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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years ago

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They've Made of Our Bodies a Bleeding Stair

Jesper and Kaz try to retrieve Inej from Ketterdam without being recognized and murdered—and without Kaz getting ransomed back to Ravka as the the wayward Sun Summoner.

11k | Sun Summoner Kaz AU pt. 2 | Jesper/Kaz, Inej, past Kaz/Darkling content note: non-linear narrative, explicit sex, roleplay of past rape

“I want you to be him.”

“Of course,” Jesper replies. Then, articulately, once his brain’s caught up, “Uh. What?”

“The Darkling.” Kaz has turned his face away. He’s looking at the ramshackle marriage bed that takes up the bulk of this room he’s lured Jesper into. He unerringly picked the right closed door, too; he skipped the squeaky floorboards, as if he knew the exact layout of this—but it’s Kaz. He knows everything, even some dilapidated house in the Kerch countryside. The bed was probably a masterpiece of craftsmanship, when it was carved from some dark wood, a thousand years ago or whatever. The way it looks, it must’ve been old already when the previous owners of this farmhouse got it, and from the state of the house, they abandoned this place decades ago. Quite a lot of the furniture’s missing, either sold off when the place was left or stolen afterwards, but that bed was too worthless already.

The mattress is still there too. Probably fucking teeming with moth larvae and maggots and their combined accumulated shit, so it doesn’t bode too well for Jesper, how forcefully Kaz is staring at it.

“Please say it doesn’t involve the bed.”

“You said yes,” Kaz rasps, which is all the information Jesper needs to start gagging. Fake-gagging, for now, but if he sees even one wriggly little worm he’ll…

Bed. Darkling. That still doesn’t really… Want you to be him—oh—

“Yes, Jesper.” And how the hell with his ramrod tense back still turned towards Jesper—Jesper, who’s done nothing at all, hasn’t said anything except to register his displeasure at the idea of bathing in insect faeces and their squirming little manufacturers!—how the hell Kaz has realized that Jesper’s figured out what he probably means—it must be a confidence trick. Kaz likes those. But how—yeah, it’s not the point, but trying to understand whatever magic Kaz is using on him right now is much, much better for Jesper’s sanity than dwelling on the fact that Kaz might just have insinuated that he wants Jesper to pretend to be the Darkling, specifically the Darkling from that time he told Jesper about back in the Little Palace, the time he threw up after. The time he thought he could suppress his discomfort with touch long enough to seduce the Darkling into a partnership—seduce seduce, which means he wants—to flirt with Jesper? To sleep with Jesper? Is he actually saying he—

Oh. There’s a cracked mirror on the wall above the bed. That’s how Kaz saw his face.

Jesper would chalk the hallucination up to a hangover, but he’s not even drunk. Neither is Kaz, unless this old ruin of a farmhouse they broke into this morning is hiding barrels of wine the local youth haven’t made off with yet. Also, if he was hallucinating Kaz propositioning him he would—well, Jesper at least hopes he’d have enough self-respect not to make himself a stand-in for the man who bought and imprisoned Kaz for two years, controlled him by using his fears and modifying his body and cutting him off from every other person in the whole court, taking every single object he could have used to protect himself, and whatever those weird spines in Kaz’ chest are he’s probably responsible for them too. Jesper would not, actually, like the first and probably only time he’s allowed to kiss Kaz to be some kind of revenge-by-proxy thing where he recites the Darkling’s lines while Kaz swallows back bile, and then Kaz beats him up. Or murders him. It’s pathetic, but Jesper always imagined that kiss a little sweeter. Kissing over Haskell’s corpse. Kissing over the Darkling’s corpse. Kissing over the corpse of some other piece of shit who’s stupid enough to try using Kaz as their possession.

“Just warning you, I don’t have the costume or the script, so don’t expect something worthy of the Komedie Brute,” is what Jesper says instead.

Kaz’ eyebrow quirks. “You’re acted before, haven’t you? Improvised. You can flirt your way into anything. That was the main reason I kept you around.”

“You kept me around because I’m gorgeous, funny, and an incredible shot. I just play myself, if it’s seduction! Why would I improve upon perfection?”

“This isn’t seduction. He’s already locked me in the Little Palace for months at this point. Two escape attempts have failed. This is… speeding up the process,” Kaz says, nonchalantly enough it makes Jesper want to puke.

Which won’t help anything. He’s already agreed. And Kaz doesn’t care about moral objections, only practical ones. “I need more info. I haven’t actually met the Darkling.”

“You’ve met powerful men. You’ve met men who believe their righteous cause entitles them. You’ve met men mired in greed and vengeance—you’ve met me.”

“I like you.”

“Pretend you don’t, then. You used to complain about me in the Slat—of course I know, I knew everything that went on in the Dregs. You hated the way I seemed to know everything, and held it over you—so does he. You disliked my single-minded focus, the way you all seemed like pawns to me, my mockery. The way I held myself as something far superior to you. That’s a start.” Kaz limps a slow quarter circle around Jesper, and his dark eyes are burning with loathing. Jesper would hold him if he could. “You’re not asking why?”

“Uh, now that you mention—”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

Jesper sighs. Of course. He’s never expected anything else. Then he stands up straight, assuming his best the stick in my ass is so long it’s knocked the word fun from my brain pose that hopefully may pass for authoritative and slimes out, “What business, Mr Brekker?”

“Sun Summoner. Or Sunshine. He figured out Brekker’s a fake name on the first day.”

“Kaz Brekker’s a fake name?!” Jesper should have seen that coming, really… what does he even know about Kaz Brekker, truly? Except—

“It’s a name. It’s real enough. It’s feared. It’s mine.” Kaz’s eyes travel over the cobwebbed wall of the farmhouse bedroom, as if he was searching for the next lie to spin. Except that isn’t one of Kaz’ tells—Jesper’s seen him bamboozle and convince marks of the most stupid tales, and when Kaz wants them to believe him, he looks earnest. Young, depending on the role he plays, old, eager, stupid or wise. He doesn’t bother lying to Dregs, or rather: he doesn’t bother convincing them, usually. All his words are backed by the brutality of his cane. Who could be stupid enough to question even his weirdest utterances. “It just happens not to be one I was born with.”

“So what you’re saying is, the Darkling’s just not Kerch enough to get you?” Jesper grins. “Ketterdam, really—you know, I always really liked that about the Barrel, that healthy dose of ‘You are who you want and we don’t give a fuck to correct you.’ Anyway. Got it. You’re Kaz Brekker, but he’s a dick. Mr Sunbeam, what brings you into my office this evening?”

“The fete, Aleks.” Kaz shrugs off his coat, and then the purple kefta, too. He holds out the kefta in front of him, like he’s expecting Jesper to put it on. Well. That’s as good a start as any, and so Jesper turns and lets Kaz dress him into the robe he never wanted to wear.

“Then he says, ‘You must be nervous. After all, there are few gatherings in the Ketterdam slums that involve such spectacle.’” Kaz has sanded down his rasp somewhat, sounding almost smooth and seductive. He goes into a spiel of the Ravkan court and the inferiority of the Barrel that thankfully, he carries all by himself. Jesper wouldn’t even know what to say, except ‘Stop talking shit about the Barrel, you prick’ and that’s not exactly in character.

Kaz’ eyes periodically dart down to Jesper’s hands, and he realizes he’s fidgeting with the hem of the kefta’s sleeves. He stops.

“I am ready,” Kas says in his normal voice. His normal talking to a mark voice. “I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.” He stands up straight. Equally on both his legs. He winces. He’s not holding his cane, Jesper realizes. He’s not wearing his gloves. “I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.”

“Uh… great. We’ll be great together. Do great things. Better partners than enemies. Some of those rumours even freaked me out, you know—that kid with the wind-up toy in his throat—”

“Think before you speak, Jesper,” Kaz hisses. “Never let me lead. Never give me control. Every word is a cue to corral your prey where you want it—whether a compliment or a barely-there hidden threat.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Sometimes.” Kaz meets Jesper’s eyes. The tense mask of his face breaks into a smirk. “To be honest, I find the subtle craft of manipulation is wasted on you. You’ll obey anyway. Let’s go back to the start, and focus.”

Jesper shrugs off the kefta again and then lets Kaz dress him, again. He does his best imitation of Kaz, of that early Kaz before Jesper learned how he takes his coffee and before he saw the brutal twist of his face, that one time when the Dime Lions had Jesper on his knees and shoved a gun in his mouth. He plays the imperious tactician in his office who told his goons to drag Jesper up four flights of stairs with a bag over his head, ready to be shot for his debts, and then sold him on the one thing that gave his life meaning.

He insults Dirtyhands’ father and mother to his face, and gets really into it, too: Ketterdam’s full of idiots who’d miss the love of their life because they were busy trying to pry cobblestones off the streets to sell for half a sausage, and the harbour’s so filthy even the fish won’t fuck in it—keeping the brothels in good fish-ness, haha. Because the fish rent rooms so they don’t get fishy sex diseases from the water. Do fish get diseases from sex?

“Kill me now,” Kaz moans, and that one’s probably deserved.

“Anyway, my Sun Summoner, I’m sure you’ll perform well,” Jesper says with just the tiniest hint of slime.

“I am ready. I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.”

Jesper moves slowly, idly: not caging him in against the bed yet but definitely implying he can and will.

“I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.” Kaz swallows. “‘That means a lot to me. You mean a lot,’ is what you say now.”

How come the Darkling’s not constantly slipping on his own slimy slime trail?

“That means a lot to me.” Jesper gives Kaz a deep, smouldering look. The pockmarks on his cheeks. The jumping muscle in his jaw. The hint of a pained grimace from standing unaided. The boyish grin when he’s totally fucked over another gang boss and gets to gloat. The vicious hatred when someone touches his Crows. Licking powdered sugar off his gloves. “You mean a lot.”

And that’s it. The way Kaz looks at him—this is when the Darkling makes his move.

“I have been waiting for you for so long,” Jesper purrs smarmily, closing his eyes, moving in for the kiss, and—Kaz isn’t there anymore.

It was a single step backwards, because Kaz has hit the edge of the bed already, face blotched with humiliation, and the way he looks at Jesper is—angry is the least terrible interpretation. If he backs out now, Kaz is going to kill him for pitying him or catering to a weakness that honestly—how is not wanting this weak? But Kaz is Kaz, and Jesper’s just Jesper, and—

“Focus,” Kaz hisses. “You own Ravka. You will own the Sun, too. You have waited for this triumph—take it.”

“Why don’t we take this to the—” fuck you, Brekker, for making me say this— “bed, then? Take off your clothes. Don’t be scared.”

That’s a good dig. The kind of insult that looks super caring, unless you know Kaz enough to understand he sees any crack in his image as a dangerous failure. Jesper’s getting the hang of this malicious flirting thing, finally. When this is over, he’ll need to scrub the slime off himself twice.

Kaz looks at Jesper while he disrobes. At him, Jesper hopes against hope, at the real person he’s roped into his worst scheme yet with a goal that’s still totally obscure; at Jesper and not the asshole he’s imagining in his place. Kaz’ eyes trace his cheeks, dance over his shaved head, catch on the lips.

Jesper takes off his boots and gun belt, and the kefta. He undoes the fly of his trousers, pulls his dick out, and stops. He glares at Kaz, daring him to object to the attempt at making this slightly less miserable—Jesper’s the Darkling, he’s in charge, so Kaz can fuck off with his masochism. He’s done undressing. He’s not taking off his shirt or trousers. That layer of cloth stays on.

But Kaz doesn’t object. He stands up straight, naked, brittle, wincing, and then glancing away he mutters, “Ignore the antlers. He hadn’t done that yet.”

Fucking Darkling.

The antlers stick out of Kaz’ collarbones, uneven tines of—possession, mutilation, and Jesper’s eyes catch on a tiny set of grooves on the left one. The scabbed-over cuts underneath. The bruise from the gunshot. And even despite that horror, Kaz has a nice chest. Serious muscle, a street map of scars and a smattering of dark hairs—it feels weirdly improper to stare at him, so Jesper’s eyes dance down to his knobbly left knee and the softly twisted right thigh with its knots of scars, up to the face where he’s biting his harsh pretty mouth, and down again. His dick is nice, fat but not too long, rooted in a tangle of dark curls.

It’s utterly limp.

It’s pathetic, how much that hurts. Of course he isn’t into this. Of course he doesn’t find Jesper remotely attractive. Of course this is just some weird masochistic proxy powerplay for him, some attempt to prove he’s stronger now and can bear it or whatever the fuck, and Jesper’s just the sad stupid body he’s using to enact it.

And of course not even that is enough to make Jesper bow out. Kaz asked.

“Do you want me to suck you off first? Get you in the mood, even a little?” It’s not just for Kaz, that offer, though the whole thing will probably be less painful and awkward if he manages to coax out some arousal. It’s not for younger Jesper, who fantasized about being ordered to blow his boss as penance more often than he likes to admit. No, this is so Jesper can bury his face in Kaz’ pubic hair for a minute. And cry.

Kaz raises an eyebrow. He sounds arch and ice cold when he asks, “Jesper, do you think the Darkling would suck my dick?”

“He should have. Saints, what an asshole,” Jesper shoots back before he can think. “You need a better class of lovers.”

“By which you’re of course implying that you are much better than Aleksander Morozova, the General Kirigan, the Black Heretic, eternal Conqueror and crowned Emperor of Greater Ravka, Salvation to Grishadom, Master of the Fold and He who chained the Sun, et cetera and so fucking on and so fucking forth the Darkling himself?”

“Given I just offered you a blowjob without bringing useless power shit into it, yes.”

“Wrong data, incoherent formula. Correct answer.” Kaz’ grin is crooked. Inordinately fond, and Jesper would have settled for no longer desperately hiding terror but this is—

Yeah.

“I’m going to try to make this roleplay as realistic as I can, but I don’t know if I can forget enough about how to have sex to sink to the Darkling’s level. Also, you don’t happen to have the address of that Grisha Tailor who mutilated you back there? I need them to make my dick look weird. Corkscrew, maybe. Some warts. It’s probably green. I’d peg him for advanced neurological syphilis but I am about to sleep with you, so— ”

“Did you know, Jesper, that the Darkling always wears a gag when he has sex?”

“Shutting up now, boss.”

“Don’t shut up,” Kaz replies instantly. Very, very instantly. “Just keep your disparagements somewhat plausible. And… rare.”

Only to jolt me back, he’s asking. “Got it. So I guess I’m supposed to loom over you a little? How close do you want me?”

“I’ll need to—” Kaz turns around and bends over to root around in the pockets of his coat, and it’s even weirder, worse, looking at his ass when Jesper knows Kaz doesn’t like him back. Kaz tosses over a tiny bottle. Oil. “Give that to me. Tell me to prepare myself.”

“Just saying it once more, boss. You don’t have to go through with—”

“Stop thinking about the Kaz Brekker you know,” Kaz hisses. “Stop anticipating my reactions. Stop caring. You are the Darkling. You have been waiting for the Sun Summoner for decades. You’ve formed your picture of them. This delinquent flinching little rat you bought doesn’t quite fit, not his limp, not his fear of touch, not his pathetic need to assert himself, but, well… you have time. He’ll learn how to make himself fit into the space you provide him. He’ll become your Sun Summoner.”

“Have I told you yet that I’m going to kill that piece of shit?”

“You’ve mentioned it, once or twice. In the last hour.”

Jesper bares his teeth: a grin, but not. A promise. “Good. I’ll hold his mouth open while you stuff him full of black powder and set him on fire.”

“Stop stalling, Jesper. That won’t make it any easier.”

That won’t make it not have happened.

“If you’re sure this will help.”

Kaz nods.

“Lie down on the bed, then. Is there a—no, no pillows here, roll up the coat and slide it under your hips.” Jesper turns his face away, listening to the timid, stuttering squelches of Kaz stretching his asshole. Jesper doesn’t know what would be worse: if, after everything, he can’t get it up… or if he can.

Well. He’ll have to. His dick will just have to obey the dictates of the situation, just as Kaz’ body was made into the Sun Summoner. He’s young. He’s still looking at Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, naked, who asked Jesper to sleep with him, and that’ll have to be enough. They’ve gotten this far. They’ll force their way through. That’s how you do it. That’s how you gamble. How you lose big. Kaz might have once tried to explain to him something about sunk costs and throwing good money after bad, but Jesper ignored him that night and lost a hundred and twenty kruge to Specht, and he’s never looked back.

“Okay, Mr Sunshine. Let’s consummate our fucking partnership,” he grinds out when Kaz has gone quiet, takes the bottle to slick up his own uncooperative dick, and carefully, he climbs on top of Kaz. The clothes were a good decision: Kaz barely flinches when he kneels in-between his legs and pulls the sleeve over his hand to carefully guide his right knee to rest on Jesper’s thigh.

Kaz is staring up at his face, breathing, just breathing. The antlers in his collarbone frame his bright face—brighter than the candles should allow, like maybe—and his focus is rigid and he’s breathing, breathing quickly—

“Is this teaching you anything yet?”

“Not really,” Kaz rasps, after too long. “Or—I think—maybe it was—” he glances at Jesper’s pathetic, unhappy limp dick. His face twists. “I thought you were into me.”

This is— “I love you. Kaz Brekker, whoever you are. I don’t give a fuck about this Sun Summoner bullshit. I love you. I love you,” because this is—Jesper can’t do this. He can’t. His elbows are locked: he can’t drop his body any lower. He can't go lower than this. “I love you,” until it’s finally over. “I love you. I love you.”

☼

“And I’m telling you again, I don’t know what he does Tuesday evenings,” Jesper hisses.

“You were still with the Dregs, three months ago!” Kaz is wiping his cane clean. It didn’t even really get dirty—they mostly used kitchen knives to do the deed, and in the case of a maidservant who unwisely came to work in the middle of the night, a bullet that Jesper’s already collected and reshaped into something functional, because he might not get to buy new ones. Desperation. Frugality. The Kerch are rubbing off on him. It’s good, though. The fact he’s cleaning the wood is all the confirmation Jesper will likely ever get that Kaz does like the new cane Jesper made him from a cute straight rowan sapling, reinforced with the metal scavenged from all but the most essential buttons on their hodgepodge of clothes. At least there’s one thing of Jesper’s he values. “How can you not know the behavioural patterns of your boss? Are you that brainless?”

“No-one knew what he was up to! He barely came by the Slat. He wasn’t that interested in us.”

“You worked for Per Haskell, Jesper; you worked for that man for years—for nearly as many as I did, when you ran off to Ravka—and now you attempt to convince me you barely know his name?” Kaz still doesn’t look quite as harsh as he used to, or maybe that’s just Jesper hankering for their past. Well, he didn’t used to explain his plans to Jesper as if he was an imbecile—but then, he didn’t used to need Jesper. He had more stooges back then. Now, he only has one. Ally. Friend.

If it’s as weird for him, though, as it is for Jesper being back in Ketterdam after he didn’t die on his revenge suicide plot and the city didn’t, either—well, he might still get murdered for stealing the Sun Summoner or skipping out on debts or something completely unrelated, and Ketterdam’s… well, she’s weathering having her ruling class torn apart twice in short order, once by the Darkling’s conquest and now, by the slow collapse of the Darkling’s overstretched realm after he’s lost his saint/weapon/doll.

The Barrel’s fine—as glary and miserable as it ever was, anyway, but though Kaz would probably insist most of the Mercher’s Council had their hands in gang business one way or the other, their reach was indirect, mediated and secretive enough for the chaos tearing up the Geldstraat not to trickle down as quickly into the slums. And anyway, the involvement of the merchers only ever made life worse for most people. The plight of the rich can only be a blessing.

Right now, they’re inside a nice place in the Zelver district. Close enough to power to feel the death throes, and even disregarding the political manoeuvring and debris and panic everywhere, just looking at the house from the outside made Kaz twitchy, somehow.

His energy almost matched Jesper’s trigger finger.

It’s Haskell’s house, so that unease makes sense.

Haskell’s expensive secret new house far outside the Barrel that they’re despoiling now. They looked as out of place in the beautiful Zelver district as any Barrel rats, with their heads shorn close to the bone so they’ll look different enough to not get recognized and faces wiped with dirt, dressed in a melange of Ravkan clothes they haven’t found a chance to replace yet and tawdry Barrel flash for everything else.

Kaz was wearing two coats when he entered the house, an old rose and amber paisley trench that even Jesper admitted is hideous, though now it’s splattered with blood that actually really ties the colour scheme together. Still gross though, and luckily slung over the chair. Along with the purple kefta Kaz hid underneath, the one he still hasn’t given back. Or burned, which is what they did to the other Ravkan overcoats. On the streets his two coats bulked up his frame so much he looked like a kid that Jesper’s never met, dressed up to play a gangster’s role. He looked nothing like the Sun Summoner anymore, and only somewhat like Jesper’s imagined baby Dirtyhands crawling out straight from the harbour, fifty kilos sopping wet and ready to kill a man and feast on his entrails.

Now, he’s stripped down to a ruffled red shirt over a green undershirt—he conspicuously shunned the yellow one next to it on the washing line—and light blue pinstripe trousers. The shirt is a little large in the shoulders, and he’s cuffed the trousers. They stole everything from a cottage on the edge of Ketterdam. Not quite Barrel flash, but almost—alike in style but with better fabric, something a town edge kid probably bought to look like a cool gangster. Or something Jesper would have bought to look special for a very special date. If he squints, he can almost imagine—it’s the morning after, and—

Ever since the Little Palace the idea of Kaz naked has totally lost its lustre. The idea of his muscular but scrawny, scarred chest, his wiry tattooed arms, his ambiguously demonic hands—it’s all overlaid now with a flimsy ugly sleeveless yellow paper taffeta gown. With normal hands, kept bare as humiliation.

But maybe—maybe they sat together, not on a log in a forest but on a sofa this time, and then in the morning Kaz was cold and he stole all of Jesper’s clothes to wear over his own. That’s much better. (Maybe he just wanted Jesper naked all day…)

Jesper won’t let the Darkling steal his fantasies, too. They’re—

Ouch. Fucking ouch.

Jesper really shouldn’t have added tiny spiky worms to the side of the cane, but Kaz’ indignation was just too funny.

“Let me make this clear—” Kaz rasps, once he’s regained Jesper’s full attention. Half-full. ‘Like he’s plundered Jesper’s wardrobe’ is still such a good look on him. “We are both hunted. Neither of us can afford to be caught outside on the streets of Ketterdam and let whoever saw us live. If we’re going to make Haskell’s house our temporary base of operations, we need to make his death as inconspicuous as possible. We cannot safely anticipate which of his visitors to eliminate and which to fool unless we know whether they, in turn, may be missed.”

“Well,” Jesper mutters. “Mitki might come by. If the neighbours don’t chase him off.”

Kaz raises a single, dirt-encrusted eyebrow.

“Mitki’s the newest lieutenant. Might have made it this—”

“Not Anika? I can understand why a flake like you didn’t rise in the Dregs ranks, but she—”

“Ambush. Dime Lions, five weeks after you disappeared.”

“Rotty?”

“Slit throat. Still no clue who did it.”

“Specht? Pim? Neeta? Big Bol?”

“Razorgulls, knife, last year. Bullet to the head, same day. Hellgate. Hellgate.”

“Muzzen? Ruk? Keeg?”

“Another ‘Gull stabbing, just before I left. Hellgate, again. Keeg just disappeared, though. Might still be alive somewhere over the True Sea, if he’s clever. Not that he was, he’s probably floating, poor sod.” Jesper shrugs. After a while, it just gets too much: the beginning of the Dregs’ end is seared into his brain, but there aren’t enough synapses for the tenth—or fiftieth—dead friend to hurt as much. “There’s a reason why I didn’t think twice about running when I lost those fifty thousand. Like I said, boss, it’s been a shitshow since you left. Haskell never wanted for new ones, since he got his kids fresh off the street, but he just stopped giving any shit whatsoever, and since you weren’t there to pick up the slack… well, I can see why he didn’t care, now.”

Jesper spares a bitter look for the mountain of kruge next to Haskell’s foot, the mountain he offered Kaz as soon as he saw him, long before Kaz even tried to hack off both his hands and feet with a dull meat cleaver. Long before Kaz had to settle for cutting down to the bone and then wrenching Haskell’s extremities from their sockets by sheer force of hatred, while Jesper puked into the kitchen sink. The mountain he’d never have amassed as the boss of a gang as shambolic as the last years of the Dregs.

The mountain that’s going to pay off Inej’s indenture tomorrow.

Haskell allowed her to rot there. It’s only fair he pays for her freedom with his life.

“Everyone we could use is gone. And you…” Kaz tips Jesper’s chin up with his cane. The world shimmies a little. “You, of all the old Dregs, survived.”

Jesper shrugs again. This is too much to confess to Kaz, of all cruel bastards, probably far too much, but—they’re sitting in the living room of Jesper’s former boss, the man who sold Kaz out to the Darkling and used the prize money to live in luxury, while letting his gang die on increasingly pointless ill-planned errands. The other end of the table is still flecked and puddled with slow-drying blood—not to mention the corpse, or corpse-pieces, laying there—but over here, they have a bottle of expensive whisky they found in a cabinet and they’re trading swigs from the bottle, all bitter and clean.

“I didn’t take it too well, when you and Inej just disappeared, and then my friends kept dying. Might have gone on a couple of benders. Might have lost some games. Might have lost some fights. Might have had some sexual encounters with people who turned out to be massive creeps. Consequently, I may not have been technically around to be asked to go on some of these errands, or perhaps I just didn’t notice because I was drunk.”

“Jesper.” Kaz doesn’t even sound surprised. Wow. Thanks for having faith in me, boss.

It’s not really that humiliating, though, now he’s said it out loud. He spent two years making bad decisions and occasionally braiding Inej’s hair. Kaz spent that time getting turned into a doll. Who can say what’s worse? He takes another deep gulp and grins. “You know me, boss. I need some external structure in life. I really need a commandeering asshole dragging me into his schemes to be my best self.”

“And yet, you outwitted the Darkling.”

“That wasn’t difficult, to be fair. Tell them I’m Grisha, search the Little Palace, shoot Kaz Brekker in the head, get executed…” Jesper trails off. When the silence grows teeth, he takes a pull of whisky that’s so desperate it makes him cough, but Kaz is still letting him stew.

They don’t really need to talk about it, though. No value in going over what happened in the Little Palace. No value in discussing anything. Everything is fine now. Yes, Jesper did want to kill Kaz. Yes, he’ll die for Kaz.

And they both know why.

Kaz steals the bottle. It’s incredible, actually, Jesper was just holding it—well, maybe he’s a little more drunk than he thought, but Kaz would probably like being complimented on his pickpocketing. “I didn’t even see you steal that bottle,” Jesper says.

“I’d be angry you’re drunk,” Kaz rasps. “But you’ve been completely useless at all stages of the current plan so far. And the previous one, by your planning—I always forget, in my amazement at what you accomplished, that you failed.”

He says that, but his cheeks are flushed pink with alcohol. His pupils are wide when he looks at Jesper. He raises the bottle to his lips and tips his head back, swallowing what should have easily been ten more swigs of whisky. Thieving bastard.

☼

When Jesper awakes on Haskell’s second softest chaise longue in the receiving room—neither of them was particularly eager to climb into Haskell’s bed, and, in Jesper’s case, not particularly still able to walk up the stairs either—his mouth is dry, his bladder full and the light is poking his brain even through closed curtains and eyelids. And Kaz—he searches the whole house after finishing his business, but yes, it’s true—Kaz is gone.

So are his cane and his current Barrel flash coat and the kefta, which means Kaz is probably safe. Well. As safe as the escaped Sun Summoner can be. Not kidnapped, at least. More alive than anyone stupid enough to cross Kaz’ path.

He’s taken Haskell’s kruge, and left a note.

In Kaz’ sharp hand, the note reads, “STAY.”

It’s underlined three times, and on the back side Kaz has written, “or you will die,” which to be fair is pretty ambiguous.

‘Die’ as in, ‘I mistrust your competence and assume you’ll get yourself killed if you move a finger?’ Or as in, ‘I’m warning you I won’t go out of my way to save you?’ Perhaps it’s a straightforward ‘Disobey and I am going to personally murder you and piss on your corpse?’ All are very real possibilities, knowing Kaz.

To really understand the message, Jesper needs to get into Kaz’ mood when he woke up—hungover, but how much? Enough he hates the entire world, or so much he hates Jesper more? Also, his current way of thinking. Jesper’s usefulness. A point in favour is the fact that Jesper saved him from a fate worse than death, but on the other hand, Jesper forgot to extract a deal from him and Kaz is so Kerch it hurts, which means he’s pared down solidarity and reciprocity and love into exchange, into deals, and all Jesper’s offering are the first three. They shared a bottle of whisky next to the corpse of their old boss, though, and in general Kaz looked like he was having fun more than once on their dirty, miserable long trek out of Ravka. Way more fun than he had in the majestic Little Palace. Also, Jesper’s incredibly likeable. He’s beautiful and funny and stupidly in love with Kaz without asking anything in return, so really it only makes sense that Kaz has finally succumbed to his charm.

(He dug his hand into Jesper’s hair, that night on the fallen tree and twice afterwards, but—maybe that was only to make Jesper squirm.)

Well, he enjoyed Jesper’s company while they fled from Ravka to Ketterdam, at least. That’s the crux of it.

So why would Kaz anticipate that Jesper might want to run anywhere? There’s a well-stocked kitchen here. A far more sensible assumption would be that Jesper might want to make some waffles or go on a morning jog. No, not that one. Enjoy a lavish breakfast. Have a bath, perhaps, after spending two weeks crawling through the Ravkan forest and the Shu countryside and stowed in the belly of a wine cargo ship and then countryside again, this time Kerch. Jesper’s feet hurt just thinking about it, and that Kaz managed to get here, even at the half-speed they settled on, speaks to—well, the same bull-headed masochism as always, but the fact he still refused to even consider stealing a cart or horse or approach any larger settlement before Ketterdam means he must be even more terrified of the Darkling than Jesper can imagine. He refused to leave any trace whatsoever. (And yet he’s back in Ketterdam, the one city in the world he was connected to before the Little Palace, because…?)

Ketterdam is the only city, village, collection of buildings and people they’ve been to for weeks, which means it’s the first chance Jesper has to gamble, but—even he knows not to stake anything on the possibility there’s someone left in the Barrel who doesn’t know about Jesper Fahey, he who owes Pekka Rollins fifty thousand kruge and just skipped town, kill immediately with extreme prejudice.

Well, Rollins is dead now—the only gang boss courageous or aggrieved or hungry enough to try and covertly resist the Darkling, go figure—but whoever’s head Lion now probably won’t even let Jesper try to spin an argument about how he really owes that money to ‘Pekka Rollins’ Dime Lions’, not any successor organizations. No such luck, and anyway, people stupid enough to bounce on their debts are fair game to any gang in the Barrel. They don’t cooperate on much, not even for mutual benefit, but murdering dishonest gamblers? That’s a team sport.

Jesper’s last recklessly suicidal plan worked out fantastic, so maybe he should find a card table. His luck’s turned. He could win millions.

Which Kaz definitely would anticipate, and warn him away from. Kaz is a buzzkill. Just because Jesper’s going to get murdered on sight in the Barrel…

Because Jesper’s gonna get murdered on sight in the Barrel.

If Kaz wants to rebuild his status in the Barrel, there’s no bigger liability than Jesper. And Kaz wants to, surely. He worked his way up inside the Dregs carefully and diligently, spent more time than anyone sane would inside a tiny attic office adding up numbers, and sucked up to an utter piece of shit like Haskell, just so he could one day become a Barrel boss. And now, to rise again, he has to cut off the dead weight.

Which means Jesper.

That’s why he left.

It’s not even a betrayal. They don’t have an agreement for life after reaching Ketterdam, let alone one that says Jesper can follow him forever and ever just like in the good old days. Inej—but Inej’s actually useful to a new Barrel boss, as soon as her indenture’s paid. Jesper’s the weak link here. Jesper’s screwed.

Which doesn’t mean he won’t go down fighting. He knows the way to the Menagerie—the quickest way, the scenic route, the paths least commonly trafficked by Pigeons and the ones usually avoided by staadwatch or gangsters. He knows Kaz well enough to guess which one he’s taken. If he hasn’t woken too late—and by the sun’s position, it’s still early in the morning—then he has a chance to pass Kaz off and… insult him? Beg? Cry? Sell his father’s soul for a position in the new Dregs? Maybe he’ll just have to wear a Komedie Brute mask for the rest of his life and it’ll be fine. He’ll figure it out later.

Jesper draws his shoulders up to his ears while he scurries through empty alleyways, the collar of his fancy pseudo-Barrel flash coat turned up. He’s almost glad that Kaz made him go hatless and shaved bald—thoroughly unstylish and un-Jesper enough he might survive the morning—but there are drawbacks to the disguise in the damp chill.

Also, the disguise isn’t good enough. After some minutes, Jesper notices that some clusters of metal stay at roughly the same distance to him. Eight clusters of—round, small, definitely mostly kruge with a few Ravkan coins thrown in. Thirteen guns. A rifle. Two of the coin clusters are fairly close together and move in unison. Jesper’s dealing with seven shadows, then.

That’s—a lot.

Jesper’s had a little more training being a Durast now, but what he could really use now is combat training. He hasn’t even been in a battle in over a month, unless you count handing Kaz knives while he carves up Per Haskell, and since Jesper had to puke right after, you probably shouldn’t. He’s fought rabbits. Jesper’s sure fought some rabbits in Ravka. Two deer, too.

He could probably escape his pursuers. It would take time, though, time Jesper doesn’t have when Kaz is leaving him behind without a word. He’ll just have to kill them quickly.

At least there’s one of his favourite surveillance detection routes nearby. One of the rare aboveground tunnels in Ketterdam, not used by Pigeons for obvious reasons of creepiness and also because it just leads to a big courtyard behind a factory: a courtyard that’s easy to escape, when you know the gate’s lock is broken. Kaz showed it to him, just weeks after Jesper got recruited, after the second time the ‘Gulls got the drop on him and beat him to a pulp. In the courtyard, he made Jesper shoot some sparrows and some pigeons to prove his worth. Not crows, though, and for a year Jesper believed that detail was just thrown in to test whether Jesper would obey nonsensical orders. It’s still a plausible explanation.

He’ll just have to ask Kaz, after he begs him for a role in the new Dregs. After he kills these seven pursuers.

If.

He catches the first man off-guard and blows his head off when he exits the tunnel, but after that, it’s a stand-off. Jesper, hiding behind a massive wood barrel for cover, against six men ducked into the mouth of the tunnel.

Jesper manages to pick off another man by firing into the tunnel and blindly redirecting the bullet into the first nook, but the second attempt at using that trick doesn’t hit anything, and neither does the third. He has eight bullets left now, and five enemies. Even Jesper can tell that’s bad odds.

Retreating across the courtyard, though—the first few meters are fine, there are enough wine barrels and he can just dash from one to another, slightly nudging bullets off their course so none hit him.

Those guys have far too many bullets left, though, by the time Jesper’s forty meters away from the gate. Forty meters without cover. His pursuers aren’t bad shots either—likely Dime Lions, because there’s no way a Liddy would ever get so close that Jesper has to redirect their bullet—and they’re cautious enough that only two of them are crouched behind that barrel next to the tunnel, now, while the rest are still hidden inside.

This might get a little tough—but if Jesper starts manipulating bullets more obviously, will that information travel to the Little Palace? They know the Sun Summoner escaped with a Fabrikator. Is he painting a target on Kaz’ back?

Is he—

Bloodcurdling screams and groans, and Jesper’s too far away to hear any thwacks but his senses have expanded and he knows that metal coating intimately. Knows that cane.

Kaz emerges from the tunnel opening, Inej behind him, and—

Boom.

The Dime Lion’s shot him.

Right in the chest, and Kaz stumbles, falls to his knees.

Keels over.

Jesper shoots wildly while he runs over, whirling the bullets around the barrel that the Dime Lions are hiding behind—two left, Kaz wouldn’t have let any of the ones in the tunnel escape—desperate to hit something or at least keep them distracted and scared long enough to get there, or for—Inej’s pulling Kaz back by his coat, and she’s still wearing a sheer Menagerie dress, she probably doesn’t have any knives to protect—nothing’s hit yet, nothing’s hit, and all Jesper’s bullets are in the air whizzing around but he’s not hitting anything and Kaz is down and Kaz—

Kaz pushes himself to his knees, and then he stands up.

He’s breathing hard, and in the ugly rose/amber/bloodstain trench there’s a hole above his heart, sooty and burnt, but he’s still alive, Kaz is alive, he’s—

“What are you?” a Dime Lion gasps. Jesper’s finally got a bead on her. He sinks three bullets into her head.

“I just killed…” The other one is less lucky, and Jesper only manages to hit his stomach before he runs out of airborne bullets. He’ll die, but it won’t be quick.

“I crawled out of the harbour before. I’ll do it again,” Kaz rasps, and before the Dime Lion manages more than “Dirty—” a wet squelch informs Jesper of his demise.

That’s all of them.

“Kaz, you—” Inej’s much quicker at Kaz’ side, but he moves away before she can touch him to check his injury. Moves quickly enough he’s probably not on death’s door. He is a good actor, though. She looks at Jesper, and he’s about to join her in begging Kaz to get some medical aid, at least, but then Kaz shrugs off the ruined trench coat.

“Those kefta aren’t entirely useless,” Kaz rasps, grinning like an amused fucking asshole who almost gave Jesper a heart attack.

And then, Inej wraps herself around Jesper.

“You’re alive! I was terrified,” she shouts against his chest, slapping his back and grabbing as if she can’t decide whether to kill Jesper or never let go. “I thought you got yourself killed! You just disappeared, no word, I thought—”

“I may have lost a game where the stake was fifty thousand kruge?”

“You—Jes—” Inej squeezes him harder. “I told you to stop. I’d rather have you, with me, than have you die trying to pay me off.”

“I almost won! But there was no chance I’d get out of it, without indenturing myself, and—it all worked out, didn’t it? You’re free! Which reminds me…” Jesper takes off his own coat—blue and green and purple wave patterns, very fancy, a bit on the small side for him—and lays it onto Inej’s shoulders. It suits her, too—it drowns her a little, sure, but the way the coat reaches down to her ankles looks regal, and anyway, Kaz is a good sewer. He’ll fix this. “Can’t have you catching a cold.”

Before she can reply—tell him again she wasn’t worth risking his life and freedom in every card game he could for two years, when she definitely is, she’s Inej, he’ll do anything for her—he runs away and searches the dead Dime Lions for a new coat for himself, all their money, the rifle, and picks up the used bullets too. Knowing Kaz, he’ll want them to leave this place soon, and Jesper can’t very well try to convince his boss he needs to keep his sharpshooter around when he has no bullets left.

Speaking of—Jesper saunters over to Kaz when he’s done. With his most careless grin, he says, “I want my goodbye kiss before you ditch me.”

“I left you a note,” Kaz rasps. “I should have remembered you can’t read.”

Which as good as counts as a promise that Kaz didn’t intend to leave him behind: that, and the adrenaline of an easy gunfight has Jesper grinning widely. This is the life he wanted. The life he yearned for during the last two miserable years. The Crows are back, baby. He asks, “What now, boss?”

“We leave. Before anyone comes to investigate those gunshots.”

“Novyi Zem?”

“No,” Kaz rasps, just as Inej says, “They’ll let us drown.”

“They what?”

“Move.” Kaz starts limping past the factory, and then doubles back one street over—in the general direction away from the sea. Jesper and Inej quickly flank him. “I went to the Fifth Harbour before I paid off Inej’s indenture. It’s near empty. Old man there said no boats go to Novyi Zem or Eames Chin right now, and no boats come back. Because nothing gets unloaded. Kerch ships can’t dock there. They all get stranded at sea.”

“People started running when Ravka cut us off from the continent,” Inej mutters. “Before the invasion. And now the Darkling’s gone, the Kerch Grisha are either running or dead.”

“Too many refugees, apparently. Something about culture and scroungers and economic migrants. Novya Zem’s closed its ports to Kerch.”

“But I’m Zemeni—”

“You’re just a person. Those borders don’t exist to help you. The harbour watch don’t exist for you, the government doesn’t exist for you—if there’s a choice between cementing their power and your life, every bureaucrat worth their salt will choose the former.”

Jesper wants to argue, but actually, he’d trust Kaz over Novyi Zem a million times. Kaz saved his life when Ketterdam and Kerch would have swallowed him whole. Novyi Zem isn’t any different. “So we’re stuck in Ketterdam, then, where I’ll get shot on sight and you’ll easily get tracked by the Darkling. I only remember one safehouse that’s still uncompromised, as of last month anyway, unless you think we should go back to Haskell’s, boss?”

“Inej,” Kaz rasps. “That shop over there. Buy us a cart. We’re going to Lij.”

“What’s in Lij, boss? Why Lij? Where is Lij, anyway?”

But Kaz doesn’t answer him. Even aboard the cart, directing their new donkey with a seemingly perfect grasp of the roads leading to a small southern Kerch town none of them have ever been to, he refuses to elaborate. He looks tense, though. Jesper reshapes his many new bullets while he walks alongside. If there’s a fight waiting for them in Lij, they’re going to win.

☼

Kaz paces the length of the room. Window, door, window, door—there’s not much space beside the marriage bed, and the air draft of his passing caresses Jesper’s shorn head.

He’s put back together now, dressed in his socks and his boots and his underpants and his trousers and his gloves, though his torso’s only covered by the open purple kefta. Despite the cane, he limps more heavily than before he trekked for weeks through the Ravkan forest. He’s not fully recovered yet, if he’ll ever be.

Jesper’s on the floor. He climbed off the bed—off Kaz, after he ruined Kaz’ stupid get proxy-raped by the proxy-Darkling again plan. He said what he said, and the silence that followed was all the answer he’ll get, and then he sat down on the floor. It’s as good a place to wait as any. Probably more hygienic than the bed, anyway. He watched Kaz dress, until he almost looked like the Barrel lieutenant they both wish he was still allowed to be, and now he’s watching Kaz Brekker Dirtyhands the Sun Summoner pace holes in the old dusty floor of an abandoned farmhouse an hour’s walk outside of the small Kerch town of Lij.

He’s not getting murdered, though. Not for what he almost did. Not for what he said. That’s as good as this was ever going to go.

“It was worse this time.” Kaz directs his rasp towards the floor. He doesn’t stop moving. “I froze. Why was it—it was you. I knew you were—you’d never—with you it should have been more tolerable. Not worse.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss.” Jesper still can’t decide whether he should be ashamed that he was too squeamish to go through with it. Kaz doesn’t seem as angry as he could be, that Jesper totally fucked up this whatever-it-was-supposed-to-be. Not the mocking disappointment he doles out at Jesper’s predictable failures—gambling, distractibility, lateness, no impulse control and so on—and not the seething hatred when Jesper does something he hasn’t anticipated.

“I turned it over and over in my mind. For a year. What I did wrong. How I could have turned this to my advantage. How to excise this weakness. I thought I’d found—but there’s nothing.”

Jesper would offer to brutally desecrate the Darkling’s corpse again, but it clearly doesn’t help. Kaz won’t let this go. Never mind that he was a teenage thief imprisoned in a palace. Never mind it was him against the whole entourage of the most powerful Grisha. The man who crowned himself Emperor.

Sometimes you’re just fucked. And there’s nothing you can do. Life isn’t fair.

“There is a way to beat him,” Kaz hisses. “And I will find it.”

“You did. Sort of.”

“What—”

Jesper grins a shark-grin. “You’re not in Ravka now, are you?”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why doesn’t it? No, boss, listen—he didn’t beat you alone, either, right? He had his Tailor making you into a doll. His Fabrikators locking your cage. His soldiers. Hell, Haskell selling you out—so really, it’s your victory that I found you.” Now that Jesper’s trying to explain his gut reaction, it just seems more and more logical. “Why can’t you have your own gang? You practically rescued yourself. You took a look at a boy who’d have gotten shot in a few weeks because he couldn’t pay is debts and he couldn’t stop fucking gambling—you had me dragged up to your office. You took that chance. You saved my life so I could save yours. That’s… planning ahead. Planning years ahead. Well done.”

Kaz finally, finally stops pacing. He sinks into the mattress just slightly to the right of Jesper, so he can sprawl out his legs without making contact. He looks at Jesper, but he’s silent, and his face isn’t giving anything away.

At first, that makes it feel like he’s actually listening. Actually considering what Jesper told him, and agreeing. Kaz is a quick thinker, though. He doesn’t need this long to realize that Jesper’s correct, which means he’s coming up with counterarguments—arguments why actually, he’s still weak or whatever and needs to force himself—and Jesper really, really can’t watch him do this to himself again. Why this, anyway? Why is this the weakness he fixated on?

“Why is that creep so obsessed with making you touch people, anyway?”

“Because it’s easy. Necessary. Even a child does it. Touch is what makes us human, and the Sun Summoner is human, whatever lies he tells himself,” Kaz recites. His eyes are bright. Wet.

“Bullshit. You terrorized the Barrel for years and it didn’t matter at all that you never touched anyone. It was just you. It didn’t even really sink in for me, that you don’t touch people, until I saw the way he dressed you up, how miserable you were.” That’s probably a good place to leave it, but Jesper’s livid. Jesper could mince and mangle fifty Darklings with the pure force of his loathing, and there’s not even a single one around here. That energy has to go somewhere. “You’re trying to tell me the Ravkan fucking palace couldn’t change protocol a little and adapt? If it never mattered in the Barrel, it never mattered at all. He just picked something. If you’d been allergic to shellfish, that’s the only food he would have served you, and he would have said you’re weak for your windpipe swelling up. He wasn’t able control you because touch made you weak. When you’re in control, it doesn’t matter. Because you fucking kill whoever touches you. You don’t bow to them. They bow to you.”

Kaz doesn’t reply. He doesn’t look away from Jesper, though. He just stares down at him, with his eyes still wide and still wet. He mutters, “You’ve turned quite opinionated in my absence, Jesper.”

“In your presence. I’m quoting your words back to you—sort of, it was about the cane, and I’ve forgotten half of it. But you were right. You were always right.” Jesper laughs. “See? Now you’re teaching yourself through time and space! Your masterplan is incredibly fucking elaborate!”

“My—I’m not falling for it.” Kaz is grinning, though. “If I agree now—by this time tomorrow you’ll have done something incredibly stupid and you’ll throw the whole Everything I do is your triumph because you saved me thing in my face. I’m not responsible for your awful jokes!”

Pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, Jesper wails, “My plan! My ingenious plan! Foiled by the dastardly Dirtyhands, oh no!”

Kaz laughs at him. Kaz laughs, and laughs, and Jesper joins him.

It takes a while before Kaz stops, gasping for breath. No-one in Ravka’s ever told a good joke, Jesper decides, because he’s made way funnier jokes before that Kaz didn’t even chuckle at, but gift horses and mouths and so on. Colour’s returned to Kaz’ face: his cheeks are blotchy and red, even after his breathing’s evened out. Kaz mumbles, “You know, that’s exactly how I imagined it.”

What? Oh. Jesper’s sprawled on the floor, leaning back on his elbows, his shirt pulled out of his trousers—his trousers, which are open, and he still hasn’t tucked away his dick. He forgot. There were more far important things to do, and now… well, he probably looks more debauched than Kaz in his purple kefta, with just his prick exposed to the chilly night-time Kerch air while he lounges on the ground. He ghosts a finger over it.

“Do you want me to—do you want to watch, boss?”

“I’d—” Kaz swallows. “Saints.”

Jesper turns a little, so Kaz can get a better view. He doesn’t undress, in case that’s an integral part of the fantasy, just gently trails his fingers down his still-limp dick—though it’s definitely waking up now—and looks up at Kaz.

Kaz doesn’t meet his eyes anymore, but that’s fine: more than fine, when he’s alternately looking at Jesper’s cock and at Jesper’s lips. Jesper darts out his tongue, and Kaz’ pupils blow even wider. Jesper licks down his palm and starts jerking off in earnest. “Hey, boss,” Jesper mutters, and when the head jerks up Jesper blows him a tiny kiss.

“What do you think about?” Kaz rasps.

“I just look at you. That’s enough. I like your face.” The tiny quirk of his lips, the way his eyes dart back down. “What are you thinking about, boss?”

“I didn’t expect you to enjoy this as much.”

“Seriously, boss, I know you’re not that stupid. How many times—”

“Not me,” Kaz mumbles. He gestures obscurely at the room. Jesper. The wall. The floor. The floor again. “This. It’s—not proper. Demeaning.”

“I wasn’t feeling demeaned until you started talking—”

“I was going to make you my right hand, once I took over the Dregs. Not my whore—”

“You were?” slips out, small and breathless, before Jesper remembers that this is for Kaz. This for him to enjoy. The warmth expanding in Jesper’s ribcage can wait. “There’s nothing bad about this. You like it. I like it. I don’t see anyone else in this room, and even if—a very clever guy once told me that you don’t bow to the world. You make the world bow to you.”

☼

It’s scratching that wakes Jesper. Scratching like the sharpening of a knife, quick, impatient, desperate—but it’s Kaz who’s on watch right now, Kaz who found this shallow cave they’re spending the night in, and Kaz wouldn’t let any danger come this close unnoticed. Unfought. Kaz wouldn’t just leave Jesper to his fate—would he?

He wouldn’t. At least not yet.

Kaz is sitting at the mouth of the cave. The moon drenches his matted dirty hair in its white glory, his handmade trousers, his naked wiry chest. His chest which he hasn’t bared for a second since Jesper gave him the kefta, even pulling off the Sun Summoner chemise that they tore into threads while still wrapped up in both of his coats: but now he’s half-naked, head bending down to look at those tines sticking out of his clavicle. Those antlers, those keratinized tumours, those bone cancers. Whatever those mutations are, he wants them gone.

In the right hand, he’s holding the knife that Jesper made from buttons so they could cut the blanket into trouser-shapes. In the left hand, he’s holding one of the protrusions growing from his body.

And then, he starts hacking again.

Viciously, helplessly, like a sick rabbit mutated into its own trap. He misses, once, and the knife sinks into his collarbone: but silently he tears it out again and cuts at the cancerous bone, and the knife’s sharp but the only dents that Jesper can see are tiny, glowing, lighting up the knife that’s flecked with his own blood.

☼

Jesper stirs the potato chunks. Thankfully, the old hearth still works, at least after he and Inej fed it with firewood they brought from the market, and so he’s cooking potatoes in butter and water. He mashes them up with some heavy wooden implement he found in a cabinet, once they’re soft enough—he washed it of course; he doesn’t want to eat moth shit—and then Inej passes him a wooden board of carrots in neat small identical pieces. Show-off. Jesper loves her so fucking much.

“Careful, don’t let it burn,” she says, twirling her knife, and Jesper—well, he meant to stir the pot of what’s apparently becoming stamppot. He did. He didn’t mean to think of how he’ll get Inej and Kaz out of Ravka—

And that’s when Kaz limps into the kitchen. He wasn’t still asleep when Inej and Jesper went into town to get some food—as if the Bastard of the Barrel ever sleeps in, even when he’s far from his titular Barrel—but he begged off the trip. He told them to say they’re working for Johannus Rietveld, if they’re asked, who’s apparently inherited this farm, but—they weren’t asked a thing, anyway, and who knows what Kaz did in the meantime. Who knows what weird cover identity he’s cooked up that they haven’t yet had to invoke. And whether it’s weirder than the one Jesper just created.

Jesper gives him a tender little smile. “Had a good morning?”

“No.”

“Because of last—”

But Kaz can read Jesper at least as well as he can read himself. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he rasps. “You’re the least terrifying person I’ve ever met.” Which probably means Yes, I’m rattled, but I won’t take it out on you. Too much.

“Thanks, darling.” And obeying Inej’s sharp elbow, he goes back to stirring the potato mash, and the slices of rookworst smoked sausage she’s dumped into another pan as well. “We decided Inej needs a proper homecooked meal, now she’s free, and we both haven’t eaten anything worth eating for ages, either.”

“You cook?”

“I grew up with my Da. It was either him or me. We traded off, if you want to know, and I’m pretty good apart from when it mysteriously turns into charcoal. And we didn’t find any Zemeni spices in the Lij market—this isn’t Ketterdam, and this old trader I talked to, she said it’s because maritime traffic to Novyi Zem is down to trickles at this point there’s a real dearth of spices, she couldn’t get them at any reasonable price—”

“Don’t burn the stamppot,” Inej orders.

“Anyway, we found a recipe tacked to the wall behind the oven, so that’s what I’m making now. Something super Kerch. Stamppot—you’ve ever eaten it?”

Kaz makes a sound that’s deeply indecipherable. Jesper can’t even tell whether it’s mournful or happy.

“Anyway, we’re almost done. Spinach now, please—Inej made me stick to the recipe, you know—and then the fried sausage and some salt and… you’ll stay with us for lunch, right, even if it isn’t royal Little Palace fare?”

“We ate unseasoned burnt rabbits in the forest,” Kaz replies curtly. He’s gotten over whatever strange emotion took hold of him, then.

“Yeowtch, they were awful. Why didn’t you remind me to take them off the fire. I know how to smuggle us into Novyi Zem,” Jesper says, carrying the deep pot over to their chosen clean bit of floor. Next to the windowsill, so Kaz can sit down with a little less discomfort—the house has been cleaned out apart from the marriage bed, really, and making Kaz go in there now… Making Inej go in there now, when it’s where last night he and Kaz had sex… And it’s not like they were loud, but who knows what Inej read into them pacing around each other for an hour. This is much less awkward. Besides, Jesper’s recently had some great experiences with floors.

Inej doesn’t stop playing with her knife, even after she balances her stamppot served on woodboard on her knees and digs in with her slightly bent spoon. She hasn’t set it down all morning, even carried it into town when they went looking for something to eat, and while she’s been supervising Jesper’s cooking—making sure he’s reading the recipe, keeping him on-track, bickering with him over unclear or illegible instructions—she’s been twirling it around her fingers. A truly remarkable feat, given that it’s the piece of shit knife that Jesper cobbled together from coat buttons, and he didn’t know what he was doing at all except that it should probably be sharp. Inej really needs to talk him through the finer points of balance if she wants him to overhaul the thing.

“They’re not letting in any more refugees from Kerch, you said,” Jesper starts setting up the explanation for his ingenious plan, while he passes over Kaz’ portion and another spoon he dug out from the bottom of a cabinet and small-scienced back into shape.

“The rich Kerch started running first, when the Darkling advanced. Anyone who’d ever had a Grisha indenture… They probably got in. They had the money. As for the rest… well, we’ve all heard of what happened in Fjerda, unless we’re Jesper and too busy drinking and playing Makker’s Wheel—”

“Hey! I was trying to pay off your indenture,” Jesper complains, while nibbling on his surprisingly decent if underspiced potato mash. “I’m Zemeni. They’ll let me in.”

Kaz still hasn’t touched his food. He hasn’t put it away either though, hand cradling the board instead of throwing it at Jesper. Maybe it’s because he’s too curious about the plan. Jesper should have waited, but he was too excited, and now Kaz is frowning as he replies, “So you keep saying. How does that help us? I assume you wouldn’t leave the two of us behind, after all that trouble you took.”

It feels good, to hear him say that. Almost good enough to forgive that Kaz doesn’t like his lunch. “That’s where my plan comes in. I’ve finally figured it out. If we’re married—”

“We can’t marry each other,” Kaz rasps. Before Jesper gets too sad about that, he continues, “In case you haven’t yet learned to count, we’re three people now.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve been thinking it over for so long. But divorce exists, you know so I was thinking that our story should be—and I’ll write to Da, but I thought you should probably agree first—I married one of you and then fell in love with the other but I still loved both, so I was trying to—”

Inej coughs. Laughs. Yeah, she’s definitely laughing at him, and then she says, “You’re going to tell your father about your marriage in a letter—your multiple marriages, because not only did you get married without inviting him, you already traded in your wife for a younger, prettier model. You lothario!”

“If you think that Kaz—actually, are you younger than Inej?”

Kaz, spoon in mouth, glares down at him.

“I’m trying to save our lives here. I’d appreciate some cooperation! And Da will forgive me, when he sees how happy I am with my new bonebreaking gangster wife and my old knife-twirling gangster wife who I had to divorce for petty bureaucratic reasons. Do you like it?”

Another spoonful of stamppot disappears into Kaz’ mouth. His eyes are closed while he chews, and then he looks away. His voice is hoarser than normal when he mumbles, “It tastes exactly the way I—it’s good.”

“Better than unseasoned rabbit charcoal. Anyway, it might throw the Darkling off our scent some more, if we disguise Kaz as a woman—and don’t be sexist. Women come in all shapes and sizes, no-one’s going to suspect a thing. Also we’re from Ketterdam. If any woman like Kaz can marry anywhere, it’s here. It’ll be a scandal, if they refuse to honour our marriage. Letting a few poors drown outside Zemeni borders, sure, but breaking the mutual recognition of administrative documents?”

Jesper is actually pretty proud of his reasoning here. That makes it even more annoying when Kaz rasps, “No-one will ever believe I’m your wife. I can’t even touch you.”

“No-one’s going to believe I love you? Are you sure?” Jesper flutters his eyes up at Kaz.

“He has a point, Jesper. You won’t be the first desperate refugee forging a marriage to leave.” Inej twirls her knife again. “You’ll need to act the part.”

“We’ll just tell them the truth.”

“Which is?”

“You don’t want to be touched, and if they have a follow-up question, they’d better direct it to the barrel of my gun. I’m not letting anybody non-consensually grope my beloved Kerch wife. Never again. Not over my dead body.”

“Won’t they think it’s weird if Kaz—sorry, your beautiful Kerch wife doesn’t let you touch him?”

“I don’t care. I told you. Let the world bow to us. I love my ingenious, vicious Kerch wife, completely independent of any physical contact we may or may not ever have. I respect my stubborn loyal deadpan Kerch wife far too much to cross those boundaries just for social custom. Also, my sweet murderous Kerch wife has a mean right hook.”

“Thankyou for the demonstration of your acting skills,” Kaz rasps drily, scratching his spoon on his serving board for the last flecks of stamppot. “We’re not going to Novyi Zem, though. There are more amplifiers than just the Stag he forced into me, and we’re going to find the rest. I’m going to tear apart every miserable molecule in the Darkling’s body, cell by fucking cell.”

“And you just let me keep talking?”

“It was entertaining.” Kaz licks his spoon, and then the board. Any second now, Jesper will tell him there’s more left in the pot. “Write your Da. We’ll keep your plan as a backup, in case everything goes horribly wrong. You’ll need a ring, though, to make it official,” and Kaz starts rooting through the kefta pockets.

Jesper can’t breathe. Is Kaz really…? He can’t breathe until he looks at Kaz’ stretched-out, gloved hand, and—

“How the fuck did you steal that one?! I was just wearing it!”

#jesper fahey #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kaz x jesper #dimtraces makes things #shadow & bone #shadow and bone

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marybethsjournal · 4 years ago

Text

Fare You Well, Dear Sean

Summary: Karen finds out what happened to Sean in Rhodes

Pairing(s): Sean Maguire x Karen

Warning(s): kidnapping (Jack), major character death, religion talk, reference to vom!t, vague thoughts of suicide, super vague implication of pregnancy(?)

Word Count: 1749

A/N: To the anon that asked for Karen x Sean fluff, this is not it lol. Yours is coming, but this is just pure sadness

Also, here’s the link to the song from RDR2 that inspired my title: https://youtu.be/S5N-nLY32KA

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29829786

Today was absolute chaos. It had started out normal enough. Karen had woken to Sean shaking her wildly just like she always did when he actually made himself useful and went on a job outside camp. He thought she cared so much about what he was doing for the day. He hadn’t gotten the hint that she didn’t care. Well maybe she cared just a little… but not much! She knew that he wanted her to be impressed and think that he was some sort of hero, but Karen had a strict rule against getting impressed by stupid men. Especially stupid men named Sean Maguire.

“Miss Jones! Wake up and give your suitor a kiss goodbye!”

“In your dreams, Sean.” Karen mumbled, opening her eyes and swatting her hand at him.

“I always was told I’m a dreamer. My da-”

“No, not today. Too early.” Karen cut him off. Sean’s face fell for half a second, barely detectable, before a smile was plastered on his face again.

“You’re right, it is early. You know what they say, though, the early bird gets the worm! Sad to say that my worm-” Sean was going down a path that Karen did not like the looks of.

“Sean! That’s disgusting!” Sean laughed, glad he was able to get a reaction out of her. Any attention from Karen was good attention, at least in his mind.

Karen patted the ground next to her, signaling for him to sit. “Where you boys off to today, then?”

Sean's face lit up as he sat down next to her, happy to be able to tell of the important job that he was going to go on today, “The Grays need security so naturally they called upon Dead Eye Maguire. Nothing gets past me! I could do it by myself, you know, but I decided to let Bill, Micah, and Arthur on the job. Poor boys needed something to do.”

Karen rolled her eyes at the inflated story Sean just told, but upon hearing that Micah would be there, she felt her instincts screaming that this job wasn’t such a good idea. All of Micah’s plans were terrible, truth be told, but Dutch thought differently, for some reason. “Be careful, alright. I don’t trust Micah as far as I can throw him.”

“Ahhh he’s a bastard but he ain’t got nothing on ol’ Sean Maguire. Don’t you worry your pretty little mind about that.”

Karen sighed, remembering that anytime she expressed any concern, Sean’s ego grew. “Forget I said anything.”

A silence, neither particularly comfortable or uncomfortable, grew between them. Karen thought that for once, maybe Sean was just going to leave her alone and go on about his business. But then he wouldn’t be Sean.

“Can I have my kiss now?” Sean puckered his lips and leaned forward. Karen could hardly find it in herself to not slap him.

“Hell no. Go bother someone else.” She tried to shoo him but he wouldn’t leave, not that she particularly expected him to.

“I know you love me, you should just stop fighting and admit it. I’m irresistible”

“I wish I was resistant to you”

“You’ve got to stop wishing such pain onto yourself,” Sean paused for a second before remembering something that he apparently deemed far more important than further pumping up his ego. “You feeling better today?”

Karen sighed. No she was not feeling better, not at all. She’d been feeling worse and worse every day since she had first fallen ill a little over a week ago. She appreciated Sean asking but didn’t feel like worrying him (and she especially didn’t want to confide in him about what she thought may be causing his illness). “Maybe a little. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Karen, you puked on my shoes last night.” Sean pointed out.

“Ugh, okay, maybe I’m not fine, but I will be. I’ll be alright, Sean.” Karen’s tone grew softer at the end.

“I’ll pick you up some cola syrup in town. Maybe that’ll help?”

“That’s not gonna make me kiss you, Sean.” Karen teased.

“I know. Just want to help, is all.” Sean took Karen’s hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Cause I love you, I really do.”

Karen sighed, feigning exasperation. “Oh alright, come here, you.” She pulled Sean in for a quick kiss. It lasted no more than two second but it was more than enough to make Sean happy.

“See everyone, she loves me!” Sean yelled way too comfortably for Karen. He was practically floating on air, skipping across camp.

Sean had already gotten up onto his horse before Karen yelled back at him,”I do not, you ass!”

Several hours later, the whole gang had turned to chaos. Something had happened to Jack, he was nowhere to be seen. Karen had thought woefully that when no one was watching, maybe he had tried to go swimming in the lake and had drowned. The thought sickened her. But soon enough, Kieran came forward and said he had seen some men come by and had thought they were coming for a meeting. Since no meeting had taken place, it was then assumed that someone had taken Jack. Karen hoped against hope that he was safe.

Karen, trying desperately to comfort Abigail, barely noticed when Micah, Arthur, and later on, Bill returned to camp. And she certainly didn’t notice that Sean didn’t join them. It wasn’t long after Bill returned, however, that Reverend approached her, a solemn look in his eyes.

“Miss Jones, I need to take you somewhere private to talk.” he grabbed for her hand.

“Are you crazy, you drunk bastard? Jack is gone! We all need to help look.”

Reverend’s face changed to a look of pity, which made Karen’s heart sink. She didn’t know what had happened, but something was terribly wrong.

“You’re right, we need to look for Jack, but I still need to talk to you first.”

“Alright.” Reverend led her over to one of the far sides of camp, next to a wagon. Karen grew more uncomfortable with every passing second

“Karen,” Reverend started, “The boys went into town to see the Grays this morning.”

“I know that already!” Karen interrupted impatiently.

“It was a setup. They shot Sean.” Reverend bowed his head.

“Well where is he? I’ll go to the doctor to see him, right now. I’m sure he’ll want to see me.” Karen rambled quickly.

“No, you don’t understand. He um, well he passed. Bill told me earlier and said there was nothing they could have done.”

Karen backed away from Reverend, her hands shaking. “No, no. That-no” She didn’t know what else to say.

“I’m really sorry, we all cared so much about him.” Reverend awkwardly hugged her. She normally didn’t like physical affection, but she didn’t want anyone to see the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. Sean hadn’t done anything to deserve this.

“Bill buried him, nice and proper, he said. I’m going over there now. Couldn’t read him his last rites, but hopefully I can still pray over him for a safe journey to Heaven. I’ve got to at least try. I’d like for you to come along, if you can find it in you.”

“Of course I can find it in me!” Karen cried.This was her last chance to say goodbye and there was no way she was going to pass it up.

Reverend helped Karen up onto the wagon and they went on their way. They sat in mutual silence, save for Karen’s soft crying, for most of the ride. Karen didn’t feel up for conversation, understandably.

When they were getting close to Sean’s final resting place, Karen finally broke the silence.

“God, I hope he didn’t hurt for long.”

“Bill said they blasted a bullet straight through his skull, so I’m sure he died immediately. Didn’t see it coming.” Reverend responded, without thinking much over how his words might impact Karen.

“Oh my god don’t tell me that!” Karen sobbed, placing her hand over her face.The sentiment made her feel sicker to her stomach than she already had been that morning. This had to be the worst day of her life, no contest.

“I’m sorry Karen-”

“I think I’m gonna be sick”

“Hold on, we’re almost there.” Reverend assured her.

A moment or so later, they arrived at a little patch of grass, shaded by trees that overlooked Flat Iron Lake.

“Sean! No no no!” Karen jumped off the wagon and ran to the grave before the horse had made a full stop. She collapsed in front of the grave and cried harder than she had ever remembered doing in the past.

“I know it’s hard, but he’s in a better place now.” Reverend said in an attempt to console her. “You think?” Karen asked between broken sobs.

“Yes, I really do.” Reverend told her, kneeling down and patting her on the back.

Karen, while sitting through Reverend’s prayers for Sean, recalled how poorly she had treated him. She was the worst girlfriend, or whatever she was to him, in the world. No sooner had Reverend said “Amen” before she looked at the cross, which had Sean’s name engraved on it and began rambling.

“I’m sorry I called you an ass. I really didn’t mean it, I swear. I love you, I can’t believe I didn’t tell you, God I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Karen, he knew. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that he knew that.” Reverend assured her genuinely.

“You promise?” Karen looked back at him, her eyes full of tears and puffy from crying.

“Of course. He’s probably watching over you right now. And I think he’d want you to be strong.”

“I don’t want to be strong. I want to be with him.” In fact, the last thing in the world that Karen wanted to be was “strong”. She was pretty sure she didn’t even have it in her.

“Here, Bill found Sean’s satchel. You can keep it if you like.” Reverend picked up the small bag from the other side of the tree and handed it to Karen.

Karen's hands shook as she opened the satchel. Inside was a wad of money, a half eaten chocolate bar, an unfinished letter he’d written to her that was dated back when he had been taken prisoner by Ike Skelding’s bounty men, an Emerald ring, and the Cola syrup he’d promised her that morning.

#rdr2 #RDR #rdr2 fic #sean maguire #karen jones #sean x karen #Red Dead Redemption #red dead fanfic

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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 years ago

Text

Book Four - Part 10

Anti brings the others to help him get Dapper back from Dark, leading to an all-out battle with a half-dozen different sides.

Tws for imprisonment, physical fighting, and fire.

Part 10 - the Houses in the Woods

Anonymous asked: Trick? Dok? You going down too?

“Come on,” says Trick, taking his hand.

“Can’t they handle it?” asks Dok nervously.

“Bud, come on, I’m not going to let him hurt anybody.”

Dok looks at him as they head down the stairs together. He doesn’t know when Trick made it his responsibility to stop Anti from hurting them, but, proud as he is that Trick is stepping up, he doesn’t think he likes it.

Anonymous asked: Dok, we need your necklaces Trick we need you to be behind your true family. We're nearing the climax, and the heroes will either win or lose against the beast among them.

Trick and Dok exchange glances as they reach the door. Trick’s eyes flicker to the necklaces on Dok’s throat. Dok squeezes his hand, frowning. After all they’ve been through together, Trick can feel the rift in the air between them like a physical force.

We’re not on the same side, he realizes a little numbly.

Dok pulls away from him to check on Red, crouching down beneath Anti timidly and taking Red’s head into his hands, examining the goose bump forming on the back of his skull. Trick goes to Anti, clutching his hands and pulling him back from Red.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “Can’t be hitting him.”

Anti’s eyes seem to burn, and not just from Blue’s stolen fire. He clutches Trick to his chest and glares around at his siblings, bitter and violent.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready to go,” he spits at Blue and Red. “We’ll go get Dapper back. If you fail me, maybe I don’t have any use for the two of you little traitors anymore.”

“What am I going to do?” asks Blue, bewildered. “I can barely walk most of the time.”

“Dark’s whole territory is hidden in a mirror dimension, just like that stupid convent where the magicians kept Dok. You have to open the mirror so we can get in.”

“But - I don’t know how,” protests Blue, blinking.

“Well, you better find a way to jog your fucking memory, hadn’t you?” snaps Anti. “Otherwise maybe I’ll have to worm into that head of yours and dig the recollection out.”

Blue and Red exchange looks, alarmed. Anti stalks past them, pulling Trick with him as he goes.

“Whoa, Anti, hold on, I want to talk to - ”

“Dok can have you back when he has those necklaces off his goddamn throat,” spits Anti, yanking him down the hallway.

“But that’s my - ”

“You want to start causing me problems too, Trick?” shouts Anti, whirling on him.

Trick’s lip trembles. He lets Anti lead him back towards their room.

Anonymous asked: You can have your true name soon, Ro. It'll all be okay soon. Hold on for us, Jackie. Losing a small battle doesn't mean you're losing this war.

Red pulls Blue to his feet and they stand together, turning to see Dok padding listlessly after his twin. Blue moves to go after him, but Red pulls him back.

“Do you remember anything about mirror dimensions?” asks Red.

“No,” answers Blue. “No, it’s totally random, out of nowhere. How would I know anything about that?”

“He seems to think you would.”

“Well, if I did, he took the memories from me.”

Red sighs. “Maybe it’s a muscle memory thing? Those are different than memories of actual events or memories of everyday facts. Maybe once we get to the mirror it’ll be an everyday fact thing.”

Blue shakes his head, biting down hard on the nail of his thumb. “He’s going to possess me again if I don’t remember,” he whispers.

“You’ll remember,” Red insists, but even as he says it it doesn’t feel true. If Anti doesn’t know and Blue doesn’t remember, who would?

Anonymous asked: Do you remember the early days Trick? Where you and Dok desperately tried to save the Henrik and Chase within you, having to watch Anti tear the two of you apart day after day. The snake in the rabbit's den. Don't let him steal your heart from your family. Trick, you need to find the Chase within you that you and your twin fought so hard to save in the early days. You need to be their guard, their hero, before Anti kills them or worse.

Trick’s face scrunches up with distress. He pulls on Anti’s hand, looking back at Dok, staring miserably after him from the back of the hallway.

“Let me go with you and the others,” pleads Trick.

“What? No. You could get hurt.”

“So could they!”

“I don’t care about that,” spits Anti, pulling him to his chest. “You’ll stay in your room.”

“I want to be there if something happens to you,” Trick insists, gripping his hands. “I’ll stay back and I’ll cover you with my gun. Anti, you’re upset, you’re getting into a fight, you don’t even trust the others right now. Let me go with you. As a guard. That’s all.”

Anti softens a little, gazing at him. He pushes Trick gently towards the stairs. “I’ll… think about it. Go get dressed. We’ll see.”

Trick obeys, moving to get his gun and some better clothes.

Things are complicated in his head right now, but you’re right about one thing: he needs to be their guard.

scunneredzombie asked: Red, do you remember at all the password that Henrik used when you were sent back in time last time? Or Dok, do you remember anything you were told by the magicians?

Dok frowns, turning back to the others. “I remember… Nina would speak to the mirror? And it would let her step through it. I remember that when you’re in the mirror, it’s like a loop no matter how far you walk.”

Red nods slowly, glancing between the pair of them. “Right. When Dapper and I went back to the - I mean, I remember something. I think we lived in a mirror like that too, one Blue made for us to be safe in. I remember we had to speak to it too to get out. Like a password. ‘Amo, vale.’“

Blue laughs weakly. “That means ‘I love you, goodbye.’ Or almost, anyway.”

“But when Nina left the mirror, she said something in Spanish,” says Dok. “Not ‘te amo’ or anything like that, I don’t think. If it is like a password, I bet it’s unique to every mirror.”

“So how do we figure out the password?”

Anonymous asked: Hey Shep, no idea if you have a camera right now, but you know anything about mirror dimesons by any chance? Just random curiosity!

“Well, I don’t know anything about them, exactly, except that Dark and Wil made one for the houses,” answers Shep.

He’s walking around the forest, still looking for Noodle. Determined.

“It’s cool, I guess. Kind of weird. You can really get stuck in a place like that. And we’re supposed to be really careful with it, because if we break the mirror, you can sever the connection to the real world and lose whatever’s inside.”

Anonymous asked: Is there anything funny Wilford says every time he goes into the mirror? He's always really funny, I'd love to hear more of him! Or something Dark says? I'm really curious about you guys.

“Come on, guys,” laughs Shep. “I know you have to say something to get in there. It’s my home too. I’ll give you a hint… Dark’s told you their password before. Did you think that the only thing it would give you access to was a website? They always wanted you to come and find them. Find the truth, they said.”

Shep steps up onto a log, balancing on one foot. “Oh, yeah. And it’s also a son of a bitch to have to read that out every time I want to go home!”

Anonymous asked: Geez, I'm getting whiplash from your overwhelming favoritism, Anti. Don't want your favorite boy to get hurt? So you'll probably lock him in the room again, all alone and miserable? What will happen to him if you don't come back from Dark's place, uh? If you lose, you're just going to let him pathetically wither away, is that it?

Anti shrugs, glancing at Trick as he walks away. “If I can’t have him, he may as well die.”

Anonymous asked: Lmao sorry Shep, not trying to treat you like you're dumb, we're just used to dealing with a very manipulative demon. I am genuinely curious about you all, and thanks so much for hunting for Noodle, you epic hero man. Big hearts your way!

“I didn’t take any offense, no worries,” answers Shep mildly. “And yeah! Ask me anything anytime. I like talking to you… for a long time I figured nobody was interested and maybe that’s why I got thrown aside. Yes, I’ll look for the cat, and then you’ll have something to remember me by this time!”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, Marvin, this might be a long shot, but when you get to the mirror, try reading out this: Lh3EeEeR9z59YWcUB2b7ViHJ8ALQ637

“What sort of a fucking password?” Blue demands.

“Dok, will you memorize this for us?” asks Red.

Dok turns and reads it over. “Okay, got it.”

“That Dark thing really is cruel if it’s making everybody read that out to get in there,” grins Blue.

Anonymous asked: Oh my god, the heist code is the mirror code? It's so convoluted though! How are you guys not getting locked out with that?

“Wilford never remembers a letter of it,” laughs Shep. “But he can transport in and out anyway. And the twins, they usually come in and out with someone there to help anyway, because they’re developmentally delayed. All the rest of us, we write it in our phones or memorize it. It’s actually only the first eight letters that are the code, so it’s not so bad.

It’s just how Dark does things. They’re obsessive over all of Mark’s projects… they hate him, but they fixate on his videos and stories. When Mark found out they actually gave out the password to our home, he only laughed, though. Dark just wants direct contact with the audience, and Mark will never give it to them, but they try at every turn.”

Shep pauses, glancing at you, the camera tucked into his pocket as he searches for Noodle.

“I don’t care that you know, but just don’t tell Dark you heard anything from me.”

Anonymous asked: Remember guys, it's a tool of gaslighting when your abuser tries to convince you that you're a "traitor" the second you stand up to the abuse. Don't let his manipulation sway your thoughts. You are not traitors. You are escaping an abuser who has pummeled you into dirt for years, years of pain and torture. It is not traitorous to stand up for yourself.

“And he can’t mock me for being autistic like that,” grumbles Red, pushing at his hair. “I struggle with myself enough already.”

“He can’t just take Trick away from me,” agrees Dok, his eyebrows drawn unhappily together. “He’s just being a control freak, punishing me for trying to stay away after he said he would kill me!”

“The only reason Dapper is gone in the first place is because Anti was bargaining with our lives for his and Dark’s entertainment,” adds Blue. “We can’t let this keep happening. He doesn’t really care about anyone but himself. Even his favorites are getting hurt and now Trick is being locked up like Dap. We have to find a way to get all of us away and finish Anti the fuck off.”

Red flinches, still not comfortable with the idea of killing Anti, but Blue and Dok just meet each other’s gazes, steadfast.

Anonymous asked: Jackie, why are you uncomfortable with it, if I can ask? He just confirmed he never loved you, he's threatening to kill all of you, saying Trick is better dead than free, he let Dapper get stolen and taken away from safety and his medicine. He's going to be the death of all of you unless you get to him first. It's looking like it's the only way to save them. Be their warrior, protect them now when they need it most.

Ro turns away from you, a flash of anger in his face. He doesn’t answer.

“Roser,” says Blue.

Red waves him off, stepping out of the room and walking back down the hallway.

Anonymous asked: Also, guys, be very very careful, you can't break the mirror while JJ is in there, or apparently you risk losing everything and everyone inside.

“Oh, fuck, okay,” says Blue, nodding his head. “Yeah, we’ll be real careful. Thanks, guys… I don’t know how this would have worked out without you. I think we’ll go pretty soon. Are we… ready for that? Last words before a big fight?”

He looks at Dok, who looks back, not able to give him a smile. He touches Dok’s head and pulls him to his shoulder, knocking their heads together.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he says.

“You don’t know,” answers Dok frailly.

“I’m going to find a way to get you away from him.”

“We’re still not all on the same page,” murmurs Dok, closing his eyes. “That’s what the magicians told me, again and again. That we have to all be fighting him. And we’re just not, Blue. Trick still loves him. Dapper doesn’t even seem to remember what it’s like to hope for something better. Are the three of us enough to do this?”

Blue sighs, rubbing his shoulder. “We’re just going to see how this turns out, honey.”

Anonymous asked: Trick, sometimes when life is scary, you’ll want to go back to where you understood it. But you can’t go back, whether you want to or not. Understanding will come, but you have to fight tooth and nail for it. Fight through the haze and claim your mind for yourself again.

Trick sits on his bed, staring at Anti as he moves around their room.

Anti plays with his appearance in the mirror for a few minutes, looking pensive, but then you see frustration and pain on his face, and he just transforms back to his usual self - green hair, black tee, ripped jeans. He glitches again and again as he moves, out of control and looking tired and pale, rummaging through the drawers in case there are any weapons he wants to hand out before they go.

“Anti,” says Trick quietly.

“What?” asks Anti.

“You would never really kill one of the others, would you? That’s just your temper.”

Anti plays with a whip, turned away from him. “Sure,” he says flatly.

Trick sighs, rubbing at his head. He gets to his feet and moves to Anti’s side, trying to get his attention. Anti dives back into the drawers. Trick grabs his arm and pulls him back.

“Hey,” he says. “Talk to me. What is going on with you lately?”

Anti sulks, shaking his head, but he doesn’t yank away from Trick’s grip. He plays quietly with the holster on Trick’s waist, tapping at the gun.

“Just angry,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, I’d be angry too if someone I was into started acting like they don’t know who I am, but that doesn’t mean you get to take it out on us.”

“Well, they ran away!” shouts Anti.

Trick grabs his face between his hands and kneels down beside him, drawing his gaze.

“I love you,” he says. “But the reason they ran away is because the way you’re treating them isn’t right.”

Anti wilts a little, glaring at the floor.

“We’ll figure it out afterwards,” he growls, getting to his feet.

Trick sighs. “Go easy on them for my sake if nothing else.”

“Yeah, sure,” mutters Anti. “Whatever.“

Trick squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to feel like this - like you’re understanding Anti better than he himself is these days. He doesn’t want you to be more true than his brother.

But he also doesn’t want to believe that he’s not thinking for himself anymore. This is what he really feels, isn’t it? This is worth putting up with? This is family?

“Are you sure about this?” he asks.

“About what?”

“Going after Dark? Shouldn’t we maybe, like, talk to them before starting an actual fight?”

“They made the choice they made,” says Anti quietly. “And they took Dap. No more talking unless they’re groveling beneath my heel.”

Anonymous asked: You might not all be on the same page, and hell, maybe a couple of you are in different chapters entirely, but you're all in the same story. The others will have to go at their own pace as best they can to reach a good ending for all of you, okay? It won't be easy and it won't be perfect but the most we can do is try.

“And that’s what we’ve wanted all along, right?” murmurs Blue, touching Dok’s hair. “A chance to try. To get away. To protect each other.”

Dok nods, trying to smile.

“Today,” says Blue softly, reaching down to touch a necklace on Dok’s throat. “I think we might get a chance to use some of these.”

“Okay,” says Dok, nodding again. “Okay. It’s going to be okay.”

He’s scared to be tortured again. He doesn’t know if he could survive that. But Blue is here, gripping his hand, and he knows that at the very least the two of them have each other.

It’s going to have to be enough for now.

Anonymous asked: Anti can and would kill them. He /has/ killed them. He used to kill Red and force Dapper to turn back as punishment. He stabbed Dok in the lungs for trying to protect Dapper. As long as he has time travel, he'll kill them without a second thought just to punish the others.

Trick sits back on the bed and shudders.

“We can’t keep living like this,” you hear him whisper, as Anti busies himself around the room.

Anti steps back towards him. “Ready to go?”

Trick sits up, looking pale.

“Yes, Anti,” he says.

Anonymous asked: Trick, sad to say you'll be living like this for as long as you belong to Anti. Anti will never change, and he will never stop hurting you to make himself feel stronger, locking you in rooms to feel like he owns you, killing and torturing your brothers as punishment. He cannot, and will not ever control his temper. You're going to be stuck here until he's gone. You will not escape abuse unless you leave the abuser.

Anti steps close to Trick on the bed and takes the camera from him, turning with a sudden force to throw it against the wall, smashing it into pieces. Trick flinches and Anti laughs, touching his cheek and leaning down to kiss the side of his face and knock their foreheads together.

“Come on, then,” he says, stroking his hand down green hair as you watch from the camera in the corner of the ceiling. “Let’s go. I need to know I have at least you on my side.”

Trick looks up at him, eyes wide. For a moment, his eyes flicker over to you.

He takes Anti’s hand and they move down the stairs.

The farther they wander, the darker the trees.

“Is this Dark’s doing?” whispers Red. “Or did they just pick the blackest, deadest part of the forest they could find?”

“It’s Dark’s doing,” hisses Anti. “Now shush.”

The trees stare down at them, sunless monoliths looming like gods over their heads. Birds flitter about like rodents through gutters, but not one of them sings, and the buzzing of insects appears only for a moment before a bigger creature comes to snap grasshoppers and flies up like deviled eggs eaten in one mouthful.

“Are we close?” asks Dok, stepping over the ashy graveyard of what was once a great redwood. “Blue is tired.”

“Why are you here again?” snaps Anti.

“Dapper’s sick, Anti,” Trick reminds him. “Dok needs to look after him.”

“I’m sick of the lot of you,” answers Anti, which makes Red snort despite himself, trying not to laugh. Anti raises an amused eyebrow at him.

“Come on,” he sighs. “Here’s the shed.”

Inside a shed in the forest - which Anti has mostly smashed open in the hopes of ticking off Dark - there is a mirror taller than they are standing against the back corner. Anti pushes his way inside and spiders scutter away from the dim light. Dok leaps back, nearly running back the way they came, and stands back from the shed, watching his feet.

“It’s okay, man,” calls Trick, helpfully squashing spiders beneath his heel. “I got it.”

“Go on then,” says Anti, shoving Blue’s shoulder. “Top magician. Jack’s special boy. Didn’t do you much good in the end.”

“Step off, Anti,” Blue spits back, stalking towards the mirror. “You’re just lucky the cameras helped us with this.”

Anti leans against the wall, picking at spiders while Blue and Dok and Red try Dark’s password. After the first eight letters, the mirror changes. There is no longer a reflection of Blue, tired and pale, in the glass - instead, it looks out like a window onto a trio of houses in a grassy field.

Red and Blue exchange glances. Anti and Red exchange glances. Dok sees a spider by his foot and yelps.

Red puts his hand to the mirror, curious. Slowly, his fingers pass through the glass like water. He draws back again, eyebrows raised, and turns to look at Blue.

Blue is gone.

Anti straightens up in his skin, cracking his neck. “Ready?” he asks.

Red gapes, shaking his head.

Anti punches his shoulder and grabs his sleeve. “Come on, so,” he says.

“Go in there? Get Dapper?”

“I should never have reset you. You and I used to go sneak into shit and take what we wanted together. I hate that the violence is gone from you. You were more fun before I gave you Blue. Don’t know when I managed to ruin you so badly.”

Something about his tone makes Red flush, his heart aching. He looks away, mouth taut, and sucks in a breath. Looking up again, he finds Anti looking back at him through his twin’s captive eyes.

“Fine, then,” says Red, straightening. He turns his body towards the mirror and grips his hands into fists. “I will get him, then.”

Anti passes him a fighting staff. Red blinks and takes it into his hand, remembering the weight and feel of it from a time he no longer recalls.

“After you,” says Anti, pulling a knife from Blue’s jacket.

Red moves through the mirror and into Dark’s home.

“Be good,” calls Anti, clucking Trick’s chin once before following after their older brother. “I’ll be back very soon.”

And then Trick and Dok are alone in the twilight forest.

Anonymous asked: Don't let your loyalty become slavery, Trickshot. Know when to let go, know when you're being held back instead of driven forward, know when their desires drown out your own. Never compromise on self-respect.

“All these messages are for you,” mumbles Henrik, sitting down on a rock in the earth and looking the camera over in his hands.

“They’ve been talking to me a lot lately,” Trick answers just as quietly, but he won’t look back at his twin. He waits at the door of the shed. In his hands, Dok’s gun.

“But you don’t listen,” Dok guesses.

Trick doesn’t answer.

“You’re letting Anti treat you like his toy,” says Henrik, turning away from him. “Won’t see the truths they tell you.”

“Dok, let’s not start, not now, c’mon. Been days since I seen you. I thought… maybe Dark had you.”

Anonymous asked: If you don't confront it and talk through it with us now, then when will you, Trick?

“Mhh,” groans Trick, looking away. “We’re busy…”

“You don’t want to ever face it,” says Henrik. “But one day, it will be in front of you, and you will already be too late to act.”

“I won’t fail to protect you again, Dok.”

“You cannot see the things that hurt me. You are blind to them. They will hurt me again. You will watch.”

“I mean it,” says Trick, loud. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. For real.”

Anonymous asked: Be strong Trick, and more importantly be /you/. Be the man who would do anything for his family, the person who lets his twin massage him when he's been guarding for hours on end, the person who whispered secret names across the room to your brother. You need to protect your family, your real family. You have a choice coming up, man. Your brothers, or your abuser.

Henrik watches his brother for a long time. Eventually, Trick glances back at him, eyes uncertain.

Henrik smiles.

Trick relaxes a little and comes to his side, sitting down with him. After a moment, he puts his head on Dok’s shoulder and fixes his eyes on the shed.

Watching. Waiting. Guard dog.

Dok massages his back so he won’t get stiff. Trick smiles. They sit in the wind of the trees together.

“We are making decisions these days, aren’t we, mein zwilling?”

“Not between you and Anti, though,” murmurs Trick. “Not making decisions like that.”

Henrik sighs, his hand around his arm. The distance between them has never gaped quite like this.

“It’s sunset,” says Trick. “Are you going to say the Shema?”

Henrik blinks. “I haven’t said my blessings in a long time.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you still said them in your head. After you stopped saying them with me.”

Henrik shrugs.

“You don’t anymore?”

“I feel far away from the Lord,” he says, very softly, staring down at the earth beneath his feet. “And lately I am not the sort of man who is strong enough to keep my eyes on Him while the valley of the shadow of death is around me. I am dry bones in the desert. The blessings begin to feel pointless. I can’t even keep track of my own holidays. Candles on Hanukah… it’s nothing. Or very little. I can barely remember the inside of a synagogue. I feel far away from my community. I feel far away from everything.”

Trick shuffles, frowning at him. “You didn’t tell me you were feeling like that.”

“No. I guess not.”

“You usually talk to me.”

“You’re not a Jew, my friend.”

“But you tell me things like that. You used to. We would say the blessings together.”

“I feel far away from you too,” whispers Henrik.

Anonymous asked: In abuse there's always a 'honeymoon phase' where the abuser apologizes and makes promises to change. But the tension builds, some false law is disobeyed, and another abusive incident happens. Fish and chips, a warm kitten, treats and gifts and Hanukkah candles are all false apologies for behavior that will never change. One reason it's so hard to leave is because you always want to believe they can change. But all the self-improvement in the world won't fix the way they hurt you in the past.

Trick bites down on his lip, his hands soothing along his gun. He looks between you and Dok. “It’s not a honeymoon phase… Dok-Dok, I’ll talk to Anti about you going to services - ”

“Don’t,” says Henrik dryly. “Don’t, I don’t want you to. They’re right. He doesn’t care.”

Trick shakes his head, putting his chin in his hand as he looks up at his brother on the stone beside him. He doesn’t know if he should say he’s sorry or get angry at him or reassure him or what. He never seems to know lately. Feels cold in the air between them. He hates that. All he’s thought about for days is the things that Dok would do to cheer him up if they were stuck in that bedroom together, and now he can’t even comfort him.

He closes his eyes. For long minutes, they wait.

“I’ll say it for you, then,” says Trick.

Dok looks up. “What?”

“The blessing,” Trick says, mouth set. “If you don’t feel like you can have faith right now, I will.”

Dok’s lips twitch. He shakes his head at Trick, trying not to grin. “You don’t know it without me.”

“I do!”

“No way.”

“Shema, Yisrael,” begins Trick. “Uh.”

Dok laughs. Trick laughs too, but he’s determined. He keeps going.

“We’ve said it together often enough. Shema, Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu. Adonai echad…. wa-hafta… w… v'ahav'ta eit Adonai Elohekha m'odekha…”

Dok looks at him, beginning to smile.

He doesn’t pronounce all of it right. He might skip a word or two, and, as always, he stammers. But he fumbles through the Hebrew with his mouth full of love for him.

And as he goes he begins to hear Henrik whispering the English alongside him.

“And you shall bind them as a sign on your hands… and between your eyes… and you shall write them on the doorposts of your home and on your gates.”

They are looking at each other. Trick grins. There is sunset light in his eyes.

Henrik puts his arm around him again and they sit side-by-side.

Anonymous asked: I know you can feel the divide between you and Henrik, even as anti-blinded as you are, Trick. You know you'll have to make the choice between them eventually. It isn't a betrayal to escape your abuser. It isn't traitorous to hate the person who's hurt you. The choice will ultimately be yours, but you have to realize and wake up to the distance between you before you can even come to that. Anti won't change, Trick. How many times has he promised to be better, only to hit you the very next day?

“He has hurt you,” says Trick, his voice very low. “Hasn’t he?”

Henrik presses his head against his shoulder, hiding just a little. “And you too.”

“No… not on purpose.”

“If you have to start by believing that he hurts me, then yes,” says Henrik. “Yes, he has, and he will not stop.”

Trick sighs. “Well. Then… I think you should go.”

Henrik sits up straight, staring at him. “What?”

“I think you should go. Like you want to. You’re an adult, Dok. We all are. We should get to choose. Right?”

Henrik touches his hair. Henrik beams.

“Yeah… yes, of course. But not without - ”

“No,” Trick cuts him off. “Not now, bud. Okay? Let’s just… chill for a bit. It’s going to be okay. And if Anti hurts you again, I’ll stop him.”

“That’s not your job,” says Henrik, as though wounded.

Trick squeezes his hand. “Are the others okay?” he asks you.

Anonymous asked: Red, how goes it? Find anything yet? Dapper is in a clinic room with barred windows last time we saw him

“Stay back here,” Red warns Anti, pushing him back into the trees. “You might use him like he’s at a hundred percent, but Blue’s sick. Be gentle with his body.”

“Get the boy back for me and I won’t have to use him rough,” says Anti, stepping back into the shadows.

“Okay,” sighs Red. “Anything I should be worried about?”

“Everyone in there is either an imbecile, a powerhouse, or both,” answers Anti. “Have fun.”

Red turns towards the house, clutching his fists together. Okay. He’s got this.

Red stalks around the house, swift and quiet, darting through the grass and staying out of the sight of windows. There are three houses. On one of them, he can see Dark and Wilford on the porch, talking and playing with an enormous dog. There’s a movie playing in another, and Red can see a man inside driving a toy car around the carpet. The third house is still until a little brown cat slips out of it and darts away. Red will check out all three in turn if he has to.

Anonymous asked: Hey Shep! You should tell us about you guys' houses. Where is everything, and why does everyone live in separate places?

“That’s it, I’m coming home,” laughs Shep, turning back towards the houses. To be fair to him, he’s been out in the heat for hours and he’s a sweaty mess. “Uh, well, Dark lives in their house ‘alone’… we all know Wil sneaks in there half the time and Google spends most of his days guarding the place like a loyal little puppy. He takes so much pride in being Dark’s weapon, he’s nuts. Won’t listen to anyone else, though.

“We come and go with the other houses. They’re damn empty these days. But Host and Google and Wil and I have our house, and sometimes Ippy comes back to stay for a while. Eric and the twins are all that’s left in the other house. Sometimes Illinois, but he’s in Mexico right now. I miss Bing, shit. I miss a lot of them.”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, you awake? Back in the early days of us talking to you, you said you would only be free if all of your brothers were as well. Well, Dapper, we're doing our best for you, because we care for all of you so much. Jackie, Henrik, and Marvin are on the side of freedom so far. We will keep you safe, and we will protect you any way we can. Wish us luck, Jameson.

Dapper is drawing on the walls.

It’s been his favorite pastime for a long time, ever since he realized Anti wouldn’t punish him for making the house his canvas. His biggest piece was in a defunct pen manufacturer in Sweden, where they stayed for about two weeks, during which time he covered an entire industrial wall in an image of the very ugly aliens from A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Today he draws Anti in cheap pencil lead along the wall of Ippy’s clinic, coursing the point along the curve of Anti’s curving smile. He looks happy in the picture. His hands are empty and open.

Dapper turns at the sound of the beeping and smiles at you, though you see a glassy film over his fevered eyes and a tremble in his artist’s fingers. His face softens as he reads.

“I care for you too,” he tells you heartfully, touching his chest. “All of you, thank you - for being here, for keeping me company, for all of it. And you know I’d always wish you luck, my dears.”

Anonymous asked: Hey uh, dapper? Are you feeling alright? You look a little bit... off

“I am not really recovering from this whole sickness thing that is happening,” he answers unhappily, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m tired and hot and my head aches. I can’t keep any food down, including most of my medicine. And Dark was right… Anti helps with my psychosis.”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, methinks you should avoid the house with Dark on the porch unless you can't find Dapper in the other two. Google is guarding, and Silver Shepheard is on his way back. Try to avoid a fight and be sneaky if you can.

“Kinda want to poke the bear, though,” admits Red, narrowing his eyes at Dark. “They have to pay for this, the fucking cock-jockey.”

His own insult gives him a burst of confidence as he slides past Dark’s house. A black and brown cat watch him disdainfully, waving their tails at him.

“I’ll check the other two first. Thanks, guys. I just need to find a way to get in and get him out… or get him out from outside.”

Anonymous asked: Anti helps superficially, but you know what would help more, JJ? Seeing a psychiatrist to get a mood stabilizer to assist your Haldol, seeing a behavioral therapist to help deal with symptoms, and being free from a constantly traumatizing environment. You need stability and the help of doctors. Things are probably extra bad right now due to being a hostage in a strange environment. You're not hopeless without Anti, millions of people like you & I cope and live good lives w/o mind demon's 'help'.

Dapper shrinks in on himself a little, playing with his hands. He stares at Anti’s eyes on the wall.

“I remember… getting better while we were all at home, without him,” he signs quietly. “Even the paranoia - and the paranoia is always the worst - even that was better. And whenever I started talking to my hallucinations, the others would have me go stand in the laundry room, and then after a while I could take ten minutes in the laundry room and come out and the hallucinations would be so much easier to deal with. Just from having that organization in my life. And I took a couple medications and nobody got mad at me if I was delusional or disorganized or acting really weird. And I had a therapist who signed. And I went to church and the priest would give me confession and I didn’t feel like I was going to hell. And nothing ever hurt me.”

He looks down at his hands.

“It was easier.”

The admission seems to have taken a lot out of him. He slips back down onto the bed, sighing.

scunneredzombie asked: Dapper, is there a window or door near you? Red is here to get you, but he needs a way to get you out!

“Yes, there’s a door, but it’s locked, and a big window, but it’s barred.” He frowns at you and makes prayer hands. “Tell him come bust me out. I sure can’t fit through those bars unless someone wants to shrink me and put me in their pocket. Like a little hedgehog…”

He begins sketching a hedgehog by Anti’s foot.

scunneredzombie asked: Rojo, be on the lookout for large, barred windows, probably the second of the houses?

Ro creeps around the first house, narrowing his gaze at Dark, his hands still aching for a fight. For now, though, he’ll have to focus on getting Dap to safety.

He moves around the second house, slipping down beside a cracked window to listen inside. There’s a television playing a loud cartoon. Lifting his head a little, he can see the man with the toy car driving it around the carpet and talking to himself. There is a whole crate of toy cars. On the couch, a second man sorts patiently through them, occasionally holding a little figurine up to the light or racing it along the arm of the couch, making vrooming and beeping noises. Red sits back a little, rubbing his palms together as he thinks. He wants to wreck some havoc, but not in front of a pair of twins who aren’t causing any harm and don’t look like they’d be able to comprehend someone trying to hurt them. They’re all clean and content-looking, playing with their cars. Red sighs. Having innocents around makes things harder.

It always does, he thinks to himself, and he feels more than recalls a memory from two weeks ago - Anti taking him and Dapper to kill the man who owns the house they’re staying in now. His stomach churns and he digs his nails into his palms. He still remembers the blood-craze in Dapper’s eyes as Anti helped him bury a knife in the man’s chest - and then, moments later, the hopelessness.

“Come on, Red, come on,” he mutters to himself, creeping around the back of the house.

He doesn’t see any barred windows. He glances into the clearing between the three houses as he waits for his chance to dart over to the third house.

Dark is on the porch of the first house with another one of his soldiers, someone with a voice so loud and booming Ro can hear it from here. His hand is on Dark’s waist as he chatters at them. Ro remembers the weight of Max’s hand on his waist… the smell of him…

“Goddamn,” he hisses, slapping himself. Lately he can’t focus on anything. He’s just… sad. He pinches his arms until he gets some clarity back, gnawing on his lips.

“Dapper Dapper Dapper,” he chants to himself, and it’s this thought that carries him over to the third house, where, at last, he spots a little barred window in a window well to the basement.

Anonymous asked: Jackie, we believe in you! Hero of the day, the hero of all time!

Ro gives a shaky little laugh, but you’ve put a grin on his mouth. He darts over to the window, feeling sneaky and maybe even a little bit competent, which is nice. Maybe he’s even acting a little like Jackie would act. The thought gives him a strange, nervous satisfaction.

“Dap,” he whispers, tapping his knuckle cautiously against the window. He can get his hands through the bars, but not much further.

Something shifts in the room. He squints his eyes through the dim light of the basement room and sees a nervous pair of big blue eyes looking back at him.

“It’s me, dude,” he whisper-hisses, glancing around.

Dapper’s eyes water with relief. He pushes the window open, leaving only the bars between them. At this angle, Red can only just brush his hand against his shoulder, reaching down into the window well, and he can hardly see his hands.

“Are you okay? Shit, I was worried, Carve. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

Dapper grips his hand and squeezes in forgiveness.

“How do I get you out?”

There’s those big puppy dog eyes. They’re familiar, sure, reassuring and maybe even cute, but not problem-solving. Red squeezes his hand back and tries to think.

“I’ll have to come inside… or get the bars off. Unless you can shrink? Have any Borrower friends in there that could help? Maybe some mice and birds, Cinderella-style?”

Dapper pinches Ro’s hand and he laughs despite his rising heart rate, more and more anxious the longer he crouches here.

Anonymous asked: Dapper was right Anti, you're such a fucking creep. Dying his hair green and roleplaying like he's Jack but still forcing him to love you unconditionally. Touching him like you love him when he's just an object to you. You don't deserve any of the love any of them have given you. You're disgusting.

“He belongs to me,” answers Anti coldly, leaning back against a tree as he keeps an eye on the houses, waiting to see if Red will fuck up or bring Dapper back to him quietly. “I can do what I want with him. Jack never gave me anything but lemons - fine, I’ll make lemonade. Besides, let’s not pretend Chase would be anything at all without me. He’d just be childless and drinking himself to death in the backroom of their house like he was before I kidnapped him. This whole crusade the lot of you have, trying to set them free… pointless. You won’t make them any happier. He’d be miserable with a taste of freedom. You know, if Jack wanted his little protagonist to actually be able to save the day, maybe he shouldn’t have made him so helpless. Huh, like fucking Chase Brody could have ever done anything about me… well, he’s mine now, so there’s your story, Jack. There’s your fucking story.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Anti, this is important. Dapper /needs/ to see a proper psychiatrist, just once or twice, so that he can get a mood stabilizer and other medicines to assist his antipsychotic. You can't neglect him like this, he's schizophrenic/psychotic, treatment and constant medication updates are the only way to truly help him be better. Constant mind manipulation only makes things worse for him if he's away from you even for a short time.

Anti’s eyes flicker over to you and then away again. He’s playing with fire on the ends of Blue’s fingers, eyes flickering from the white light of it.

“Mh,” he shrugs, uncertain. “I don’t think I want him talking to anybody outside of the house. If he needs a mood stabilizer, talk to Dok and have him talk to me. It’s like American health care! You gotta get a referral. Besides, if being away from me makes things worse, then I’ll just have to be better about making sure he isn’t away from me again. Not even for a short amount of time.”

He drops a flame to the earth and then stomps it out with his foot, his gaze watching as though infatuated as even a moment of fire singes a whole patch of earth and sets leaves to blazing. He bets he could burn down this whole forest if he wanted to… maybe set all of California ablaze. Again.

“Letting Dark take Dapper was my fault,” he tells you quietly. “I overestimated how much they cared about me. Let them fool me. It was stupid. It won’t happen again. Not with anyone. Dapper and Trick… they’re reliable. No one else. Almost makes you wonder… if anyone else is even worth trucking with… mh.”

Anonymous asked: Without Blue, you'll have no one to possess: Dapper might snap and Trick can't handle it. Killing Dok would be the worst possible thing you could do if you still want Trick on your side. And like it or not, Red is your watchdog and the others protector. If you kill any of them, the others will turn.

Anti glances at you, his stance softening a little. He shrugs.

“I guess you’re right,” he says. “Just lately feels like more trouble than they’re worth. I think Jack made five to make sure it was too much for me. Maybe it’s just time I started admitting that. Trick and Dap would be cute twins. I could make Trick forget, and I think Dapper would only be sad for a while, cause it’s not like it changes much for him.”

He pauses, digging his heel into the ash of the forest floor.

“No… you’re right, though. I think. Yeah, I can still use them. They all take care of each other - yucky, but necessary.”

Anonymous asked: Anti what will you do if Dapper breaks? And I don't mean just emotionally or mentally because obviously you only see that as minor maintenance. What happens if he can't use his time travel again? Will his loyalty still matter or is it just his power that you use him for? Is he only worth as much as his usefulness to you?

Anti plays with the bark of a tree, picking at it until new growth sprouts from the side of the trunk. He peels it off again and grumbles to himself for a moment.

“I’d still want him around,” says Anti. “I guess. I mean, he’s - like… he’s the only one who… I don’t know. He’s comforting. Fine. But I don’t know if that’s because of the power or because he’s always been mine. I’ve hated not having him with me these last few days. It’s like the whole world is wrong. And when he was in Columbia, I felt like I was going to implode. Like I was going to die. And I was sick at the time, with Blue’s power eating me up. I wondered if maybe I would die before I could ever find him, and not even know if he was okay.”

He plucks apart a leaf from the offshoot he created, tearing it into pieces, which drift towards the forest floor.

“I wasn’t sure if he’d grieve,” he adds. “If he’d grieve if I died.”

Anonymous asked: They don't belong to you, Anti. You don't own them, they're adults that are fully capable of making their own decisions. They have the right to leave you whenever they want, because you abuse them and refuse to learn to control your temper. You're immature and treat them like toys, but they are autonomous human beings that deserve to make their own decisions. Why don't you test it, if you think they love you so much. Just let them go and see if they crawl back like you say they wil. I doubt it.

Anti grits his teeth. The truth is that Red was willing to leave him the moment someone else showed him that he could have a life outside of Anti, and the thought devours him. Blue was only ever here for his siblings.

“Look, I don’t pretend to not be a monster,” he snarls. “Fine, some of them don’t love me. No matter how much I use the hypnosis… it’s not real. But guess what? I don’t care. They still have to belong to me. They’re not getting away from me. Not with air in their lungs.”

Anonymous asked: Dok isn't a psychiatrist, Anti. It's two completely different fields of medicine. JJ needs to see specifically a psychiatrist. Hell, I don't care if you go to the appointment with him, but you need to let him see someone to get his medicine adjusted. Think about it this way, how much use is he to you if you're constantly having to mess with his brain and ward back his psychosis, when you can easily get the same effect with just a few trips to a psychiatrist and a less stressful environment?

“Dok’s supposed to be Jack’s genius. If he can’t handle Dapper’s issues, nobody can. Dapper has always done fine, with only a couple exceptions. Actually, I think the paranoia sometimes makes him sharper, more alert, and the hallucinations keep him scared and confused. He won’t leave me when I make him feel both sane and terrified, when he thinks he’s too much for anyone else to handle. As long as he doesn’t snap completely, his illness is a benefit to me.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, I think you're so insistent that they would never be happy with freedom because you can't stand the thought, the truth, that every single one of them would be better off without you.

“How about you all stop trying to piss me off before I decide maybe you aren’t all worth dealing with either?” snaps Anti, pointing at you in accusation. “Fuckers. All you do is plot against me lately. It’s barely even fun. Maybe I’ll torture the lot of them just to see you whining and begging again.”

Red squeezes Dapper’s hand one more time before sneaking around the back of the house, where a glass-paned door looks into the kitchen.

He could try and get in here. He could try and get the bars off Dapper’s window somehow. Or he could ask for help.

It’s as he’s thinking that he notices movement -a figure entering through the front door, their gait thudding and their shoulders set like a statue’s. Red catches a gleam of light through their glasses. Gigi moves like a bear, his every footstep heavy and determined. Ro narrows his eyes.

“Well, then,” he mumbles, tucking you deeper into his pocket. “Do I tangle with that or try something else?”

Anonymous asked: I would try something else instead of trying to tango with Gigi. He's a robot, so he wouldn't go down like a regular human, and the commotion caused by that fight would draw too much attention.

“Oh, boy,” says Ro, drawing back from the door. “A robot, okay. Well…”

He could maybe climb the house. He sees an open window. If he listens, he can even hear a deep, sonorous voice speaking from inside it, as though narrating.

“Mh,” he says. “Could maybe get up there. I can see places to put my feet already. Or maybe… Dok’s necklace? For Dapper?”

Anonymous asked: The voice from the window is a blind man who sees All. Probably not a good idea to try sneaking by him. And... as for the necklaces, if you use it for Dapper, then you won't have it for Anti. Make sure you've exhausted all other options before that, Jackie.

“Okay,” murmurs Jackie. “Well, I think we’re looking at either man-who-sees-all or robo boy. If I have to fuck with one of them, who do I go for?”

Anonymous asked: Dapper's mental health got better when he had both mood stabilizer and other medicines to help with his other symptoms. You need him /healthy/, him being paranoid and hallucinating isn't good for him. You switch so fast between caring about him and tossing aside his issues. Anti, it would take a very simple set of changes in yourself & your personality for them to stop running and conspiring. You can change. You're not incapable of it. Start small, let him see a psychiatrist. Small things first.

“I’ll think about it, alright?” Anti says, turning his head away. “I got bigger fish to fry right now.”

Anonymous asked: Hey, Trick & Dok? Do you think it would ever be possible to get Anti to let Dapper see a psychiatrist and get medicated properly? I know you don't remember, but before Anti took you all away from your home, Dapper was getting better. He wasn't stuck being constantly psychotic and afraid, he was healing. He needs therapy and proper medications. I don't think Anti would ever give him that, he has too much fun abusing him, but... could you try?

“I’ll help convince him,” promises Trick right away, nodding. “If he needs that, then he should have it. You can get his medication fixed, right, Dok?”

“No,” says Dok, exasperated. “I’ve never really known what the hell to do with him.”

“Oh. Well - ”

Something snaps in the forest. Trick is on his feet, gun pointed.

Silence. A flicker of movement. Dok and Trick are taut as the bow of a violin.

Anonymous asked: Shep? Is that you?

You can see Shep on the other side of the trees, frozen as stiff as the twins. His gaze flickers nervously over to you and then back to the twins, his fists clutched. He doesn’t even have his knuckles with him. He didn’t actually think someone would be here. No one’s ever come to their house before. He pulls out his phone, backing away from the trees.

“Who’s there?” shouts a voice. He stills, staring at Trick through the trees.

Red should sneak into Host’s room.

Dec. 12 2020

3 notes

Red should go in through the backdoor with Gigi.

Dec. 12 2020

1 note

Red should try something else.

Dec. 12 2020

2 notes

Anonymous asked: Trick don't shoot. It's someone who lives in Dark's house, but he's unarmed. Just be careful and try to come up with an explanation for why you're there?

Trick lets his gun falter, glancing over at Dok.

“He already knows who you are, right?” signs Dok. “Will he try to kidnap you again? Kidnap us?”

Trick grits his teeth and steps closer to Dok, blocking him from Shep’s view.

“You leave us alone!” he shouts. “You come any closer and I’ll shoot!”

Shep backs away again, nervous. He opens Gigi’s name in his contacts.

Anonymous asked: I dont know if there's anything else you could try, Red. But if there is, def look at it. Otherwise, between Gigi and Host, I think at least Host could possibly be reasoned to/ spoken with? Gigi is a no-go. Hes 100% loyal to Dark, and an android, so he'd be HELLA hard to fight. And also he'd alert Dark. Host, im not quite sure exactly where his loyalties lay, but im sure he's hella powerful. So use your words before you try and fight him.

Ro presses himself against the side of the door and hoists his body up. This isn’t like the house where he and the others are staying, lined in decorative brick to give him footholds. Instead, windows make his only path up. While his hands find a grip on the tops of the windows, he suspends the rest of his body with his side against one jutting windowframe and his feet pressing against another, and slowly leaps and drags himself up the side of the house, his worn sneakers threatening more than once to make his foot slip and his body fall. The black and brown cats are watching him from the ground, blinking up at him as he goes.

But he won’t. Today, he’s Jackie, and he doesn’t think Jackie would fall, so neither will he.

“On another day,” comes that chasm-deep voice from the open window on the second floor, “he might have been fine. The Host is not always looking. Today, he is.”

Ro pauses, hiding against the side of Host’s window, one foot on the side of its sill.

“Is he going to turn back?” asks Host in a murmur. Craning his neck, Ro can see the man bent over braille paper and a recorder “Or will he still try to sneak past him? In a trance this deep, it’s possible Host won’t be able to do anything about it anyway. He does not like to interfere with other people’s stories.”

Anonymous asked: Shep, wait, please don't call anyone who would hurt them. Theyre only here because they're following orders.

“What do you want?” calls Shep, a faint shake in his voice.

“How about the little brother you stole?” spits back Trick. “No, stay back! Stay back there, I swear to God.”

“You need to get out of here before I call Gigi,” says Shep. “Or worse, Dark.”

“No, don’t,” protests Trick. “Please, we just want Dapper. Nobody has to get hurt. We’ve had enough, okay?”

Anonymous asked: Just let Jackieboy Man's story play out, please, Host-we-love-the-most. He deserves to be the hero again after all he's been through.

Directly addressed, Host comes out of his narration a little, brushing scattered hairs out of his face. He runs his fingers over his papers, jerking back a little.

“Fuck, what a mess,” he mumbles. “Too many players in this game. How long have I been writing?”

Ro’s foot slips for a second and he catches himself quickly, thudding against the side of the house. He winces hard, closing his eyes in panic.

Host chuckles inside the house.

“Come in, then,” he says. “I’m not meant to interfere, you know…”

“Who are you?” cries Ro, heart pounding.

“Ignore me,” answers Host. “I’m just the storyteller. You are the action-taker.”

Ro rolls his eyes, biting down hard on his lip. “You’re really not going to snitch if I come in your room right now?”

“No.”

Ro pauses. Scratches at his beard. Glances at the trees, where a pair of squirrels are judging him from a few feet away.

He slips into Host’s room.

Anonymous asked: Trick, should you just take Dok back to the house? Shep can and will call help if you don't leave. I don't want you guys to have to get in unnecessary fights. I'm pretty sure Jackie and Anti can handle it from here, yeah?

“If we go back we’ll be in so much trouble,” breathes Trick, frightened just at the thought of it. “He told me to guard the way, so I can’t let anyone in or out.”

“Why do you have to do what he tells you?” asks Shep.

“Why do you have to do what they tell you?” answers Dok bitterly, standing up beside his brother. “At least Trick doesn’t notice when he’s being used as a pawn. You know you’re that monster’s little soldier and you still do horrible things just because they tell you to. Pathetic. You stole our sick, speechless little brother just because Dark and Anti decided our lives were board game pieces to be played with. You just let yourself be used, no mind control needed.”

“Hey!” snaps Shep. “You better watch your tongue, little man! I make my own goddamn choices. Your brother is the one who would have killed Gigi if he were human just because Dark wouldn’t kiss him.”

“Dark and Anti are not creatures to be trucked with,” says Dok quietly. “But we have yet to find a way to escape our monster. Turn back. We’re smaller than you, but we are far from helpless with or without a firearm.”

“Look,” answers Shep, biting down harsher words. “Nobody wants a big fight here, right? Seems like Dark and, uh. Anti? Seems like they had a misunderstanding themselves. Maybe we can work this out.”

Dok and Trick exchange glances.

Anonymous asked: Trick, if Shep were to promise to not snitch on you being out here to Dark, then would you let him through? And Shep, would you uphold that promise? Both of you have lost things, you're even in bad deeds. Gigi was destroyed and Dark's back was injured, and Dapper was stolen. No one else needs to get hurt if you try compromising with each other, right?

“I won’t tell Dark for now,” says Shep evenly, hands raised in surrender. “But I don’t think you understand. Dark is an essence and those houses belong to them. They’re always creeping around. If your other brothers are in there, the chances that Dark hasn’t spotted them yet - slim to none.”

Trick and Dok frown at each other, worried. Dok shuffles a foot closer to him.

“I’ll let you through the mirror,” says Trick. “If you let us come with you. I have a bad feeling about what comes next… I think maybe it’s better if we can try to work together. You’re right. No one else needs to get hurt today.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Henrik, answer when the time is appropriate, but advice about Dapper from a training pharmacist, I would try prescribing him Depakote or a common antidepressant to work alongside his Haldol if Anti will let you! I know it must be very hard to have to be a psychiatrist when it wasn't your field of study :(

“Oh, thank you, yes,” answers Dok, his shoulders loosening a little. “Yes, well. He wasn’t on anything when I first… remember. And he didn’t do very well. He would smoke to ease his paranoia, but then he would be paranoid about getting cancer every time he’d cough, so it did him little good. He’d stopped trying to fight his own delusions. Anti was most of his treatment plan, but he acts so dreamy and lost when he’s in his head. Honestly I just kept trying medications til they worked, which probably wasn’t very good for him either. But at least I was allowed to see him and Trick then, coming upstairs to check on him everyday. We were in Sweden at the time, I think. Or Denmark? Before Norway. I was not even sure if we were brothers. He doesn’t speak so much when he’s really ill. He was just my little patient in the attic. He was the one who called me Doktor first.”

He rubs his hands together, glancing up. Shep and Trick talk quietly by the mirror, faces tense and hands always waiting for the other to throw the first blow. Dok sighs, though a faint laugh falls from his mouth with it.

“Oh. I would like to see all of them well for once in my life.”

Red steps uncertainly towards the Host.

“Shy?” asks the deep voice, and it seems to echo through his head. It reminds him too much of Anti and Dark. He slinks back against the wall, cowed despite himself.

“Hmm,” hums Host. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

“Who did you think I was?” asks Red quietly.

“I write a lot of stories,” says Host, brushing his fingers across pages and pages of snow-white braille. “I see a lot of stories. It takes only a side glance. A moment of contact. Stories for everyone I meet. Stories for the people who meet the people I meet. Not all true. Not all real. But possible… possible. Alternatives to the reality we survive in now. I saw, once, a story from a young man Mark shares business with. I thought, for a moment, that you were the protector in that story. The strong man… the hero. Not the protagonist, true. But almost as important. The courage to his tired hands. Defender.”

Ro plays with his hands, his eyes flickering around for a way to slip past Host without coming close to him.

“But you are alternate too,” says Host. “You’re not Jackie. Not quite.”

It makes his blood hot, but only for a moment. For the most part, he feels shame. His head drops. He turns away from an unseeing gaze.

“Guess not,” he answers. “But I still have to try to be… that.”

“Jackie?”

“Yes. Jackie.”

“Well, stop,” answers Host dryly, turning away. “Stupid boy.”

“Hey! What is your problem?”

“Stop living in a story you don’t even fucking remember,” spits Host, already striking his typewriter hard enough to fill the room with click-clacking once again. “Pathetic. You’re wasting a perfectly good character arc on trying to be someone you’re not. You have your own part to play. Jackie couldn’t save his family, Ro. Not for lack of trying, but he did fail, in the end, and that’s why he’s dead and you’re not. If you want to give him life again, it’s time to stop wallowing in your doubt and your fear and your shame in yourself and start being Ro like a real hero would. You better start acting like a hero – today, Roser. Too long the five of you have been stuck in the same painful narrative. Take up arms. Stop trying to remember and be.”

Host turns to him again, and Ro has never seen so much expression in a blindfolded face.

“Or lose more than even Jackie did.”

A cat slips in through the door, mewling, and comes weaving her way through Host’s legs, pinning Ro with a yellow gaze. He steps back nervously, staring at the cracked door. His throat bobs in a swallow. He grips his fists, straightening up at Host.

“What if he’s not enough?” he asks quietly.

“Who?” says Host.

“Me,” he answers.

“Of course he’s not enough,” spits Host, shaking his head. “How dull would it be for a character to be enough all on his own.”

Ro opens his mouth to reply, but Host beats it to him.

“Google!” he calls, turning towards the door.

“Fucking snitch!” cries Ro, terrified.

“There’s a closet across the hall. Run inside. You can sneak past him when he comes in to check on me. This is the only help I will give you. Go.”

He’s too frantic to argue. In a flash, he’s leaping out of the door of Host’s room and shoving himself into a closet full of cleaning supplies on the other side of the hall.

“Host?”

Those thudding footsteps move up the stairs. A fist pounds a knock against Host’s door. “Are you stuck in a vision? If you haven’t left your room since I checked on you this morning, you’ve been static for four hours and twenty-three minutes, including our usual breakfast hours and…”

Ro darts out of the closet on near-silent feet, racing down the stairs with his heart pounding. He throws himself against the wall for a second, thinking someone’s coming in the front door, but it’s just the second cat he saw, a big black cat like a shadow against the wall, letting out a hiss at the sight of him. He races down the second set of stairs and through the little hallway that frames Dapper’s door.

“Dapper!” he calls. “It’s me, I’m here.”

Faint whistling from the other side of the door. Red shoves his shoulder against it, tearing at the handle. It will not open.

“Fuck this,” he mumbles, and a moment later he finds himself ducking into a bathroom nearby, tearing the lid off the toilet tank, and slamming the porcelain into the handle of the door until both shatter and give. The door slides open.

“Dapper…”

There’s his little brother, curled up all lonely on the bed. In the light, Ro can see him clearly at last, and the relief of finding him comes charged with a painful nausea for how ill he looks. It’s worse than a hollowness, because Jamie has always been skinny. It’s worse than fatigue, because Dapper has always been tired. It’s worse than shadow, because his youngest brother has long felt alone. Now, he looks chewed up and spat out, cut open and removed from himself, faint and white and exhausted. He does not rise to hold Red. He can barely raise a hand to greet him.

“Bud, no,” says Ro, because his first thought, in that moment, is that Jameson is going to die.

He moves forward to scoop him up for a moment, pressing him to his chest. He can feel the heat on him before he’s even touched him. Sweat beads against Red’s fingers where he cards his hand through Dapper’s mussed brown hair, gone limp and tired, no longer curling at the fringe.

“Can you walk?” asks Ro, drawing back to hold his shoulders in his hands.

“Not sure,” answers Dapper, touching his wrist. “I feel really quite unwell, Red.”

“They haven’t taken care of you.”

“No, they tried,” protests Dapper. “They’ve given me medicine for my fever and things like that. Kept my wrist clean. I’m much better off than I was a few days ago.”

“Fuck… you could have died if that’s true.”

“I think maybe I would have if I stayed with Anti,” says Dapper, lying his head down on his brother’s shoulder and letting his eyes slip shut.

Red hugs him, grateful for the thudding of his heartbeat. As much as he knows they need to go, he needs even more to feel his chest moving with air, if only for a moment.

“You really are just not having a fun life, are you, Dippin’ Dots?” he says, the weight of it sitting on his chest.

“There are parts of it that are nice,” replies his brother, his hand resting on Ro’s shoulder.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” says Ro. “Like I promised.”

“Okay, Reddy. I’m really quite tired.”

“Okay. Okay. Here we go.”

He raises him into his arms, pressing him close against his body. He’s always tried to stay strong no matter how little he had to eat – not always successfully or healthily – but as the months have gone on he’s been finding his old strength. After wasting away in Norway, he built up corded muscle in Peru with long, difficult hikes up the mountain every day, bringing water and medicine and Christmas presents to his family, and in the past few weeks, with both Max and Anti, he has had good food and plenty of time for the exercise his body has craved. Host was right: now is the time to be strong.

He’s stepping out of the clinic room when he sees the big black cat again, darting away from him now, its fluffy back turned to him.

“Hey,” he laughs. “Did you follow me down here?”

And then, at the top of the stairs – black shoes and dress pants. The thud of a cane against the wood of the floor.

Ro back away, mouth taut, and he watches as that black cat, so dark that the light does not shine gold on its fur, dissolves away into the crowd of shadows that swarm like a cloak around Dark’s dead, rotting body.

“Spy cat,” Ro says. “Pretty sure that’s cheating.”

“I could see you the moment you stepped foot into my territory,” answers Dark, in a voice like a wind through cold water. “Your soul is so frantic it burns just to look at it. Even the ocean of silver power from the little one does not wash your color away.”

“Oh, what color?” asks Ro, curious.

“Not red,” comes the dry reply.

Dark takes a step down the stairs. Their body seems to jolt for a second, and then they must sit down, pain tightening their features.

“Heard my other little brother fucked you up pretty good,” says Ro, taking another step back towards the clinic. “Still not fully recovered, huh? I think I’d be a douchebag if I made fun of you for having a broken spine, but I’d like to offer a generalized ‘fuck you’ if that’s alright. You can’t even get down these stairs to get me, can you?”

Dark vanishes back into smoke and bursts into being at the bottom of the stairs, bone shifting in their broken face. Red yelps and puts Dapper on his feet, turning to wrap his body around him.

“Your little monster will pay for his over-powered tantrum,” says Dark.

“You stay the hell away from us!”

“I’ve never seen anyone as simultaneously intriguing and annoying as he is. But no matter. Soon, I’ll snuff his bright lights out and tear up both the natural and the stolen powers inside his chest, and then he will stop haunting me.”

“You take one more step towards me and I’ll call for him!” shouts Red, extending his fighting staff and whirling on Dark. “And this time he’ll fuck up more than just your back!”

“Call for him, then,” sneer a dozen echoing voices at once, and as Dark’s power begins to fill Red with terror and revulsion and confusion and grief, he puts his hands over his ears, opens his mouth, and screams for Anti.

And in the woods, Anti hears.

Anonymous asked: Anti, don't be brash and let your temper control you. Fight with the wit even Jack knew you had.

Wit – wit, yes, well, this at least keeps his gait steady as he moves Blue’s body through the trees, eyes fixed on the house where he can see his oldest gripping his camera. What you say is true, as he was always Jack’s little killer, clever and powerful, manipulative and built with an instinct for fighting more commonly found in a marten who plans to make a porcupine twice its size into dinner. He was patient, in the beginning, and sensational when the time came for him to cut that porcupine open, and it was his wit, yes, that lead him to capture all five of the brothers Jack created, one after the other, remorselessly.

And yes, even Jack knew he had it.

He remembers the sound of his voice the first time he made his eyes bleed. He wiped the sleeve of a black hood across his stained cheek and met his own gaze in the mirror, and he saw Anti more clearly than he ever had before.

“This one’s wild. Already smart enough to try and get through to the audience. Like it knows…”

His fingers touched his reflection in the glass.

“Hey. I see you. I’m here.”

His fond mouth smiled.

“Don’t be scared.”

Anti remembers.

Does Dark not?

Does Jack not?

It hurts to bear the thought of it, the thought that they really and truly forgot him. He hates it. He hates that you mentioned it. That Dapper keeps saying it. That he doesn’t know what’s happening anymore and he feels alone.

That he sometimes wishes he were still just a notion curled, warm, in the back of Jack’s head, listening to him chatter and breathe.

No. No use for nostalgia now. What he wants are the people he can still have – his Trick, his Dapper, his brothers.

He’s done a lot of bad things to them. Cruel, unbearable things, without reason. But if you give him credit for one thing, let it be this –

Oh, Anti taught his boys to be fang-toothed.

“Where’s my little soldiers at, so?” he sings to himself. “Dok, Trick.”

You see the twins perk up and look over as Anti sends his own message through the cameras now.

“Go find your big brother, Trickshot, and start fucking laying waste. And you, Deutsch – get my little Carver, now. And if anyone tries to put their hands on him – teach them why I use you for torture.”

Steel makes their fond mouths harden. They glance at Shep, and then away.

“If that is what it takes,” says Dok.

“Then consider it done,” Trick finishes.

And he touches his reflection in the clear glass of the mirror, and moves.

Anonymous asked: Alright so we're just going in guns blazing. Dok, Trick, you have any idea of where to go?

“Well, I am guessing it is this house which is all shadowy and dramatic,” says Dok, lifting his chin at the third house, where Dark’s power has cast everything in late-night lighting.

“Hey, you’ll regret it if you go rushing in there at Dark,” warns Shep, shoving himself forward. Trick steps up to him before he can reach Dok, raising his head in warning.

“I have left my little brother to rot too many times in his life,” shouts Dok, moving towards the house even as Wilford steps out of Dark’s house to see what’s going on, smoking languidly as darkness curls around his feet. “He asked me to fight for him! So I will.”

“If you’re coming, then come,” says Trick. “But don’t try and stop us getting Dapper.”

“Fine! Just try not to piss Dark off anymore, for all our sakes!”

Anonymous asked: Hey Silver, I think you should probably go with Trick and Doc. If things get crazy (and they probably will, lbr), it'd be good to have someone reasonable around. I know you can't go against Dark, but I also don't think you want to see anyone get hurt. This is admittedly a big step up from asking you to look for a lost cat, but can you do it for us?

Shep stares at the wash of shadow growing over the corners of his home. He runs after Dok and Trick, expression torn, and when Anti glitches into existence in the doorway of his house, you see him fall back in alarm, eyes wide.

“What’s going on?” he hears Gigi shout from somewhere inside. A sudden thrill of fear pours adrenaline into Shep’s blood, remembering all too clearly the way Anti shattered the android last time they met.

But Anti glitches away before Gigi can reach him. Google snarls, slamming his fist against the door and stepping out to look around. Trick and Dok have already hidden, tucked against the side of one of the other houses. They’ll sneak around the back and get in through the door there, hoping to find Dapper. Shep stares around in a mild panic - but eventually, you see him set his mouth and glance at you. He follows after Dok and Trick.

Host trails out onto the porch after Google, lighting a cigarette with a cold grin.

“This,” he says, “is going to be good.”

ari-trash asked: So you're just going to watch the chaos unfold, Host? You're just going to stand back and let it all happen? Well... at the very least I hope it'll be entertaining enough for you

“Been boring as shit lately,” mutters Host, smoke wafting from his mouth as he breathes out. “I been waiting for Dark to bring me home some fucking chaos. Whole reason I stick around. Nobody gets in to as much bullshit as this family. Google, do you remember when Bim hired an assassin to kill you?”

“Host!” shouts Gigi. “Who’s in the house!”

“I’m blind, Inspector Gadget, figure it out for yourself.”

“Dammit, Host!”

Anonymous asked: Ro, you're gonna be okay. Just keep with Dapper okay? Help is coming

“We’re okay, we’re okay, we’re okay,” chants Red like the words are stuck in his mouth, over and over again. He backs away, wrapped around Dapper, hiding his face in his chest. Dark steps towards them with the thud, thud of their cane, eyes white as spoiled milk. “Help is coming, help is coming, help is - ”

“Hey!” shouts Anti.

Dark stops.

Anti stands at the top of the stairs, haloed in his own venomous, glitching light in the midst of Dark’s shadow. Green and red and cold blue light. He is beautiful and hollow. He is a grave waiting to be filled.

“Stop,” he says quietly. “Back off.”

Ro sees Dark’s mouth curve like a planet.

“Hi, handsome,” they taunt softly, inclining their head, gaze still boring into Ro.

Anti does not taunt back. His shoulders are drawn back, his head low. Blue’s eyes are like the broken edges of a piece of shattered glass.

“Done playing,” says Anti. “Get away from them.”

“I just want to talk,” they answer, extending grey hands like a crucifixion.

“Liar,” says Anti.

Dark turns to him.

“What do you want?” asks Anti, revealing just a moment of weakness.

Dark meets his gaze like a predator circling.

“I don’t know anymore,” they tell him. “For you to stop bothering me?”

“Liar,” replies Anti, very quietly. “Liar.”

Dark grits their teeth.

“I would like you to stop being the ghost that follows me everywhere I go.”

Dapper shivers in Red’s grip, his legs giving out slightly. Dark and Anti glance at him as he crumples and Anti reaches for him for a moment, gaze breaking.

“Back off,” says Anti, stepping down the stairs. “That’s mine. Enough. Enough games. Done playing. Why don’t you come pick on someone a little less mortal, you fucking slug?”

Dark extinguishes all light in the room. Red shouts, scooping Dapper right off the ground. In the shadow, only Anti is visible, Blue’s face lit with his myriad of spasming colors.

“Fine then,” comes Dark’s voice, and you hear their echo give a hissing laugh. “As you wish.”

“Red,” says Anti. “Get him out of here.”

And then he is under attack.

Anonymous asked: Trick, Dok, how bad is it looking out there? I think you guys have a chance but you'll have to hurry, maybe ask Shep which house had Dapper. He's still following behind, yeah?

Shep sighs, reaching out to take Trick’s sleeve, pulling him towards his home. “Come on,” he says, hissing to keep his voice low. “We’ll go round through the back door and get your brother. You can take him while Dark and Anti keep each other busy.”

“Into the darkness?” asks Dok.

“Dude, it’s pitch in there,” agrees Trick, eyes wide. “We won’t be able to see.”

“Can’t you call for each other?”

Dok and Trick cross their arms over their chest, glaring.

“Oh, that’s right… uh, well, he can whistle or something, right?”

“We don’t have much other choice,” sighs Dok, letting his arms fall. “He’s probably scared in there. Maybe even having an episode. He could snap.”

“I bet Red’s found him and they’re keeping each other safe. But we need to get them both out - Dark has a pretty strong effect on the both of them.”

Dok bites down on his lip, reaching tentatively for the handle of the back door to Shep’s house, behind which, nothing but darkness awaits. He hears a slam and the telltale buzz of Anti’s power, so loud it almost feels like it’s making his whole head vibrate. Dark shouts and Anti snarls back at him, indecipherable from the other side of the house.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You plunge into shadow together.

Anonymous asked: Duck and run Red, get yourself and Dap out of there

“Come on, bud, let’s go.”

In the darkness, Dapper is almost completely unable to communicate with him. He feels him trying to sign, but they don’t have time to stumble through it, much as he hates to ignore him. He throws Dapper’s arm over his shoulder and moves towards the back door. Black as it is, Ro does not stumble for a moment. He saw the hallway once and that’s all he needs, same way he can take one look at a building before leaping up the side of it like a pine marten or a slightly over-sized squirrel.

There’s only a second where he pauses.

Dapper’s fever-heat warms his shoulder. He can hear his little brother panting in the darkness. Behind them, Anti shouts and snarls, locked in battle, and Red - oh, he can’t place it, much as he wants to, but a part of him knows he’s been here before. Not here, in this house, but… here.

“We were… trying to get away?” he hears himself mutter. “And you were sick… I needed to get you… home. To England.”

Dapper turns his head towards him in the shadows, mouth parted.

“But I couldn’t get away from Anti. Jackie couldn’t get you away from Anti. And then… Red stopped trying.”

And in the darkness, in the pitch black, Ro feels his little brother move his hands against his chest.

“He did not stop trying,” JJ tells him. “He just… needed to forget for a little while. Because he was in pain. He never stopped trying.”

Ro feels something sharp and tight in his chest.

“Here now,” signs Jameson, touching his heart. “You. Here now. Don’t be sorry. No more being sorry.”

No more being sorry.

“Come on,” murmurs Red, pulling him through the darkness again. “I gotta get you out of here.”

No more being sorry. It’s a waste of time. He needed to forget for a little while, but not anymore. Time to be what they need him to be. Doesn’t matter if that’s Jackie or Ro or Red or a little bit of all of them.

He won’t fail again.

Anonymous asked: Red, take Dapper towards the back door, if you remember where it is. Trick and Dok are trying to find you. Escape while Dark is distracted.

Red crashes into Shep headfirst and you hear them both yelp, drawing back from each other, but then Trick is hissing Ro’s name and reaching out blindly for his brother. Ro recoils when his fingers find his face and Trick knows it’s him, letting out a weak laugh. Ro grins at the sound of it, relaxing, and moves towards him.

“I’ve never been so glad to see you,” whispers Trick. Ro grabs his wrist with a grateful squeeze and feels how good it is to be on Trick’s side like they were always meant to be.

“We gotta go,” he says. “Come on, back towards the door.”

“Dark and Anti are going to hurt each other,” protests Shep. “Are we just… not doing anything about that?”

“Let’s just get out of here first,” hisses Dok, pulling them all back towards the door, and moments later, they stumble out into the light with sighs of relief.

aether-mae asked: Maybe you boys should stay out of anti and darks squabble. Let them brawl it out in the dark like the heartbroken lovesick monsters they are

“I think they’re right,” agrees Dok, already taking Dapper’s face in his hands to look him over. “Oh, my poor buddy.”

Dapper smiles wearily at him.

“Let’s get you home, yes?”

“We are far away from home,” signs Dapper, slumping against his shoulder. “But I would like to go back to bed.”

“I’m getting him out of here. Come, we should all go. Better to be far from this.”

Ro glances at Trick, and then at Shep, eyes narrowed. He can’t read Shep’s face at all - it’s never been a talent of his - but Dok and Trick must have let him come along for a reason.

“I just want everyone to be okay,” grumbles Shep, looking away from Red’s intense gaze. “Anti and Dark fighting like this - it’s stupid. And other people are going to get hurt if this keeps up.”

“Then we should run,” insists Ro. “Right?”

“You might be able to get your family clear, but I have friends in all of these houses,” says Shep quietly.

Ro nods, biting down on his lip. He pauses for a moment to meet Trick’s gaze, and if Shep’s expression is a mystery to him, Ro thinks he recognizes the determination in his brother’s face.

“We’ll stay to make sure Dark and Anti don’t hurt anyone,” he says. “They’re both out of control and we’ve let them play games with us for too long.”

“I’ll stay too,” agrees Trick. “Anti asked me to help Ro. But, Dok - here.”

Trick holds out the handgun. Dok blinks, shaking his head. “It’s yours. You might need it.”

Trick shakes his head back at him. “You have to protect Dap. If someone comes after you, he’s too sick to fight back. Take it and keep him safe.”

Dok takes the gun from him, mouth tight with worry. Trick touches his shoulder and then draws back from him, moving to Ro’s side.

“I need to get the twins before they get scared,” says Shep, glancing back at the second house, where a pair of matching faces are staring out at the growing shadow. “I’ll meet up with you back here and we can figure out what to do once they’re safe, okay?”

Red and Trick nod, stood side-by-side.

“Wait,” says Dok. “If I’m taking the gun, then - ”

He unhooks one of his necklaces and wraps it around Red’s neck. His brother startles, eyes wide.

“Dok, this is your - ”

“Break it and re-tie it if you need it,” says Dok quietly. “It will light up the darkness. It’s a weapon too. If you don’t need it, you can give it back to me. Just… take it, okay? I’ll feel better.”

“Why me?” asks Ro. “Use it to keep Dap safe. Or give it to Trick since I’m the stronger fighter.”

But Dok shakes his head.

“It was always for you,” he says. “Take it.”

The raven rests against Ro’s heart.

Anonymous asked: Keep your peepers people-d, lads.

“Bye,” says Trick quietly, meeting Dok’s gaze.

“I love you,” answers Dok.

“I love you too.”

And for a second, Trick just hates it - the memory it evokes in him, the memory of parting with Dok on the shores of a river in South America, the memory of losing him to the magicians and not knowing if he was dead or alive.

“Hey,” laughs Dok warmly, touching his cheek. “I’ll see you in an hour, yes?”

“Yes,” agrees Trick weakly. “Okay. I love you.”

“We already did that.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“I love you too.”

Dok and Dapper move back towards the shed, hand-in-hand, leaving Ro and Trick alone behind the house.

But only for a moment.

“How touching,” sneers a deep, dangerously steady voice. “That you really believe you can leave this place alive after daring to enter.”

Ro turns slowly, standing in front of Trick.

Gigi glares back at him, hands clenched into fists at his side. A terrible glow rises in his deep brown eyes.

“Is that what we were keeping our eyes open for?” asks Trick.

Red extends his fighting staff.

“That would be it, Trickster.”

Inside the house, Anti refuses to tolerate being blinded.

Fire lights up around him in a circle. He burns in the center of it, eyes glowing dangerously with the light of Blue’s flame.

“You can barely even fucking control that,” says Dark quietly. “It isn’t yours. What a fucking parasite you are.”

Anti leaps forward like a snake and strikes at Dark hard, only for his enemy to vanish into smoke. He makes no witty rejoinder and does not taunt Dark anymore. Dark tries to appear from the darkness to grab him, but Anti is lining the floor of the house in flame, illuminating the shadow. Dark flicks his hand and the fire douses. Anti shouts and redoubles his efforts: his fury overcomes Dark’s power and fire grows in the room once more.

“These floors were nice before you got here.”

“I’ll do the same thing to your rotting flesh!” shouts Anti, lashing out again.

Dark blocks his blade with the stern line of a wooden cane, letting Anti score a gash into the side of it and kicking at Anti’s legs, but Anti is swift and vicious and he leaps back with a snarl on his mouth. The speed with which they fight is alarming, so fast that at some points you can’t tell whose strike is slashing forward. Dark vanishes and reappears constantly, and Anti, though solid in Blue’s form, is so coated in glitching and so quick-paced he almost looks to be transporting himself. Dark is stronger, but their back hurts them, and any blow to their spine or chest could down them. Anti is the more savage of the two, but he is bound to Blue’s skin right now, choosing the comfort of incarnation over the freedom of his natural form.

“You look like a demon coated in fire like that,” hisses Dark, circling him for a moment.

Yes, Anti looks like a demon today.

“But you smell like a fairy. And you fight like a human.”

“I’m worse than all three,” whispers back Anti.

“What, then?”

“Nothing,” says Anti. “But that was always what intrigued you, wasn’t it?”

“Stop acting like you’re something irresistible,” snarls Dark.

“You used to tell me I was,” answers Anti, and for a second, you hear something like melancholy through the anger in his voice. A moment later, it’s gone. He lunges forward again and Dark blocks his knife with the cane before striking him hard in the face, sending blood pouring from Blue’s nose. Flowers burst up between the floorboards where the red blood falls.

“Control your fucking power before you tear the house down!” shouts Dark.

“No,” says Anti. “If you want me to stop, kill me.”

“Little monster, it will be my pleasure.”

But it is now that Dark hears Gigi shouting outside, and not just at Trick and Ro. A glance to the window shows them flame growing around the house as well as inside. The fire begins to lick at the trees. Gigi and Trick are hollering at each other, both blaming the other’s master for the damage.

“I’ll burn this whole fucking forest down,” howls Anti. “You think you can act like you forget me?”

Dark vanishes and reappears behind him, shoving him towards the door, and as Anti staggers they gift him a second blow to the face, sending him crashing to the floor. Dark reaches down and puts their hands around Anti’s waist, gripping him too tight as they haul him bodily out the door and over the porch, sending him crashing down onto the stairs that lead up to the porch. Anti lets out a short gasp, touching the back of Blue’s skull, where blood buds up to stain his fingers like ink. He blows out a breath and leaps back to his feet, trying to buy himself time by duplicating – creating false doubles of himself that look real, until Dark is surrounded by a circling trio of Marvins with hatred burning like stars in their eyes.

But Dark doesn’t press their advantage. Their face is flickering again, revealing short glimpses of that same emotion that Anti couldn’t accept when they were in the woods together: confusion, raw and genuine. Their hands are still held out in front of them, remembering Anti’s waist between their palms.

“Get out of my head,” they warn.

“You get out of my heart!” shrieks Anti.

“I’m not manipulating you,” growls Dark, raising their hands slightly – perhaps the beginning of a gesture asking for a pause.

“Well, neither am I. I got enough going on possessing this body for me to be messing around in anybody else’s head,” answers Anti bitingly, setting his three pairs of identical feet.

“Come on,” sighs Dark. “Do you really expect a soul-sight like me to be tricked by your glitches?”

“Which one’s me then?” shouts Anti, stepping forward, all three pairs of himself moving close, into Dark’s space. “And you know I’m not lying if you’ve still got any sight at all! You know that and you’re still – fucking – acting like this!”

A tree behind the house bursts into flame and you hear shouts and the scattering of squirrels.

But Dark doesn’t flinch.

Anti pants in front of them. After a second, his right hand, duplicated three times, reaches out and grabs Dark’s shirt – the shoulder, the back, and the lapel of their fine black suit.

Dark sets their hands on Anti’s waist.

Squeezes.

Hard.

Feels his solidity beneath their fingers.

Anti closes his eyes, a flicker of pain in his face, but, if only for a moment, you see some of the panic drain away from his white face. The double and triple flicker out of existence.

Anti breathes.

He looks up at Dark and he pulls in air, Blue’s heart racing. Ash in his mouth and hands on his waist.

“Asshole,” he chokes, striking Dark’s chest with a faltering fist. “You liar. You do remember me.”

Dark’s gaze breaks, eyes sliding closed. They squeeze his waist again. Loosen. Squeeze. Loosen. Breathe.

“I think… I do.”

“Why’d you pretend?” cries Anti. “Is it true what you said – my soul doesn’t look the same anymore? Can you see Blue’s power instead of mine?”

“I didn’t remember you,” mumbles Dark. “I still… it’s like if I had been a character in a play, and so were you, and then suddenly here you are, telling me to remember the lines we read. But the part of you I remember – you don’t look like yourself at all. You’re not the character. You’re someone else. Someone I know even less.”

Anti grips their wrist, shaking his head. “Don’t say that.”

“You can’t admit it to yourself,” Dark murmurs, withdrawing slightly. Around them, the heat and smoke is only rising. “That I don’t remember all of it. I can see the fear it puts in you.”

“What am I supposed to believe? Who could have done something like this? Not my Dapper. That’s a lie. Not him. The others have already – have already done what they’ve done. But not him and not Trick. Those are mine. You – you were mine, Dark, fuck you!”

He shoves Dark back and grabs their jacket, pulling them close.

“Tell me you remember me! And you were pretending! And you know me and now you’ll start acting like yourself again! Tell me that, now!”

But Dark is pulling away from him, shaking their head.

“Dark! Tell me that and mean it, goddammit!”

“You are a piece of something now far away from me,” says Dark. “But right now, all you are is a threat, and I will play games no longer.”

“Pangur Dubh!” screams Anti, voice breaking. “It’s me!”

“Wilford,” says Dark.

Anti hears the cock of a gun.

He throws Blue’s body back, falling back onto the porch again just in time for the bullet to miss him. Dark vanishes back into shadow and Anti turns his eyes to Wilford, who isn’t even reloading – just looking at him with a sort of strange pity in his eyes.

Anti –

Oh, fuck.

Shit, he –

He’s had enough.

He’s had enough. He’s had it. Humiliation washes over him so hot and loud it almost makes him dizzy, and Blue’s fragile little body aches against his trapped form even as it protects him from the side effects of stealing Marvin’s power, and he’s tired, and he’s scared, and he wants to go home.

But only for a moment.

Because, for a long, long, long time, he has learned one very dangerous skill:

Turn all of that into rage, and let it swallow you whole.

“Anti, you’re going to burn the whole fucking forest down! Dapper can’t reverse right now!”

“There are still people nearby! Dapper and Dok and others who haven’t hurt us!”

“Make him stop, please, please! Dark, do something, Wil, shoot him, make him stop!”

“Dark, you have to stop this. Where did you go?”

Trick and Red and Shep and Gigi’s voices are lost in the pounding of the blood in Anti’s head. Even Host is retreating now, stepping away from the porch and out onto the grass as the fire spreads, the amusement disappearing from his mouth. Anti chokes on his anger, eyes watering with the force of it, and blood gushes from his throat so fast he’s faint. At this point, he doesn’t think he could control the fire if he wanted to. He remembers Blue’s burst of power at the top of the mountain, sending plant life exploding through the rocks and sand.

Now I’m the one who’s out of control, he realizes faintly.

And a voice in his head answers, pleads, begs:

Anti. Give it back to me and I will make it stop.

Marvin, he answers. I wasn’t lying. I don’t know how.

All six of us and all of these people here are going to DIE, Anti.

Anti feels heat on his face. Ash on his white hands. Smoke in the air. Smoke like flame in the air. And he breathes. He breathes.

So be it.

#chapter four

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too-gay-for-marvel · 5 years ago

Text

routine

a/n: look i know im crankin these suckers out, i swear i have a life. ive just got a lot of thots and need to get them out asap or ill forget and then cry. so here, have some married mob boss Natasha and Carol because i love them

Word Count: 2151

Warnings: implied sexual content

Pairing: CarolNat x Reader

(pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4)

Your routine was a simple one when you were single. An early morning where you get up at 6, make your bed, and start the coffee before taking a cold shower. You’re out by the time the machine beeps and it only takes minutes to put on your pre-picked outfit. One cup of coffee (lots of cream, no sugar) while you read the paper. Your phone tells you it’s time to leave and you head to work.

The day is always filled with work work work and it keeps you busy. You can force yourself to focus, working through lunch and staying at the warehouse until it’s dark. You buy an apple and two oranges from the bodega on your way home.

Back home you start another pot of coffee before eating your apple at the counter. You cook a small meal, usually a frozen dinner but sometimes you cook real food, and eat it with your coffee. Sometimes it’s a disgusting combination, sometimes it’s not too bad, but it’s never good. But it’s routine and that’s what matters.

You hand wash the few dishes you have before changing and heading down to the apartment gym for a run. Sometimes you’ll talk with the doorman, sometimes you won’t. Either way, you go back to your apartment and take a hot shower before putting on some pajamas. You lay on the couch and put the news on your laptop while something else plays on the TV. You’ll eat the oranges while you relax and save the peels to boil on the weekends. A lot of times you fall asleep on the couch, always around 2am. You rinse and repeat with little to no variation.

But when you got involved with Natasha and Carol, routine was nothing but a word.

You understood, you really did. They were married, you accidentally wormed your way in, you all had different days. They went and commanded a mob, you were a carpenter. There was no telling what all they dealt with on a daily basis, and you just went to work and back home every day.

They could have at least tried to fit your schedule.

Now it was almost impossible to enjoy the walk to and from work because you were acutely aware of the people Carol and Nat would have follow you. “To keep you safe,” they had said. You didn’t care, it was an interruption.

When they would stop by, you couldn’t just heat up your one meal and be done with it. You had to make enough for three people, with three plates and three cups and three sets of silverware. And then you couldn’t even wash them right away because they were only coming by for a fuck. Which was more than fine with you.

But it messed up your routine.

And now they had the nerve to sleep over? They never stayed the night! Sure, sometimes they would stay until extremely early in the morning, but they never slept over. You would fuck, they would leave, and you’d rush to get back into your routine.

You couldn’t even get out of Carol’s arms to take a shower.

Maybe you liked the feeling. It had been a while since you had woken up in someone’s arms, and it was nice. It felt safe. Nat’s arm was slung around Carol’s waist and resting on your hip, and it was comforting. Any other person would have loved to wake up the way you did.

But you had a routine.

It was almost impossible to slip out of Carol’s grasp; she was a lot stronger than you had thought. She could pick you up and carry you around, but she was asleep! She shouldn’t be able to do this while she was sleeping! You were already late for your morning shower and it took almost 15 minutes to worm your way out of Carol’s grasp.

You froze on your feet when you got out of bed because you heard Carol sigh. If you had woken her up then you knew you wouldn’t be getting to shower. Horn dog, you complained to yourself. But she just shifted and rolled over to pull Nat closer before staying still again.

If only they could see you now, you thought to yourself. The fiercest couple in the mob game. Cuddling in bed.

Maybe them sleeping over wasn’t so bad. How else would you get to see them like this? Vulnerable, peaceful, almost even innocent. They weren’t mob boss legends, they were just people. People that were in your bed.

Dammit.

Now you couldn’t make your bed before a shower. Damn them. Never mind, having them sleep over was hell.

Well, at least you could still start your coffee. You spared one more look at the women in your bed and smiled to yourself before grabbing a shirt from the floor. It wasn’t clean and it wasn’t yours, and you hated knowing you were wearing an unclean shirt. But you liked that it was one of theirs. Maybe that was enough.

It wasn’t, but maybe it could be.

You snuck into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. It was bigger than usual and you knew it would change your grocery plans. Yet another part of your routine that they were changing. Maybe that could be okay, too.

You were halfway across the living room when someone knocked on your door. Looking at the clock in your kitchen said it was 6:47 (far too late for your shower). Who would come by that early? What else was going to ruin your routine??

With a sigh you walked to the door. If your routine was ruined you might as well ruin it properly. Your hair was pulled into a lazy ponytail, you were only in a dirty shirt, you couldn’t make your bed, and you were already… 36 minutes behind schedule. Might as well have a little small talk, right? So you opened the door-

“-Mornin’ sunshine-”

-And immediately shut it again, holding the handle in case they tried to open the door.

Why were they here?

“Y/N?”

No no no they couldn’t see your apartment like this! The coffee wasn’t finished, you didn’t have pants on, you hadn’t washed your hair. There were still dishes in the sink, a few blueprints on the table, two women in your bed-

-two women in your bed. Two married women in your bed.

Oh no.

“You alright, kiddo?”

“Just fine!” You called out. You didn’t let go of the handle until you locked the door, and then you ran to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

It was a bit ridiculous to wash the dishes first when there were so many other problems to deal with, but it was the most obvious. You could probably make an excuse for not wearing pants and the blueprints. But the dishes? That was way too out of hand.

You didn’t even dry them before shoving them into your cabinet and making your way to the bedroom where Carol and Nat were sitting up and rubbing their eyes. The sheet was down to their bare waists and you stared for just a moment too long.

“You okay?” Carol asked when she cracked one eye open just enough to see you starting to pick up the clothes on the floor.

Three more knocks on your front door.

“One second!” You shouted before rushing through your room again. You didn’t see Carol and Nat flinch from the loud noise.

“What’s going on?” Nat asked, and they both held their hands up as you tossed some clothes at them.

“You need to leave,” you said as quickly as you could manage.

“Kicking us out already?” Carol teased.

“Yes,” you huffed out with a single nod.

“What’s wrong?” Nat asked. She stood and pulled on some jeans before walking over to put a hand on your shoulder, but you shrugged it off.

More knocks.

“I said one second!” You shouted again and turned back to Nat. “Please leave.”

“We can chill in here,” Carol said as she finished tugging a shirt on. It was yours and it was just a little too small on her. She didn’t seem to care.

“I’m not out yet,” you shot back before shoving a shirt into Nat’s arms.

“Just lock the-”

“-Unless you want to meet my parents, I suggest you leave.”

That shut them up. Quickly.

Five knocks.

“I’m coming!” You shouted before looking at the shell-shocked faces of Carol and Nat. “Fire escape goes all the way down,” you said before shutting your bedroom door and running to open the front door.

They didn’t look happy.

“May we come in now?” Your mom asked. She looked more pissed than your dad, who looked amused at your ragged state.

“Please,” you said with a sheepish smile as you stepped aside and let them in.

“Nice shirt,” your dad whispered as he passed you. Damn him.

“Coffee?” You asked. You didn’t wait for them to answer before making your way to the kitchen and getting down two more mugs.

“You’ve already got three on the counter,” your mom pointed out, and your eyes shot to where she was pointing.

She was right. You had three mugs on the counter right by the coffee pot. And they were dirty. Because you had made Carol and Nat coffee yesterday when they had come over. And you hadn’t cleaned because they had ruined your routine. Please don’t notice, please don’t notice, please don’t-

“-You use all these yesterday?” Your dad asked, and you could feel your heart jump into your throat. You missed the small smile on his face.

“Long day,” you said nonchalantly as you tried to physically wave off the ideas he probably had.

“That why you haven’t showered yet?” Your dad pointed out, again, and you finally glared at him. He needed to just keep his mouth shut or your mom would get suspicious.

“Long night,” you explained even though you knew he didn’t buy it.

“Must have been,” your mom mused as she poured herself a cup of coffee because you had taken too long. “It cut into your routine.”

Why did they have to know you so well? Why couldn’t they just be distant and not care?

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask as you hand a mug to your dad.

“We can’t just come see our daughter?” Your dad asks from behind the mug.

“Not at 7am,” you tease, and he shoots you a wink.

“Your grandparents want the whole family to spend the summer together,” your mom says, her voice much softer than usual. You know what that means.

“And you’re bringing it up now?” You ask. It’s the middle of January; summer wasn’t even on your mind.

“So you can plan your routine,” your mom answers with a gentle smile. Maybe her respecting your schedule wasn’t quite as awful as you thought.

“We want you to have time to set things up in case-”

-your dad is cut off by a thud coming from your room, and all of your heads snap toward the sound.

“What was that?” Your dad asks as he immediately moves into his protective mode.

You don’t have time to answer before your dad makes his way to your bedroom. He doesn’t even ask for permission to enter because you usually never shut your door. You’ve never cared before, so he doesn’t ask now.

But what if Carol and Nat aren’t gone?

Blood is rushing deafeningly in your ears as your parents open the door to your room and look inside. You expect to hear gasps and immediate yelling, maybe some accusations. You’ve even got an escape plan ready and an alibi set up.

But the room is empty. There’s no clothes on the floor, your hamper is out of sight, and the bed is made. There’s no one in your room. The only thing that’s out of place is the open window.

“I thought I taught you to keep these closed,” your dad mused as he walked over and shut the window.

“Must have forgotten,” you mumbled.

“Long night,” your dad repeats your explanation, but he sounds completely unconvinced.

“Right,” you whisper before running your fingers through your hair and pulling your arms in tight.

“We should let you get ready,” your mom says after an extremely awkward amount of silence. You shoot her a relieved smile and nod.

“I’ll call you,” you say.

They each give you a kiss on the head as they walk by and say their goodbye’s before leaving your apartment. As soon as the door shuts you fall to the floor and just lay there staring at the ceiling. There were too many thoughts running through your head.

None of this would have happened if no one had ruined your routine.

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whorehour · 4 years ago

Text

Wishlist

SIDE NOTE: This was requested but while writing it i accidenly lost the ask beacuse im really dumb:( anyways i hope u like it maureen and im really sorry:((

sypnosis: a one-shot in which yeonjun struggles with buying the reader the perfect birthday present and in the midst of reliving some old memories, they create new ones. 2K WORDS

TW// mild use of vulgur language // very soft fluff

it was 2am when u heard something tick against your bedroom window. you tried to ignore but, it just kept getting louder. as you drew open the curtains you were met with the face of your beloved best friend, choi yeonjun.

"morning sleeping beauty" "its 2am" "the early bird catches the worm" he remarked as he climbed into your room and jumped onto your bed. you want to be mad at him from disturbing your precious sleep but, the truth is that this wasn't something new. it was quite normal for yeonjun to show up at your place at the strangest of times without any warning but that doesnt mean you weren't confused.

"what's all this about yeonjun" you weren't exactly pleased with this spontaneous visit you valued your sleep and yeonjun knew that. "whats this?" you asked as he shoves a crumbled up piece of paper in you face. "this my dear is your wishlist from when you were 8" "how did you get that?" "we made them together on your 8th birthday, here look you wrote that these are the things you want to acomolish in ten years" the memories of your 8th birthday came flooding back. your mum had invited your friends over for a party and after everyone had left you and yeonjun stayed outside in your backyard colouring. then, yeonjun suggest you make a wishlist list of all the things you wanted to accomplish together before your 18th birthday

"i cant believe you still have this" "of course i still have it, i keep everything that's precious to me." "so you snuk into my room at 2am just to show me this?" "yep!" he smiled clearly very proud of himself. he leaned his head against your beds headboard, his eyes sparkling brighter than any star in the sky. you had to admit that your best friend was indeed beautiful which is why you can't understand why he hasn't gotten a girlfriend yet. not that it bothered you, in fact it would’ve bothered you even more if he did. you've always had a little crush on yeonjun but you never even dared to reveal your true feelings for the sake of the friendship.

"hello? earth to y/n?" "oh sorry... thank you i love it, really" yeonjun mirrored your smile and with a playful glint in his eyes, he stood up and went back to the window and looked at you as if he was expecting you to follow him.

"what are you doing?" "read number 6" "mc donalds at 2am? really?? now??" "its 2am isn't it? hurry up birthday girl, im hungry" you blinked twice in confusion trying to process all that was happening. you ignorantly thought that the wishlist was the gift paying no attention to its contents, but of course there was always something more when it had to do with yeonjun.

"are you sure this is legal?" "probably not...hey, dont give me that look this was your idea" you and yeonjun were currently at an abandoned apartment building ready to check number 9 off the wishlist, having a picnic on the roof of an abandoned building under the stars. you had to admit, this birthday present was becoming quite scary, but the thought of getting caught doing something this stupid with your best friend was more than exciting. you finally reached the top floor and opened the door which lead to the roof. the apartment building its self was about 12 stories high so, you were quite high up.

"the views so pretty" "yeah... beautiful" you didn't notice how yeonjun was looking at you with so much love in his eyes. to him you were the most beautiful and precious thing and seeing the way your eyes twinkled with happiness made his heart skip a beat. if it weren't for your impatient whines to set everything up and start eating, he would've told you how he felt right then and there, but everything happens for a reason.

an hour later and you were both laying under the stars talking and laughing and sometimes not saying a word, the silence was never awkward between you two, in fact you found so much comfort in each others company that sometimes no words were needed.

"did you feel that?" "feel what?" "its raining" "what!? hurry grab the stuff lets-" you were starting to stand up when yoenjun pulled you back down. he reached inside his jean pockets and pulled out the whish list. "number 2" he said nonchalantly. number two was special to both of you. it was something you always wanted to do but never had the chance because your parents would scold you, over time you had forgotten about it...until now. yeonjun stood up and extended his hands to help you get up. he pulled you in close and started swaying from side to side.

"there's no music" you mumbled and right on que, he started humming your favourite song. it was a magical moment, just like you had dreamed about when you were eight. it felt like a movie scene and you didnt want it to end. yeonjun held you close as you rested your head against his chest and whispered and it was at that moment you both realised how deeply in love you were with each other.

"you know, when i was eight years old i considered myself a great artist. however, today...not so much” "come y/n its the last thing on the list we have to do it" "alright fine, open the paint bucket" number 10 was very... ambitious. you wanted to paint a disney castle on one of your bedroom walls. sure the idea was cute, but it would've been cuter if it was done by a professional and not by two teenagers who can barely draw stick figures. but alas, yeonjun insisted to stick to the list and so, here you both where, ready to (ruin) paint over your white bedroom wall.

"ready y/n?" "nope" "good"

"THATS SO NOT A CASTLE" "WHAT DO MEAN ITS PERFECT" "lets just paint over it yeonjun" "no. we're leaving it as it is. its got character. you clearly dont understand art." "oh really? do you understand this" as the last word rolled off of your tongue, you painted a nice blue line across yeonjuns arm. he laughed for a second, then got serious and started running after you with a paint brush drenched in white paint. your bedroom filled with laughter and screams as yeonjun picked you up and pinned against the wall. he was so dangerously close to your face that you could feel his breath fan over your lips. you didn't move nor did you want to. yeonjun however, inching closer and closer until you could feel his soft pink lips on yours. the kiss was soft and short after two seconds he pulled back with wide eyes an apology already prepared, but you didnt give him any time to say a word, instead you wrapped your arms around his neck tightly and drew him into a deeper kiss. yeonjun finally relaxed and melted in your embraced as he kissed you back with so much love and passion. his hands snaked around your waist and pulled you closer if that was even possible. you could feel his tongue poke against your lips asking for permission and you willingly let him in. as your tongues battled for danced around in each other’s mouths, yeonjun wrapped his hands around your thighs and lifted you up. you wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked towards the bed where he laid you down softly.

"you sure this is ok?" he whispered above you.

"more than ok...please, dont stop again" that was enough for yeonjun to strip off his shirt and go back to kissing you. his lips travelled down towards your jaw and down to your neck. he started to kiss all over your neck.until he found your sweet spot. the sound of your breathless moans cause yeonjuns pants to tighten as he littered hickies all over your neck. he pulled back to admire his work and his eyes travelled upwards to find a bright smile on his face. yeonjun felt his heart flutter as the sight and leaned in again to place a chaste kiss on your lips before pulling your top over your head.

"you're so beautiful" he whispered as his littered kisses all over your chest and stomach. his kisses kept getting lower and lower untill he reached the waistband of your sweats. "may i?" he asked to which you eagerly nodded. he removed your sweatpants dangerously slow which cause you to whine in impatience, earning a breathless laugh from the man above you. you were getting impatient by how slow things were moving so you flipped yeonjun over and sat on his lap. his reaction was priceless, eyes wide and mouth opened ever so slightly he looked like a deer in headlights. he watched eagerly as you reached behind your back to remove your bra and tossed it wherever.

the sight in fornt of yeonjun was enough for him to buck his hips upwards. his hands travelled towards your chest as you bent down to kiss him again while grinding on him. yeonjun couldn't help but moan, he flipped you over again and stripped himself of his pants and boxers. "like what you see?" yeonjun laughed at your wandering eyes. you didnt respond instead pulled him into another deep kiss but this time it was sloppier. yeonjuns hands slid down and removed your underwear, his lips never leaving yours. you could feel him lining himself into your entrance and gripped his arms which caused yeonjun to pull away from the kiss. “dont worry, i got you... i wont hurt you i promise” you trusted yeonjun with your life and you couldn't feel safer with him, but you were still nervous. he pushed inside of you and you winced and the streched. yeonjun didn't move a muscle he was so scared of hurting that he waited for your command before he started moving his hips. he kissed your lips to distract you from the pain

"i love you" he whispered "i love you too"yeonjun buried his head into your neck and soon, the pain turned into pleasure and you started moaning in yeonjuns ears."f-faster" you moaned out. yeonjun didnt hesitate to buck his hips forward at a faster rate. he sat up and lifted your legs over his shoulders and moaned at the feeling of your warm walls wrapped tightly around his length. the view of yeonjun moaning and bitimg his lips as his hear stuck to hia forehead due to the sweat, had you moaning and cleanching around him

"fuck- stop that or ill- fuck" he continued to pound into you not caring how loud the two of you were being. yeonjun looked at you and could tell by the way your face was twisting and how you were tightening around him that you were close."come with me baby" his growled in your ear. his voice alone was enough to send you over the edge as you came on his dick. the feeling of your walls pulsing around him caused him to pull out and come on your stomach. the view of yeonjun moaning as he came on you was breathtaking. daringly, you scooped up his cum from your stomach and placed your digits in your mouth, sucking every finger while keeping eye contact with yeonjun. yeonjun moaned at the sight and scooped up the remaining cum and shoved his fingers into your mouth and watched in awe as you sucked his fingers clean. after he pulled his fingers out he leaned in and kissed you once again, tasting himself on your tongue.

he pulled himself back and laid beside you as you both started up at the ceiling, trying to process all that just happened. "well, that wasn't on the list" you laughed and yeonjun joined in as he pulled you closer. you rested your head against his chest and wrapped your arms around his figure after pulling the covers over both of you. yeonjun kissed the top of your head lovingly and whispered "i love you" “i love you too...we still need to paint over that castle by the way." "ssshhh dont ruin the moment"

#yeonjun soobin beomgyu taehyun heuningkai txt tommorowbytogether yeonjunsmut yeonjun fluff kpop requested imsosorry

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afterthelastreset · 4 years ago

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Rules Of One’s Soul Ch 12 A Little Offer P2

(mak belongs to @wasted-church )

"He was rude!"

"He was probably having a bad day. Everyone gets cranky. Hehe. Of course he might even be more cranky once he realizes you took that diamond. "

"He was mean to me....Shiny diamonds mine now!"

The cat chuckled and leaned back in the cushioned armchair as he watched the small child make their way around the room carrying an armfull of trinkets and jewelry they had collected overtime, the newest addition being the decent sized diamond they had somehow snuck out of the glass case from the Hip Shop. The earlier altercation mustve given them enough time to sneak it away. To be honest he was kinda worried about the duke at this point and that was saying alot since he hasn't really worried about anything since Jevil's imprisonment over a hundred years ago, but I digress. Maybe it was because of the whole soul connection or maybe anyone looking as crazy and desperate as the duke was would send anyone worrisome vibes. He shrugged at the thought. It didn't matter. It wasn't any of his business to begin with. If the Duke wished to eat..eck!..worms and candy for the rest of his time off and avoid him for the rest of his life, well then there was nothing he could really do about it. A small pang of sadness rang out in him from his soul at the thought but he shrugged that off. Wasn't really his place really any ways. Jevil was the one to find him first....But then again-

A small smirk appeared on his face. What fun would a game with Jevil be if he gave up this early into the game? It WAS the most fun he's had in a while, but you see there were many ways to play the game. One way were to force your way to the finish line and push your way onto the goal with a few tricks, much like Jevil. Or one could patiently wait for an opportunity and gently but smartly nudge your victory forward to a checkmate. He just had to wait if or when his next turn comes to him....Or a certain worm noble.

The mere thought of the high life stuck up duke on his hands and knees digging around for worms of all things made him chuckle now that the whole ordeal was behind them. He didn't remember the last time he laughed so much. It was fun watching the Duke's strange ways. One moment he was acting like a holier than thou stick in the mud and the next like a confused pup. And a few times a scared mouse. It was quite a sight really-

A small clatter of metal and glass sounded out as Mak clambered up one of the shelves by the fireplace. They disappeared somewhere at the top and didn't come out for a while after. But soon after popped their head back out again.

"Im hungry!"

"You just ate breakfast an hour ago."

"Im hungry again!"

Seam sighed before shaking his head. "Young ones. I will never understand their bottomless appetite."

"Get me food?"

He sighed and slowly leaned away from the softness of the armchair before standing up to his feet. Just as he turned towards the child to ask what they wanted, the familiar flap of the sheap entrance caught his atttention. His ear twitched to the sound and a chuckle escaped his lips. He turned towards the door with a smile like hes always had. Though he was certainly not expecting a visit this soon, but just in case it wasn't really him-

"I really wasn't expecting customers today, Ill be out in a moment!"

"WORM!!", A voice shrilled from the front. Seam smiled knowingly and began his way to the store front," Thou willst commeth out this instant! I shan't be kept waiting for the likes of you!"

He chuckled more as he pulled back the curtain. "I was expecting you, but Im not sure I can wrestle the diamond away....from.."

He stopped in his tracks at the sight before him. Staring back at him wasn't a duke at all. What was staring back at him was an honest to lightner regular-ish looking worm man. He wore the same scowling face as the duke he knew, but this man had his glittering white hair tied back in a messy bun with stray strands drapping around that scowling face. Surpringly he wore no fancy suit, just a plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a dark blue pair of pants. He had to blink a couple times to actually register the sight before him but really focused when Rouxls cleaed his throat.

"Art thou done gawking at mine presence, Worm?"

"Uh....Sure. I just wasn't expecting you so soon...and in such.." He ran his one eye over him again. "Er...Common suit?"

Rouxls scoffed before rolling his eyes and pointing a hand at his face. "I came likest this-" He gestured to himself, "- to not ruin mine good wardrobe whilst in thine dust infected den."

"Oh. Then Ill be right back."

Rouxls gave him a questioning look. "Where art thou going?"

"Well I suppose you want the diamond back."

"What art thou speaking of? I have no need for nay diamond."

"Oh?"

Rouxls rolled his eyes again before pointing down towards the floor. Seam had to lean over the counter to see. By his feet was a decent sized bucket filled with what could only be described as Cleaning supplies and array of sponges and rags alike. He stood there silently for a moment before chuckling again and looking back up at the worm man.

"So you decided to actually take up my offer?"

He huffed. "Only because I amst in desperate needs of funds for mineself. Not because I needs thou's help."

In reality, it really was because he desperately didn't want to be stuck eating worms and fat inducing candy for a whole nother week. Buuuut in order to do that it would require for Seam to help him. Starving hinself was an option but hed rather not hurt himself before actually being able to get back to Lancer. His boy didn't need to see his lesser father desperate and a pile of bones. This was all for Lancer....It definitely didn't have anything to do with the way his soul kept thumping at the mere smile of the raggedy cat in front of him. Or his chuckling. Or the fact that the old cat may have been a pain but actually was the only one thus far to offer any help what so ever-

STUPID SOUL!! Stop!!

Seam chuckled but was glad none the less that the duke had decided to accept his offer."Of course not. "

"Good! Now thou shall standeth aside and lettest me do mine work!"

With a chuckle Seam gestured to the shop area before them and smiled. "It's all yours my friend. But please, mind the wares. Some are more old and brittle like myself."

"*hmph* Just keepest thineself and that little beast out of mine way!" He huffed and reached down to grab the bucket, but paused for a moment before looking back to the cat with a questioning look. "Speaking of which, where is that little menace?"

"Oh, Mak? They're probably eating that candy stash again-"

"N-Nay! I meaneth thee.." His eyes glanced around real quick. "-other one."

"Oh. You mean Jevil?" Rouxls gave a grimace and he chuckled. "You don't have to worry about him. He leaves early in the morning and doesn't return until almost eight o'clock.Hehe. Most likely entertaining the prince. By the speed in which you do things, I think you don't have to worry too much." He mumbled something to himself but went back to the supplies and picked them up. Seam tilted his head at him- "Would you like a hand there, friend?"

"Yes actually. Thou needs to vacate thine area immediately! I shant have any distractions!"

Seam hummed. "Are you kicking me out of my home? Isn't that illegal to do Duke?,

Rouxls shot him an annoyed look at the question. "Worm! I can't have thee waltzing around thine home whilst I cleanest it!"

"You're cleaning my whole home? I-...I hadn't really intended on that. Just the sheap front will suffice-"

"NAY!" The bucket was slapped down onto the counter making it's contents shuffled around inside it. A blue hand was pointed at his face inches away from his nose. "If I amst to clean mine mate's home correctly then thou art to gettest out until I amst finished. I tire of thine home's foul smell."

The cat didnt even flinch but instead remained frozen for a moment as the blue man still stood there staring intently at him. For a few seconds neither moved, that was until Seam blinked and slowly gave a chuckle. Making Rouxls raise an eyebrow.

"What tis thou fining so funny?"

"Oh nothing. I just wonder."

"About....what?"

A sly smile snuck across his face and he chuckled again. "Oh nothing you should worry about. But I do wonder what I should do in the mean time? Not alot for me to do anynore."

Rouxls groaned before placing one hand on the bucket. "I shant care." He then grabbed it into his arms. "Just leaveth and stay somewhere else whilst I getteth this over with."

"Are you sure about that statement?"

"Yes! Doth thou wantest me to do this or art thou stalling for amusement?"

Seam held his paws up in defence at the duke's angered and annoyed face. "Ok. Hold on one moment. Mak might be convinced by something, makes my job easier-"

"Yes, yes." Rouxls waved him off dismissively as he turned his attention to the rest of the, in his words, sloppy excuse of a home let alone a shop. He made a disgusted look not even trying to hide the fact of what he was thinking. "How can thou stand this filth?"

There wasn't an answer as Seam had already left for the back, leaving Rouxls to grumble to himself. It wasn't too long before the tall cat came out from the back with the small bat child floating about him. The two gave the already busy duke mumbling to himself and Seam had to grab the child as they reached their hands out for the shining white mass of hair-

"No. That's not what I meant."

"But I want the shiny stuff-"

"Not that." Rouxls gave a questioning look over his shoulder just as Seam was moving the bat creature over to his other side, before placing them down and nudging them towards the store exit. "Now run off and behave yourself."

Rouxls watched as with a huff the child stomped their way off to the front. The tent like cover making a flapping noise as they left. With a sigh Seam turned to the worm still staring at him.

"I dont suppose you would be willing to let me help you-"

"Uh...N-Nay! I wantest to finish and leaveth as soon as possible!" He again pointed to the door. "Now if thou please."

"Ok. I get the picture. But if you should change your mind-"

"Yes, yes." He waved off the notion and turned back to his work. "Leaveth mineself to thine peace worm!"

Seam chuckled again before turning his own body to the door, but not leaving without relaying a past notion. "Very well. Then I leave you to cleaning your 'mate's' home duke."

Rouxls mumbled to himself again but paused and turned to look back at the cat just as he ducked out the door. Leaving a mildly bewildered duke.

#seam x jevil #jevil x seam #jevil x rouxls #rouxls x jevil #rouxls kaard x seam #rouxls x seam #rouxls kaard x jevil #Nosuit #seaxls #rouxlvil #rouxvil #jeam #seavil #Deltarune #Rouxls Kaard #Jevil #Seam

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k-writer1998 · 5 years ago

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Rebel Hours (1/18)

Kwon Jieun always fit her parents’ image of the “perfect” daughter... at least to their knowledge. Away from prying eyes she was like any other girl living life to the fullest doing what she wants. When a little someone named Bang Chan comes into her life priorities are changed, mistakes are made, and her life finally becomes her own.

Fluff

w.c: 1.9k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know we could’ve done anything other than going to the club.”

“I want to go out with a bang since I’m leaving to study abroad in two days. This won’t be a normal club with sleazy guys hitting on you and grinding galore okay Jieun? You know Changbin and Felix wouldn’t be caught dead in those places so this place has to be good.”

“You say that like they recommended this place Seunghee, you only heard it while you were eavesdropping.”

“Hey, I have to find a way to entertain myself at all those boring parties. You aren’t guilt-free in this either, you do it too!”

“Touche,” I laugh.

“Now stop complaining. I did not put you in that mesh top and tight maroon skirt and take an hour on your makeup for you to whine. You promised we’ll do whatever I wanted to do, remember?”

“Fine, it is basically a crime to look as good as we do right now and not have fun.”

“I mean, I always look this good, but even though you’re really messing up the sexy vibe with that big jacket and hat, you’re getting the point,” She joked.

“Well sorry it’s cold,” I threw off one side of my jacket to expose my shoulder, “better?”

“Let’s go dramatic ass, you're buying.”

"Of course," I gasp, "what kind of friend would I be if I have you paying for your own farewell party?"

"Just shut up and go in already."

We laughed as she pushed me towards the door of what looked to be a somewhat rundown building. Supposedly there was supposed to be a club that’s good for high-profile patrons. As we made our descent down the metal staircase, the building started to look less like an abandoned warehouse and more like a club should. The interior could easily match any popular club in our area although it was a bit more “rustic” compared to more of the mainstream places Seunghee has dragged me to. Before I could really look around, Seunghee spotted the bar and dragged me over before ordering us shots. We downed the alcohol and I could see Seunghee’s eyes scan the surroundings.

“You’re doing the whole scanning for cctvs and clocking the exits again.”

“Sorry, it's second nature when your dad is the CEO of one of the biggest security systems in Korea and constantly drags you out with him to “learn the ropes”.”

“A tragedy” I sigh dramatically, “So another round or do you actually want to try that thing you call dancing?”

“Shut up, last time I checked you’re no better than I am!”

With a laugh, we headed for the dance floor. The spot we found for ourselves was around the DJ booth and boy was that DJ cute. I made eye contact with him and he gave me a lopsided grin. I nervously turned away and pulled at my hat as Seunghee knowingly nudged me with a laugh. Before she could call me out, the music started to fade out as another song came on that wasn’t like most club music. Everyone didn’t seem to care though as the excitement, if anything, grew heavier at the new track. The cute DJ let a toothy grin adorn his face as Changbin came on stage with another guy. Instinctively Seunghee and I ducked away and I gave her my hat to hide from Changbin right as girls surged forward like this was some concert. Seunghee and I were swept to the front too and we exchanged confused looks between ourselves, this didn’t seem normal in a club setting. Suddenly the guy who came on stage with Changbin started rapping and any hesitation towards the abrupt performance was washed away. The three of them performed a few songs before any explanation was given but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

“Hey everyone! For anyone new, we’re 3racha. CB97, SpearB, and J.one,” the DJ pointed at each person as he ran over introductions before continuing, “this club is special. There is a live night once a week and we are regulars-”

“How did you like the performance?” The energetic one interrupted.

The crowd cheered in response and the DJ, who apparently goes by CB97, rolled his eyes at the male for interrupting before continuing.

“As you know, live night only lasts for an hour before we go back to regular activities so we decided to close the set with a fan favorite.”

“A lot of you guys kept asking for this-” J.One started.

“I honestly don’t know why,” Changbi- I mean “SpearB” added.

“so we had to agree,” the former finished.

I eyed the three curiously, wondering why they seemed to dislike this song. Once the music started they started to pull theatrics and a roar of screams came once the fans realized what song it was. Seunghee and I looked at each other before we had to turn away and control our snickering as J.One started rapping.

“Excuse me, miss, but do you have a boyfriend? Ah, sorry, that must have been too direct-”

After Seunghee and I got over the cringey lyrics we were dancing and having fun. At one point the boys got close to the edge of the stage and interacted with the fans around. While CB97 was rapping his part he took off his hat and crouched near the stage that happened to be close to our area. Our eyes connected once again and lord it was like he was rapping to me as our eyes lingered. I was so distracted by him that I didn’t notice some girls getting over zealous at his close proximity and nearly knocked me and Seunghee over, causing her to drop my hat. As I reached down to grab it I saw another one fall beside mine. Casting a quick look confirmed my suspicions, he had dropped his hat. His eyes darted around trying to figure out if he could grab it before his eyes landed on me again. Maybe it was the extra shots I took inbetween dancing or the fact that he was super hot but I swept both of our hats off the ground and gave him a coy smile before placing his hat on my head and throwing him a wink. His smile grew bigger as he gave a small shake of his head before a small chuckle escaped his lips and he regrouped with the other two.

“Jieun!” Seunghee screamed at me in mock shock, “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know. I’m 99% sure it’s the alcohol,” I brushed off but I couldn’t bite back the smile spreading across my face.

“Girl!”

With a laugh I dismissed it but Seunghee gave me the you-better-spill-it-later look before we enjoyed the rest of the song. Before the song ended we moved to the bar to beat the throng of girls that would ease off the dance floor once the performance finished. We got some water to sober us up before Seunghee rolled her eyes at her phone.

“Dad changed my flight. I’m leaving tomorrow rather than a few days later. Ugh, he’s going on about the early bird getting the worm or whatever. I haven’t even packed yet!”

“That means you're leaving me earlier!” I whine.

“I mean you’ll have Seungmin.”

“Seungmin may be your brother but he’s not you.”

“Awwww is that affection I hear? Are you actually gonna miss me?” She teased and I rolled my eyes.

“You call a taxi and I’ll pay the tab?”

“Okay, don’t forget to return the hat to the DJ you have googly eyes for,” she teased.

Before I could react she darted away. With a shake of my head I asked the bartender to close my tab, handing him my card. I turned to look at the stage and the others had gone off stage, leaving CB97 to go back to playing music. Once I got my card back I went to go find Seunghee outside, but not before I gave the guard by the door the hat. I explained that the DJ dropped it before making my way out.

When we got back to our apartment we gushed and gossiped about the night's events while I helped Seunghee pack. There was a lot to unravel for the night. Changbin was an underground rapper for one, and it actually fits his image more than “stuck up rich kid” does. We excitedly talked about the performance and I tried to dance around the whole thing with the DJ but Seunghee wasn’t gonna to let it go.

“I know you’re avoiding it but let’s talk about this “CB97” hmmm?”

“Okay so what? He’s cute and I flirted a little… or at least I hope you could call that flirting,” I laugh.

“Uh-huh, cause you do this,” she grabbed my hat from her bed and mocked me before continuing, “to every cute guy you see.”

“Probably if I drank as much as I did tonight.”

“You’re gonna regret drinking that much tomorrow.”

“Why? Because of my cringey flirting or my impending hangover?”

“Both. This is why I say pace yourself,” she laughs.

“Okay I would have but the cute DJ definitely messed with my pace control.”

“If you go back, take Seungmin or someone with you so they can pace you,” she teased.

“With what time will I have to be going to a club when school starts in three days?”

“Whatever. I bet you I’m gonna get an update from Seungmin that you dragged him out to that club within the first month of school.”

“Please I have better self control.”

“Oh yeah I forgot, you wouldn’t dare. Just probably stalk “3racha” online right? Are you gonna turn into a die-hard?”

I chased her around the room, trying to make her shut up as she continued to tease me. The rest of the night was a blur and the only reminder of it in the morning was the splitting headache that came as my alarm rang. Burying my face in my pillow, I blindly reached for my phone only for my hand to come into contact with something else. Looking, I thank drunk me for preparing a glass of water and aspirin on my bedside table. To my dismay though my phone, which still rang obnoxiously, sat on my desk across the room. Damn it. I took the medicine before dragging my ass out of bed to finally shut it off. After going through our morning routines and checking to make sure she had everything she needed, we headed to the airport for teary goodbyes. After Seunghee left, I told Seungmin I would see him tomorrow before excusing myself to their parents. Since Seunghee is gone for the school year, Seungmin decided to occupy her room instead of staying in the campus dorms.

When I got home I fell onto my bed as the hangover finally caught up to me. While lost in thought my mind went back to last night. Although a few things were fuzzy, a certain cute DJ was definitely in my memories. I tried to recall the group name and although it took me a minute I finally remembered. Sadly, just as Seunghee said I went on my phone and looked the boys up. After searching them up for a bit I tried to reason with myself.

“Okay you may be looking them up because of CB97 but their music is good too. You are just supporting good music… God I’m talking to myself now.”

I put my phone down and buried my face in my pillow. It’s literally only been twenty-four hours, how am I already a mess?

#stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #skz scenarios #bang chan #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #my writing #rebel hours

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jothowrote · 5 years ago

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Faulty mechanism (warm-up)

(I wrote this unfinished TMA/Mechanisms crossover as a warm-up for Nano two and a half years ago and just found it again on an old hard drive - it’s set around season 2 TMA. I thought I’d let it see the light of day, since we live in interesting times and it hopefully might distract people for a time, like it did me.)

Faulty mechanism (warm-up)

The Jon that walked into work on Monday was not the same Jon that had been left working late in the archives on Friday night. Martin was pretty sure that anyone with eyes could see it – and perhaps eyes were not even necessary, what with the pungent aroma of tobacco and alcohol that hung around this ‘other’ Jon like a haze. Not to mention he was smiling.

Martin immediately suspected foul play. If you had read the kind of statements he had, then it wasn’t completely unusual for people to vanish and be replaced, although usually the changeling made a bit more effort to blend in.

The Monday morning had begun strangely anyway, as Martin had been surprised to find himself the first at work. Jon had become more or less of a permanent fixture at the archives, working so late and arriving so early that one could almost assume that he simply didn’t go home. The small cot bed remained untouched, however – Martin had checked. And so, on coming in to work and finding Jon’s office empty, Martin had decided to take advantage of that fact and hang around outside it, hoping to catch Jon before he mired himself in work and stage a sort-of intervention. He’d even tried to recruit Tim and Sasha to his cause as they both arrived at the institute for the morning. Sasha had said something about being too busy and slipped off – Tim had snorted and said some very rude things about Jon before vanishing into the tiny kitchenette for his morning coffee.

Not one to be deterred by something so insignificant as no back-up, Martin had squared his shoulders and continued to lurk outside Jon’s empty office. As the morning ticked by, and there was still no sign of Jon, he had grown steadily more anxious.

`He’s probably just having a breakdown at home,’ Tim said, on his way past with his third coffee of the morning. `Makes a nice change from him having it here. Just leave it – I’m not doing your work too.’

Martin decided to give it until lunch.

At one minute to twelve, the door by the stairs swung open wildly – startling Martin, who had been staring unfocused in the opposite direction at the lift doors in steadily decreasing expectation – and Jon sauntered through.

It was only `Jon’ in the loosest sense of the word. As Martin watched, the Jon-impersonator swaggered up the corridor with no limp to speak of, a bottle of something smelling strong as petrol sloshing in one hand. The other hand, Martin couldn’t help but notice, was hovering over a gun in a hip holster.

Martin was frozen in confusion and perhaps a little fear as the stranger-Jon walked right up to him and paused in front of the office door. When he made as if to open the door, Martin let out a small squeak of indignation. He was promptly engulfed in thick tobacco smoke.

Coughing, his eyes watering, Martin did nothing but watch as the stranger winked at him and went straight into the Head Archivist’s office, slamming the door behind him.

`You’re telling me that Jon’s been replaced by some kind of steampunk cowboy that looks exactly like him?’

Tim, on his fourth coffee, looked unimpressed.

`We’ve been attacked by flesh-eating worms, but this is where you draw the line?’

`Are you sure it isn’t actually Jon just having a midlife crisis?’

`It may have looked like Jon superficially, but apart from that he’s a completely different person.’

Tim squinted at Martin, and reached forward as though to feel his forehead.

`Are you feeling ok?’

Martin slapped his hand away irritably.

`I’m not hallucinating Jon dressed as a steampunk cowboy, that would be really weird.’

`And yet would explain so much. Are you sure it’s not just –‘

The door to the kitchenette slammed open and fake-Jon strolled in.

`Is that coffee I smell?’

He pushed past Tim and Tim’s gaping mouth and poured the rest of the pot into a mug. To Martin’s annoyance, it was his mug.

Fake-Jon swigged at the coffee – Tim’s thick black tar that Martin avoided – and sighed.

`Anything stronger? Only I’m out of whiskey.’

`Who the fuck are you?’ Tim said, finally getting over his shock as he watched the rest of his precious coffee quickly vanish down the stranger’s gullet. `You’re not Jon.’

`Well, I am Jon – Jonny d’Ville, to be exact.’

`You’re not our Jon,’ Martin said, his voice going embarrassingly squeaky again. Jonny d’Ville grinned, and it was a violent grin.

`Ah, sweet. Your Jon isn’t here at the moment – I’m afraid I’m what’s here instead.’

Elias, apparently disturbed by Tim’s indignant shouting, chose that moment to poke his head around the door to the tiny kitchen with a supremely disapproving expression.

`Don’t you all have work to do?’

Martin opened his mouth, but all he managed was another squeak. Tim, who had gone back to gawping, said nothing.

`Oh, and by the way, Jon – you really need to start being a little more considerate with the people who come in to give their statements. I’ve been getting more complaints.’

Then Elias paused, and looked Jonny up and down.

`And is that get-up really suitable for work?’ he sniffed.

Martin saw Jonny’s hand twitch towards the gun in his hip holster, and had a sudden moment of complete dread, but Elias had already let the door swing shut behind him.

`That’s the big boss man, then?’ Jonny asked, his grin starting up. `Isn’t he a ray of sunshine.’

He turned to Tim and Martin, his grin wide and dark. It was unsettling to see such a look on Jon’s usually sour bur harmless face.

`So,’ he said, twirling the gun in his hand, `what is it you do for fun around here?’

Martin had been summarily dispatched to the nearest off-license in order to provide his new boss with more whiskey, and Sasha caught him in the corridor on his way back to the archives, clutching the plastic bags and wincing every time they made incriminating clinking noises.

`What’s with the Jon look-a-like?’ she asked in a whisper.

`He wouldn’t say until he had more whiskey,’ Martin said dejectedly.

`Makes a bit of a change from the old Jon, though,’ Sasha said, grinning. `Even though they look exactly the same, this one somehow manages to look kind of hot.’

`Eww, Sasha.’

`What?’ she shrugged. `Everyone likes a bad boy, Martin.’

`He looks deranged,’ Martin hissed.

`Yeah, that too. Maybe it’s the crazy eyes, maybe it’s the leather, maybe it’s the eyeliner. Maybe it’s that he’s not stalking us all and watching our houses at night.’

`Jon’s having a hard time right now-‘

‘Oh, please don’t start with all that shit, Martin. I don’t know why you’re so desperate to make allowances for him – I mean, I know you bonded or whatever,’ Sasha made sarcastic air quotes around the word, `when Prentiss attacked us, but honestly, even you must be able to see that he’s going completely off his rocker.’

`I just… he means well…’

`He treats us all like shit, Martin. You can’t keep defending him if you value yourself at all.’

Martin gave a deep sigh. The bags clinked.

`To be honest, it’ll be nice having a break from Jon. And this Jonny guy sounds like he has loads of great stories.’

`Oh, I do,’ said a strange parody of Jon’s voice from behind them, making Martin jump. `And you can hear them, just as soon as I get a drink or four. Is that my whiskey?’

Martin nodded, and Jonny’s smile grew wider.

`Well then, let’s get this party started.’

It ended up being Martin, Tim, and the new weird Jon in the Head Archivist’s office, as Sasha – who had been very distant lately – had pushed off to see her new boyfriend. Elias remained completely oblivious to the change in Jon, and probably assumed they were hard at work.

Jonny poured them each a whiskey and downed almost a full bottle by himself. Then he settled back in Jon’s chair, put his feet up on the desk, and sighed.

`So, where would you like me to start?’

Tim opened his mouth, eyes wide, but Martin got there first.

`Where’s our Jon? Is he ok? Is he going to come back?’

Jonny grinned.

`Your Jon is most likely on my ship right now. No doubt my crew are… looking after him, in their own way. He’ll be back. Eventually.’

`Does he have to come back?’ Tim muttered. Martin elbowed him. `Ouch,’ he grumped. `Your elbows are really sharp.’

`Why is he on your ship? Where is your ship? Why do you look exactly the same?’

Jonny laughed, and drank some more.

`Aren’t you full of questions? I should perhaps clarify that my ship, Aurora, is a starship – and it’s not so much a question of `where’ as `when’.’

`A starship,’ Tim said, blankly.

`As for the resemblance – well, I’m only making a guess here, as I’m stuck with you and not on the Aurora – but it’s a very well-educated guess. I can only assume that when space-time tends towards infinity in universes like ours that these strange resemblances do occur simply due to statistics. And for some reason, your Jon and I have swapped places.’

`It might be something Jon touched in artefact storage,’ Martin said, biting his lip anxiously. `God knows there’s enough weirdness in there to cause something like this.’

`Why should we believe you?’ Tim asked. Jonny laughed.

`Why would I lie?’

Tim shot Martin a look. Martin shrugged.

`Good point,’ he said, taking a swig of his whiskey and resigning himself to the complete mess his life had become. `Carry on.’

Jon had for once made it back to his flat rather than just collapsing into the airbed in the archives, but it was late and he barely had time to register the dust and neglect before collapsing onto his bed and passing out.

He woke up with his face pressed to cold metal, which was ever so gently vibrating. He flung out an arm to feel around for the light switch, and the resultant crash woke him fully.

It transpired that he’d inadvertently upset a precarious pile of bottles, all empty and smelling strongly of old alcohol. They’d rolled across the floor, clanking and crashing as they did so, and Jon looked properly at his surroundings.

The small room, which had metal walls and apparently the entire contents of a bottle bank, was neither his bedroom nor the archives.

Jon looked around, blinked a few times, and really wished the bottles weren’t all empty.

It took him a while to get to the door without his walking stick, but using the wall to prop himself and sheer determination, he made it and began to hobble down the corridor beyond.

The background humming – along with the gentle vibration of the walls he clung to and the floor beneath his socked feet – made him feel faintly queasy. This was not helped by the panic rising up in his throat.

Something small, many-legged, furry, and glowing green dropped from somewhere above him. Jon screamed.

The small green thing squealed back and shot off in the opposite direction.

`For fuck’s sake, Jonny,’ someone said behind him, in a thick Russian accent. `Do you have to keep shooting them?’

Jon turned rapidly and lost his balance, only just catching himself on a nearby bit of pipe. The newcomer squinted at him from underneath a furrowed brow and a pissed expression.

`Just how drunk are you?’ she asked, incredulously.

Jon pulled his body, his dignity and his bravery up.

`Who are you, and why do you know my name?’ he demanded, his voice suitably strong, albeit a little squeaker than he might have liked. `And where the hell am I?’

The woman just stared at him.

`Jonny – just what have you been drinking?’ she asked. `Or – wait – did you eat that reconstituted spinach I left around the mess? I told you it killed an octokitten!’

Jon felt overwhelmed but pushed on. The woman was strange – hell, the whole situation was absolutely mental – but there were no flesh-eating bugs in sight, and that meant he wasn’t having a nightmare, at least.

Although if this was a fever dream, maybe he should go to the doctors when he woke up.

`I’m sorry,’ he said, snippily, `but do I know you?’

The woman just stared at him.

Another gently glowing creature dropped down from the ceiling, screamed at the sight of him, and skittered away down the corridor.

The woman sighed, deeply.

`You’re not Jonny, are you,’ she said, finally.

`My name is Jonathan Sims,’ Jon said.

`Hmm. Well, this is a strange day. I’ll get the others together – come with me, not-Jonny.’

The `others’ consisted of a motley selection of people in various strange outfits, some of whom were more metal than flesh.

Jon was feeling more and more out of his depth, and sure that his imagination was not so good as to dream this up.

`So, this isn’t Jonny?’ asked one.

`Isn’t it obvious?’ said another. `He’s clearly a completely different person.’

`Looks exactly the same to me,’ the woman Jon had met first, whose name turned out to be Nastya, said. `Even scared the octokittens away.’

`Are you kidding?’ said the one who’d introduced themselves as Ashes O’Reilly, quartermaster. None of the others had given their names. `He hasn’t shot any of us since we came in here.’

There was a chorus of agreement.

`Good point,’ said man who was more brass than skin. `Can we keep this Jonny? He seems a lot nicer than ours.’

`We should probably try and work out what happened,’ Ashes said, although they made no move to do so and looked distinctly bored by the proceedings.

Jon’s leg finally gave way on him, and he sagged, defeated, onto a nearby bench.

`Look,’ he said, head in his hands, `I don’t know who any of you are. I don’t know who this `Jonny’ is who you all know, but he’s not me. I just… I need to get back home. To the archives.’

They all looked at each other.

`This is definitely not our Jonny,’ said Nastya. `So what do we do now?’

Jonny toyed with his gun, bored out of his mind. For an archive full of creepy stories, he was disappointed in the lack of things to shoot. He supposed, if he could be bothered, he could poke about in the dreaded `Artefact storage’ the two research assistants had spoken about in such grim tones, but he didn’t think their uppity boss would appreciate him shooting up a priceless antique. Although maybe then he could shoot the boss… he hadn’t liked the look of him.

Martin – the one who seemed most upset by his supplanting the `real’ Jonathan, had talked a bit about the time they’d been overrun by flesh-eating worms, which sounded like a lot of fun – sadly, it had apparently been sorted out long before Jonny arrived.

He clicked his safety on and off, sighing. There weren’t even octokittens to terrorize. He didn’t think he’d ever actually miss the blasted creatures.

And yet here he was, pining for his ship, surrounded by dust and paper and fear. There was a story here, somewhere, but they already had a way to tell it – they didn’t need the help of the Mechanisms.

He pulled his harmonica out of his waistcoat, played a little tune. His go-to currently was the anthem of General Snow’s resistance. He felt attached to the defiant tune – he had been there just before Jack had gone down in battle, seen the kid sink his last drink.

Jack the giant killer hadn’t wanted to be made into a hero in a story he didn’t deserve, but he got made into one anyway. It made Jonny feel a little nostalgic for that bloody war, in all honestly. There hadn’t been a good war like that in a while.

The best wars were always when the two sides became mirror images to one another, in the end.

A hesitant knock snapped him out of his reminiscing. Martin poked his head around the door, his face falling almost comically.

`Oh,’ he said. `It’s you.’

`Sorry,’ Jonny grinned. `Still the wrong Jon, I’m afraid.’

Martin looked at the harmonica.

`You play that?’

`No – I keep it around for decoration. Yes, I fucking play it,’ Jonny said. `It’s something to do with my hands that isn’t shooting people.’

`Oh, good,’ said Martin, squeakily. `That’s… that’s good.’

`Anything interesting happening?’

`Not much – although Elias will probably be along soon, so you might want to… I don’t know... pretend to be more like Jon?’

`What does your Jon do all day?’

`Well, record statements, mostly.’

`On this?’ Jonny dangled the tape recorder between two of his fingers, looking at it distastefully.

`Careful!’ Martin lunged for it, knocking over a pile of statements and tripping over some dusty boxes. Empty CO2 canisters clanked around his feet. Jonny laughed.

At that moment, the ajar door opened farther, and Elias Bouchard walked into the room. He was greeted by the sight of Jonny cackling, feet still up on the desk, tape recorder still dangling from his hands, Martin on the floor and surrounded by old yellowing statements and empty fire extinguishers.

`I thought I heard you… laughing,’ Elias said, slowly. Jonny met his gaze with a violent grin.

`I tripped,’ Martin said, breathless, scrambling to his feet. `You know me, so clumsy.’ He tried for a laugh, but it sounded a little panicked.

`Hmm,’ said Elias, still locked in eye-contact with Jonny. `Well… as long as there’s not a problem.’

`Nope,’ Jonny said, still grinning.

Elias shut the door behind him.

`He knows,’ Jonny said, smile abruptly dropping as he turned to Martin.

`He knows?’

`That I’m not your Jon.’

`We all know that, though,’ Martin said, shrugging. `It’s not exactly hard to tell.’

`No – he knows. I don’t think he knows what I am, exactly, but he knows more than he’s letting on.’

`But it’s just Elias,’ Martin said, as he attempted to gather together the spilt statements. `Oh god, Jon is going to kill me – I’ve probably ruined his system…’

`To be honest,’ said Jonny, `I think he’ll be so relieved to be back that he won’t care.’

`That doesn’t sound like Jon,’ Martin said, still manically trying to make some order out of the chaos his flailing limbs had created. `He’s been struggling lately – I don’t know what this will do to him but it’s not going to be good…’

‘Well, you get on with that, then,’ Jonny said as he swung his legs to the floor, spurs clacking.

‘Where are you going?’ Martin called after him, as he swaggered to the door.

‘I’m going to look for something to shoot,’ Jonny said, winking, as he disappeared out of the office.

‘You can’t just… leave!’ Martin said, but Jonny had already gone.

#the magnus archives #The Mechanisms #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonny d'ville #tim stoker #fanfiction #crossover

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awaywithwords03 · 4 years ago

Text

The Looking Lake

A Fragment from the Tales of the Evelyn Bones

“Do you skate sir?” I asked Dr Prest as we both enjoyed a cigar and looked out at the falling snow. He took a few slow puffs, adding to the noxious blue atmosphere that shrouded us both like the white curtain outside. “I’m sorry to say I don’t Bartley. I didn’t see you as the skating type?” I watched the end of my cigar smolder for a moment before tapping the grey ash into the ornate tray that sat atop the beautiful, low, walnut table between our two wingback chairs. “I’m full of surprises,” I replied, “As are you Doctor. I was surprised to learn from the manager that you are not here, as you said, to vacation but you are here on call to see a local patient.”

Dr Prest’s eyes didn’t move from the window and, other than a raised eyebrow that sent creases all the way across his completely shaved head, he gave no reaction to what I’d said before. “You’ve been inquiring after me?” I shrugged, maintaining my composure and, ignoring the knot in my stomach as I smoked next to one of the most dangerous cultists that had ever lived. “You are the only other person of interest in this hotel, and the only gentlemen who I can converse with. People of our intellect are becoming scarcer and scarcer these days.”

My companion re-lit his cigar with a match from out his breast pocket and, exhaling a thick cloud let out a tiny “Ha,” sound by way of a forced laugh and also, I thought, acknowledgement. “I dare say I know what you mean. Well, I suppose there’s no sense in pretending to you is there sir? You being so astute. After all you were schooled at… Oh where did you say?”

He was testing my cover story, but I was practiced and prepared for his probes.

“Eaton, by a former colonel no-less.”

“What was his name.”

“Colonel Franks of the 83rd. You must have heard?” He nodded; his sharp eyes now fixed on my own. I wore my jovial expression like an iron mask. “Colonel Franks; the man who took an entire chateau with a team of just three men armed with pistols as just a corporal. A marvellous strategist and a famously keen critical thinker, it must have been a privilege to be his pupil.” I concurred with a nod and stubbed out my cigar. I was getting nervous and had smoked too quickly. “Another?” I asked, beckoning a waiter.

“I have plenty of cheroot left but you go ahead.” A young well-dressed man approached quietly and opened a silver case. I selected a brown cigar with a gold collar before tipping him and igniting it with my eagle-head lighter.

“So, tell me. It’s just us here now, who is this patient you’ve come to see? What’s their ailment? Why the secrecy?” Smiling and twitching his head he tapped his ash lose into the tray.

“It is a… Delicate matter. I shan’t like to divulge my patient’s secrets, and I have signed an oath to prevent me from doing so. You should know this.” I had been too eager, and he must surely be seeing through me. Dr Prest seemed relaxed however, watching me carefully but maintaining a friendly, jovial expression throughout our discussion. “Of course, of course. It was wrong of me to pry, forgive me. Well, you can at least tell me, are they doing well? Can you see them recovering under your care?”

He was quiet for a long while, watching the snow fall past the window, gathering in small drifts against the frosting glass. “It’s complicated. There have been signs of improvement, but it is too early to tell.” I nodded sagely, hoping he would say more. “Her therapy is… Unique. A trial if you will. I daresay it should be successful but the lifelong effects for her may not be worth the treatment.”

Of course, my initial reaction was revulsion, that anyone calling themselves a doctor would risk a treatment that was worse than the disease they were trying to cure. Fighting poison with poison. But I swallowed my morality and replied, “Sounds like you are taking a huge medical leap.”

He grinned in a way I found chilling then stubbed out his cigar out in the ash tray. “It’s much bigger than her. Much bigger than all of us.”

“Whereabouts does she live?” His grin didn’t falter but his eyes narrowed for a second, and I knew that I was testing him. “Just beyond the lake and over the fell.” I met his gaze.

“Strange. I happen to know the family farm just over the fell. They’ve never mentioned…”

“She is not a farmer.” His reply was sharp, and he rose stretching his neck from side to side and rolling his shoulders to loosen them before turning back to me. His face was grim.

“I must turn in. Goodnight Bartley.” Then he added. “I hope you enjoy the ice.” Before stalking out of the room.

I stayed in my seat, watching my cigar burn down to a stump till the lamps were turned low and the snow had stopped falling. Abandoning by cheroot I stood and looked out on the view below. The drawing room looked out onto lake Metherside, surrounded by beach trees now weighed down with a heavy burden of white snow that shone blue in the moonlight. The frozen lake caught the ethereal light like a mirror and balefully stared back at the sky. Turning away, I traced my steps under the wooden architraves and over the thick red carpet that snaked through the entire hotel up to my room. Entering as stealthily as I could, I walked over to my Portmanteau and scribbled down every word I could remember from my brief interview.

Much bigger than her. Much bigger than us all.

He was clearly conducting an experiment and it was on someone. But who? And Why? I then began to wonder where this woman was. I genuinely knew the family over the fell, from a previous investigation and their knowledge of the area was second to none. There were no other properties apart from this remote hotel in the region. To cap it off, I had never seen the Dr go anywhere. The few times he had left the hotel I had followed him only to find he was taking a walk around the lake. All the evidence so far pointed toward one location, one that I was loathe to explore but knew now it was necessary.

His room.

There was a strong likelihood that his “Patient” was in this very Hotel. I shrugged off my smoking jacket and turned to look at my gun case resting on the Chesterton. No more theorizing. Time to act.

Secreting my revolver into its shoulder holster, I slipped into my all-weather coat and slipped out on to the landing. The hotel was of the old kind, with elaborate Victorian swirls carved in plaster and edged in gold, with wallpaper thick with flowers and heavy colors. In the dark, with the gas lamps out the décor seemed to absorb even more of the light as I softly trod step-by-step toward room 4B.

I had been this way several times to go and listen at Prest’s door, and although he said that he was staying alone, I was sure I had heard him talking to someone in a low voice. Stealing round the corner to where his room was, I noticed a tremendously bright light coming from beneath the door sill. White as a dove and yet giving me an uncomfortable dirty impression. I knelt and examined closely. There was no way this light was coming from any of the dim lamps in the hotel. It reminded me of the dazzling electric lights I had seen at fairs, or in science experiments and modern laboratories.

I listened at the door, as I had before, and cut here a faint buzzing sound, presumably from the bulbs and… I wanted to say. A rustle? I tried the handle, but it was locked so I pulled out a multi-tool I kept handy and after some fumbling around, I found a lockpick and started work. It didn’t take long till I felt the tumblers slide into place and with a metallic snapping sound, the lock opened. I tried the handle, and to my amazement it opened. I pushed the door away with one hand, and in a smooth motion slipped my multi-tool away and pulled gun from its holster.

The room inside was, as I’d expected devilishly bright and I squinted in the doorway till my eyes adjusted, my revolver sweeping side to side scanning the room. Inside the room, everything was different to my own. The carpets were stripped away to the bare floorboards beneath which were etched in runes that hurt to look at. Atop those were cables laid in thick, heavy coils that wormed their way from the floor up to a great number of large bulbs mounted on metal stands that were the source of the light. They all shone down on the centre of the room where a mass of ivory and canvas lay in a contorted sculpture on a wooden frame bed.

I entered carefully, checking behind the door and every dark corner. The room hummed, but it wasn’t just coming from the filament lights. I could feel it coming through the floor, a static sensation as I crossed the circles of runes and went deeper into the room. My curiosity was only deepening when suddenly, the sculpture stirred.

It let out a slow, long, guttural gasp, as if it had been holding its breath and then sucked air back in staccato, agonizing, inhales. I realized what I had though was canvas, was in fact skin as it undulated arrhythmically in time with the breathing. Taught, and shot through with red veins, the shadow of twisted bones pushing the skin outward to way beyond its natural limit. An arm flopped free from beneath the veined mass and a human hand smacked to the floor, the fingers worming and pushing it toward me before elevating to a quivering reach. It grasped at the air between me and it, as I recognised more and more human features beneath the deformed mass I saw before me.

“Huuuu…..Huuuuu….Huuuuuuu….” It tried to form its aching exhales into words. “Huuuuu… Huuuuu. Huuuuuelp.” The sounds came out as retching squarks from a throat badly deformed. I was too stunned to notice as the cold barrel of another gun was pressed into my neck. “Let’s have that revolver now, there’s a good chap.” Dr Prest’s voice was as calm, and smiling as it had been in every discussion I’d had with him, even as he jabbed the weapon into my neck. “Now please. It’s taken a long time to get to this point, it’d be a shame to make a mess.” I did as I was told and handed my revolver to him and he pocketed it. “Let’s take a turn about the lake.”

He grabbed me in a vice like grip and without shoving guided me toward the door. “What is that?” I managed to ask in a hushed voice as he slipped his gun under his jacket and pressed it into my ribs like a dagger. “Never you mind Mr Stone. Let’s keep moving.” For just a second the breath caught in my throat like a sour taste as he mentioned my real name. He knew who I was. “If anyone asks, you are feeling unwell after too much tobacco and I am taking you out for some clean air. Am I clear?” I said nothing, setting my face into its iron mask. He took my silence for acknowledgement as we continued down the unlit stairs. I contemplated attempting a reversal on him, but I felt as though his reflexes were sharp and he’d blow my heart and lungs clear out of my chest at the slightest motion.

“How are you concealing all this from the staff?” I asked, “Surely questions are asked? You are using electrics and bright light.” He smiled at me as one might at a naive child.

“You assume that I am acting alone. Hunch over a little more, look unwell. We are passing reception.” I did as I was told, a festering ember of repugnance in my chest at the act as we passed the desk. My captor turned to the bellboy on duty. “Mr Bartley is feeling unwell. I believe he smoked too much this evening; would it be well if I took him out for some clear air?” I met the bell-boy’s eyes for but a second before the gun scraped against my bone and I winced and turned away. “Very good sir take as long as you need I’ll be here till midnight. Will he be alright?”

“Nothing a bit of cold air can’t sort.” My eyes were fixed on the carpet at our feet, thinned and coarse by many years of boots treading over it in and out.

The two doors to the hotel swung open, letting a breath of frozen air into the lobby and Dr Prest escorted me out the door and down the stone steps toward the lake. The moment we were out of sight and the doors had closed behind us, he shoved me in front and angled the gun at the back of my head. “Hands up and keep moving my good man. We’re almost there now.” I raised my hands and walked slowly down the slope, following the moonlit path between the trees that loomed and swayed over us in the wind like waving hands. Like the hand that had reached out to me. I shuddered and not just from the cold. “Do you really think you can get away with this? They will here the gun shot and come running.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Even in the dark he was still smiling. “What gunshot? I will watch your mind suddenly deteriorate and in a mad delirium you will run out into the middle of the frozen lake where the ice will shatter and swallow you with an almighty crash. I will explain how the delirium must have been brought on by the massive dose of opium you took, evidence of which they will find in your room.” I couldn’t help but sigh a laugh. “Ha… You were following me. You even planted evidence for your cover story and there’s me thinking that I was stalking you. How long did you know?”

“Within a day of your arrival. Me and my consorts make it our business to background check any, unexpected, visitors.”

The lake was coming into view now, grey, cold and frozen still. “Can you at least tell me what that thing was. That thing in your room. Is it alive?” He sighed as if I had asked something obvious or inanely stupid.

“In a manner of speaking. I told you. It’s a trial.”

“To do with the bones?” I asked.

“Of course.” He replied condescendingly. “Don’t think you’ll catch me off guard with your knowledge Mr Stone. I know who I’m dealing with almost as well as you do.”

“Do I?” I laughed. “I know you’re not a Doctor. I know your true residence is at the Burnes College and you are operating under the direction of a figure called Penbrooke.”

“And that is all you will know.”

We had arrived at the edge of the lake now and I came to a stop. The cold barrel rested against my neck. “Did I ask you to stop?” I kept my hands up but, from where he stood, he could not see me smiling.

“Do you want me to walk out onto the ice?”

“You said it yourself, you like to skate. Off you go. One last jaunt. I’ll stay here and watch you.” I lifted my foot but just before I put it down, I said. “There is one thing I don’t think you realized about me you know?” I turned to look over my shoulder and stared along the black barrel into the eyes of my would-be killer, who had raised his eyebrows in encouragement. “Go-on.”

“That you were not the only one, who didn’t come alone.”

I took a tentative step onto the ice, as the bell-boy, who had made his way to the top of the hotel and now stared at Prest down the sights of his Lee Enfield Long distance rifle, took the shot.

#Evelyn bones #lovecraftian #awaywithwords #horror #short story #reedsy #competition #horrorstory #shortstory

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arthurs-wife · 6 years ago

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Can I make a request for young Arthur x f reader where she’s been a part of the gang for a little while now and Arthur hasn’t exactly warmed up to her yet (because he’s been going through shit with Mary & Eliza) but on her birthday he gets her her own horse as an official initiation into the gang? I think it would be cute af

(anon youre great thank u for the prompt but also help im kind of in love with this AU now????)

You ran a hand through your hair, shorter than it had been since you were a toddler. The barber held a mirror in front of you and you grimaced at your reflection. At least you didn’t have to look at it for long.

The hot summer sun beat down on your face as you exited the Saloon in Tumbleweed. You wished to shit you had a horse so you wouldn’t have to trek your way back to camp in this damn hellstorm.

It was two miles back to camp and you settled in for a walk. Part of you hoped someone would come looking for you, but you knew they were all back at camp getting hammered. After a dry spell, Dutch had taken to spending most of his time in his tent, ignoring everyone, including his lover Annabelle. You only knew about this because you were the only one who would listen to her drunken tales of how Dutch just didn’t care anymore.

Hosea and Bessie were often found in a corner of the camp, whispering excitedly at one another, occasionally throwing up their hands and walking away. You had grown quite fond of Bessie, looking up to her like a mother. Bessie had shown you most of the skills you held today, including sewing a button to your coat, skinning a deer, and shooting a man through the skull.

Arthur.

You let out an audible huff at the mere thought of the man, scaring a poor blue bird from a tree.

In the 18 months you had known the man, he had said a total of five words to you. Probably more, honestly. You had a habit of over exaggerating things, which was one of the habits he seemed to like the least about you. Not that it seemed like he enjoyed anything about you. Just before you joined the gang, he had lost his son and former lover, something you could not comprehend, so you kept your distance.

You thought maybe it was because he just didn’t want to get close to anyone, but several months after you joined, he met a woman named Mary. She was beautiful, funny, and wormed her way into Arthur’s heart immediately. There was something off-putting about her, but of course you kept your thoughts to yourself. You had aligned yourself with Arthur’s late wife and son, not trusting of any new person to get in the way. It seemed the rest of the camp agreed with you silently.

“It ain’t right for a woman to come in benefittin’ off a man’s sufferin’ like that,” Bessie had confessed to you over snapping beans one evening. You nodded your head but kept your mouth shut.

You were so caught up in your thoughts you didn’t notice the clopping of hooves behind you.

“Hey! Y/n!”

It was Arthur, damn it. Truth be told, you had found yourself drawn towards him, as surly and cantankerous as he could be. He slowed his horse and trotted up to you, standard grimace taking residence on his otherwise gorgeous face.

“Where the hell have you been?” he shot at you.

“Town,” you sniped back, “that okay?”

He grumbled, “of course it’s okay. Just need you to be back before nightfall. Dutch wants us to stay low.”

You look around, holding out your hands and looking pointedly at the sun.

He rolls his eyes and holds out a hand.

You take it and head on his horse’s back, crossing your arms because you were actually twelve years old and couldn’t just talk about your emotions like an normal person. Arthur spurred his horse and headed to camp.

“Did you have a good day, Arthur?” you ask, attempting a modicum of normalcy.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes on the road. Perhaps he really just didn’t like you.

The trip to camp was in silence, like it usually was.

Miss Grimshaw met you both at the outskirts and helped you down.

“Where have you been dear?” she asked, fussing over you. It was sweet but you wish she wouldn’t sometimes, it made you feel like a child again.

“Just up in town,” you brushed off, “had to get out for a bit.”

“I understand,” she clucked, brushing some hair out of your face, “I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

“Thank you,” you smiled as Arthur walked past you both wordlessly.

“And hello to you too, Arthur,” she called after him. He held up a hand. “He just hasn’t been the same since Mary left,” she shook her head at you, leading you to the kitchen wagon, “good riddance she may be.”

“He seemed happy when she was around,” you pointed out, as much as it pained you.

“It’s better he greive on his own,” she said, pouring you out some soup, “without the aid of some woman coming along thinking she could fix him.”

You nodded and started in on your soup, looking across the camp to where Arthur sat nursing a beer. Did you think you could fix him?

____________________

A clear blue sky greeted you in the morning. You stretched out and threw your sleeping cover off of you and turned over to face the campfire.

“Ack!”

Arthur was two feet away from you, holding a cup of coffee and nursing one of his own.

“Get up.”

“I was getting up,” you said groggily, pushing yourself to your feet, “until someone interrupted that process and now here we are-”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, holding out a cup of coffee to you.

“What do you know,” you said, sipping your coffee, “it can be nice it if wants.”

“Take a walk with me.”

“Are you gonna shoot me out back?”

“What? No,” he shook his head and started out of the camp, “just come on. Damn fool of a woman.”

You walked for a bit in silence, no one in the camp was up yet. It was serene, listening to the birds and watching the sun rise higher and higher into the sky.

After a while you finally spoke up.

“Are we heading into town?”

“Yeah.”

“What for?”

“I figure it’s about time I put my grievances aside and speak with you,” he started, “one adult to another.”

You were shocked.

“W-what do you mean?”

Arthur tapped the brim of his hat and looked at a loss for once.

“Ever since Eliza and my boy,” he started and shook his head, “ever since then I haven’t been able to cultivate relationships right with people.”

“Arthur,” you stopped him, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me. What happened with them was a tragedy, one I have no business commenting on.”

“Be that as it may,” he went on, “you’re here with us now and you’ve proven yourself time and again. It’s time I start showing you the respect you’ve earned.”

Town was in sight now, the early morning risers beginning to stir in the streets.

“Well I appreciate it Arthur,” you said finally, hoping that this could be the start of some kind of relationship with the man. You weren’t picky.

“Come on,” he pointed, “over here.”

He led you to the stables where three horses were lined up in their stalls, a Tennessee Walker, an Apaloosa, and a beautiful Grullo Dun Mustang. You were instantly drawn to her.

“Hi-ya Arthur!” the stableman greeted, “this your friend you were talking about?”

“Mornin’,” Arthur raised a hand, “this is y/n. Y/n, meet your new horse.” He pointed to the mustang and it took every ounce of strength to not squeal wildly.

“My new horse?” You asked, cautiously approaching the animal.

“It’s been more than long enough,” Arthur shrugged as if he wasn’t presenting you with the most amazing thing in the world, “started saving up months ago when I saw her.”

“This beauty will stand up to just about anything,” the stableman said, bringing out a worn saddle and strapping it onto the horse’s back, “just give her a name and she’s all yours.”

He led the horse out by her reins and brought her to you. You held a hand out and let the horse come to you. The horse nuzzled her nose into your palm and you felt true love, right there.

“Calliope.”

“Calli-oh-what?”

“Calliope,” you sighed, moment broken, “the Greek muse of beauty and song?”

“Well I don’t know nothin’ about that,” Arthur gruffed but looked pleased all the same.

The pair of you waved goodbye to the stableman and led your horses outside. You turned to Arthur and hugged him tightly, receiving a hesitant pat on the back in return.

“Thank you Arthur,” you said, mounting your horse and setting off on a trot to match Arthur’s speed, “really, this means a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “well Happy Birthday anyway.”

Color you just the damned most breathless thing on earth.

“How did you know?”

“I’m not as oblivious as I look,” he said, grinning at you from the brim of his hat, “and your hair looks nice too.

You were in a lot of trouble.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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gwenbrightly · 6 years ago

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Elements

Oh look! My brain decided to create a random drabble about elemental powers instead of focusing on OMAC… Oops. I guess Misako's appearance will have to wait… All the headcanons and stories I've been reading lately that mention Lloyd's powers acting up when he gets emotional made the temptation to write this too great. So yeah. This one shot can probably be considered a part of Of Milk and Cookies, and takes place just after the chapter titled Awkward. I hope you enjoy!

Elemental powers are weird, Lloyd muses early one morning not too long after their visit to Darkley's Boarding School. He can control his now – sorta – and the others can do some pretty amazing stuff with theirs – like being able to lift a sports car with your pinkie. Or spark fire with a snap of your fingers (literally). Or charge your phone using only your own energy. Or meditate inside of a freezer for hours on end without getting cold (okay, maybe he hadn't been around for that). All those things are incredibly cool, and Lloyd's not complaining, because someday he'll be able to do all of that too, which is super exciting. He can't wait, really.

But sometimes... Sometimes having powers isn't exactly the best. He's been around this weird, dorky family of his long enough to notice that there are days where things get a little out of wack. Where Kai or Zane get emotional and the temperature around them suddenly changes to the extreme, or any number of other bizarre side effects. Just last week, Lloyd walked into their skimpy apartment only to feel his hair immediately begin defying gravity due to the sheer amount of electricity filling the air. Puns involving shocking had most definitely been made. Cole and Jay's latest argument (See: whether or not pineapple is an acceptable topping for pizza) had gotten a little... heated, and the master of lightning's powers had acted up as a result. It wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened, and the blonde is pretty sure it won't be the last. Still, he has to admit that it's a little (a lot) unnerving to deal with the aftermath of an elemental outburst... Especially... now that he's experienced his own for the first time... Okay, he'll admit it – that's the real reason he's up right now – not because he was craving poptarts. Which is what he plans to tell the others if they question it. Not that they're awake, so he's safe. For the time being, at least. Maybe he can get this glass cleaned up and replace the lightbulb before anyone finds out? If he's lucky. Lloyd slips over to the meager set of cupboards that they've installed in one corner. They have to be keeping some extra lightbulbs around here somewhere... Honestly, given what's happened during training, he really shouldn't be surprised that his latest nightmare ended with him blowing up their light source – it had been so vivid, and just… he'd woken up terrified. He hates feeling like that. He'd stared at the mess for quite some time, too shocked to do anything about it at first, but. Having all that power running through his veins was guaranteed to catch up with him eventually. He knows that, but it doesn't make attempting to quietly remove broken glass from the floor any less of a struggle. Carefully picking up the largest piece of what used to be a lightbulb, Lloyd shoves it in the garbage. Bit by bit, the debris begins to disappear. The green ninja has managed to dispose of most it by the time someone else wakes up (it's impressive that it took this long, to tell the truth). It's Nya, of course, trying hard to cover up the fact that she isn't a morning person (at all). The girl seems to have some sort of magical sensing abilities that activate whenever he's in trouble. She gives him a concerned look before wordlessly grabbing a fresh lightbulb from a shelf too high for him to reach. The samurai drags their one whole rickety stool over to the socket and screws it in with a large yawn. Then, Nya gives the floor a quick scan, looking for any remaining hazards that might exist. There are none.

"So. I earned some extra cash at the autobody shop yesterday. Wanna go get some donuts?" The girl asks her adoptive brother, eventually.

"Huh?" Lloyd stares at her, not fully processing the question. She shakes her head with a sigh. Clearly today's gonna be a rough one. He really could stand to get away from the apartment for awhile – to decompress and all that therapeutic stuff you're supposed to do when you're dealing with emotional triggers.

"Donuts, Lloyd. You know, those pastries police men are so obsessed with? I'm leaving in five with or without you." His mind may not immediately get what she's saying, but his stomach certainly does. Growl.

"That's a yes, then?" Nya says, smirking.

"Sure. Okay." He replies with a shrug, because donuts do sound awfully good, now that he thinks about it and. He's not gonna pass up the opportunity to eat something other than off brand cereal for breakfast. That would be completely out of character, no matter what the reason for doing so is. They slip out of the apartment, careful not to wake the others (though Cole's definitely going to be offended if he finds out about it later) and wander down the sidewalk. As it turns out, the nearest donut shop is less than a block away. The smell of freshly fried dough greets the pair as they push the door open. Mmm… It's only when she notices the distinct lack of customers inside that Nya realizes how early it is. A glance at her phone (which she probably should've checked before they left) tells her it's not even 5:30 yet. Oh well, if the place is open, it's not like they're intruding or anything. Lloyd perks up noticeably when she lets him pick out his own donut – a questionable decision, since he immediately chooses the one with as much frosting as humanly possible and a thick coating of rainbow sprinkles. It even has gummy worms on it. A part of her wants to scold him for being so unhealthy, but the grin on his face. She can't. So, she selects a donut of her own (powdered sugar with raspberry filling) and hands the drowsy cashier a bill. They find themselves a booth near the windows lining the front of the store and enjoy their breakfast in silence for a few minutes before Nya says anything to Lloyd.

"So. Nightmare?"

"Yup." He tells her in a small voice, playing absent mindedly with one of his gummy worms.

"I kinda figured." She comments wearily, "You gonna be okay?"

"Dunno. Hope so."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"I-I…. Don't really remember much about the dream itself… Just… It was so freaky to wake up with the light going crazy… and then it exploded, and I've never had my powers go out of control on me like that and…" Nya wraps a comforting arm around the blonde's shoulders. He leans against her, regretting having been woken up so early, and perhaps still a little shaken by the events that transpired earlier.

"I'm sure it was pretty freaky… You know you can always wake on of us up if you need to, right?" Lloyd nods unconvincing. There are no tears, surprisingly, which Nya takes as a good sign.

"I know… And I was gonna. Eventually. But I wanted to take care of the glass first – so nobody stopped on it. Thanks for helping. With the lightbulb. Being short sucks sometimes."

"Course it does. But it's gonna suck even more someday when you finally stop being such a pipsqueak and end up taller than me." Asserts the samurai. He giggles weakly.

"You don't know that that's what's gonna happen… maybe you'll get lucky?"

"I guess you have a point there. But seriously, if you have any more issues with your powers, I'm here to help. And so are the others. I mean, Kai accidentally set his bunk on fire when he first got his true potential… Maybe you should talk to him about this – I'm sure he'd understand…" Kai is a pretty okay listener from what Lloyd's seen at this point. He probably wouldn't have convinced himself to revisit Darkley's without him.

"M'kay. I'll think about it." He decides through a mouthful of donut, "Not right now though? I kinda just wanna forget about the whole thing…"

"That's valid. This can be our little secret. Betcha the guys aren't even awake yet." The girl agrees, figuring he'll share more when he's ready. She's not gonna push him. This time.

"They're really missing out. This donut is delicious." Lloyd tells her, clearly done talking about powers, nightmares, or anything related. Life's really not so bad when you've got an awesome older sister to buy you junk good. Even if it is only because your elemental abilities went haywire in your sleep.

"Totally. But they don't need to know anything about that. You, on the other hand, will be taking a nap as soon as training is over for the day. And I don't meaning laying around reading comic books. Actually sleeping will be expected." Nya stated, giving him a pointed look.

"What? But that's not fair! I just got a new one!" Lloyd groans indignantly.

"And I'm sure you find plenty of time to read it eventually. However, you also need your rest, so that's gonna have to be a priority for now." Deep down, he knows she's right. He just doesn't plan on admitting it. So, he decides to focus on what's left of the mound of pastry, frosting, and sprinkles instead. He feels better now, anyway.

" So, that happened?" Lloyd says one day, several years down the road, as he stares at a soaking wet Kai. He's not even sure where that much water could possibly have come from.

"Uh... Oh my gosh, Kai, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to..." Nya apologizes, attempting to use her abilities to draw the moisture away from her brother.

"I mean, we all knew it was gonna happen eventually. S'not that big of a deal. But you do owe me a new tube of hair gel..." He shrugs, not particularly concerned. The reason for their... Disagreement isn't important anymore. Things have been tense for everyone since the battle with Morro. He just wants her to be okay. She's not exactly the biggest fan of her elemental powers in the first place.

"Yeah. That's fair." She agrees after a second, looking sheepish.

"Happens to all of us." Lloyd reminds her, "Wanna go get some donuts?"

#ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #my fics #lloyd #nya #kai #elemental powers #side effects #stuff explodes #but donuts make things better

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khaosgaming22 · 6 years ago

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Blackout - A Destiny Story

“Eyes up Guardian!”

Chase flashed and hovered over his guardians bunk, attempting to wake up a half asleep Kenton. Or Ken, as he was called by his friends, a titan exo named CHAO-5 and awoken warlock named Draeko. However like Ken, he gave them nicknames because they felt they worked better in combat. Respectively, Chao and Drake.

“Wake up!”

Ken tossed a pillow at his ghost, but Chase was able to avoid the fluffy projectile. Defeated, Chase sighed and went to get Chao and Drake to have them try.

“Won’t get up eh?”, said Chao oiling his upper section of his arm. Last time he went into the crucible, he fell and hit it, ever since it’s locked up in missions. He found oiling it has helped but has refused to ask for a new arm. Usually these three stay in their ships but they were all tired and decided to crash in the bunks room at the tower. They were out running a strike on Io and it took them a while to get back to earth.

“No, I’ve been trying for 10 minutes, he’s determined.”, Chase blinked.

“Or Hungover”, lamented Chao.

“Sigh... he was drinking again?”

“Yes, I know we got some great loot last night but he needs to lay off.”, Chao replied.”

At this, Drake walked into the breakfast room, he grabbed a bagel and looked puzzled at it. “Curious, it appears to be a donut without a dough or glaze? What’s the point of eating an inferior version?”

“Good point, why would you eat it?”, Chao agreed.

“Because we wanted to eat healthily pre-traveler era.”, said Ken stumbling out.

“Look who’s up, sleeping beauty!”, Chase chided. “You need to stop drinking alcoholic beverages after every mission!”

“Shut up Alexa”

“That’s.. not my name... I don’t understand?”

“Never mind, I’m getting a waffle.”, Ken said trodding off toward the iron.

“So, what are we doing today?”, Drake said sitting down, uncomfortably on the bench attached to the table. Drake, as an awoken had been away from earths people for a while and was still adjusting to things.

“Well, i still have yet to do that quest Ada gave me, Servo, what’s my average LL?”

“You’re sitting around 597, she recommended 610”, Servo answered.

“But, we’re all at 590-600. If we all go we might be able to do it. I got the same task.”, interrupted Ken drowning his waffle in maple syrup.

Drake contemplated this, munching on his discount donut. He had the highest Light Level out of the three and though he still had to do the quest as well, he was worried at how tough it could be. Eventually he got up, stuffed the rest of the bagel in his mouth then started toward the elevator to the armory. Not that Ken or Chao noticed, they were too busy arguing about which exotic of theirs was better, Ace of Spades or Sleeper Simulant.

Drake pressed the button and the elevator door closed and whirred as it ascended. Eventually the elevator stopped and arrived at the armory, Drake stepped out and noticed someone moving crates of weapons around.

“Good morning.”, called the warlock.

“Ah, good morning, you’re here early. Pardon the dust just organizing some boxes of rifles!”

It was Shaxx, overseer of the crucible, awoken can get pretty tall, but even standing several feet apart, Drake seemed tiny compared to the boisterous titan.

“Just checking out my weapons.”, Drake explained.

“Going on another mission?”, Shaxx said putting down a crate.

“Depends, I want to check my gear to make sure I can carry my team if I need to.”, Drake replied. “My Well of Radiance can only do so much, I want to see what my new weapons have in the way of perks. Eve?”

“Yes?”, the ghost said blinking into existence.

“Can you check what the stats on these weapons are?”

“Certainly.”, the ghost replied.

“You have the primary Assault rifle, Breakneck, the Shotgun, Retold Tale and the Sniper Rifle,Whisper of the Worm. All in the 590-605 range.”, Eve counted.

“As for my Gear, I have some good stuff, it seems and the Sunbracers for gloves.”

“Seems like I should get ready and tell them.”, said Drake returning his ghost.

<========================>

“All right, ready to go?, said Chao getting in his ship. Drake and Ken replied with a thumbs up from their cockpits and the sound of their engines filled the hangar.

After a while the three of them are on there way to the EDZ and start up a conversation about their favorite weapons. The three may be very different in origin and history but the one thing they have in common is their love of rare weapons and other personal items. Ken asks what Drake’s is “being a warlock”.

“What’s that supposed to mean Cowboy?”, says Drake alluding to the hunters choice of subclass Gunslinger.

“Nothin’ but we both agree that we have very different styles when it comes to fighting.”, the hunter replied with a smirk.

“I probably would go with Prometheus Lens, it goes well with my solar subclass and it’s great for add clearing.”

“Yeah”, interjected Ken, “It used to be even better, but it was such a problem the Vanguard had to tell Banshee to mod them so people couldn’t take advantage of it!”

“Oh yeah, Banshee had a lot of work to do that week!”

“What about you, Chao?, what’s your favorite exotic?”, asked Ken slowly moving his hand toward the throttle.

“That’s a tough one, I think if I had to pick one it would we my...”

“Yeah whatever, RACE YOU TO THE EDZ!!!”, Ken yelled into his com, shut it off then pulled on the throttle sending his ship into a nosedive.

“YOU SON OF A!”-

“That little...”

The three ships raced toward the landing zone north of Trostland and the warlock, titan and hunter appeared on the surface transmatting from thin air.

“I totally beat all of you!”

No you didn’t, I clearly won that!”

“WOULD YOU TWO STOP ARGUING!”, Drake shouted.

“Let’s just get to the location on the map.”

“Fine”

“Okay”

<========================>

“Well, here’s the spot.”

“A cave...at the edge of the EDZ...what’s the point here cause I’m sure missing it?”, Ken said shouldering his rocket launcher.

“What’s that in the center?”

“I think that’s what we’re here for, hey Ada?”

“HOW DID YOU GET ACCESS TO...oh it’s you 3..sorry, reflex. Ahem, that is a forge, your job now that you have that frame, is to forge the Machine Gun.”

“You need to collect charges and put them into the forge before time runs out, otherwise the forge won’t complete.”

“Sounds simple enough, just chuck some balls at the thing in the center and BAM! free loot!”, said an excited Ken racing toward the forge.

“WAIT!”, Ada shouted.

It was too late, the forge turned on and Cabal came charging through the caves for the 3 of them.

“YOU IDIOT!”, shouted the angry Awoken, “She was about to mention the danger!”

“You guys we’re taking too long we’ll be fi-

SMACK!, a gladiator Cabal smashed the frail hunter into an adjacent cave wall.

“Ugh what did he do now?”, lamented Chase reviving his dead guardian.

“He poked a hornets nest, he rushed in without a plan what do you think he did?!”

“-ne, what happened? Did we win?

“NO, you rushed in without a plan and died to a Space Turtle. Stop doing that!”

“You guys worry too much, I’m fine as long as I have Chase!”

“AND WHAT IF IM NOT?!”, yelled Chase at his guardian shotgunning a Cabal.

“What?”

“What if I’m not able to revive you? What if im not there to? What then?!”

“I’ll be fine.”, Ken replied reloading his Handcannon.

“I always think of a way out of things-

“No...your friends do...I do.”, Chase said sulking away.

“I’ll be fine without him...”

————————————————

“Good thing you have that Well of Radiance D! This is getting rough!”

“Im also 5 levels above you!”, the warlock responded taking a shot at the centurion.

“Hey, is...where’s Chase going?”, asked Drake.

“Huh?”

“Chase! Wait!”

“Leave me alone...”, Chase called turning away.

“What’s wrong?”, Chao pryed shooting a psion.

“What’s wrong is my guardian is an incompetent buffoon who insists on getting himself killed and never thanking the person that revives him over and-“

“Guardian down!”, said Servo announcing his Titan’s death.

“Anyway, he clearly doesn’t need me, so I’m just gonna watch you two.”, Chase declared, if he had arms, they would be crossed.

“Jeez, that hurt, hey, my super’s almost ready!”, said Chao.

“I’ve got a while before mines ready, what about yours Ken?”, Drake asked over comms.

Ken was busy lining up shots with his hand cannon as its bullets made contact with the hard skulls of Cabal. Then he was struck with a blast from a Cabal gun and fell to the ground losing his grip on his revolver.

“Ken!”, said Chao rushing over to help.

Chao slammed the Centurion with a shoulder charge and rushed over to put up his barrier.

“Servo! Can you help him?”

“I just revived you, it’ll be a while before I can.”, replied his ghost.

“and Drake just got revived by Eve...”

The titan looked at the angry ghost in the corner of the cave.

“What?...No, NO! N-O, NO!”

“Come on Chase he’s your guardian!”

“Not until he apologizes, oh wait he can’t..HE’S DEAD!”

“Sigh...we need him for this man! You’re the only one who can do it!”

Chase looked at the cloak being stomped on by Cabal. Then his guardians cloak moved just enough to reveal his handcannon. He could see the engravings of crashing waves making up the texture of the grip on the weapon. He stopped and looked around then finally replied with, “You cover me while I bring him back.”

Soon the hunter was back, he looked at his ghost and started to apologize.

“Listen, I’m sorry for acting like an idiot... Sometimes I just get distracted or pissed off, but...thank you for bringing me back..”

“Alright, I’m sorry too... I know you can’t help it it’s in your nature to rush into things, always has been-

“Always will be, but I’ll try to not get myself killed as much from now on okay?”

“Thank you”

“Now let’s kick some Cabal a**!”

————————————————

The three were on the final part of the forge and were having trouble killing the Warden, putting as many shells and rounds into it as they could but to no avail.

“I think this is why Ada told us to be at 610!”, Chao said putting up his barrier.

“Hey! Let’s pool our supers together and take this guy down, we got this!”, Ken replied.

“Sounds good to me, any objections?...no...okay!”

The Warlock summoned his Dawnblade engulfed in solar light hot as Sol itself as the Titan rushed over and put up his Ward of Dawn. The blade slammed into the cave floor, creating a spiraling Well of light as the purple tint of the Titans shield encased the two blocking shots from the Centurion. Finally the Hunter slid in front of the bubble and called his Golden Gun. After firing 6 shots from the Revolver encased in light empowered by the Well, the Warden was almost down. The three took out their power weapons and blasted what was left of the armor off the Cabal as it fell to the cavern floor.

#destiny headcanons #destiny oc #destiny titan #destiny warlock #destiny hunter #black armory #fireteam misfits

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seeksstaronmewni · 6 years ago

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Oh, Joy! The Insanely Amazing Art of Animation Cartooning in Ren & Stimpy

In the era and world of the “modern” cartoon, there’s one show that started and defined most of the cartoons that we watch today... and that show is Spümcø’s/s The Ren & Stimpy Show.

What is there to love about a crazy, wacky, gross, dark and violent cartoon that people say is “ground-breaking”?

The gags. The detail. The sound. The stock music. The design. The animation. The layout artists...

I could go on about a show that was a part of @nickanimation’s/@nickelodeon... although, while considered a “kids” show, it truly is one of those... “cartoons for MEN”.

WARNING FOR HATERS: Before I go on, in regards to the show’s controversial creator, If his wrongs cause you to think hatefully of him, AVOID THIS POST! Don’t associate your hate with my posts and tweets about this ground-breaking cartoon.

Anyway, let’s look deep into the magic of the wackiest cartoon ever created that changed animation--namely “Western” animation--forever and for good...

THE TALENT

Under the creators Lynne Naylor-Reccardi, Jim Gomez, Felix Forte, and controversial creator John K., many gifted artists were a part of this amazing series, including @donshank, Charlie Bean, Carey Yost, Bob Camp, Chris Savino, @stephendestefano, the late and great Chris Reccardi (I began this article prior to his death on May 2nd, 2019 A.D.), Marc Perry, Mr. Lawrence (the “Ooh! My leg! My leg...” guy), Vincent Waller, Donovan Cook, Larry Murphy, Richard Pursel, @gadworks, @ncrossanimation, and many others. These people, many of whom were in the layout department, would go on from Spümcø to work on some of the most popular pieces of “Western” animation in history, like Spongebob Squarepants, The Powerpuff Girls, Samurai Jack, Dexter’s Laboratory, Star vs. the Forces of Evil, Mickey Mouse (Paul Rudish era), The Incredibles, the also ground-breaking The 2 Stupid Dogs/Super Secret Secret Squirrel Show and so much more!

One thing to note about these creatives is that John K.’s production company, Spümcø, was based in Canada, and so were its staff and creatives. I note this as most Canadian cartoons these days have no creatives who work in popular American animation (save for Wild Kratts character designer Alan Stewart, who did character design for some Season 7--or, in “reboot terms”, season 2--episodes of The Powerpuff Girls, as well as Lauren Faust’s My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic and Season 1 of Johnny Test). Most Canadian cartoons these days are on PBS or Cartoon Network, and some of those are imported from Teletoon or YTV. Such Canadian cartoons as Total Drama’s franchise, The Adventures of Benjamin Bear, My Pet Goldfish is Evil, and the like don’t have creatives who work on more “American” media.

Certain talents of Ren & Stimpy included Michael Fontanelli, Charlie Bean, Vincent Waller and Eddie Fitzgerald (creator of CN’s Tales of Worm Paranoia), who went on to contribute their artist talents in the YouTube Poop-phenomenon Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog, which somewhat resembles that art direction of The Ren & Stimpy Show. Such talents also contributed to another insane-looking cartoon, Film Roman’s The Twisted Tales of Felix the Cat. Likewise, one of my favorite character designers, Carey Yost, who contributed to The Powerpuff Girls, Uncle Grandpa and Spongebob Squarepants, was a major layout artist on this show. Charlie Bean (Samurai Jack, The Powerpuff Girls, The Twisted Tales of Felix the Cat, Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog) and Don Shank (most of the above, plus Sym-Bionic Titan) also served as layout artists, and they with Carey created a gem of a Cartoon Network Minisode, Buy One, Get One Free*, which reflects the animation and art of Spümcø and features creatives of Spümcø.

THE DETAILS

First thing to note in both art and animation is the barrier-breaking levels of exaggeration. The “wild take” is a common element to slapstick cartoons like The Ren & Stimpy Show, and the controversial creator was a part of Hanna-Barbera Cartoons (which developed the Cartoon Network and its studios). Many Spümcø creatives would work at H-B, too. Hanna-Barbera, who worked with animation legends like Tex Avery, would create some of the wildest takes in cartoons with A Pup Named Scooby-Doo!, but The Ren & Stimpy Show’s Season 2 opener “In The Army”, written & directed by Bob Camp, features what is probably the wildest wild take ever conceived by man in the history of history:

“You don’t want to anger that big, dopey...”

“...sar...”

*( Sound Ideas, BOING, CARTOON - FLAT JEWS HARP BOING )*

*clink!*

*( Sound Ideas, THUMP, CARTOON - TUBE THUNK 01 )* [+12 pitch]

*glass breaks*

*( Sound Ideas, WOBBLE, CARTOON - SAW BLADE WOBBLE, MEDIUM )*

This wild take is really slow, huh?

Wait for it...

“GYAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

As if that weren’t wild enough, his brain pops out of his skull! Now, that’s more than just icing on the cake... it’s GENIUS!

Teen Titans GO! is perhaps the peak in the evolution of the “modern” cartoon that began with Ren & Stimpy, and in the hands of producer/director Luke Cormican, a layout artist on Ren & Stimpy’s “Adult Party Cartoon” episodes. It’s very nice that, in TTG episode “The Streak (Part 2)”, there was the parody illustration of duos in media, comparing Robin to Ren and Beast Boy to Stimpy. Some of the character designers on TTG worked on shows that included creatives from The Ren & Stimpy Show, too, namely Chris Battle.

One of the most popular episodes, of course, is the season one finale, Stimpy’s Invention.

These shots from the scene of Stimpy attempting to invent something are just beautiful! Great attention to detail and the lighting (including effects design) give a very cinematic, theatrical feel to a mere, 11-minute episode of a TV show. The art of the series has the charm of a 1940′s Paramount/Famous Studios “Noveltoon”, the Bob Clampett-directed Merry Melodies/Looney Tunes shorts (a major inspiration for John K.), and the Saturday morning cartoons of the 1960s, and the show’s creatives would become part of certain modern cartoons in the 1990s, some of which were dubbed by @cartoonnetwork as “Cartoon Cartoons”.

Also cinematic to the quality is the authentic film grain, a result of recording the cels (animated frame by frame on their respective backgrounds) on film. The deterioration of the episode’s film masters make it look believably like something out of the 1960s or even The Golden Age of Hollywood, the 1940s! (I personally dislike the quality that the videotape masters add to the picture, though. It may be that, in the future, UHD / HD prints could use the actual film masters, though!)

Some shots of Stimpy in Stimpy’s Invention have a color mistake where, like in the title card of the pilot “Big House Blues”, Stimpy’s nose is red instead of blue. It looks pretty swell on him, though.

The grooves and moves that Ren & Stimpy make during the montage of the song Happy Happy Joy Joy are filled with bouncy, weight-distributing pieces of animation, with lots of squash and stretch.

Speaking of “squash and stretch”, the above pics are of the extremes as Stimpy does a take of joy when he succeeds at making Ren be happy.

The takes of the characters really stretch their design and animation. Aurally, a common sound effect to accent these takes is a quick, loud record scratch, and their shaking/trembling movements often sound like a record rapidly skipping.

Regarding one of my favorite character designers, much of the designs by @cheyennecurtisart and @lynnvwang in early episodes of Disney’s Star vs. the Forces of Evil (particularly “Brittney’s Party”) are highly graphic and detailed, and that work of hers reminds me of the designs by Chris & Lynne Reccardi, Jim Smith, John K. and others. Very similar are the designs of @stephendestefano on Disney’s Mickey Mouse, which are also very graphic and extreme with character takes and injury aftermaths.

In the infamous Happy Happy Joy Joy sequence in “Stimpy’s Invention”, to stop himself from being controlled by the Happy Helmet, Ren whacks it (and thus himself) with a hammer to break it..

...and every hit pushes the extremes of not only the looks of his body, but also the styles of the psychotic-looking backgrounds.

Often in the show is a lot of mental breakdowns, including the end of Stimpy’s Invention as Ren goes from being the angriest he ever was in his entire life...

...to becoming very jovial as he comes to love being angry. That also causes a change in these psychedelic, psychotic backgrounds. The practice of such backgrounds came to other cartoons of the 1990s, such as The Shnookums and Meat Funny Cartoon Show, in the episode “Night of the Living Shnookums”, with art direction by Lynne Naylor.

Another great episode, one of my favorites, is “The Boy Who Cried Rat!”, directed by Vincent Waller, who, replying to my tweet compliment, described the episode as “a chance to tip the hat to all the amazing cartoonist/ writer/ funny people who took the time to invest theirselves into their artwork for the enjoyment and tutelage of the regular folks and cartoonists to come.” The episode involves a literal game of “Cat and Mouse” and Stimpy tries to make a living for him and Ren by unleashing his inner cat in service to a couple. It probably bases itself, of course, on Tom and Jerry, and Ren’s costume references the fashion of Mickey Mouse.

Eventually, Stimpy is forced into eating the rat whom Ren plays (this reminds me of another classic cartoon, @paramountpictures’s Noveltoon called Cheese Burglar, featuring Herman and Katnip). In terms of cartoon physics, though, how did Ren become small enough to fit inside Stimpy’s mouth?

This episode features a very clever, unexpected visual gag that is the result of being hit with a frying pan.

See? and it’s not even a violent image, either.

Sometimes, the show would feature various segments among the episodes, including their close-out segment “What’ll We Do ‘Til Then”. The Ren & Stimpy Show actually predates Animaniacs (1993), VeggieTales (1993) and Uncle Granpda (2013), which were similar with a variety of segment material.

THE ANIMATION

The animation is certainly something when one considers the defining quality of this show’s animation, which occasionally was produced by Rough Draft Studios in Seoul, Korea, one of the most popular animation studios today. There’s also some great timing directors, like David Feiss (Cow and Chicken, I Am Weasel, All Dogs Go to Heaven 2, The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy), Bob Jacques, James Tim Walker (Samurai Jack, The Powerpuff Girls, Tom and Jerry: The Magic Ring), Kent Butterworth (Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog) and even the awesome Tony Fucile (Osmosis Jones, The Iron Giant, Tom and Jerry: The Movie, Inside Out, The Little Mermaid), who was uncredited for a few episodes like “In The Army” and “Ren’s Toothache”).

This scene of animation from the episode “Nurse Stimpy” (frame shown above) is one of the very best pieces of animation ever done in the series. The balance between slow and mostly fast-paced animation/timing, along with weight, looks very cinematic--of theatrical-quality animation (like Don Bluth, Tony Fucile, etc.). The film’s quality is fairly deteriorated here, but film specks and stuff add to the cinematic feel.

THE SOUND

The sound design, of course, done at Horta Editorial and Sound, which became/folded into Hacienda Post at Sabre Media Studios, was also defining for the modern cartoon as an unusual array of sound effects were used to accent all sorts of takes, impacts, etc. The use of Hanna-Barbera & Warner Bros. sound effects (mostly available from Sound Ideas) with Disney sound effects (mostly available from Hollywood Edge’s Cartoon Trax Volume One) became a very common blend for many sound designers, up to today. Hacienda Post’s founder and president, Timothy J. Borquez (Spongebob Squarepants, Samurai Jack, The Powerpuff Girls), served as the Re-Recording Mixer and Supervising Editor, as well as the uncredited sound designer, and considers the groundbreaking show to be “a laboratory for using classic sounds (in different contextual situations); adding Foley and new design to create "hybrid" textures and moments. We conscientiously did this and it opened up a whole new world for us! A lot of this was done on the mix stage.” He worked with talented sound editors like Michael M. Geisler, M.P.S.E., Michael A. Gollom, and sound/music editor William B. Griggs. Speaking of cartoon sound design expert Michael M. Geisler, M.P.S.E., in an Animation World Network article, Michael Geisler described the detailed process of sound design in a moment of the controversially violent scene in “Man’s Best Friend” (which never showed the credits): “Sometimes the eyelid closing and the eyelid opening are two very separate actions, and so each motion, open and close, must have different sound effects. In "Man's Best Friend," the classic Ren & Stimpy episode that introduces George Liquor, Ren smacks George with his own "Prize Bludgeoning Oar" and George's eye pops out of his head like a piece of meat. The eyelid does a wet sounding movement down over the eye until the eyelids meet and blink (splat, wet hit), and then slosh up again.” For some reason, however, on prints of that episode, George’s blink is silent.

The music for the show was usually unoriginal, very much like the series soundtrack to Spongebob, as it was mostly composed of music provided by Associated Production Music (APM). This included classical music, too, just as Tom and Jerry, Disney’s Silly Symphonies and Warner Bros.’ Merry Melodies/Looney Tunes would often use. Someone even created 3 volumes of Production Music from Ren & Stimpy, unofficial collections of APM music from the series. I kind of wish that they made those.

You may wonder at this point: After many years of seeing almost nothing of this series, how found I The Ren & Stimpy Show in my life?

I knew or remember very little of the show as I grew up (at least attempting to watch the episode “Ren’s Pecs” one Sunday afternoon in 2007 on Nick), but on August 13th, 2016 I saw another Spümcø project, the later Yogi Bear (or Ranger Smith) episode “Boo Boo Runs Wild”, on @adultswim. John K.’s approach to a classic Hanna-Barbera cartoon (CN doesn’t even air this stuff on anymore) was very inspiring. Looking the names of the team up on IMDb, I found that they were a part of many amazing cartoons that i grew up watching! In May 2017, recommended on my YouTube user were “disturbing” scenes from The Ren & Stimpy Show, including Ren’s insane threats in Sven Höek (the audio of which I heard in a YTP where the King [of Hyrule] goes psycho and does the same menacing threats) and perhaps a spiritual taste of Hell in Stimpy’s Fan Club. Ren’s acting (voiced then by creator John K) was so hilarious that, from that point onward, I desired to see more of this groundbreaking cartoon on which I was missing out.

On the day that I began to concept this post, June 18th, 2018, in my final visit to Toys ‘R Us (a local one, though I remember visiting the New York one in 2001), I got collectible Ren & Stimpy figures, and at the time of this post’s original concept I placed Ren and Stimpy in the presence of my Aku wacky wobbler.

It’s interesting that a 2018 Google spot regarding how children react to crowd noise used an excerpt from the episode Stimpy’s Fan Club. This practice is like certain phone commercials (namely T-Mobile, I think) that use some brief footage from “public domain” cartoons. Likewise, what Google did with that ad makes The Ren & Stimpy Show feel like a public domain cartoon (and the highly famous Merry Melodies/Looney Tunes and Popeye shorts were often distributed as “public domain” too, though WarnerMedia holds the ultimate rights to the shorts).

From a Christian viewpoint, The Ren & Stimpy Show is sometimes controversial, but its biggest controversy is whether it’s really a kids show or not--perhaps more of an adult show--mostly due to violence and intense situations like the aforementioned mental breakdowns (this excludes the “Adult Party Cartoon” episodes as those were deliberately produced for adults). Of course, classic cartoons of MGM, Warner Bros. and other studios would often show violence, sensuality, smoking, and alcoholics (even though Cartoon Network/Boomerang still rates them “TV-G”), so even those weren’t produced completely with children in mind. That’s why I consider this show and the aforementioned classic cartoons as “cartoons for MEN”.

The humor and heart of The Ren & Stimpy Show isn’t the purest either, given all of Ren’s hate and violent anger, but Stimpy’s Fan Club has an actually touching ending: after attempting to kill Stimpy or otherwise at least upset him, Ren discovers that the one fan letter addressed to him was from no one else but Stimpy himself--and Stimpy meant every word in his letter. Then, Ren is broken to tears.

THE FUTURE?

As a devote cartoon-watching guy, I find great inspiration from the barrier-breaking art and animation, visually and aurally, of The Ren & Stimpy Show. If you love slapstick comedy and cartoons, then this one’s definitely worth a watch--essential viewing. I surely hope that it comes back again; I can agree on one’s opinion for the show to come back (and, if you want the show to be rebooted as I do, share this IMDb list with Nickelodeon/Spümcø or whatever studio’s in charge). Now, if Viacom/Nick is willing, [adult swim]/Turner/WarnerMedia or some other studio may be better off to purchase the rights to Ren & Stimpy, as Nick or at least Paramount no longer wants anything to do with the series (due to the objectionable material in the “Adult Party Cartoon”), according to this article.

There were rumors of an upcoming Ren & Stimpy short that Nickelodeon Animation was producing. IMDb once removed the title, but now the short “It’s Our House Now!” may be in production by Jessica Borutski, also a former layout artist on the “Adult Party Cartoon”; this may be based on a short John K. sketched to promote Sponge Out of Water.

The closest thing to Ren & Stimpy so far is John K.’s Cans with out Labels [WARNING: some strong language and nudity], a dark, edgy Kickstarter short featuring George Liquor, including storyboards & layouts by Jim Smith and amazingly cartoonish, detailed, over-the-top animation, contributed by @gadworks, @mikepelensky and @sandrarivasart (a DVD is available for $25 purchase here). Color cards were made by @kalikazoo too.

In the future, also, it would be swell to see true high-definition transfers of the actual film negatives for the non-digitally animated episodes of Ren & Stimpy. Most filmed cartoons were often recorded onto videotape masters, which lowered the quality, and I suppose that some of the film negatives still exist in Spumco’s/Nickelodeon’s archives. In point of fact, this clip of The Muddy Mudskipper Intro here looks like it came from an actual film negative (of which I tweeted), with brighter colors and no videotape quality. Though the film looks fairly aged, it looks better than usual prints of the scene.

As we come to the conclusion, I have some additional notes: I began this post in January 2019. 5 months later, Chris Reccardi died, so I refer to him in my posts as the Late and Great Chris Reccardi. He and his family are in my thoughts and prayers. A documentary premiered at Sundance 2020 on January 28th, 2020, Ron Cicero’s Happy Happy Joy Joy: The Ren & Stimpy Story; while the controversial creator is known for some terrible things he did due to mental issues in the past, the least people could do is respect the work of both John K and his groundbreaking team. If it weren’t for them, many great Western animation projects for Cartoon Network, Pixar, Disney TVA, Nickelodeon and others would not be the same.

Before I close, whether or not you think negatively of John K., here’s something you should know, understand, and remember about the value of the creatives of The Ren & Stimpy Show: "Brilliant cartoonists like Lynne Naylor, Jim Smith, Bob Camp, Vincent Waller, Rich Pursel, Elinor Blake, Bill Wray, Chris Reccardi, Gabe Swarr and many many more added a lot of richness and personality to the cartoons. Actors like Billy West, Cheryl Chase, Mike Pataki, Gary Owens, Eric Bauza and others inspired us all to capture the subtle nuances in their readings. Henry Porch, Bill Griggs and Tim Borquez contributed much to the wacky new sound design style Ren and Stimpy was known for. We also had some very talented producers like Chris Danzo, Libby Simon and Kevin Kolde who helped me execute the totally new production system that gave the artists ways to express themselves more personally. These people and more are all heroes to me. Think of them when you remember my cartoons." I will always think of these people and pray for them.

For the inspiration, I give thanks to the entire Spümcø staff and creatives who went on to produce some of the best cartoons ever made.

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