your shoulder. You rub her back. Cooing like she did for you. “I was drunk. Again.”

Kissing her forehead, you hold her tighter. You know she’s drawing the same conclusions. She thinks she could have stopped you. Stopped all this. There’s no way she could have. The Farm would never have let you go. You were their tool. A really powerful, useful tool.

“I could have saved you.” There it is. “I was never fast enough.”

What? You look at her. Your head tilts in confusion.

“I reached for you. When you jumped. I was too slow.” Ah. You didn’t know that.

“You did?” Now you’re tearing up. Damn this woman for breaking every measure of your facade. Gone are the days of Sidestep’s stoicism. She may be the only one who can truly save you from whatever the Farm has planned. What they have planned for you. Because they’re not done with you yet.

“Of course I did!” She’s not angry at you, but the outburst shakes her from her sobs. She lifts you like a toddler and sets you on the desk in front of her. She starts to pace the room. “I… I dream about it every night. A nightmare. Either me falling or you. Never anything else. Except for the last few nights. I didn’t have that nightmare. Instead, I had a new one. One where you die because you lose yourself.” She might be yelling at you, but she’s angry with everything. Everyone. Herself. You. Society.

You don’t know what to say. You can’t go back now. There’s too much at stake. You have to break the Farm. Destabilize. Destroy. Rebuild. How do you tell a woman who cares so much for you that you might have to die for a cause that’s larger than both of you?

“Julia, I… I can’t promise I’ll survive this. But I do know that what I’m doing… if I survive… we can live happier when it’s done. Together.” You’ve never thought or talked about a future with her. The developments this week have been too many. Too fast. But now is as good a time as any.

“We?” She sounds weak. Tired. Showing her age. Not the impervious Charge. The scared, broken Julia Ortega. The one who likely died the moment you did. Two ghosts, trying to find their former selves. Locked in purgatory.

“We.” You close your eyes, rubbing your temples. When you look up again, she’s in front of you. Holding your hands in hers. “I need to do this. And it will require me to be dangerous. To take on enemies who could easily destroy me.” There’s no question, but she understands. At least one of you can read the other’s mind.

“Arya, I will never let you go again. Just let me fight by your side. If we go down, we go together.” She means it. And you can’t help it. You kiss her. Hard. You love her. And you’re still not sure how to say it.

Breaking the kiss, you whisper, “I wish I had known. Any of it. I would have come to you. I would have found you the moment I escaped the Farm. They…” But Julia quiets you with another kiss. Salty with the taste of tears. Someone’s tears.

You hold each other for what feels like hours. Then, Julia lets go. Ready to move.

“What did Psychopathor tell you after I left?

You laugh. You’d almost forgotten in the time since. “He knows I’m Heartbreak.”

Julia whips around, “What?”

“Two things I figured out. First, it wasn’t hard to put together, from his perspective. The Rat King is telepathic. He’s a Farm experiment. Like me. Psychopathor is psi-sensitive, but not telepathic. And it’s not exactly like I was subtle with my name. Plus I resurfaced. You all put it together, too.” You pause and gather yourself. Calm. “Second, it means his information is good. Heartbreak is likely still alive. Or some version of her.”

“What does this mean, then? Who do we need to interrogate next?”

“I need to drop off these files for the D.A.” You have pretty hard evidence that there is collusion between San Francisco and Los Diabolos’ kingpins and the Mayor. “Then I need to interrogate Alvarez to figure out what she knows. I don’t think it’ll be much more than what Koch knew, but it’s worth a try.”

“Do you want my help?” She really, really wants to help.

“I could use an audience. Especially some time to monologue.” You smile. She loves drama.

“I can do that,” she takes your hand, kisses it gently, and then leads you from the office.

Downstairs, the rest of the Rangers are milling around. Argent is watching a movie. Danny is reading a book and Steel is seated with his eyes closed. Napping? Probably not.

Julia clears her throat, “Angie, could you—“

Argent flicks her hand and all four cameras in the break room power down.

“Okay, thank you.” Julia sounds bemused.

“I’m going to go confront the mayor. With the information from Koch and Psychopathor, I will try and spread some doubt. Sow some chaos.” You say it with such seriousness that it almost sounds funny. Arya. The rabble-rouser.

“What do you need from us?” Danny shoots to his feet. His willingness to break the system is curious. You gently probe his mind. It’s a veritable mess of incongruities. Danny’s entire worldview has shattered. And he’s not even upset at you anymore.

“Someone to chase me off. I’ll confront the mayor and rough up some bodyguards. Then come in for clean up.”

“Alright. We can do that.” Steel gets to his feet. “By the way, Blaze has found some further connections between the syndicates and the mayor. You might want to take this to the D.A. as well.”

“Thank him for me. I hope he’s not working tomorrow?”

“Not that I know of. But I don’t keep close tabs on him.” Slight awkwardness in Chen’s mind, but he’s always hard to read.

“Good. Then I’ll be off.” Nodding at each and at the back of Argent’s head. She makes a rude gesture, then follows it up with a wave.

Julia accompanies you into the elevator. She’s unusually quiet. The soothing buzz of her mind is becoming more and more like a soft blanket rather than a reminder of the Farm.

“What’s up?” You break the silence.

“I hope we survive this.”

“Me too.” You smile at her, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She goes a touch pink. Difficult to identify on her bronze skin.

The doors open to the lobby. And then she pulls you into a kiss. Deep. Loving. Then she shoves you through the open elevator. You whirl around in time to catch a blown kiss as the doors close once more.

Idiot. Loveable idiot.

That Evening.

Confronting the mayor will be an all-day affair. Not to mention, you’ve already gotten into a fight today. Tonight, you’re participating in your favorite part of crime and villainy: robbing criminals. A wholly cathartic release of aggression. You get some money. Some money ends up in a Los Diabolos charity. Everyone wins. Except for Overlord. Overlord never wins.

A low-level telepath, Overlord uses crudely performed manipulation to garner capital. If your telepathy is a precision scalpel wielded by the world’s greatest surgeon, Overlord’s telepathy is a comically large mallet wielded by a toddler. However, it works sometimes. And you’ve left him alone for the time being - but now he’s terrorizing citizens.

Are you a hero? No. You aren’t. Heroes don’t brutalize others. Vigilantes might. But your wrath ignores borders. Ignores labels. What society calls them is moot. Your judgment is swift and painful. Leaving broken bodies in its wake. And you’ve been looking forward to letting go.

You count ten henchmen. Each is wielding some low-class mod. And Overlord himself has telepathic elements that won’t work on you. You’re a god amongst telepaths.

Ego. Where has this come from? Julia?

You shake your head. Clearing thoughts of Julia. You need to be Heartbreak tonight. Your HUD marked the henchmen as they entered the warehouse. Using the telepathy boost in your suit, you pinpoint each in their respective positions. Time to do this. Loud.

In a cliche show of force - one Heartbreak is known for, according to the fan sites - you retrofitted the surrounding buildings with nano-speakers. The collective reverberations of the little devices somehow produce sound in a way even your tech-oriented brain doesn’t understand. Thankfully, Mortum does. So, it’s time to play an anthem. True villain style.

As you click play on the playlist, you both see and feel the henchmen below and Overlord freeze. Panic suffuses them. Heartbreak descends.

The first three Henchmen go down before they’re even aware the threat is in the building. Your body weight and shattered glass incapacitated the first, and your kick sent the second over the railing, where he landed with a crunch on a shipping crate. Still alive, the Rat King informs you. The third runs at you and in a true Heartbreak fashion, your first punch lays him out. The next several leave him barely alive. Barely is good enough for you.

Grappling a rafter, you swing into the next group. These four seem to be equipped with a mixture of boosts and mods. It hardly matters to you. Your high spinning kick sends the first flying into and through several wooden crates. You suspect boosts of durability and density made that the spectacle it was. The next two run at you together. Smart. They’re both outfitted with ranged mods. The first run and guns and the second goes for melee. You catch the fist and use his momentum to swing him into the incoming projectiles. It hardly does any damage, but the scream you hear as he ragdolls into a storage unit does. It even leaves a dent. You don’t hear the panicked yells of his allies because you’re laughing. Laughing because this feels good. Because Sidestep could never do this. Because this week has been out of your control. Here. Here, you are conducting the symphony of chaos.

The final goon in this squad goes down with a solid crunch. His nose is severely broken, but you’re not finished. Oh, no, you’re enjoying this. You grab his arm and twist. The resounding crack and muffled scream send shivers down your back.

Three goons left, then the man of the hour. Thankfully, you don’t have to look for them. They were gracious enough to come to you. The two henchmen, who appear to be more durable than the others, run at you… then you see red. Because these two can handle it. You don’t hear the screams. The music. Your own heartbeat. Heartbreak. The scourge of Los Diabolos.

You blink. Your armored fists drip with blood and viscera. The two below you moan in pained agony. Their faces aren’t really recognizable. You like it that way. You left them alive; that’s all they deserve.

Overlord wears a mask. But his mind is reeling. Horror. Fear. Of you.

“Good evening!” You sound chipper. Your modulator makes you sound slightly manic. Maybe you are.

“Kneel.” His pathetic attempt at telepathy. You break into laughter. Belly laughter. Only something Julia could get out of you. No, stop. Don’t think about her right now. Your mind reels from two versions of you. Arya and her weakness. Heartbreak and her cruelty. And for a moment it feels like you might crack. Then, the Rat King manages to soothe you. Chittering brings you back to your senses.

It all happens in the course of a moment, but Overlord seems to believe his telepathy worked. Your hesitation emboldened him. Wrong move.

In a flash, your hand is at his throat. Your enhanced strength lifts him far off the ground. Your height is always an advantage.

For a moment you want to kill him. Only a moment. But you simply throw an elbow. Then he falls unconscious to the ground.

“Rosie, I need a truck. We’ve got a nice haul. And maybe call in some favors for shipping. I think there’s some good stuff in here.”

With the music off now, you can hear the glorious cacophony of pained groans. The ten henchmen lay in various states of disrepair. Some of them will likely be on respirators for months. It feels good. This is what happens when the Farm fucks around. They’re going to find out soon. You’ll show them.

“Holy shit, boss.” Lost in thought, you don’t notice Rosie approaching. Focus.

“Needed to get some frustrations out.” You say nonchalantly. You didn’t even take a single hit. The bullet that caught your helm never left a mark.

Rosie knocks on the van, and your crew gets out and starts to load cash from the warehouse. A motley crew of trusted deplorables. People who were properly vetted and have never taken a life. Perfect for acts of retribution. They look at the assorted mess with pained expressions. Few of them have seen your handiwork. Usually, you work alone. Or with Rosie.

Then you hear the sounds of sirens. Good. Press.

“Get out of here and meet me back at base.” You say to Rosie. She nods and ushers the crew back to the van. It’s out of the building and trailing down the road before the LDPD arrives.

A media helicopter hovers around 100 yards up. And the LDPD roll into view.

“Please exit the building with your hands up.” Oh? They don’t know who did this. Time to enlighten them once more.

Using the speakers in the vicinity, your voice booms.

“Officers! It is I, Heartbreak. Allow me to lead you to ten henchmen who you will find all have rap sheets longer than my own. And you’ll find a fellow villain, Overlord. The money he has so graciously donated to me will be dispersed to charities, as per usual.” You know the anonymity from your last donation was for naught. Might as well lean into it.

“Heartbreak, please exit the premises. The Rangers are on their way.” A bullhorn. Classic.

You exit the building but using telepathic bursts, those with guns drop them as though they were scalding hot. Perception is reality.

“I shall bid you all goodnight.”

Then, you drop a smoke pellet. The tear gas sends the officers running in the opposite direction. You misdirect the attention of those in the media chopper and dash back through the building. You find the motorcycle you arrived on, stashed behind a tree, and head towards the road. A successful venture.

The news is, of course, reporting on your escapades. You pull it up visor on your HUD. Carefully navigating through evening traffic, you listen to the report.

“Heartbreak once again leaves another villain begging for rescue. The masked villain claims to donate portions of their income to Los Diabolos charities. Something we will be checking into.”

Of course, they only ever care about the money. This city runs on greed.

“According to the LDPD, Heartbreak left ten known boosted mercenaries with severe injuries. No casualties, per Heartbreak’s usual performance.”

You’re glad your no-kill policy is known. It helps spread the message. Though tonight’s theme was rage.

“Then the villain left Overlord unconscious, absconding with what appears to be well into the millions in unmarked bills.”

The report continues, and you ignore it until…

“We have Charge and Marshal Steel here, who arrived on the scene moments after Heartbreak’s escape. Marshal Steel, what are you going to do about Heartbreak?”

Steel looks annoyed to be out this time of night.

“We have been closely following Heartbreak. Their base of operations is still unknown, as is their identity and capabilities.” He didn’t answer the question. Good man.

“Charge, do you feel as though Heartbreak’s actions here tonight are those of a villain?”

You glance up. Julia’s eyes look conflicted. She probably doesn’t know how to feel about the violence.

“For now, we are treating Heartbreak as a threat. That is all I can say for now.”

You flick the broadcast off. Your penthouse comes into view.

Going up to your bedroom, you strip off the nanomesh. You’ll deal with the payment to the crew and charity tomorrow. For now, you need a good shower and time to think.

The water is warm. Nice. You don’t like the schism that happened out tonight. You don’t usually lose your head. Especially not as Heartbreak. And you thought you had figured out who you were, but thinking about Julia in the field was almost enough to break you. Break you how? It wasn’t a panic attack. It was more like something wanted out. Like you lost control of a caged beast. The beast wasn’t you. But it was inside you. It is inside you. Might be something to bring up with Julia. You should start trusting her more. She deserves it. You’re worried she may be shaken by your show of brutality tonight—

Noise. Someone’s in your penthouse.

“Arya?”

Deep breath. It’s just Julia.

“In the shower.” You’re unsuccessful in hiding the panic.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She appears in the bathroom door.

“It’s alright. Long night, a bit wired still.”

“So, tonight. That was new.” Oh, she wants to do this now.

“Can I get out of the shower first?” You don’t wait for an answer. You shut off the shower and step out. Julia hands you your towel. You shiver slightly. More in anxiety than in cold. She notices.

She steps forward and hugs you. Kissing your wet ear.

“You put ten men in the hospital. One of them is in the ICU. He’ll make it.” You don’t know why she’s telling you this. Your height puts you just slightly above her, but in her arms, you feel safer. Your posture slumps.

“Are you asking a question?” Your voice muffled with your face buried in her shoulder.

“I’m worried. About you.” She kisses the top of your head. “Heartbreak is known for that level of violence, but just seeing the carnage… and knowing who’s underneath.” The thought left unsaid. “There’s footage of the fight. The cameras in the building were on.”

You didn’t know that. Your theatrics are usually for yourself. Rumors make you a legend. Rumors drive Heartbreak’s creed. Destabilizing the status quo.

“Oh.”

“I watched it on the way over. You used music.” Humor in her voice. You relax slightly in her embrace. “And you annihilated those mercs.”

“I learned from the best.”

She leads you from the bathroom. Watching as you get dressed. Pulling on a bra and shorts. Comfortable in your skin. At least with Julia watching.

“I didn’t teach you that.” She doesn’t sound upset. Still worried.

“I learned a few tricks.” With a sigh, you curl up on the bed. Cradling a pillow. It smells like Julia.

She comes over to sit beside you. Rubbing your back. Your silvery hair is a wet mess. You’ll need to manage that before trying to sleep. If Julia stays the night, you might not need to use Eden. But otherwise, you’re not letting the nightmares get you. Not yet.

“Did you lose yourself?” She asks quietly.

“I am Heartbreak. Heartbreak is that extension of me that lets me do hard things. Things neither Arya nor Sidestep could do.” You don’t know where you’re going with this, but you suspect it’ll end in tears. You always cry around her.

She’s silent, waiting for you to continue.

“I thought about you. I don’t know if you saw when Overlord tried to use his shitty excuse for telepathy on me.” You see her smile.

“I did; you looked like you were confused for a moment.”

A deep, calming breath. You feel the tears. “I was. But not because of him. Because I thought about you. My mind… it felt like it was going to fracture. Like I couldn’t reconcile what I was doing with me. With who… with Arya.” And the tears.

“Oh, mi amor.” She leans over and cradles you, pulling you onto her lap. Your weight is nothing to her enhanced strength.

You’re sobbing freely now. And only when you feel her starting to braid your hair do you start to regulate yourself again.

“I hate existing.” Simple, the truth. Ugly. Still true.

Julia freezes for a moment. But recovers, still braiding.

“Is that why you pick large battles? Unfavorable odds?”

“Yes.”

“You want to die?”

“I want the pain to end. The anger. The suffering. I hurt so badly.” Julia unlocks your fears. You want to be good enough for her. Confessing everything. Maybe it’s not fair. You’re a burden.

“You’re not a burden.” Did you say that out loud? “I just don’t know how to help. And I’m not going to let you kill yourself. Indirectly or otherwise.”

“So what? What do I do?”

“Finish what you started. And let me help this time.” You look up at her with bleary eyes. Your hair braided the way you like it. You didn’t even need to tell her.

“You have been helping. You’re helping right now.”

“But you’re only letting me help after the fact. And I love being able to. You don’t know how many years I’ve dreamed of being able to do this. To cuddle you.”

“You’re too perfect. Too good for me.” You vocalize it this time.

“No, I’m exactly what you deserve. Right now, you’re the mess. I’m sure I’ll be one soon enough.” She strokes your back. You’d fall asleep if you weren’t— “I heard that grumble. Good thing I brought you some food.”

You ought to get used to being literally swept from your feet. Or from your fetal position, in this case. Yet you squeak when she plucks you from the bed. Clinging on for dear life you let her set you in a barstool in the kitchen.

She moves to the countertop and slides you two cartons. Chinese. The same place you both went when you were Sidestep. Looking at her with gratefulness that can’t be put into words, you devour the food. You were never very well-mannered when it came to eating. Julia seems to think it endearing.

“Will you let me help, then?”

“I’m not sure how.” You finally surface for a breath. “Or what you can do. I’m a villain. You’re not.”

“What if I become one?” You choke a bit on a noodle.

“What?”

“I can wear a costume. A mask.” She’s serious.

“I…okay…I can figure something out. Mortum might be able to make you something. What about the Rangers?”

“I can do both. I have no desire to keep working for this government. You being alive is enough. Enough to convince me. Enough for me.”

“I love you, Julia.” The only thing you can say.

“Let’s get you to bed. We can plan our villainy tomorrow.”

You sleep well. Curled in her arms once more. You might let yourself get used to this. Maybe.

#fallen hero #fallen hero retribution #fhr #sidestep

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nevermore-grimes · 9 months ago

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I just saw @parasafterdark do this and I wanted to do it, too, so…

OC Ask Game - RED by @/isabellebissonrouthier

Let’s talk about Nevermore!!!

TW: Mentions of depression, suicidal ideation, trauma, death, killing, and sex under the cut

CRIMSON - What would it take for them to kill someone they know?

Depends on the someone. If it's someone she hates, she'd kill their ass for free. If it's someone she loves, not even the hand of God could make her ever even consider it.

SCARLET - How do they grieve?

*Counts on fingers* Drinking, refusing to cry, avoiding her feelings, contemplating ending it all. Just girlie things, ya know?

WINE - How do they act when drunk?

DO NOT GET THIS WOMAN DRUNK!!! She's a literal wild card when she's drunk, okay? Anything is possible. She could end up horny, angry, hungry, homicidal, sleepy, etc.

CHERRY - Why did you create them?

I wanted to be cooler, so I made someone cooler than me. Then, I gave her trauma for funzies!

STRAWBERRY - What part of them is most like you? Was this intentional?

Methinks you should refer to my answer to the last question.

RASPBERRY - Are they a virgin?

Ha!

WATERMELON - What is their greatest reason to get out of bed?

That changes with the "saga" of her life. Lemme break it down:

The Origins - A sense of duty The Macbethian Saga - Aerith The Hero Saga - A new sense of purpose The Inter-Dimensional Rift Saga - The excitement for a new lover The Pre-War Saga - All hell is slowly breaking loose. Fix this. Now. The War Saga - Desperation to protect her loved ones

APPLE - Messy or clean?

She's surprisingly clean! But that's probably because she's a minimalist. Constantly running from the law got her accustomed to packing light.

POMEGRANITE - Which myth would they relate to most?

Uhhhhhhhhh... I'm not very good with my myths, so I'm not sure how to answer this one.

JAM - Can they cook?

She can cook. She's no pro chef (*ehem* Chase *ehem*), but when it comes down to it, she can make some decent meals.

CANDY - Do they have a sweet tooth?

YES!!! ALWAYS!!!

BLOOD - What would they do if they saw a stranger's corpse?

This is the norm for her. She's so desensitized to death, it rarely fazes her. So, she'd just go about her day. If she didn't kill them, that's not her problem.

GORE - If they were asked to fight in a war, would they fight or run away?

Nevermore's been fighting the same war for about three years now (in Thisverse time), so I think it's safe to say she's not running away any time soon...

RUBY - What do they consider most precious/valuable?

Aerith, Loki, Michael, and Peter. No hesitation. Nevermore holds them so close to her heart that even the idea of parting with them makes her stomach churn.

GARNET - If they had to kill someone, what method would they choose?

Had to or wanted to? Mwahahahahaha! If Nevermore had to kill someone, she'd just use her goddess-given Elemental powers. If she wanted to kill someone, she'd get creative. That's when she's bringing out the big and flashy spells, or she's using close-range manmade weapons to make her kill more... "intimate". And don't even get me started on when she incites her Bloodlust!

BLUSH - Who flusters them most?

Loki. It's always Loki. There's just something about him that makes Nevermore blush like a fool and basically lose all brain function, lmaooo!

LIPSTICK - What is their love language?

Physical touch. That, and suffocating overprotection. Girlie does not know when to let go.

KISS - Who did they last kiss?

*Sighs in disapproval* Peter Quill... This was to the knowledge and comfort of her boyfriends, of course! We don't do that cheating stuff here, especially because Nevermore was once cheated on. She'd never do that to someone else, let alone someone she loves.

ROSE - What gift would they most wish to receive from a lover?

Nevermore actually hates receiving gifts. She was never comfortable with the idea of people she cares about going out of their way to spend resources on making her happy. All she needs to be happy is them. That, or sex.

POPPY - Do they believe in a god?

The Macbethians actually have their own goddess. La Tierra Madre ("The Earth Mother") is worshipped as the creator of the first Elemental Four. (Named Andrix, Nash, Alek, and Archer, if you were curious.)

That being said, Nevermore is an athiest through-and-through. No gods for her!

#chronicled: nevermore #madd #maladaptive daydreamer #maladaptive daydreams #maladaptive daydreaming #paracosm #para portal #paraportal

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my-brothers-corrupted · 1 year ago

Text

My Brothers, Corrupted

Book Five: Section Seven

Jackie and Marvin have a rough time of things. Henrik comes back towards the surface, at least for a minute. Masterlist

Tws for self-hatred, past abuse, suicidal and depressive ideation, and Marvin lashing out at the audience. Tws may not be completely exhaustive - keep in mind the heaviness of the fic and look out for yourself.

Thank you to @lehhoh7822 for taking the time to compile this book!

Anonymous asked:

Happy birthday Jackieboy! How goes the end of the ballet? Or are they not quite there yet?

He pants in the darkness of the alley, his hood over his head. He flexes his fingers. Stretches his neck. Spits.

“Yeah,” he says lowly. “Apparently that one doesn't turn out so well in the end."

At his feet, a trio of bodies. He turns and walks away, shaking blood off his hands.

Got to get the anger out somehow.

Anonymous asked:

Jackie what happened?? What did you do?

“What? They’re the ones who picked a fight.” He strikes the wall beside him, hard. “Drunk fucks.”

And if he went to a bad part of town in the hopes that somebody might provoke him, that’s nobody’s business.

Anonymous asked:

Aww Jackie. I'm sorry the play wasn't pleasant and upset you. But can I ask why you needed to beat up three people over it? Did something happen?

“They were hollering at some girl. I handled it for her. I did good. I stopped it. I did!”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and trudges home, kicking at rocks.

Anonymous asked:

There are healthier ways to punch things, JBM. Considered buying a punching bag or joining a gym? Martial arts lessons? Just anything but beating up strangers unless you suddenly like the idea of jail.

“Not the same rush,” mutters Jackie, eyes dark. “He spent so long teaching me to be his killer. Learned to like the adrenaline. The control. He would always be so proud of me… and I guess I’m just fucked up enough to enjoy the power of it.”

He stares down at the ground as he walks.

“Do you remember when we all went back in time, and Marvin told me what a hero I was? And how I was a good big brother and they all loved me? I want to be that person again. I’m trying to be Jackie. But there are parts of me that will always be Red, and I’m not sure I can handle that. There are parts of me that will always be scarred by him. No matter how much I heal.”

He kicks a stone. “I just want to go home. I shouldn’t have done that. I know. I was angry before. It made me feel better, that’s all.”

Anonymous asked:

Heroism is not random acts of vigilantism, Jackie. Heroism is self sacrifice for the good of others. You don't need to pick fights to be a hero again.

“I like picking fights, though,” he says. “I’m his little killer. It’s the only thing I’m good at. Fights and tech. I can’t even make Blue smile anymore.”

Anonymous asked:

Ah yes, "all you're good at" as though you haven't been brave and powerful and strong for months now purely for the sake of your brothers, as if you havent been sacrificing every part of yourself for the good of their health and safety. You're still more of a hero than you ever were a killer.

That makes him smile a little, playing with his hands.

“They deserve better. That’s all.”

Anonymous asked:

How'd the ballet go Jackie? Also, Blue is going to need your support and encouragement when you get home, he's not doing well, and you're the only person he seems to feel like he hasn't hurt.

“What? What’s wrong with him?”

He reaches the steps up to their apartment, gripping anxiously at the bars of the staircase. “Chase might be a better help to him than me.”

Anonymous asked:

Blue asked for you specifically! He seemed to want to be comforted by you before. Maybe spending some time together would be good for both of you.

“He wants me?”

Jackie steps quietly into the apartment, locking the door behind him. Their empty living space looks back at him, but at least he knows the fridge and cupboards are stocked now.

Blue’s door is slightly open. Jackie peers inside. His twin is hiding beneath the covers, quiet. There’s a couple little packages on the bed, wrapped up in newspaper.

Anonymous asked:

Ooohh packages? What's inside? And how are you doing Blue?

Jackie pulls apart the top package carefully, finding the Princess Bride wrapped up inside. He grins and looks up to find Blue looking back at him, eyes tired.

“Happy birthday,” Blue mumbles.

“Thanks,” says Jackie softly.

“You’re coming to bed?”

“How are you?” Jackie redirects, blinking at him.

Blue pulls his covers up to his chin. “Fine.”

“Oh, good,” says Jackie, sighing. “The cameras thought you were upset.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Then you should sleep.”

Blue gazes at him, mouth tight.

Anonymous asked:

The anger and guilt and self-hate are a part of the healing process, Marvin. Chase is right, it takes time. Time and therapy and building of a support system. You can't expect to magically be healed in only a short amount of time AND without talking to a professional or taking medicine to help with your moods. You can take action to heal quicker, but you're refusing it.

Blue slides back onto his side while Jackie looks through his presents - his new jackets and shoes and the book and some candy. He’s eating Hot Tamales by the time he looks up again, and it is then, in the lowlight of their only lamp in the house, that he sees Blue shaking with tears, silent against his pillows.

Jackie crawls over him on the bed, confused, and uses his sleeve to wipe at his reddened face. It’s not like Blue to cry. He gets mad. He does not cry. Jackie is often the same way.

“Not fine?” asks Jackie.

Blue moans and buries his face in his pillow. Jackie hovers over him, hand on his shoulder, brushing away his tears.

“You can… have anything you need,” offers Jackie anxiously. “Just tell me. I can try. I’m not good at any of it but I can try. I would bring you anything.”

“Nothing’s going to fix this.”

“Fix what?” asks Jackie, bewildered. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I wish you could just - the way that Chase always knows exactly what Henrik needs. I wish you could do that.”

Jackie chews on his nails. “But I can’t do that.”

“I know, trust me…”

“So you have to tell me.”

“I don’t know.”

“This isn’t fair,” protests Jackie, squeezing his shoulder. “Tell me, tell. You’re a liar. You said you were fine.”

Anonymous asked:

Blue, you are YOU. You are not Anti nor just what he left behind. You're an individual and you belong to yourself. Your body is yours, and your mind is yours. I understand the self hatred, it's brought on by your immense trauma and guilt. Stop, slow your thoughts, identify your strengths, learn to accept compliments and good words from yourself and others, and develop some self compassion instead of mercilessly judging and criticizing yourself for various inadequacies or shortcomings.

“Compliments, I can do compliments,” says Jackie swiftly.

“Jackie - is there blood on you? Hey!”

“Don’t worry about it, don’t worry. I love you. You’re smart, did you know that?”

“You jackass, you did not get in another fight. Come on, we’re going to the bathroom to clean you up right now.”

Jackie lets Blue pull him by the arm towards the bathroom.

“You read so fast I bet you could learn anything if you just felt like it. You know like five languages. I love how you - how you hold yourself? Like you know you’re something just a little bit unnatural. Just a little dangerous. You should because when you use your power, you look like some kind of constellation come to life.”

“Jackie…” Blue blots blood from his face with a washcloth, pushing the soft hair from his face. “I don’t need compliments. I just want to take care of you, okay?”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” shouts Jackie.

Blue slows, blinking at him. Jackie blinks back, their hands tentative in the air between them.

“You won’t let anyone do anything,” croaks Jackie. “Just angry and unhappy all the time.”

“Hypocrite,” whispers Blue.

Jackie just looks down, shaking his head. After a long moment, he slinks forward and places his head on Blue’s shoulder, hiding against his neck, and Blue is still.

“You are… you. My twin. I don’t care what name you go by. You don’t have to be anything else.”

The tears are back. Dripping down his cheeks.

“I want to be.”

“Then I want to help,” says Jackie. “As long as what you want to change is the parts of yourself that hurt you, and not the parts of yourself that just want the pain to stop.”

Anonymous asked:

Fine, okay, hate yourself forever if that's what you want. But Blue, goddamnit, you absolutely cannot treat your brothers like this. You cannot be cruel to them and take out your anger on them. You are hurting the people around you because of how much you hurt inside. Go to a therapist. Go to a psychiatrist. Get help, you have people willing to do it. Stop yourself in this tirade before you burry yourself in the dirt.

Jackie doesn’t know what to do with a crying Blue. He just… clings to him.

“I know how awful I’m being,” sobs Blue. “It keeps me awake. I feel like I can’t help it half the time. Something about them… not my Chase. It’s Dapper and Dok.”

“JJ and Schneep.”

“How am I supposed to see them that way when I saw them through Anti’s eyes?” Blue cries, clinging to his brother’s hoodie, to his hair, to his shoulders. “I beat Dok until he was screaming for me to stop, telling me he would do anything, I - ”

“You didn’t do that. That was Anti.”

“I held Dapper in my bed and forced him to lie down with me. I could have done worse. I could have done anything. That’s the worst fucking part. Anti could have done anything to him with my hands. He could have tortured him, could have made him kill, could have had sex with him, whatever he wanted. And I was in the same boat. He could have used my body for anything. And the two of us, we would lie there under Anti’s control, in that bed, for hours every night, neither of us moving, both of us trapped, helpless, helpless. Every time I look at him I’m - I’m - ”

He’s back in that bed again. Anti’s beneath his skin. Anti’s using him to beat Henrik, Anti’s using him to hypnotize Chase til he’s quiet again. Anti’s there. And Dapper’s looking back at him, just as trapped, just as despairing, and there is nothing he can do, nothing he can do, he has to do something, he has to do -

“Ow, ow, Blue!” cries Jackie, and when he comes back to awareness Blue has to tear roses out of his brother’s arms, gasping at the blood running down them.

“Oh, shit, I - Red, I didn’t mean to, I just - I’ll bandage it, I’m sorry!”

Anonymous asked:

You were violated, Blue. The others didn't deserve what happened to them, but you didn't deserve what happened to you either. You were stepped off your powers and your very autonomy, but even if it doesn't feel like it, you still have your worth. Not as a puppet but as a person and a brother and yourself.

“How do I come back from being used like that?” asks Blue. “Doesn’t it just fuck you up forever? He just… really took everything from me.”

“We’re here,” whispers Jackie.

“I look at all of you and see him. I look at myself and see him. Everything is drifting through his fog. I don’t even have the memories of a time where he wasn’t there.”

“You’re going to have to trust me on this one,” says Jackie, placing a hand on the back of his twin’s head and drawing him close. “You are a very distinct person from Anti. And I really think that we can… get better, in some ways.”

“You don’t sound all that sure.”

“I’m not,” admits Jackie weakly. “Because I think I’ve been feeling the same way. Like his killer. It helps me to talk about it because then at least I realize what it is I’m feeling.”

“I just feel bad about myself,” says Blue. “And… terrified every time I remember. Every time I look at JJ and Schneep, or something else reminds me. Then I lash out and I’m just playing his game again.”

Anonymous asked:

Start building something new, Blue. You can't heal if you keep insisting you're still Blue, but you don't have to be Marvin either. Be somebody new, make someone you can love. You don't have to hate yourself forever. Dye your hair, get a new piercing, or buy clothes that feel familiar. Be /you/. Not Blue, not Marvin. You don't have to just wallow in the hate. Change things about yourself that annoy you. Reinvent yourself, and stop pushing your family away.

“I’m sorry,” says Blue quietly. “There’s so little of me left I don’t know where to start building from. I don’t know what I want. Don’t trust myself to do anything to my own body. Like it’s not mine. I’d be scared to change it. I - ”

There’s a short sob somewhere down the hall.

Jackie stands straight up, his hand falling from Blue’s head in an instant. His eyes are wide and alert.

“Jackie - ”

“That was JJ,” he says. “That’s my little brother.”

And just like that - just one second later - he’s vanishing down the hall.

He’s gone.

Blue stands in the bathroom, mouth trembling. Jackie’s blood drizzles into the sink. Tears slip down his face, defeated and angry, and he hiccups on a sob of his own.

Anonymous asked:

Is JJ okay? And Jackie, get back to Blue as soon as you can, he's going through a lot right now, though I know all of you are and it must be hard to prioritize.

“Jamie, Jamie.” Jackie races towards him, pushing open his door. He knows what Blue says in situations like this. “Honey, love, here I am.”

His brother is gone from his room and Jackie’s heart panics for a second - he stole him away from me! - before he hears him crying from the closet. Jackie tears open the white door and kneels down beside him, gripping his shoulder. “Dapper, JJ, my little man. Look at me, pal.”

“Trapped, room, trapped, room, trapped, room,” JJ is signing, over and over again. “Trapped room trapped room trapped - ”

Jackie drags him right out of the closet, shoving the door to the room open and pulling him into the living space. He shoves open the door to their little cement balcony.

“No, no, I’m in trouble, I’m in trouble,” scream JJ’s hands, tearing at his hair.

“Not in trouble. You’re not in trouble. He’s not here. He won’t hurt you.”

“They locked my door in the psych ward, couldn’t get out, couldn’t get out! I’m trying to be good, I don’t want to go back, I’m in trouble!”

“No, Dap, no, you can stay, you’re not in trouble…”

Blue slides numbly from the bathroom, treading into the living room to listen to his twin’s loving voice soothing and reassuring JJ through his panic.

“I can’t sleep alone, I can feel him looking at me, and the bed is so cold, I haven’t slept alone in years!”

“I can stay with you if you want, just breathe, Jaimer, just breathe for me.”

Blue’s heart gives one sharp thud of pain. He clenches his fists and thorns and flame wreath his fingers, making them shake. His head swims. He hates this. Anger and guilt and despair.

Forget it.

“I’m right here, Jamie, my Jamie…”

Blue stalks back to his room and locks the door behind him.

Anonymous asked:

You aren't trapped JJ, it'll be okay. See, you can go out on the balcony! No one will take you away and no one will force you to be locked up anymore. Your big brother is letting you leave the room, letting you go out in the fresh air. You'll be okay. Never have to be trapped again.

“I couldn’t get out of my room at night at the hospital, and I was scared, I was scared, but I didn’t want - didn’t want to get stuck, had to be good to get out, had to - ”

“Breathe, Jaimer, slower for me, okay? Slower. They locked your door?”

“They can’t just let people wander at night…”

Jackie rocks them both back and forth on the floor, his brother pinned to his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me that was stressing you out?”

“I just wanted to be good so I could go home. Everybody was always watching me in that place. I’m just always a prisoner.”

“Ah, Dipper… fuck’s sake, I’m sorry this keeps happening. We just wanted you to be better, didn’t mean to reinforce anything he taught you. Were you just masking? Do you even feel better at all?”

“I do feel better, I do,” JJ answers him quickly. “But sometimes I think that coping with this - with all of this - the masking is the coping. If I can hide it I’m doing better. If I can tell that Anti’s not real when I see him across the room, if I can ignore him - that’s better than I was before.”

He’s wiping at his reddened face. Jackie rocks him slowly, watching him.

“But you still feel bad?”

JJ huffs out a sigh and places his head against Jackie’s shoulder, squeezing his knee for a second. “I just got scared, that’s all. There’s a part of me still so worried that Anti is here, in a way. That we’re going to fall back into old patterns. That you’d lock me up if I acted badly or that Blue is going to hurt me because I remind him of Anti.”

Jackie’s eyes darken. “Dude. He wouldn’t do that.”

“I can’t help my paranoia,” signs back Jamie, letting his eyes slide shut. “And I see it in his face: sometimes he does want to hurt me. To melt away the parts of me that remind him of Anti the same way he melted my knife.”

Jackie doesn’t know what to say. He rocks JJ until his brother’s breathing has slowed and his heart is jackrabbiting against the both of them, maybe ten minutes later.

“Let’s go back to bed,” he says softly.

“Don’t leave me,” pleads JJ. “When my bed is empty, he comes to fill the space beside me. His hands run over my stomach.”

“I won’t, Jaimer. I won’t.”

Anonymous asked:

Oh, Blue honey, don't feel too awfully dejected from Jackie running off... You know he's hypervigilant when it comes to the younger three, but I'm sure he'll come back to you. You deserve care and comfort just as much as they do, maybe even more right now. Believe yourself to be worthy of comfort, even though the self-hatred tells you otherwise. Jackie loves you just as much as the others, he just trusts you more to handle yourself alone. For better or worse, honestly.

Blue changes into PJs quietly, the energy gone out of him. For a few minutes, he hears Jackie pulling at the door and calling his name, confused, but he doesn’t answer, and eventually his twin slips away again.

Off to deal with his favorites.

Maybe it’s his fault. He knows how stubborn he’s been. He’s refused help for so long that the others don’t know how to give it to him anymore, or even to recognize that he needs it. He doesn’t like to be fussed over much anyway, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to be babied.

But it might be nice. Just for a minute. It might be nice to have Jackie call him little brother and cuddle up with him in their bed, just the two of them, instead of shying away from each other on either side of the mattress like they do most days. Like they don’t know what to do with each other anymore.

He wonders if Anti was what was holding the pair of them together - Anti and the need to protect their younger siblings. Red hated having a newcomer when they first met, after all. It wasn’t until Anti reset the both of them and shoved them into brotherhood that they decided they loved each other. Maybe they’re not even friends. Just survivors who were stranded on the same life boat, and now that they’re back on dry land, Jackie can go wherever he wants.

He lies in bed for a long time, but he can’t sleep. He’s slept all day. He trudges out into the hallway and peers into JJ’s room, just for a minute.

Jackie is curled around his younger brother, the pair of them asleep on the floor under blankets and each other’s arms. Jackie keeps Jameson safe.

Blue checks on Henrik and Chase.

“Dok?” he murmurs. “Why are you up?”

Henrik turns to him, blinking in the darkness.

“Do you need something?” he asks.

Henrik shakes his head. Chase is asleep in their nest, hand stretched out in the space where his twin should be.

Blue gives Henrik a kiss on the head. “Go to sleep, my darling.”

Henrik gazes up at him. For a second, his scarred hand rises to stroke across Blue’s cheek, cupping his face.

Blue thinks he would probably make everything right if he were here. Henrik would probably open his mouth and make everything in the world right.

He leads his little brother gently back to their nest and lies him down beside Chase, who readjusts instantly to hold him. They’re all magnets, clicking against each other, and Blue is just something plastic trying to fit in.

“Good night, sunshine.”

Henrik watches him leave their room, his blue eyes glittering in the moonlight. Blue closes the door behind him and goes back to bed.

Anonymous asked:

Blue you won't ever be anything but Antis if you keep insisting on not getting help. There's a reason you're not healing and don't feel okay, and it's because you won't talk to anyone, and you won't express how you feel, and you won't see professionals. You are sabotaging yourself. You need to see someone, get outside help. I know what it feels like to hate yourself, and taking it out on others around you is the worst thing you could do. Stop cutting people off with your hatred and guilt.

“I’m so glad you came,” Chase is telling him the next day, over and over. “I’m so glad you’re here. Thanks, I just - I’ve been worried. I love you, you know?”

He does know. He wants to be all fluffy and affectionate with him again, but he doesn’t have the energy. He doesn’t want to be here. But maybe everyone’s right.

He can’t handle this on his own.

“Mathew?” calls the receptionist.

“It’s Matti,” he says wearily, getting to his feet. “Chase, I’ll just be a few.”

“Take your time,” says Chase, squeezing his hand goodbye. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

Blue steps back into the doctor’s office and sits down in an examination room, slumping back against the wall and closing his eyes, worn.

Anonymous asked:

Tell the doctor about the unstable moods and anger you're dealing with, Blue. It might lead to you getting a psychiatrist and someone to talk to.

“So. What are we here to look at, Matti?”

Dr. Bowlan looks at him with this placid smile on his mouth, a clipboard resting on his knee. Blue sighs through his teeth, sick of this already. He knows, doesn’t he? He circled mood swings and irritability on his intake paperwork. He went through the questions the nurse asked him.

“Little interest or pleasure in doing things?”

“Every day.”

“Feeling down, depressed, or hopeless.”

“Most days.”

“Trouble falling or staying asleep, or sleeping too much.”

“Most days.”

“Feeling tired or having little energy.”

“Every day.”

“Poor appetite or over-eating.”

“Most days.”

“Feeling bad about yourself or that you are a failure or have let your family down.”

“Every day.”

“Trouble concentrating on things?”

“Some days.”

“Moving or speaking slowly or being restless and fidgeting.”

“Not at all.”

“Thoughts that you would be better off dead or hurting yourself in some way.”

“… Every day.”

“In the past two weeks, have you done anything or planned to do anything with the intent of ending your life?”

“No.”

“You’re not feeling good?” murmurs Dr. Bowlan, bringing him back to the present.

Blue shakes his head. No. He’s not feeling good.

“I’m taking it out on the others,” he says thinly. “I’m angry at all of them. It has to stop. I can’t help them like this.”

Anonymous asked:

There's definitely some problems here, Blue's clues. Please let the doctor help you find a solution without much sass or fighting it! /lh

“I’ll be as sassy as I want,” Blue mutters. Dr. Bowlan has talked him through every aspect of his feelings that he’s willing to talk about - so a whole five minutes of discussion - and he’s ready to go.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Matti, I think it might be a good idea to try some antidepressants and see how those go. I need to see you again next week and you need to take them every day. The truth is that medication really works best in conjunction with therapy. You could get into the same place as your brother if you would like…”

He listens to him drone on about therapy. He just wants to take the pills and go. Finally, he receives a prescription, and, with a mumbled thank you, he’s gone again. Chase beams at him from the waiting room, but Blue just sweeps past.

Anonymous asked:

I'm so proud of you for going to the doctor for help, Blue!

“Yeah, that’s a good first step,” agrees Chase warmly, hastening after his sibling, not sure why Blue is heading for the alley to the back of the building instead of walking back towards the bus stop so they can get him to work on time. “Blue, the bus stop is - ”

“I don’t need your fucking approval!” screams Blue, whirling on you, and it’s then that you see his eyes are blazing blue. “I don’t want to fucking talk about it! Just leave me the fuck alone, everyone, shut the fuck up, I don’t care!”

Chase leaps back, shocked, as the ground beneath his feet grows hot even through his new shoes. Fire crackles in Blue’s hands.

“Don’t send me another fucking question or another goddamn condescending congratulations or I’m going to - ”

He spins around again, seething through his teeth as his power makes his body shake. He needs to shut the fuck up before he says worse.

“Blue,” begins Chase, and Blue hears the shake in his voice. “You can’t be using magic in the city - there’s magicians, Jackie said - ”

“Just give me a minute!” he howls.

Chase cowers back against the wall and goes quiet.

Anonymous asked:

I'm so proud of you for going to the doctor's, Blue. Just remember that you need this help, and it'll be good for you in the long run. You'll make it through, even dealing with annoying doctor visits and your irritability. Be safe and let the doctors help as much as they can. - 🎒

His heartbeat seems to pulse up into his throat and his breaths come fast and shaky. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He hates this. All of it. Anger like a swelling of magma. Hot. It hurts his chest. He’s going to be sick. Grips his soft stomach and hates that too. Ugly and breaking down. He spits bile and weeds groan up from the cracks in the cement, twisted and back, dead by the time they’re grown.

He knows he’s scared Chase and he hates that too. His brother is hiding beside a garbage can, peering out at him like he used to peer out his broken window, on watch, hiding. Chase has learned how to live like a rat. Hates it, hates it. Flame up his back. He’s wreathed in his own fire. He glows with it - with the power, with the pain. Anger’s just hurt that doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

“We’re done talking about this,” he says through gritted teeth. “Talk to me again and I’m just going to ignore it. Just leave me alone.”

He draws himself up after long minutes. Chase curls in on himself against the trash cans, eyes big and wary. He reaches out to take Blue’s hand but won’t meet his gaze anymore. Head down, scared of him.

It’s his fault. His chest hurts from how hard his heart is beating.

Anonymous asked:

None of the congratulations were meant as condescending, Marvin. The audience is genuinely proud of you. Not everyone is out to annoy you, man. Chase, don't take anything he says personally, Blue is feeling extreme emotions and what's best right now, like with Jackie going to another room when he gets angry, is to just let him blow off the steam in a safe environment.

Chase glances up at Blue, who just ignores the message and keeps pulling him towards the bus. He wants to open his mouth to say something - I’m proud of you and I know they are too, is that so wrong? Why are you so angry all the time, why won’t you eat what I cook you, why don’t you come hang out with me and cuddle a little like we used to? I wish you would talk to me. Haven’t I been where you are? - but he isn’t going to push his buttons. He’s going to be good. He puts his head back down and keeps walking. Blue’s hand is hot in his own.

Anonymous asked:

Chase, were you scared of Blue just then? Maybe you should express that to him and clarify that you still love him despite it? I think he needs time alone once you get home, so on the bus or in this alley is your shot to talk with him about how he's making you feel.

“I’m sorry, I just lost control of the power, I would never let it hurt you,” Blue tells him in one breath, sitting down on the bus and then going silent again.

Chase chews on his mouth, staring at the silver floor of the bus. Yeah, he was scared. He closes his eyes tight. He knows that heat, Blue’s heat, Blue’s flame. It was somehow different from the hot California sun. He remembers feeling it crackle against his skin, making his hair stand up, making the forest floor stink of smoking plant matter and, when Blue got really angry, smoking flesh. He can see his brother plunging the knife into Anti’s chest. Anti is screaming. Blood and ink splurt across the dirt. He smells copper and flame.

He presses his face into Blue’s shoulder and just hides. He squeezes his palm. I love you. I love you.

Anonymous asked:

Chase, it'll be okay, don't worry horribly. You're already doing good thing with small reminders you love him and being patient with him. Your fear is understandable in the face of anger given who your abuser was, but you braved through it like you always do, fighter. Blue needs lots of help right now, the problem is getting him to tell you all what help he needs.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go to work today,” says Chase. If he won’t tell him what help he needs, he can at least try to look after him. Try not to worry. “We could go for a walk. Have a day off. I want to bake a cake or cookies or something, we could - ”

“I’m fine, amata,” says Blue lowly.

Long silence. The rushing by of the city.

“Would you even be taking the antidepressants if I wasn’t around?” Chase asks miserably.

The bus pulls to a stop outside the library. Blue gets to his feet, turning his back to him.

“If I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t have anything worth taking antidepressants for.”

Anonymous asked:

For Blue: It's okay to mourn the person you could have been. It's okay to be angry or resentful at that lost chance. It's okay to be sad about it too. But i, and your brothers, want you to know that there are so many parts of you, the you that exists right now, that are beautiful and lovely and meaningful. Just because your past is lost doesn't mean your future has to be too. You deserve to heal and work through this raging fire in you until it's protective, comforting fire again. We all believe in you.

He’s just… lost all control.

He’s lost control of himself, lost control of his relationships, lost control of his magic. It’s so much easier to lash out than to admit just how… lost he is.

He doesn’t want to talk about it. He really doesn’t.

Stepping into the library, he settles in behind the front desk, accepts a re-shelving assignment from his boss, and gets to work. At least this is something he can do right - book here, book here, mark the date. But it’s so meaningless. He doesn’t know how Jackie gets satisfaction out of just pushing buttons and monitoring the audio.

This isn’t what he was meant to do.

He can sense it, the same way he can sense that this person - this person he’s acting like, this person he’s become - it isn’t who he’s meant to be either.

He doesn’t know how to get that person back.

Maybe he could try changing his jewelry or his shoes or his hair. But it’s so scary to think that maybe, even if he tries everything he possibly can…

The person in the mirror will still not be him.

He re-shelves C.S. Lewis and wipes quietly at his eyes behind the bookshelves.

Chase is chatting to someone on the other side of the library, and it takes Blue a minute to realize that JJ has brought Henrik from home. That’s right, they were going to hang out here today. At least they’re close. His little brothers. He has to keep an eye on them. He has to make sure they’re okay. Even if he only seems to be able to be a jerk around them.

The sound of their voices is the only solace he has. He takes a shuddering breath and gets back to work.

He doesn’t know if he can heal from this. But if it would help them… well, he’ll try.

Anonymous asked:

Blue are there any mirrors in the library? There could be a mirror portal somewhere within that you just don't know the password for?

“I’ve thought about that,” Blue agrees. “I think it’s likely, even. There’s mirrors in the bathrooms and one upstairs in the kids’ section. But I have no idea how to open them even if I knew which one it was. It’s just this feeling that something is here. I wish I knew. I almost feel like I - like I should know.”

But it’s just one more patch of fog in his blank brain. He scowls and tries to stop thinking about it. He wishes he had any past at all to ground himself in.

This is when he notices a head pop over the bookcase he’s shelving.

“Are we talking about magic?” asks JJ cheerily. “I’ll help you look.”

Blue sighs, a little endeared despite himself. “I guess. But how are we going to find the password even if we know the mirror?”

“C'mon, we could at least check things out.”

It feels as hopeless as everything else. Blue mumbles excuses, putting books into their places.

scunneredzombie asked:

You should go with Jamie, have a look around with someone else who has magic understanding! It might be helpful if you teamed up with someone else, Blue.

Blue glances up at JJ, who smiles back at him. Fuck’s sake, he’s a forgiving little man. Blue hopes that’s who he is and not just an abuse response.

“Okay, babe, fine. Lead the way.”

“To the bathroom!”

“What, how are we going to check both?”

“You work here. Just say you’re cleaning it.”

“I’m not a janitor.”

“But I bet you know where the ‘closed for cleaning’ signs are.”

Little shit. Blue rolls his eyes and grins frailly back at him, getting to his feet.

“Come on, then.”

Anonymous asked:

Do either of you know any old Irish sayings/idioms/song verses/poetry? You can use those to take guesses at the mirror password if you think it'd work!

“I’m sure Blue knows plenty of nerdy old poetry,” says JJ.

Blue flicks his ear. “Too much to know what would work. And I think it might be a little suspicious if I just stood around chanting poetry and Irish sayings in the bathroom.”

“It’s not any of these anyway,” says JJ, pushing out the door. “Or the one upstairs. No portals.”

“How do you know?”

“I could feel it if it were.”

“I can’t tell any difference between any of them,” says Blue, frowning.

“With all love, Blue, I’m a little more powerful. But you’re probably just not sensing anything because there’s nothing there to sense. I’m not even sure it’s in this building. Just… near.”

Blue crosses his arms over his chest, annoyed. “I can tell it’s here, alright? I know it is.”

“I’m not doubting you,” says JJ. “I agree there’s something close.”

“Well, it’s not like there’s mirrors just standing in the middle of the field where they have the farmer’s market. It’s just grass and that fountain out there.”

JJ shrugs, moving to the window of the library. There’s the field with the fountain pouring down a straight sheet of water, the bus stop, and beyond it, more buildings and streets. It’s a pretty little library in the center of town, old enough to have stood for years and years.

scunneredzombie asked:

Can mirror dimensions be made by using the reflections in water? If the fountain has water come down in straight sheets or has anything particularly glimmery, that might be a place to check!

There’s a pause between the two of them.

And then they’re pushing each other out of the way to race back out the door, darting out to the fountain in the field.

“It’s big enough to walk through.”

“You can see your reflection in it no problem.”

“It goes all day and all night and over the winter I bet the pool at the bottom freezes over and sits.”

They exchange looks. JJ picks up Blue’s hand and sticks it into the stream, his own fingers wrapped around his wrist.

And Blue still doesn’t sense the stronger magic here, and he does not magically remember a password, and he certainly does not pass through the stream to another world, and yet -

There is a faint memory right here.

And he knows he’s stood in this exact spot, and made his way through the water.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I think this is the place.”

At the top of the fountain, carved in stone, a lapwing bird.

Anonymous asked:

Welcome home again, Magnificent, you've found them!

“Sort of,” says Blue. “If I could actually get through it.”

“We could wait for someone to show up, maybe?”

“I guess I can keep an eye out from the library or something.”

Anonymous asked:

It's a long shot, but maybe try the "I love you, farewell" password that was used on the portal to your house back before Anti? I think it was something like "Te amo, valete". Just a thought!

The recognition of it draws a sudden and brilliant smile to Blue’s mouth and laughter comes bubbling out him, awed.

“Holy shit… that was our password.”

He glances at JJ, who smiles at him.

“We… we hid a mirror in the city, I think, and we… yeah, we had a password, I told Jackie he had to say he loved me before I’d let him leave… it was just a joke, but we say it damn near often enough anyway now, don’t we…”

“I miss that place,” signs JJ softly.

Fuck, but Blue would like to find it again. A home… a real home, just for them.

“Ammo,” he says. “Vale.”

He touches the water, but nothing changes. He blows out a breath. “Well, at least we know ours.”

Anonymous asked:

Are there any Irish poems about birds or lapwings you could try? Or maybe poems or quotes from books, since you're so near the library?

“That’s another next step, maybe,” agrees JJ. “There could be clues in the library. We could go back inside and look, if you’re not, like, remembering anything.”

Blue stares up at the fountain, wishing it could all come back to him. Not just magic but… everything. Like it would fill up some missing piece inside him. Lapwings… he doesn’t know anything about them except that they have to do with the magicians, and that he must have been attached enough to have one inked onto him. He thinks he knows some bird poems, though?

“Hope is the thing with feathers,” he offers softly, but nothing happens. But Dickinson wasn’t Irish anyhow. Maybe he could find some Irish poems or sayings or songs about birds.

scunneredzombie asked:

Yes, I knew it! You guys found it, good job! Now to go about finding the password... Any other memories surfacing, Blue?

“Yeah, that would be convenient,” sighs Blue. “A good old flashback and then we can hop right over to Hogwarts.”

He touches the water again, sighing at the coolness. “A password, huh? Wait, we had a mirror dimension for the five of us. How did you get in and out?”

“You made it work for me,” answers JJ gently. “Doesn’t have to be spoken aloud.”

“What did we do instead? A sign?”

“Yeah, a sign.”

“So it could be any words or any hand motion or anything,” grumbles Blue.

“Or even images. I’ve heard it can be images.”

“Great. Narrows it down.”

“Might be easier to meet some magicians.”

“Well, they won’t show themselves, will they? I’ve been using magic to make roses for weeks now. They don’t seem to have even noticed.”

“You could do something really grand.”

“Yeah, and then they could come try and take us away like you said those British magicians did.” He pulls away from the water, dejected. “They could be just as bad as the British ones. And they told you the Irish magicians had stopped answering them anyway, right? That they’re probably gone? That’s probably it.”

It’s bitter and painful in his chest and he doesn’t even know why.

“The Irish magicians are gone. Even if we could get through, there would be nothing to find.”

“You don’t know that.”

He gives JJ a dark look, feeling himself sinking back down into the mud he’s been stuck in.

“What, you’re hopeful now? Not drowning in your own despair anymore? Guess once the moment of need is over you’re finally ready to poke your head out of your shell and try things for once.”

JJ’s face flashes with anger, and he lifts his hands to shoot back a reply, and then -

Something scared in his face.

He wraps his arms around himself, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion, his mouth going taut, slightly open, slightly unsure -

“Honey,” says Blue, suddenly unnerved.

JJ stares at the world around him, eyes huge, blinking at the sun and the grass.

“Outside,” he signs weakly. “Outside, I’m not - I’m not allowed, I’m supposed to be - ”

Blue grabs his shoulders, trying to steady him. “Dap, stay with me. Hey. You’re fine. I’m sorry, I just…”

“I’m in trouble.” His air is coming faster now, his eyes fixed dangerously on the sun. Blue grabs his chin to pull his gaze away before he blinds himself. “My room. Hurts me, throws me down the stairs. Brat.”

JJ grabs his throat, coughing and pulling at his neck like there’s something wrapped around it, shaking his head.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Blue swears rapidly at himself and wraps an arm firmly around JJ’s shoulders, pulling him hurriedly back towards the library. “I’m sorry, I’m here. I didn’t need to say that, I just… I didn’t need to say that. Come on, we’re okay.”

Anonymous asked:

Jameson, are you okay?? What triggered you, love? You're not a brat, and you're free now, free to leave the room whenever you want. Anti is dead. You're not a prisoner anymore.

“Yeah, you’re good, you’re good,” murmurs Blue, tugging him into the doors of the library and pulling him behind the desk, just grateful that his coworker is upstairs. For all that he gets after him, he knows exactly what JJ wants to do right now - squeeze into a tight space and hide. Which is exactly what he does, hunkering down beneath the computer desk and curling up like a hedgehog, panting.

“Blue? What’s going on?”

“Chase, he just - we went outside and I kind of said something that maybe - but I think it was mostly just being outside, you know, just the sun and everything, I just gave him a little sass for not helping with Anti and - he just - ”

Horrified, Chase races around the desk and falls to his knees beside his brother. “JJ. You’re okay! Fuck, Blue, you two were outside for ten minutes and this - ”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

“What did you say?”

“Just that he didn’t used to try and do stuff, you know, that he would just sit in his room all hopeless.”

“You’re unbelievable,” snaps Chase. He leans closer to wrap himself around JJ, hugging him close.

Blue rears back, pierced. What, Chase is mad? Chase is never mad. Defensive, sure, or scared, or tired, yes, but not mad. That isn’t something that happens.

“Amata, he has a million and one triggers. I was a little short with him, but he just has trouble being outside. You’re just going to pick him over - ”

“Just get out of here, Blue! JJ, can you talk to me? What was it, Jay, what was it? I swear, you and Jackie act like you’re the only ones who are big brothers sometimes! Well, I got people I’m supposed to protect too. And you’re being an ass.”

Blue stares at him, mouth open. Chase doesn’t talk to him like this.

“I’m taking him and Henrik away the second he’s calm,” says Chase, ignoring his gaze, his mouth set stubbornly even though his voice shakes and stammers more than usual, his eyes pricked with tears. “I love you so much but you just keep - you just keep - ugh! If you’re going to treat us this way then maybe you should just leave us alone!”

Blue…

Blue can’t even answer.

He turns away, then turns back. Turns away, turns back.

“You guys were going to hang out here with me today,” he offers lamely.

Where he can hear them. Where he can watch over them.

“We’re going away,” repeats Chase quietly.

He closes his eyes and wraps himself tighter around Jameson, their heads pressed together.

Anonymous asked:

Blue I know you don't want any positive praise or encouragement thrown your way. Maybe you only know the reason but maybe you've just wrapped yourself in cynicism so tightly that you have to push everything out to an arms distance, so you either sit and stew in your own negative emotions, or when you do open up, all that bitterness seeps out and you've proven your cynicism right when things boil over. The world is screwed up, and it's hard to admit that you're screwed up too. It's even harder when you feel like you're asking the same screwed up world for help of all things, but your pride and your cynicism aren't the same thing. You need your pride restored, you need your cynical self dialed back. I hope therapy helps you. I hope the antidepressants don't cause you any grief. I hope YOU believe you can dare to hope again.

Our well-wishes may seem sappy and overly sentimental, but they come from a place of sincerity. The fact is, we don't know how else to help you. We're lost. You're lost. We're all getting redirected in circles but you're going to find a path for yourself. And we'll still be along with you the whole way through.

Blue sits down numbly in one of the big green reading chairs by the window upstairs.

He reads from the corner of his eyes, trying to ignore you, his tongue wetting his mouth. He pulls on his hair and hunches over himself, feeling sick to his stomach again. All the time. It’s his anxiety. Hurts his tummy.

Now he’s made Chase mad.

Chase - Chase wrapped around JJ - picking JJ - wrapped around JJ’s little finger just like Anti was - lying in bed and the two of them are looking at each other, helpless - he feels his arms wrap around JJ and he knows from the way he squirms that he does not like it, but all Anti does is laugh, and Blue can’t do anything about it, can’t make it stop -

He shudders. Cynicism. That’s what it is. He’s lost some ability he used to have. He doesn’t know how to get it back. All that’s left are scars.

A hand on his own pulls him back from his head again. Blue looks up quickly. Maybe Chase came to find him and apologize. To be his cozy little amata again.

But it’s not Chase.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” rasps Blue, swallowing as he tries to put his front of calm back up. “You okay?”

Henrik gazes at him, head tilting slightly. He reaches up and cups Blue’s face. Blue laughs weakly and reaches down to hold the back of his head in return, stroking his fingers through his hair.

“What, are you worried?”

Henrik blinks at him, fingers playing against Blue’s palm.

“Can I have a kiss, then, if you’re worried?” asks Blue boldly, pinching his ear.

Henrik’s mouth thins, his eyes soft.

And then he lifts up and gives Blue a kiss on the side of his temple, scratching his beard for a second. He gets up and turns, and before Blue can say anything, Chase is appearing on the top of the stairs, pale but calm again.

“We’re going to go now,” he says quietly. “JJ just blanked out for a second. He’s fine.”

Blue looks away, sulking. Whatever. Of course he’s fine. What a baby. And now Chase is all on his side. Right away even. Fine, whatever.

“Your shift’s done at six?”

“Yes,” he says shortly.

Chase nods, shifting on his feet, and reaches out for Henrik, who turns to go with him.

“Take the camera with you,” says Blue, pushing your camcorder towards him. “I don’t fucking need it.”

Chase stares at him for a second, mouth pursed. Then he takes the camcorder. He’s pretty sure Jackie hid an emergency GoPro in Blue’s book bag anyway, but it hardly matters.

“Bye,” he says. “Love you.”

Blue glares out the window, simmering. Chase sees leaves budding from inside his clutched fists.

Chase turns unhappily to walk away.

“Love you too,” you hear Blue whisper, and then he’s out of your sight and your hearing.

Stewing in his own negativity, closed off and alone.

Anonymous asked:

Blue, escaping the life with Anti was never going to be a clean ending. I wish you guys could have had a clean slate to build your new lives off of, or at least revert to how things were before, but the fact is, life's not like that. It doesn't matter that you don't want to hear that change takes time, or that you need professional help, or that you can't take care of your family while neglecting yourself: all those things are true.

You can either dig your heels into the ground and insist on drowning in your own self-hatred, or you can admit that you're scared, and accept some help to leave some of that behind you, even if it's just a little. You don't have to pretend to be Marvin, you don't have to continue as Blue. But you need to let go of some of the stubbornness of each identity to move on and become whoever you feel that you are or who you can be.

Whatever the case, we can't force your decision but at least THINK on what we're saying before blindly rejecting it. We care about you, even if you sometimes don't.

It was never going to be clean.

Chase cries in the pews of the Jewish building - he doesn’t know if it’s a synagogue or a temple or just a communal place - where he’s wanted to take Henrik for weeks now. He didn’t plan to be crying when he imagined it, of course. But it was never going to be clean.

It was always going to be Jackie’s screaming in the middle of the night and an ugly burn on Chase’s hand. It was always going to be JJ talking to a monster who is no longer there and a blank stare in Henrik’s face. It was always going to be Blue’s fury and a bottle of antidepressants.

“I wish he had taken Dok and run like he said he would,” he sobs into JJ’s shirt. “That first night he tried to run. In Norway. We were in Norway? I just remember him trying to take Dok and go. I wish he had escaped that night. Then the two of them would still be okay. Not like this. Not like this, this isn’t right, it’s not how it’s supposed to be. At least they could have gotten away. But he stayed for us, I remember, I remember that much. The beach… we were on the beach… I don’t know how long ago. Just not like this.”

He’s the only sound in the whole of the little building. It’s not the most impressive religious building Chase has ever seen. There’s an open area with some fold-up metal chairs and plastic tables and a rickety old piano, and then a partition before the area with the pews and the set-up in the front. The sign on the door says the building is open to visitors but warns that there are always cameras watching, and services are Saturday at six with a community dinner afterwards, thank you very much. It smells like styrofoam and Pinesol. JJ holds Chase in the pews, hugging him wearily. Henrik stands in the corner of the building, tracing his fingers over a glass box holding a huge scroll inside.

“Blue just needs some time,” offers JJ, trying to pull away enough to sign clearly, though Chase refuses to let him go. “Henrik too.”

“He’s so unhappy,” cries Chase. “I hate it, I hate this.”

It was never going to be clean. It was always going to be ugly as fuck and messy and miserable.

Fuck, even if they were still with Anti, things would be even worse.

“He was going to cut my voicebox out,” weeps Chase, stammering so hard he’s not sure JJ can understand him. “Didn’t he say that? He kept touching my throat. Said I didn’t need it cause we can all sign. I didn’t need to talk to anybody but you and him. We were going to be pets. He would have killed the others. It took me too long. It took me so long. If I had fought sooner, they wouldn’t be like this. Still messed up, yeah, but not this much. Not this bad. I should have fought for all of you sooner.”

He lets it come pouring out. The ugliness. If Blue won’t express it, he will.

It was never, never, never going to be anything other than this. Because “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” is bullshit and all Anti did was hurt them. Now they have to come clawing their way back out of the traps he laid in their heads. Maybe they’ll be a little stronger, in some ways, but they’ll also be scarred up and vigilant. It’s traumatic in the same way grief is - it never really stops hurting. You just learn to deal with it better. Every day, if you can, you learn to deal with it better. But some days you just go falling back into the abyss, and you have to start climbing again.

He kisses JJ’s head fervently, one time, two times, again, because he needs to, because he loves him, because he’s sorry. JJ lets him. He smooths tears from his face and just holds him, for a long time.

Someone’s playing Clair de Lune in the other room. Chase covers his mouth, realizing he’s been too loud. Maybe they won’t judge. Not in a place like this.

Long, deep breaths. Long, deep gasps for air. He starts to calm down again. Jamie smells different than he used to. Different than Dapper, who usually smelled like chalk and old mattresses and copper. JJ smells like green apple detergent and coconut shampoo.

“Sorry,” mumbles Chase, realizing he’s gotten snot all over his new shirt, and JJ just shakes his head and presses their cheeks together, rubbing on him like a cat for a second.

“Do you think he’s thinking about it?” asks Chase, sniffling. “About whether he’s going to get some help or not? About if he’s going to be able to get past this?”

JJ nods. Chase nods back, headachey from his crying, and squeezes JJ’s ribs.

“Don’t know how to make it better,” he confesses weakly.

JJ draws away to sign, wiping more of his brother’s tears away as he goes. “It’s not your job to make it better,” he says. “If there’s anything you can do for him, he needs to let you know. But it’s not your job to keep anyone happy. Not anymore. Just you. Just work on making you happy.”

“But I want you all to be happy.”

Jameson grins and draws him back into a hug.

“Together. We’ll work on it together. It won’t be pretty… won’t be clean. But we keep working on it.”

Anonymous asked:

It's not your fault Chase. Don't put the weight of it all on your own shoulders, you'll tear yourself apart. You need to be focused on your own and Henrik's healing most of all right now. Blue is going through a lot, but it's completely reasonable to want to have space from him with how cruel and snappy he's being lately. It's not your job to fix everything. There are a lot of things for all of you to deal with individually, and you mustn't let one of you take on all the responsibility.

“You got too used to it,” signs JJ.

“To what?”

“Trying to make him happy.” JJ looks down at his hands. “Once he got sick of me. You would try to cheer him up or distract him so he wouldn’t come after the rest of us.”

“Did I?” He wipes at his face. “I don’t remember.”

“You were always trying to keep us all safe.” JJ leans against him, looking up at the ark. “We all tried to look out for each other when we could. But now… well, nobody’s being tortured, Chase. Nobody’s dying. We can prioritize ourselves instead of spending all our time worried about one of us being in literal imminent danger.”

“What if he is in danger?” asks Chase miserably. “With himself.”

“Then he needs to start expressing that so we can help,” JJ answers. “In the meantime, we have to look after ourselves, and if we get extra time or energy we’ll try to help each other. And all of us can help look after Henrik until he’s a little more… conscious.”

“He’s my responsibility,” protests Chase.

“We can all help, Chase. Even with him, you can take a break if you need one. We can all look after him. Which, uh, does beg the question… where did he go?”

Chase turns around. His brother is no longer standing by the Torah.

“Shit!”

Anonymous asked:

Uh oh, Doktor on the run! Maybe he went to where the music was coming from?

Chase scrambles to his feet and hurries back to the community area of the building, almost tripping over his feet as he goes. Shit, then he’s probably encountered the person playing the piano, and they’ve probably tried to engage with him, and he’s probably just stared at them, and then they could be mean to him, or think he’s an intruder, or yell at him, or -

But there’s just one person in the room.

Chase stills in the doorway of the partition, staring.

Henrik plays Clair de Lune perfectly, relaxed on the stool of the piano, his fingers drifting easily across the keys.

Anonymous asked:

Woah, Henrik knows piano? Even after so long without playing he can do it perfectly, that's amazing.

“Yeah,” says Chase frailly. “He, uh. He’s a genius. Always was. Even Anti would say that. But I didn’t know he played. I guess I forgot.”

Soft laughter from the piano. Henrik’s laughter.

Chase is frozen, staring at him. Henrik glances back at him and Jameson. His mouth smiles. His eyes are clear.

“Come here,” he signs with a free hand, beckoning. “Come over here.”

Anonymous asked:

Wh- Is Henrik back??! ;0;

Chase steps up to him, letting his hand come down on his shoulder, grounding himself there at his brother’s back. Henrik plays with one hand and reaches up to pull him to sit beside him with the other. He takes Chase’s hands and positions them on the piano.

“Do you remember the scales we were working on?” he asks.

He says it like it’s so normal that it makes Chase jolt on the stool. His voice… his voice like nothing has changed.

“Dok,” he whispers.

“Show me, then, come,” says Henrik, tapping his fingers on top of Chase’s.

“No, I… I don’t remember. Did we used to play?”

“You do not practice while I am at work! You will never learn.”

He’s teasing him. He’s playful.

“Dok, look at me,” begs Chase, pulling his gaze.

And he does. He just - he does. He looks at him.

“What?” asks Henrik, and then, when Chase does not answer: “Something is the matter?”

“Dok, do you know what’s going on? Do you know where we are?”

“Yes?” Henrik’s staring at him like he’s the crazy one. “Yes, home, in the living room. Are you alright? You have not been drinking?”

The warm sun is coming through the window of their house - Henrik can feel it on his face. It’s fall and the leaves of the trees are orange in the forest outside. Queenie leaps up onto the back of the piano and mewls at him.

“Bad girl, get down,” he scolds. “Jamie, are you making coffee? Will you get me a cup?”

Jameson comes up behind him and gives him a hug around his shoulders. Unexpected, but he does not mind. He is new to their family but he already fits right in.

He’s safe and things are good. He breathes out a low, satisfied hum. All is well in the world.

Anonymous asked:

Oh, uh.... Chase, JJ, do you guys know whether you should go along with him or try to bring him to the present time? He seems alright at least

“This could be him waking up,” says Chase, reaching out to cup Henrik’s face. “Dok, Henrik, it’s me, it’s Trick. Chase. We’re in Ireland. We got away from Anti, we’re safe! You can come back to me.”

“Chase,” JJ interrupts. “He’s not in any distress. Why don’t we just take it easy and see if he’ll come back to himself gently? This means he feels safe. It’s a good first step.”

“I want to talk to him.” Chase squeezes Henrik’s hand, pulling him away from the piano. “Deutsch, it’s me. He’s gone.”

“What is happening?” asks Henrik, eyes darkening. “Why are you talking like this? What’s wrong?”

scunneredzombie asked:

Chase, remember after his shutdowns sometimes Henrik would think he was existing back before Anti or he would forget where he was/who he was? This might be a more extreme version of that. Let him come around slowly.

Chase glances at the camera, his mouth tightening, but he gives a small nod, blinking. He looks back at Henrik and Henrik stares at him, obviously confused. Henrik glances around the room, seeming to take in the brick walls and the camera in Chase’s bag for the first time, and Chase sees his eyes start to glaze -

“Schneep,” he says quickly, taking his hand. “Show me how to do the scales again. I’m paying attention now.”

Henrik looks at the piano and settles down again, shooting Chase a look. “You never learn,” he teases. “Okay, set your fingers here…”

Chase lets his brother arrange his fingers. He wishes Henrik were all the way here, yes. But he thinks you’re probably right, and he just needs to be patient, and be glad to have this part of him.

Talking! He’s talking! His heart lifts and he smiles as Henrik starts showing him how to play the scale, chattering at him while Jameson stands beside them, watching along.

“How often do you play, Henrik?”

“You know I’m out here often,” he murmurs back, his free hand beginning a melody on the right side of the piano. “Even at night, after a long shift. But I try to be quiet then. Of course sometimes my more nocturnal brothers join me.”

He clucks JJ’s chin, pinching his beard.

“Are you happy?” asks Chase wistfully.

Henrik grins at him oddly. “What’s gotten into you? Things are good, my friend. What is happiness if not peace and a place in the world where you are loved.”

Beethoven down the keys of the piano, easy and affectionate.

Anonymous asked:

Henrik, how often do you play? Do you know Hava Nagila??

“Oh, boy, how Jewish am I?” snickers Henrik. “Hava Nagila, hava…”

He plays the first few lines and breaks down laughing, shaking his head. “What, I’m Jewish so I know Hava Nagila? Okay, yes, fine, I do. But I know everything. Because I’m smarter than everyone. Checkmate.”

Anonymous asked:

Hava Nagila is just my favourtie old tune haha! Of course you knew it though, no one is smarter then Henrik von Schneeplestein

“Yes, that’s true. You are not only correct but you also have good taste in music.”

Anonymous asked:

Is Henrik... back? Has he woken up? It seems at least part of him has!

Watching Henrik switch through a variety of songs - mostly at JJ’s request, Chase feels a little bit better. Here’s a part of him. Here’s… him, just a little lost. And aren’t they all?

Chase has been thinking more about Dok than Henrik for a long time now. But Henrik isn’t so different than his Dok that it makes any difference, it seems. Henrik is just a more egotistical, less scared, happier Dok. Chase snickers as Henrik melds two songs together within five seconds of JJ’s request and then congratulates his own intelligence. Isn’t this what he’s supposed to be like? Isn’t this what safety looks like on him?

He doesn’t mind. If Henrik is a little confused, he doesn’t mind.

It’s still him.

Anonymous asked:

Anti always said that you were just a more anxious Chase and he was just a quieter Henrik... Maybe you guys didn't change so much after all, hm.

Chase tentatively plays along as Henrik shows him Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. “Maybe we didn’t. Are we good friends, Henrik?”

“Course we are. Who else help you look after the children and pick you up from the party when you are dumb enough to go somewhere there is probably beer? And then you must cook me cheesecake as payment, is only fair.”

“Ah, is that what you like?”

“It’s what I demand.”

Chase laughs. He wonders how Blue and Red and Dapper can seem so different to who they used to be while Henrik doesn’t feel so different from Dok at all. Maybe they just… had each other to hold onto for longer. Someone who always knew that secret name - that secret person they used to be. They never had to be alone.

Chase and Henrik play a timid lullaby, laughing over the keys of the piano.

Anonymous asked:

Do you have any memories of where you are, Schneep..? Would you still feel okay if we told you you're not at home?

“Of where I am?”

Queenie meows at him from the couch. He glances over, but she isn’t there. The house is cool for a moment, and then growing warmer.

Henrik blinks. Looks around.

Something not quite right.

A smell of smoke in the air.

Where’s your hero now? Where’s Jack to save you and your little time traveler now? I’ll burn everything you love to the fucking ground. Just try to run, I’ll find you anywhere. I’ll stalk you til you collapse at my feet.

Henrik stares. A fire has caught along the edges of the door of their home. Outside, the trees are burning.

Chase grabs his shoulders, speaking to him, though Henrik cannot make out the words. He lays his head down on Chase’s shoulder almost on instinct, staring as everything around him begins to change. He hears the cat scream. His head hurts.

“Oh,” he murmurs, as Chase’s hand rises to touch his cheek. “Oh, who did this to you? Why did you not call me?”

He examines Chase’s hand. There is a marred, puckered section of skin, burned badly, maybe down to the bone. Henrik feels sorrow and then fear. He can hear Chase crying. He closes his eyes. He needs to hide. He needs to - needs to go away, needs to - survive this somehow, survive this somehow…

“Oh, I am going to have so much fun with you,” a dark voice growls. “We’re done. You’re useless to me. And that means I’m finally going to slaughter one of you little fucking bastards like I should have done a long time ago.”

“Anti - Anti, n-no more, no more… I want my brothers, I want…”

“No cameras, Dok, no siblings, and no more fucking pretending. I’ll show you just how much of a monster I really am. Just you, me, and a length of barbed wire. I’ve heard that Jews believe you die twice - once when your body gives out and one when everyone forgets you. I’ll be the one who kills you both times, Henrik.”

A line of wire clatters across the floor.

“That’s a promise.”

scunneredzombie asked:

Henrik, stay calm. Anti is dead. Anti is dead and you're free. You have a home with all of your brothers again, an apartment where you all live safely. You have Noodle and Chase and all your siblings who love you and regret not being there to protect you. You are safe and loved still, even if you aren't in the mirror portal you remember.

Henrik doesn’t shake or cry out as his memories swallow him up.

“Dok,” calls Chase, holding his shoulders tight. “Look at me, stay with me. You’re okay. I promise. We been looking after you. It’s okay now. It’s okay.”

His head just sinks down until his chin hits his chest, his eyes sliding shut and his posture curling, like he can hide himself from everything in the world. Chase tries to be gentle with him, tries to ground him at the same time. Soft hands on him. Murmuring to him. Trying not to let him know he’s scared.

After a while, Henrik’s breathing steadies out again. Chase soothes his finger across his chin, trying to draw his gaze, and Schneep looks up at him with big, sorrowful eyes.

Chase sighs and lays his head down on his twin’s shoulder. JJ pecks at the keys of the piano, and after another minute, Henrik takes an interest. He puts a hand out and plays a shy scale, sniffling a little and sitting up, calm again, but silent.

Anonymous asked:

"And just as there is wonder in / every new life created / there is sadness and regret / for the unsaid and unfeted / Just listen for the music / that your ears cannot hear / just strain yourself for the melody / that's so far and yet so near"

Henrik goes back to Clair de Lune, slower now, sweeter.

JJ and Chase sit in silence beside him. When he’s finished, Chase rubs his back until he glances over at him.

“That’s okay, man,” says Chase quietly. “You can just hide a while longer if you need to.”

Henrik gazes at him.

“Ready to go?” Chase asks his brothers, trying not to be sad.

JJ nods. “Maybe if he wakes up in the apartment, he’ll feel safer there. With the cat and your bed and everything.”

“And I can bring him back for services sometime.”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be okay?”

“Yeah. It’ll all be okay.”

“Okay. Come on.”

immabethehero asked:

You did it! You’re out the woods, I’m so proud of you guys! You deserve to relax and enjoy your peaceful lives.

JJ laughs quietly, watching Chase talk to Henrik quietly on the bus, the pair of them pressed close together.

“Out of the woods… well, the trees get thinner every day, at least. Yes. Let’s go home and relax a little.”

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kokoch4n3l · 1 year ago

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DEAD GIRL'S BEACH࿐ྂ "just givin' the same care you gave me, bunny. so whatcha' crying 'bout?"

(KUROKAWA IZANA x f!oc x SANO MANJIRO)

summary: she is a newly graduated psychiatrist and unfortunately, very broke. she gets a job at Sunshine Grove Psychiatric Hospital and catches the attention of a very dangerous patient who likes to hold grudges, even against those who are oblivious of their actions...

pairings: izana x f!oc, chifuyu x f!oc(one-sided), mikey x f!oc

warnings: DARK CONTENT, violence, toxic behaviour, possessiveness, gang violence, criminal activities, drug and alcohol use, mentions of prostitution, non-con elements, non-con drugging, drugged sex, drug addiction, overdose, drug withdrawals, withdrawal symptoms, near-death experiences, extreme violence, past child neglect/abuse, betrayal, misogyny, murder, strangulation, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals and medical treatment/conditions, stockholm syndrome, emotional incest, polyamory, torture, age gap(9, 6, 5 years), masochism, sadism, voyeurism, hard kinks, piv, smut, psychological horror, power imbalance, torture, waterboarding, fear play, major and minor character deaths, UNHAPPY ENDING,(MORE TO BE ADDED)

total series word count: 133 797

moodboard | headcanons & character info

ONE — mr kurokawa

chapter summary: enter Kaneko Maya, a newly graduated psychiatrist with a shit load of student debt racked up and her scary but hot patient from 4th floor, Kurokawa Izana.

cw: unrequited love, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, usage of drugs, mentions of gang violence, mentions of pedophiles, mentions of suicide, mentions of addiction, mentions of alcohol, f!oc with absolutely zero self-preservation skill

—

TWO — beachy dreams

chapter summary: Maya finds herself at Chifuyu's place with his rowdy friends before hitting the club and she's drawn into flirtatious exchanges with a mysterious club owner. Tensions arise when a revelation links Maya's work to her social circle. Izana gives her an intriguing invitation.

cw: mentions of body image, clubbing, alcohol use, intoxication, mentions/implications of forced prostitution, mentions of gang violence, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, f!oc with zero self-preservation skills

—

THREE — iv bags and daffodils

chapter summary: Maya faces a moral dilemma, trying to pick between her livelihood and ethics all while under the watchful eye of the hospital director and her patient, Kurokawa Izana.

cw: inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, mentions of alcohol, mentions of depression, drug use, allusions to sex, abuse of authority, power imbalance, unethical use of drugs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of rape, mentions of murder

—

FOUR — drunk walk home

chapter summary: Amidst the emotional turmoil of guilt due to her job and Izana's treatment, Maya is left to grapple with the harsh reality of unreciprocated love after spending the night at Kazutora and Chifuyu's place.

cw: alcohol use, intoxication, insensitive comments, (badly written)sexual content, (kinda consensual)drunk sex, penis-in-vagina sex, implied multiple rounds, loss of virginity

—

FIVE — little bunny

chapter summary: with the apparent lack of staff at the hospital, Maya has no choice but to clock in despite her begging for a day off and goes through an unforgettable night. good thing she's wearing running shoes.

cw: minor character death, suicide ideation, self-loathing, mentions of vomiting, corruption, exploitation, death threats, murder, torture, blood, gore, non-con drugging, unethical use of drugs, use of weapons, noncon/rape(not mc), noncon touching, mentions/implications of forced prostitution, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, f!oc with zero self preservation skills

—

SIX — the beach house

chapter summary: willing or unwillingly, Maya takes up Izana's invitation and he shows her just what he was feeling the past two months he was admitted into sunshine grove.

cw: DARK CONTENT 18+, abduction, murder, chase scene, noncon drugging, blood and gore, vomiting, physical abuse, slapping, death threats, waterboarding, torture, drowning, near-death experience, dehumanization, objectification, noncon touching, enabler!shion, psycho!izana, PTSD(post traumatic stress disorder), panic attacks, making out

—

SEVEN — the sano family

chapter summary: Maya learns the shocking truth and the tragic life of the Sano Family, all while Chifuyu and Naoto search for answers.

cw: MANGA/ANIME SPOILERS, bribery, noncon drugging, mentions of different torture methods, past waterboarding, vomiting, murder, mommy issues, implied child abuse/neglect, cheating, dehumanization, dubcon, noncon, coercion, choking, thigh riding, humiliation, making out

—

EIGHT — open water

chapter summary: After a phone call with Chifuyu, Mikey and Maya begin to drift closer like two boats caught in a storm and Izana watches with great interest, getting ready to crash down on both of them when the time is right.

cw: dark content 18+, corruption, bribery, implied/referenced prostitution, wet dreams, masturbation(m), jerking off, narcissist!manjiro, mention of past waterboarding, torture, noncon drugging, dehumanization, (slight)humiliation, hand kink, finger sucking, murder, dom/sub undertones, making out, soft dom!manjiro, praise kink, fingering(f receiving), overstimulation, biting, hickeys, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, slightly unrealistic sex, smut, p in v sex, vaginal penetration, dacryphilia, creampie, unprotected sex, aftercare, brief mention of Korean + Japanese history, gang activity, mention of suicide

—

NINE — spider

chapter summary: with a drug deal gone awry, and multiple drug rings raided, Izana decides that he and Mikey need to blow off steam.

cw: dark content 18+, unreliable narrator!maya, stockholm syndrome mentions of suicide, depiction of corpses, blood and gore, character death, funerals, murder, mentions of drugs, police raid, use of weapons, corruption, bribery, mentions of suicide, implied memory loss, implied dissociation, torture, forced drugging, withdrawal symptoms, addiction, vomiting, power imbalance, dehumanization, humiliation, drugged sex, MAJOR dubcon, noncon(tagging this just in case), no prep, unprotected sex, p in v sex, extortion, hickeys, bondage, ruined orgasm, voyeurism, drug use/misuse, fingering, threesome(kinda), making out, unsafe sex, temperature play, waxplay, dacryphilia, sadomasochism, creampie, aftercare, first-degree burns

—

TEN — i don’t smoke

chapter summary: Kakucho forces Maya to face the reality of her situation and Izana reveals some not so nice things to her

cw: DARK CONTENT 18+, unreliable narrator!Maya, vomiting, drug use/misuse, withdrawal symptoms, possibly inaccurate depiction of at-home withdrawal care/survival, first-degree burns, depictions of injuries and burns, blood and gore, hickeys, bite marks, kissing, thoughts of self-harm, emotional manipulation, slight infantilization, betrayal, dehumanization, depiction of corpses, mention of suicide, MAJOR noncon(not detailed), noncon to dubcon, allusions to sex, unprotected sex, forced orgasm, coercion, implied creampie, memory loss, dissociation, past torture, past waterboarding

—

ELEVEN — what was i made for?

chapter summary: Izana gets carried away and Kakucho and Maya do damage control, bringing them right back to the start.

cw: dark content 18+, character death, depiction of corpses, corruption, slight religious themes, suicide mention, suicide attempt, suicide ideation, self-loathing, slight hanagaki takemichi slander, scarring, bite marks, implied relapse, drug use/misuse, mentioned drug addiction, withdrawal symptoms for unnamed drug, possibly unrealistic/inaccurate withdrawal care, possessive!izana, betrayal, mentions of past torture methods(noncon drugging, waterboarding, noncon, noncon waxplay, first degree burns), emotional manipulation, mental health issues, MAJOR dubcon, unprotected sex, no prep, piv, making out, nipple play, hair pulling(m), multiple orgasms, tummy bulge, creampie, implied cockwarming, implied dissociation, aftercare, possessive!manjiro, noncon, mirror sex, coercion, forced orgasms, hair pulling(f)

—

TWELVE — his dead girl’s beach

chapter summary: Mikey thinks about the past while Maya tries to remember what she missed. Izana helps Kisaki choose an engagement ring.

cw: dark content 18+, self-loathing, mental health issues, mentions of scars, mentions of burns, drug addictions, drug use/misuse, withdrawal mentions, mental breakdowns, emotional manipulation, stockholm syndrome, past noncon, infantilization, possessiveness, emotional incest, mommy issues, dehumanization, oral sex(f receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, implied multiple orgasms, slight hair pulling(m receiving), praise kink, dacryphilia, dom/sub undertones, overstimulation, aftercare, slight ooc!Kisaki, draken & og toman slander, mental health issues, depression, vomiting, toxic and unhealthy relationships, implied emotional abuse, past character death, past picture taking, implied voyeurism, scars, memory loss, kissing, smut, handjob, piv, no prep, dissociation, creampie, use of guns, blood and gore, depiction of corpses, major character death

—

THIRTEEN — can’t catch me now

chapter summary: Mikey goes to the Philippines, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. Takemichi returns to the future. Maya keeps her promise to Izana.

cw: dark content 18+, manga and anime spoilers, multiple character deaths, murder, guns, use of weapons, stabbing, mentions of suicide, blood and gore, depiction of corpses, scars, torture, depiction of wounds, unhealthy attachments, toxic and unhealthy relationships, vomiting, suggestive themes, mental health issues, depression, dark impulses, emotional manipulation, blackmail, corruption, bribery, torture, allusions to sex, suggestive themes, dehumanization, toman + draken slander, slight grandpa sano slander, non-linear narrative in one part, slight emotion incest, funerals, grieving

—

BONUS — sugar bunny

chapter summary: how Maya's first day on the job would have gone if she had been nosy or, Izana and his sugar baby bunny

cw: dark content 18+, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals and medical treatment/conditions, canon typical violence, gang activity, dehumanization, drug addiction(c*caine), drug addiction recovery, drug withdrawals, withdrawal symptoms, abuse of power, murder, non-graphic torture, blood and gore, panic attack, blackmail, alcohol, slight sugar baby-sugar daddy dynamic, suggestive themes, possessiveness, gold digger!oc, guns, vomiting, threats, very fast-paced, making out, kissing, implied smut, suggestive themes, slight bondage, implied virginity loss, collaring(?), open ending, not edited

notes: cross-posted on my wattpad. I DO NOT condone any of these behaviours or any crimes committed in this fic. This is purely for my own entertainment. Please read all the warnings before each chapter.

All medical terminology is inaccurate and inconsistent as I know nothing about psychiatric hospitals. However, this is a fanfiction so I will write the way that fits the plot the best.

Takes place during the Manila Future Timeline with bad Toman. This fic is simply my take on what happened during that timeline and it will include many canon aspects from the Tokyo Revengers manga/anime.

I CAN NOT write [y/n] fics to save my life so the oc has a name. If you do not like that, then do not read, simple as that.

Enjoy! Asks, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. It gives me the motivation to continue writing.

this work belongs to me. do not copy or steal my work and do not use my work in any AI or chatgpt program. I also do not want any republishing or binding of my work

banners all done by myself

all dividers by @benkeibear

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the-hem · 2 years ago

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"The Threefold Boy Scout Penis." From the Chandogya Upanishad, the Exploration of the Mysteries of the Priesthood.

Chapter V − The Threefold Nature of Food

1 "Food when eaten becomes threefold. What is coarsest in it becomes faeces, what is medium becomes flesh and what is subtlest becomes mind.

2 "Water when drunk becomes threefold. What is coarsest in it becomes urine, what is medium becomes blood and what is subtlest becomes prana.

3 "Fire when eaten becomes threefold. What is coarsest in it becomes bone, what is medium becomes marrow and what is subtlest becomes speech.

4 "The mind, my dear, consists of food, the prana of water and speech of heat."

"Please, venerable Sir, instruct me further."

"So be it, my dear"

In Vedic times, priests were supposed to get a medical degree from the Teacher as well as learn how fathom the secrets of creation.

Rishis were the boy scouts of their era. They had to learn to make fires, teach proper food preparation, administer cures to the sick, listen to people bitch and moan all day long about their problems and solve disputes. They were the only people that could read and write, conduct experiments, record their processes and results for others to use.

But this is not a medical textbook, it is an Upanishad, so we have look below the surface. Upanishad means “to explore”.

Coarse Food is phenomenal experience. It is the cycle of consuming through the mouth, the eyes, the nose, ears, across the skin, and transforming what is eaten through digestion into fuel for some vital function.

You need to eat to grow and be healthy, the mind needs to witness, learn, read, emote, create, ideate, and think.

Water is intriguing to me, because it ranges in power from pee to Prana. Water, Jala, (Ja-la) is “the wellspring”. Water when consumed becomes blood, urine, semen, lymph, etc. and these reside in the body till they are expelled through the penis cock.

Prana, the Vitalizing Spirit, take a deep breath guys, enters creation through the union of semen and an egg. It could be said to be excreted again through the penis.

So, watery things are considered more subtle than “coarse” things, the former nourishes the faculties, the other, has the power of creation..

Fire…Fire, speech, is the most subtle. Fire is also a creator, but of ideas, good, bad, the sacred and the profane.

The Mind…the mind stitches all of one’s experiences of life together and maintains them for reference.

All together, Food creates you, Water creates other human beings, Fire creates the environment, the Mind integrates them into a seamless, contiguous, brief glimpse of Creation itself.

So what? We talk about this stuff all of the time. What do we do differently?

As a westerner, I found this simple, non-mythical approach to how things work to be a relief. We don’t know why intercourse creates life or how. We don’t know why the human mind is such an amazing instrument or why thee hell God trusted us with these amazing things because we sure don't seem to want to do anything right or proper or good with them.

But there is still a little time left. This is the purpose of this Upanishad, to unearth the Glories and Greatness of the Creator, and train us in how to use the gifts He has given us and give us a new vocabulary about them. Then, as fully ordained Teachers ourselves, to Spread the Word.

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ajwinter-is-a-nerd · 2 years ago

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Le Chat Et Le Serpent - Chapter 56

Please note that the entirety of this story is a ****TRIGGER WARNING***** - mentions of child abuse, graphic violence, alcohol use, mental health, suicide, suicidal ideation, self-harm - basically a constant blow of pain towards the characters - as well as some "steamier" moments.

Chapter Summary:

Chloe gets Akumatized. Luka is getting fed up.

Chapter song (included in body) is Everything I Wanted by Billie Eilish

Hopelessly, Chloe looked back up at the building, as if maybe she could suddenly understand. Clutching her broken phone, her tears of hurt and confusion ran freely. With her emotionally blurred vision, she barely noticed as a purple butterfly landed on her phone.

“Jesus, Chat! Are you drunk or something?” Ladybug screamed as he stumbled on the roof.

He let out his baton to balance himself against the tilt of the roof. “No, sorry M’Lady, just a little sick.”

Carapace put his arm around Chat, keeping him steady. “Dude, you can probably sit this one out.”

Together, they looked at Chloe’s Akumatized state. Lila’s failures were all but clear as Chloe sat, a merely larger version of herself, in the Seine. She was sobbing, but her tears weren’t a threat. They didn’t thud with force, nor did they threaten the water levels of the river. The only thing dangerous about the situation was Chloe’s own self-despair.

“No! This might be a trick! Chat, distract the Villain!” Ladybug ordered towards the buckling hero.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Chat tried to deny Ladybug. “M’Lady, don’t you think it would be better if Rena sent a Mirage of me?”

Ladybug burned red, how dare he? “No! Chat! Get over there and distract her!”

The disagreements brewing to be voiced among the holders were muted by Chat leaping forward to Chloe. He rubbed the trickle of blood coming from his nose. Was Plagg right? That all it was, was an additional stress response? Did he have some uncontrollable urge to follow anyone’s commands?

It felt strange, standing on top of the ‘abandonment bridge’, as he liked to call it, to look at Chloe heartbroken from his own heartbreak.

“Chloe?” Chat supported his weight on the railing of the bridge.

“What?” She grumbled before wiping her nose.

“Don’t let Lila take your power away. Don’t let her take your control.” Each word was weak and raspy.

Chloe tilted up her chin to see the dishevelled hero. Blood still stained the underside of his nose.

“I’m… I’m so sorry.” Chloe trembled as she passed Chat her phone.

Lila was screaming in Chloe’s face, but she was not phased. She’d lived her entire life with her mother’s shrill voice spitting at her.

Seeing the Akumatized object land in Chat’s hand, Ladybug zipped beside him. He continued to hold the phone as he spoke to Chloe.

“Thank you, Chloe. You’ve done really well today. I’m proud of you.” Chat nodded his head to her, not thinking of the consequences of Ladybug taking the object from his hands.

“Good job, Chat.” Ladybug praised him before she crushed the phone.

“NO!” Chat screamed, dropping his baton into the water.

The purple ink was blotting off Chloe as she fell into the heavy current.

Chat had no idea if she was ignorant or malicious as he saw magical ladybugs dropping from his peripherals. Chloe’s head had already fallen below the surface as he struggled through the icy water. Even with super powers, it doesn’t help if you don’t know where the person is.

The tower. She was crying while staring at Adrien’s apartment. Why was everything so dark?

Her skin felt heavy as she tried to force her eyes open. She couldn’t tell what direction was which, all she knew was that her body was moving. Spinning like laundry in a washing machine.

Stretching out her arms she grasped for anything to ground herself. To stop moving. Anything.

A shine of silver slid past her. The metal burned her fingers as she clung to it.

The baton kept slipping along the ground as he used it to propel himself over the water. The other holders were running to help, but Chat had no idea if they would get there fast enough.

Bringing his baton up again, it lodged itself in the ground, throwing off his balance. He spiralled through the air before plunging into the dark waters. He wished he’d thought to power up Plagg before leaping over the water.

The water rushed through his hair as he started recoiling his baton. As it got shorter, he finally saw what had thrown off his balance.

Water shot up and onto the crowd that had gathered near the edge of the water. Chat held onto the end of his baton with Chloe tightly against his chest.

Shifting his weight, Chat tilted the baton to drop towards the walkway edge. He landed firmly against his knee and boot. Carapace quickly took Chloe from his arms to bring her towards the waiting ambulance.

“Chat! You should seek medical attention too, you might get hypothermia!” Pigella ran towards Chat who now rested with both knees on the cement, his wet hair dripping past his face.

He lightly shook his head. It would be too risky. To get any real help he’d need to detransform.

“It’s okay, I’ll take him. Come on, Chat.” Ladybug lifted him off the ground.

“Thank… thank you m…” Chat’s vision went dark.

Pink.

All Adrien saw when he opened his eyes was pink.

He blinked again, were his eyes playing tricks on him?

The room smelled sweet, an aroma of fresh bread and sugar.

Blink.

A photo board was beside him on the wall. Countless of pictures of himself, including the first one of him and Luka together.

Was he in Marinette’s old room?

How did he get here?

“Oh! You’re up!” Marinette beamed. “I’ll be right back!”

No!

How did she convince Ladybug to take care of me?

What the hell was Ladybug thinking?

Marinette came up with a beaming smile and steaming hot chocolate. “Here, to help warm you up.”

He carefully brought out his fingers to take the hot drink.

Does Marinette know I’m Chat now?

“What a crazy night! And isn’t it amazing how things work out?” Marinette’s excited jittering shook the bed, threatening the stability of the hot drink in Adrien’s hand.

Overwhelmed, Adrien took a sip from the thick drink. It burned his lips, but was a soothing warmth that trickled down his neck to his stomach. His head was thudding, but it wasn’t the headaches he was used to. It felt like nails on a chalkboard, but didn’t pull in any direction.

“I just,” Marinette fiddled with the blanket in her fingers, “can’t believe all this time… I was in love with you and you were in love with Ladybug.”

Adrien choked on his hot chocolate, sending some of the burning liquid through his nose.

No.

Noo.

NOOOO.

Why didn’t I see this before?

This is why Ladybug has given me nosebleeds too.

I have nowhere that’s safe.

“Oh, sorry, I should have broken the news a little easier.” Marinette dropped her head. “It would have been so much nicer if Viperion would have just agreed to help us share our identities.”

Luka. Luka knew. He had to. Why would he keep that from him? Did she really ask him?

“Marinette… did-did you really ask Viperion to help?” He rubbed just above his temple. He’d dreamed for years of finally knowing who was behind the mask; now it felt empty, like a terrifying trap.

“Yeah, but then you guys dated and he let it go to his head. He knew that we were meant to be together.” Marinette snuggled her head in Adrien’s lap.

Adrien held the hot chocolate tighter in his hand. Simple things, such as steaming mugs, worked as a reminder as to how much had changed. The hot ceramic felt entirely different against his hand than it would have months ago. Now, with a thick layer of scar tissue along his palms that there was a disconnect from himself and the mug.

He stayed in that position until she fell asleep and his hot chocolate turned cold. He was frozen. There was nothing left.

Chloe was thrown away.

Nathalie’s international dealings made her more absent than Gabriel.

Alya and Nino were going to have their own family, not like he was allowed to see them much anyway.

Luka only existed as a memory, cruely pinned to a cork board of obsession.

No. He still had Plagg. At least he had Plagg.

They say before you start a war

You better know what you're fighting for

Well baby, you are all that I adore

If love is what you need, a soldier I will be

Angel With a Shotgun by The Cab

Adrien stood before him, smiling with his emerald eyes shining. “I mi~ss~ed you!”

Luka ran towards him, was it really him?

Every time he stepped closer, Adrien grew greyer.

“Adrien!” Luka‘s shout came as a whisper.

Sand started to trickle down the sky, falling along Adrien’s skin. He held his palms out to the harsh downpour, it rawed his hands. His eyes looked back at Luka, but they weren’t emerald. They were flat. A lifeless shade of paper.

“Get out of the sand!” Luka tried to yell again, but could barely hear his own words.

The sand fell over his head, it became dry and lost its shine. When he brought his eyes to Luka again they were swollen, a deep violet pulled nearly down to his cheekbones.

Why was he staying in the sand? Why couldn’t Luka get to him?

The sand pulled at his skin, taking his soul from his body. His cheeks started to cave as he watched Luka in fear.

“You’re too late.”

Luka wheezed as he woke from his nightmare, his head pounding. Throwing his hand to the side, it hit flesh.

Adrien?! Luka pulled at the blonde haired man beside him in elation.

The man flipped to his back with a thump. Coffee brown eyes opened in confusion.

“Hey, you.” The strange man smiled at him. “Did you sleep well?” His hands started to slide across Luka’s chest.

Gritting his teeth, he refrained from breaking the man’s fingers as they trailed over the Miraculous tattoo.

“Are you okay?” The man lifted his head to approach Luka’s face, his hands running up to Luka’s jaw.

“Get out.” Luka growled.

“What?” The man took his hand back, genuinely confused. “I thought we had a good-,”

“Get the fuck out of my room.” Luka stood from the bed to go to the hotel bathroom, nails constantly drilling through his head.

As he washed his hands he could hear the slam of the door. Stumbling out, he witnessed Sass hovering over the room in dismay. Each day Luka seemed to fall apart more.

Ignoring the dissatisfaction from his Kwami, he checked his phone. Countless of notifications flooded him for things he cared nothing about. Finally, he found the daily update he was waiting for.

Nathalie: We need to meet up. I’ve found something extremely important.

Thank God. Luka thought to himself.

The next familiar name made his heart drop.

Adrien: LADYBUG ASKED YOU? TO HELP REVEAL IDENTITIES?! Did you fucking know? Did you know that Marinette was Ladybug?

Fuck.

“I should be there. She’s torturing him.” Luka grimaced as he grabbed the half bottle of schnapps off the floor, downing approximately three ounces.

“You need to stop hurting yourself over things you can’t control.” Sass stated, trepidatiously watching the bottle tip into Luka’s mouth.

With the edge taken off his headache, he stepped in front of the mirror. He’d forgotten that his hair now had a shock of electric blue through it.

Sitting at the back of the limo, Luka pressed the soles of his shoes against the edge of the leather seat perpendicular to the one he was atop. Slumping, he struggled to understand why people still flashed their cameras at tinted windows.

The radio softly played in the background.

Broken mirrors and broken thoughts

I want you here, don’t you know that?

“Turn it off!” Luka shouted to the driver.

Confused, the driver checked back at him through the rearview mirror.

I love you more than I can bear

Why can’t I just come home?

“I said turn it off!” He shouted louder than before.

Finally comprehending, the driver shut off the music. He felt the man in the backseat was too on edge to be told he could control the music himself.

The producers kept latching on to the songs that he wrote about Adrien. He tried to suggest other songs, but it always came back down to the same response. Those ones were more real. They were heartfelt. The contract only protected them so much.

Luka literally signed the paper to his own despair.

“Late, again.” Nathalie opened the door for him. As she limped towards her chair she shared her distaste for Luka’s state. “You look like your father.”

“Abandoning the ones you love. Sounds like I took on a few of his traits.” Luka took the smoke out from behind his ear.

Frustrated, Nathalie pulled the smoke from his hand. “Do NOT smoke in my hotel room.”

“Did you figure anything out yet, Nathalie?” Luka took the cigarette back and set it back behind his ear.

“Yes.” Nathalie lowered her head. “I found a way to destroy the power of the rings without causing mayhem.”

Luka pressed his elbows against the table, excited that his threat to go home may actually be justified, maybe even supported.

“To end the line of the twins.” Nathalie stared into the wood grain of the table.

“Oh!” Luka raised his hands to the side as he leaned back in his chair as fury shot through him. “Just that? All we have to do is kill him and Felix? Why didn’t we think of that before?”

“I know.” Nathalie’s lips trembled at the blunt reality. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We’re not going to kill Adrien.” Luka gripped the edges of the table, preparing to flip it. “Are you seriously thinking that’s a viable option?”

“Luka, I don’t know what we need to do! We need to find more answers but - but we can’t seem to find any!” Nathalie devolved to sobs.

“Nathalie. I’m tired of this shit. I want to go home. We can fail at research there too. I’m done. Felix is arrested. Adrien is making midnight calls of terror. I can’t do this anymore.” Luka stood up, despising that she got his hopes up for the opportunity of a lead to tell him that they might as well just kill the twins.

“Luka, remember that you will kill him! Until we figure out a viable plan, with Marinette and those rings - it’s too risky! Every time he comes that near to death he is going to lose a part of his cognitive functioning. If you don’t kill him… you’ll just…”

“Ruin him?” Luka rolled the edge of his smoke in his hand. “Have you been watching the news? Have you seen Marinette PETTING HIM LIKE A FUCKING DOG?”

“I understand, but isn’t it worth it if we can save him?” Tears ran down her face. Why did she ever give the rings to Ladybug?

“I’m going home. I’m not going to stand by and watch him crumble anymore. I’m taking Plagg and we’re going to cataclysm those fucking rings.” Luka preemptively stuck the smoke in between his lips.

“Luka… but… that could kill you.” She watched her fingers nervously toy against each other. He was willing to sacrifice everything.

“At least Adrien would be free.” Luka shook his head as he walked towards the door.

“And the beasts, Luka. The beasts…” Nathalie was already timidly hiding within herself.

“The Kwamis have been around for years to handle dark creatures. Not everyone had a Gabriel.” Luka slammed the door behind him as he left.

Author's Notes:

Alright real talk, I was pissed after I had written this and then later down the road watched the episode where Kagami gets akumatized and sits all depressy in the Seine. Obviously, the circumstances were quite different, but I made a humpfh noise nonetheless.

So - the message - with identity - what bothers Adrien the most is that Luka didn’t tell him and continues to ignore him. It’s not that he’s necessarily infuriated that Luka didn’t offer up the opportunity - but that it was hearing it from Marinette instead of him.

Luka’s ‘Fuck’ is in realization that they’ve now entered danger mode - it’s undeniable that Marinette knows she can control Chat Noir and control Adrien more.

Luka omg my heart. He’s trying so hard to dissipate his own hurt while trying to keep Adrien safe and it’s tearing him apart. Listen HE WOULD RATHER DIE THAN TO BE FORCED TO BE APART FROM ADRIEN ANY LONGER Because his vices aren’t working, but then again, they never really did.

I can see Luka’s sarcastic anger far too well when Nathalie’s like - Felix and Adrien can die? I have created their image and voice in my head to a scary amount.

I did not include 'Angel With A Shotgun' as a chapter song because we will see more of it later.

Disclaimer * The characters and original plot were written and created by Thomas Astruc. This writing is merely an interpretation in a sad gay type of way.

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