#own face staring into the camera wild eyed and filthy and that on the other side of the camera is the hitchhiker who ‘found’ him and he

[dirt-str1der]

yk every time i see a post about somebody wishing bad things on another person i think ‘dirt-strider to kiryu’ you’ve broken me brain

You see a post thats like i want to stick him in time prison so that he gets so bored he starts breaking his own bones to get even a hint of stimulation and its tagged me at kiryu and you scroll down and its a post thats like i want to feed him chips from my cupped hands like a wild stallion and its also tagged me at kiryu also hiiiiiiiii

[refinedbuffoonery]

Flawless (7)

Con Artist AU. masterlist. 

Content Warning: swearing, PTSD, violence, sex

Before we get started here, you all need to know that Flawless will be going on a mini-hiatus. This chapter is the end of my original outline, and I need to spend some time planning out the next plot arc before I write the next chapter. 

(Also, shoutout to the lovely humans who translated the line in French. Y’all are the real MVPs.)

Anyway, this is it. The chapter you’ve all been waiting for. The heist. It feels so surreal to finally write it. As always, thank you for coming on this wild ride with me. ❤

*****

In the shadow of its brightly illuminated landmarks, Paris hummed to the tune of debauchery. 

Paparazzi gathered around the Louvre’s glass pyramid, waiting to capture a clear picture of a celebrity guest entering the afterparty. Riley shielded her face with her clutch as she walked in, careful to remain unidentifiable in the barrage of photos. The gold buttons on her emerald jacket-dress caught the warm light emanating from the pyramid and the bright camera flashes. She was well dressed, but not enough to stand out. Tonight, Riley needed to blend in. 

She ran a hand through her hair, making sure the loose curls covered her earpiece. For the sake of stealth, the team’s comms were skin color, but they were Nikki and Cage’s skin color, not Riley’s. 

Riley was half-tempted to throw her comms into one of the fountains out of spite. 

She was the last of the Five Eyes to arrive. They staggered their arrivals to avoid being associated with one another, as a precaution. Pulse thrumming in anticipation, Riley bounced on her toes slightly as she waited in line to check in. The Louvre security team meticulously checked each guest’s ID against the guest list; there would be no party crashers tonight. 

It had been all too easy for Riley to add the Five Eyes’ cover identities to the guest list a week ago. Now, she handed the stone-faced security guard a drivers’ license bearing her face and the name “Danika Jackson.” Returning her ID with a nod, the security guard stepped aside, allowing Riley to enter the party. 

Everyone is responsible for their own entrance and exit. That was her new rule. She got everyone’s names added to the guest list, but her assistance ended there. If someone ran into trouble, it was on them to bail themselves out. 

Riley had learned that rule from her mentor when she first dipped her toes into the world of two-faced schemes and nimble-fingered cons, but she never truly understood it—or saw the need to enforce it—until she felt the bite of handcuffs digging into her wrists. 

It was a mistake she’d never make again. 

Riley strolled through the hallway bearing massive Italian paintings, slowly making her way to the room containing the most overrated painting of all time—and the rendezvous point. 

The Mona Lisa room was empty aside from a blonde woman in a beaded, blood-red cocktail dress standing much too close to the glass-encased painting. Riley stood to the woman’s right and studied the painting as well. It was underwhelming. 

“You’d think the most beautiful woman in art would be wearing a prettier dress,” Nikki remarked.

Riley snorted, crossing her arms. “Says the woman who just bought a four-thousand-dollar cheetah print pantsuit.”

Nikki feigned offence. “You’re just jealous because you couldn’t pull it off. Anyway, quiz time. What year did da Vinci paint the Mona Lisa?” 

“1503,” Riley answered easily. “And the woman’s name is Lisa del Giocondo.” Nikki’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What’s that look for?” 

“I didn’t think you actually listen when I talk about art.” 

Riley offered her friend a small smile. “I’m always listening to you.” The sound of heels clicking down the hall made them pause. When the coast was clear, Riley murmured, “Is everyone in position?”

“Yeah. Desi and Sam should be inside already, and Jill checked in a few guests in front of me.”

“How did that go?”

“Easy peasy.” Nikki glanced at Riley and softened her tone. “Are we sure Jill is ready for this?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we? Don’t forget, it was your idea to recruit her.”

Nikki turned back to the Mona Lisa. “You know, you really do suck at pep talks.” 

“Oh shut up.” Riley rolled her eyes. “Are you sure you want control room duty?” 

Nikki spared her a sideways glance. “I’ll do it. You did it last time.” Her second sentence hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the job gone horribly wrong. And a reminder of all the things they still hadn’t talked about. 

Riley brushed it aside. They could talk after they were each forty million dollars richer. 

Pulling a flash drive hidden inside an old lipstick tube out of her clutch, Riley instructed, “Plug this in, and it’ll do half the work for you.” 

“Thanks.” Nikki put the tube in her own purse. “See you on the other side.” 

“Don’t get caught.” 

“Don’t get caught,” Nikki parroted, and Riley strode down the hall toward the party.

She followed the pulsing music and the stream of guests to a room in the far corner of the museum, passing the employee door Nikki would sneak into along the way. Crossing the threshold, she couldn’t conceal her gasp. Riley had seen plenty of opulent rooms over the years, but the Galerie d’Apollon was something else entirely. Gold moulding framed the dozens of paintings covering the walls and the arched ceiling. Display cases containing the French Crown Jewels formed a line down the middle of the rectangular room. Despite the party’s couture dress code, the bedazzled guests looked entirely underdressed compared to the grandeur of the gallery.

She only let herself be awestruck for a few seconds before getting to work, marking the exits and security cameras. Riley didn’t like how deep the gallery was in the museum—and how far she would have to walk to make a clean escape with the jewels. 

She would be the one walking out with them. No one else. Riley had made that crystal clear during the team planning meeting a few days ago. 

Draped in black fabric, the case containing the designer jewelry sat in the middle of the gallery. A security guard stood by it, no doubt to ward off nosey guests wanting a sneak peek. 

A wave of nausea passed through her, reminding Riley that the closest thing to a substantial meal she’d eaten all day was the two pastries she ate a few hours ago. She slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, heading for the snack table. Jill was already there, gorging herself on bread and cheese. Eyes wide, the blonde froze as Riley sidled next to her, evidently thinking she was in trouble. 

But Riley simply reached for a piece of bread and asked, “Which cheese is the best?” 

Exhaling audibly, Jill pointed a manicured, light blue nail. “That one.” Riley tried it. Jill was right; it was delicious. 

“You ready, Blondie?” Riley asked, lowering her voice. “There’s no job unless you get this right.” 

Jill rolled her shoulders back, snarking, “No pressure or anything.” There was a bite to her words, one Riley noticed only came out when someone, namely her, pushed the blonde a little too far. 

“Sorry,” Riley said, and she meant it. “You can do this. Don’t second-guess yourself. Commit.” 

Jill merely nodded, swallowing another piece of cheese. 

Riley wandered off, not wanting to stay with Jill too long. With her back to a wall, she scanned the room in search of Desi and Cage. When she didn’t see them on her first sweep, Riley furrowed her brow. Where the hell were they? 

A bright laugh carried across the room—Cage. There you are, Riley thought. She spied her teammate enjoying the spotlight in the center of a group of models all cooing over Cage’s pale pink dress. It suited Cage, with its billowy sleeves and flowy skirt that hit just below her knees. Cage giggled again, putting her hand on a woman’s shoulder a little too boldly for the gesture to be casual. 

Predictably, Desi wasn’t far away, staring daggers at her shameless flirt of a girlfriend. 

Riley unmuted her comms. “Easy there, Des. It’s just an act.” 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she snapped. Even from a distance, Riley could see Desi’s tight grip on her champagne flute. 

Riley cooed, “So jealous.” 

The woman wrapped a proprietary arm around Cage, clearly welcome to the blonde’s advances, and Cage beamed at her. 

It was enough to push Desi over the edge. “Don’t forget whose bed you’re sleeping in tonight, Samantha,” she snarled. “And I don’t remember agreeing to share.” 

Cage excused herself from the group. “My love, did it ever occur to you that I’m making you jealous on purpose? Because we both know—”

Nikki cut her off, rescuing the team from whatever filthy thing was about to come out of Cage’s mouth. “Don’t be gross, you two.” Riley stifled a laugh. She and Nikki had been subjected to many things they didn’t want to hear over the years. This would hardly faze her now.

Focus. They needed to focus. 

Riley finally spotted the sharp-eyed assistant she noticed at the runway show. Always two steps behind the designer, the young woman obediently trailed him as he floated from group to group. The assistant finished her drink, setting it on the tray of a passing waiter, and strode toward the main hallway in this wing of the museum. 

“I think she’s going to the bathroom,” Jill said. “Do I follow her?” 

Snagging a drink of her own, Riley answered, “No. Bump into her when she comes back.” She watched Jill make her way toward the far side of the gallery, ready to intercept the assistant and steal her keys. 

Everything was going to plan. Jill just had to steal the keys, and then all they had to do was hurry up and wait for the big reveal. Eight o’clock, Riley was told upon arrival. The designer would commence his speech at eight, then reveal his masterpiece to the world. 

Riley checked her watch. Thirty more minutes. 

She knew she’d been standing in this spot for too long already, but Riley was loath to give up the relative safety of having a wall at her back. The twinge of fear she’d felt earlier at the runway show came raging to the surface, rooting her stiletto-clad feet in place. Leaving the wall meant having people in her blind spot. No one’s going to hurt me, Riley promised herself. This is a party, not a prison. 

Her legs felt like lead weights, but Riley forced herself to re-enter the crowd, one agonizing stride at a time. She made it as far as the nearest display case before she had to stop, and her eyes landed on a tiara resting in the center of the display. Countless tiny diamonds formed flowery swoops and swirls, with a handful of emeralds scattered between them, filling what would otherwise be empty spaces. In the center, the diamonds framed a large, round emerald, mimicking the shape of a flower. 

It was exactly what Riley would have stolen had the Five Eyes agreed to rob the Louvre itself, rather than this party. Maybe she’d come back for it, one day. 

Using the case as a pseudo-wall, Riley took a deep breath and re-scanned the room in search of Jill. Unsurprisingly, Jill was exactly where Riley had last seen her.

She kept an eye on the recruit, knowing Desi and Cage were doing the same. Riley was impressed; Jill had quickly figured out how to linger without being obvious she was waiting for something. Jill mindlessly pushed up her glasses—the only visible sign of her nerves—and the movement drew Riley’s attention. 

But not to Jill. 

To another blond head, far behind her. One Riley desperately hoped to never see again. 

“We have a problem,” Desi said. 

“I saw.” 

Nikki’s ex-boyfriend stalked into the gallery, a taller, older man at his heels like a shadow—the same men who chased Riley, Nikki, and Jill through the taco shop a few weeks ago. 

Fuck.

Ducking her head to avoid being spotted, Riley hissed, “Nik, get your ass to the control room and lock the door behind you. We’ve got company.” 

“Already here. Accessing system controls as we speak. Whoever designed the security system in this place should be fired, because this is ridiculously simple. I should’ve left it in French just to keep it interesting.” A pause. "Who's here? Wait. No. Let me guess. Interpol? The mob? That bitchy designer I once robbed point-blank?" 

"Your ex." 

"Oh."

"You didn't tell him about our dream job, did you?" The words came out a little too accusatory, but Riley didn't care. She needed to know. 

"No! Of course I didn't. He— Look, I don't know why he's here, and we can figure that out later. Right now, you need to keep him busy. He's smart, Riles. Maybe even smarter than you. Be careful." 

Riley scoffed. "Smarter than me? We'll see about that." 

"I'm serious, Riley." 

But Riley ignored her, instead giving instructions of her own. "Cage, you watch Jill. Des—" 

"I've got the big one." Classic Desi, never letting her finish a sentence and yet always knowing what she was going to say. The habit was obnoxious at first, but over time Riley learned to appreciate it. "See the bulge on his left side? He keeps touching it." Desi said. "He's armed." 

“He’s what?” Jill exclaimed. 

Chuckling, Desi said, “Now look at my left side. We match.” A small, terrified squeak was the only response. “Well, what did you think I meant when I told you I’m the team’s exfil specialist?” 

“Not that!” 

“And Nik’s ex?” Riley asked, redirecting the conversation. 

“Seems clean.” 

“He is,” Nikki confirmed. “Mac hates guns.” 

“You know,” Riley said, studying the larger of the two men, “The other one kind of looks like a guy who dated my mom once.” 

“Really?” Desi asked. “Think he’s the same guy?” 

Riley took a closer look. He was tall, with broad, muscled shoulders and a buzzed haircut, and considering how often he fidgeted with his tie, he didn’t get dressed up often. He smiled at a passing waitress. He had an open, friendly smile, which totally contrasted with the systematic way he scanned the room. “Nah.”

Jill squawked, “Wait! Are we really still going through with this? Didn’t it just get a whole lot harder?” 

“You say harder, I say more fun,” Cage said. “Just stick to the plan. You’ll be fine.” 

Jill, it seemed, wasn’t so easily reassured. “Am I the only one who sees this is a trap?” 

“It’s only a trap when you don’t know about it. When you do, it’s a challenge,” Riley said. 

“But what if the plan goes wrong? Then what?” 

At the same time, all four women answered, “Improvise.” 

Riley muted her comms as she approached Nikki’s ex; Jill didn’t need the added distraction. Help her, Riley pleaded with the universe. You owe me. 

Pushing her concerns about Jill to the back of her mind, Riley studied her target. There was a champagne flute in the spy’s hand, but he didn’t drink it—not even a sip—and his methodical gaze swept the room, no doubt making note of each guest and who they interacted with. 

He was cute, she had to admit. Definitely Nikki’s type. 

Purposefully not watching where she was going, Riley collided with him, narrowly avoiding sloshing his drink onto her shoes. She pretended to stumble, and his free hand caught her waist, ensuring Riley stayed upright. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Pardon me.” 

His hand left her side. Frowning, he asked, “Do I know you?” 

Don’t lie. Evade. Her former mentor taught her that. 

Riley smirked. “I bet you use that line on every beautiful woman you stumble into.” 

“Only when I’m too blown away to say something original.” He winked. 

Maybe this would be easier than Riley anticipated. “Care to wander the museum with me while you practice your next line?” 

“Normally I would, but I just got out of a relationship, and I’m not looking to start anything new.” 

So much for that plan. 

His honesty, however, was surprising. 

“Not even a little fun?” she goaded, but Nikki’s ex declined once more before excusing himself and vanishing into the crowd. 

At least Desi had better luck keeping the other spy occupied. She had him cornered, her body carefully angled to prevent him from seeing the slight bulge from the gun hidden in her dress. The plunging neckline had two purposes—easy access to the gun holstered at her side while providing a distracting view of her chest and intricate tattoos. It was just enough to snag wandering eyes and keep them focused on the front of her body, rather than the side. To the spy’s credit, his eyes remained pointedly fixed on Desi’s face. 

“Got the keys,” Jill announced. Perfect timing. 

Riley breathed a sigh of relief. “Good work, Blondie.” 

Now, all they had to do was wait.

*****

While the designer yammered some pretentious bullshit about fine jewelry as the centerpiece of fashion and art, Riley slowly pushed her way to the front of the crowd gathering for the reveal. A few feet away, Cage did the same. Across from them—closest to the still-covered jewelry display case—Desi and Jill took their places. None of them were particularly interested by the designer’s speech, but Nikki would be hanging on every word if she were here. 

The designer rambled on, explaining how particular pieces among the French Crown Jewels influenced the designs of his own work. It was awfully arrogant, Riley thought, comparing his own work to such timeless pieces. The longer he spoke, the more Riley disliked him and didn’t feel even an ounce of guilt for robbing him. 

Lingering on the edge of the crowd, Nikki’s ex and his partner seemed content to remain out of the way. For all Riley cared, they could stay there all night. 

The gallery lights flickered once. A few guests glanced up nervously, but the majority remained transfixed on the designer. 

Nikki’s voice crackled through the comms. “Everyone ready? Nod once if you are.” Riley nodded. One by one, so did everyone else. “Alrighty then. Lights out in five…”

Riley counted the number of paces between her and Cage—six. 

“Four…”

Paces from Cage to the jewelry case—eight. 

“Three…”

Paces from the case back to her original position—ten. 

Two…

Closing her eyes, Riley waited. 

“One.” 

Several women shrieked when the lights went out. 

Riley opened her eyes, and before they’d even adjusted to the dark, she strode toward Cage. Six steps. She collided with Cage, dropping her purse on the ground and taking Cage’s identical one, containing replicas of the necklace and earrings. 

Cage shouted that someone stole her purse, causing a scene. She’d chatted and flirted with enough people throughout the night for her voice to be easily recognized, and a murmur broke out among the agitated crowd, creating just enough background noise to cover the sound of Riley’s heels clicking on the floor. 

Eight steps to the back side of the jewelry display. Riley could just make out Jill and Desi unlocking the case with the assistant’s keys. She braced for an alarm to sound, but there was nothing. Atta girl, Nikki. 

Riley opened the purse. Carefully, Desi replaced the real jewels with the fakes, depositing the real ones inside Cage’s purse. 

Jill locked the case and replaced the cover, and Riley returned to her original position among the crowd. The designer and his assistant remained oblivious to what transpired behind them, even as Jill slipped the keys back into the assistant’s dress pocket.

“Lights on in three,” Nikki warned. 

Emergency lights flickered on, casting a harsh white light over the murmuring crowd. A man angrily questioned what happened, followed by a chorus of “Yeah, what he said!”s in a variety of languages. The assistant urged the crowd to remain calm, promising everything would be sorted out shortly. 

Riley looked over her shoulder, searching for Nikki’s ex. He was nowhere to be found. She narrowed her eyes, but with two hundred million dollars worth of jewelry in her hand, Riley decided she didn’t particularly care. 

The woman Cage flirted with the longest stepped forward, picking up the purse Riley had tossed near Cage’s feet. “Isn’t this your purse?” she asked Cage. 

Riley’s teammate feigned embarrassment, gracefully reclaiming the purse. “Yes, that’s it. Thank you.” 

Just as an outraged Cage exclaimed the purse was empty, Riley melted into the dispersing crowd, slowly making her way toward the museum’s exit. That was the plan. She’d leave first, and once she escaped with the jewels, everyone else would exit as well. 

Riley retraced her steps, heels clicking on the hardwood flooring of the museum’s endless long hallways. She didn’t look at any of the art as she passed, not even a single glance. Art had always been more Nikki’s thing than hers. 

Weaving her way back to the exit, Riley prayed Nikki hadn’t missed any of the cameras. She was supposed to loop them all, allowing Riley to leave the museum unseen. But with each additional camera—some obvious, some not—Riley’s anxiety rose. 

Nikki knows what she’s doing, Riley reminded herself. She won’t let anything happen to me. 

Two years ago, that reassurance would’ve been enough. 

Now, her distrusting brain shot back, Are you sure? 

Riley didn’t dignify it with a response. 

Passing the museum’s security checkpoint, Riley smiled at a bored-looking security guard. “Vous partez déjà?” he asked. 

Riley hoped the security guard asked why she was leaving so soon. She never did get around to brushing up on her French. “Oui, I have a flight to catch.” Not a lie, although the flight wouldn’t take off until early tomorrow morning. 

The crisp night breeze prickled Riley’s bare skin. She took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs. For the first time that night, Riley finally felt her body start to relax. The vast, empty plaza felt so much safer than the packed gallery. Still not safe enough to let her guard down, but safer. Riley slipped her hand into the purse, fingers closing around an earring. It was surprisingly heavy in her palm. 

Another flawless job. The Five Eyes were back in business. 

She was halfway across the plaza when Nikki started cursing, but Riley didn’t slow. Everyone is responsible for their own exit. The job was done. No turning back now. 

There was a distinct male voice in the background, but Riley couldn’t make out what he said. 

“What do you mean, ‘I had a feeling you’d be here’?” Nikki demanded. “We haven’t spoken in months, Mac, and I know you didn’t track me here on your own.” 

Her ex’s voice was nothing more than a low, indiscernible rumble. 

“What?” Nikki whispered, her voice breaking mid-word. 

As much as Riley wanted to know what he said, she kept walking. But that didn’t stop the others from hissing Nikki’s name, demanding to know what was going on. 

Nikki yelped, and then the male voice purred, loud and clear, “I know you’re listening, Riley. Why don’t we go on that little walk now?” 

With a cold laugh, Riley said, “In your fucking dreams.” How did he know her name? As far as she knew, Nikki never mentioned her. 

Still, she kept walking. Everyone is responsible for their own exit. No matter what. 

Riley muted her comms, and Nikki’s piercing shriek filled her ear. A muffled grunt followed.

Then nothing. 

Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay. 

“Riley, you need to come back,” Jill pleaded. “Nikki needs help.” 

She didn’t answer, clenching her jaw with the effort to keep silent. An airplane flew overhead, and Riley tracked its path across the sky. Every step brought Riley closer to her own flight home—and the freedom that entailed. Turning around now would only put that in jeopardy. 

But every step also took her away from her best friend. The woman she once believed she’d do anything for. 

Jill was overreacting, Riley reasoned. Nikki was more than capable of getting herself out of a bind. Riley lost track of the number of impossible situations she and Nikki had found themselves in over the years, and they always found a way to escape. 

“Sam is getting Jill out,” Desi said, slightly out of breath. “Riles, I don’t think I can get Nikki out on my own. Jill is right. You need to come back.” 

Riley faltered. If Desi thought there was a problem, then something must’ve gone really, really wrong. 

Maybe Jill wasn’t overreacting after all. 

“Des—” Cage started. “They opened the case.” 

“So?” 

“They know the jewels are fake. If Riley comes back, it won’t just be Nikki going to prison.” 

Prison. 

Riley didn’t think she was breathing. Heart thudding wildly, her stomach tied itself into knots, and her clothes became damp with sweat. The sense of safety she’d felt earlier was gone, and Riley fought the urge to run. Every little noise—traffic, pedestrian chatter, a siren in the distance—was coming for her, ready to drag her into some dark hole she’d never emerge from. 

Nothing was logical anymore, like the part of her brain capable of rational thought had gone to sleep. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to wake up, but it was no use. 

Run, while you still have the chance, her body screamed. 

Everyone is responsible for their own exit, her brain repeated. 

She needed to turn around. Nikki couldn’t go to prison. 

Two years ago, Riley had gone to prison in Nikki’s stead. She let herself be arrested to protect her friends. Her family. 

If Nikki went to prison now, then Riley’s sacrifice would be in vain. 

But Riley’s body refused to turn around. Her worst memories from prison flashed before her eyes—ones Riley desperately wanted to forget—like a cougar crouching in the shadows, waiting for the exact moment she was at her weakest to pounce. 

She couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t go through that again. 

She wouldn’t survive it twice. 

“Riles,” Nikki pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Where are you?” 

Run, that voice in her head said. Don’t look back. 

Her steps were slower now, less sure. But Riley didn’t stop. She couldn’t. 

“I need you.” 

Save yourself, girl. 

“I’m sorry,” Riley whispered, but her comms were still muted. With a shaking hand, Riley unmuted them one last time. 

It’s better this way, the voice promised. You’ll see. 

It was all too easy to slip into the brutal, emotionless persona she’d built while in prison, the process having become instinct. It was necessary then, to keep her safe and alive. Now, it did the same, preventing Riley from making a mistake every cell in her body knew she wouldn’t come back from. 

In a cold, unflinching voice, Riley said, “Everyone is responsible for their own exit.” 

She threw her earpiece into a nearby fountain, and the click of her stilettos echoed in the night. 

~ Tag List ~ Want to be added? Send me an ask.

@macrileyedits / @hellishrose / @losingitovermacriley​ / @mylifequotesshowallofthem / @thecarrieonokay / @holbytlanna​ /

[my-brothers-corrupted]

My Brothers, Corrupted

Chapter 1 : Section 3 : Oh Happy Day

We’re at the end of a difficult day. After his first real round of hypnosis, Marvin – or Blue, perhaps – became hysteric and had to be restrained by Red when his magic ran amok and flowers began growing up through the floorboards. Doktor, triggered when Trick grabbed him by the back of the throat, went into a state of confusion and ended up throttling Trick in return, but they’re doing their best to make up. As for Dapper, the youngest sits alone in the attic, staring up at the Northern Lights, and you see the lines between who he is and who he was blur gently, for a time traveler’s amnesia is never quite as strong as Anti would like it to be.

Trigger warnings: (not necessarily a complete list! Please tell me if you need others added up here because I’m just trying to remember what’s in here) blood, mentions of alcoholism, grief, hypnosis, discussion of psychosis, and abuse, including infantilization of a disabled character and abuse between brothers.

The masterlist for this chapter is linked at the bottom because I can’t get it to link here for whatever reason.

 Part Three of Chapter One: Oh Happy Day

loganandoli asked: Carver, is that Poe? Is she finally back?

Carver darts out from underneath the bed, uncurling, a light returned to his eyes. “My bird!” he signs, clapping his hands together. “My Poe!”

There’s a huge black raven in the windowsill, her wings spread wide. Dapper leaps up onto the bed beside her, nearly weeping for joy, and she lets him stroke her beak, cawing softly in the evening light.

“There’s my good girl,” he signs, delighted. “Oh, oh, my good girl. Here to keep me company? Not alone. Not alone. Here’s my bird, my bird, my friend.”

optimistic-violinist asked: This is probably a dangerous question.... but could Dapper go back before they were all Anti's?

Dapper blinks. “I need frames of reference. I can’t remember the time before we were Anti’s, so I can’t go back to it. Even if I could, I’ve never turned back farther than a week. And that nearly… that almost… it wasn’t good for me. Anti says time travel is bad for the baby, and I am the baby.”

He rubs Poe’s head, considering.

“Not that I would go back so far, of course,” he adds quickly. “I’m quite happy with Anti, thank you very much.”

Anonymous asked: Maybe a little out of left field, but does Marvin still have his mask?

Marvin’s mouth pales and he turns away from you, touching his face, patterned in scars. “No,” he whispers. “Anti tore it off as he dragged me back to the house. I suppose it’s been thrown away now… I had that mask for years… I was born with it. The last little piece of Ja - of my old master that I had left.”

He stares down at his hands, then up at you, teary-eyed.

“But don’t worry about it,” he whispers, trying to smile. “We have bigger problems right now, don’t we?”

Anonymous asked: Who wants to hear a song?

Dapper frowns at you, confused. “A song?”

Anonymous asked: 🎵 Look to the stars my darling wonderful boys. Life is strange and vast, filled with wonders and joys! Face each new sun with eyes clear and true! Unafraid of the unknown, because I'll face it all with you! 🎵

Dapper melts onto the windowsill, putting his chin down. “Oh… pretty, thank you. You’re too sweet.” His cheeks are rosy red and he smiles easily, letting his contented eyes slip shut.

musical-in-theory asked: Ope, would you look at the time? It’s time for Anti’s daily reminder that he can kindly go fuck right off.

Anti ignores you. He’s got three laptops open around him and he’s so focused he’s lost most of his opalescence. The screens flash with color and letters, though you don’t see his fingers typing. He wears an old form he’s fond of, a younger Jack dressed all in black, with a lot of light green hair and big black eyes.

Anonymous asked: anti, do you know your carver is making friends with wild animals? i though he was being kept alone as a punishment

Anti glances up, frowning. “Wild animals? What’s he playing with now? I thought I got rid of his fucking mice. Filthy little things. He’ll make himself sick.”

Anti rises to his feet, glancing towards Dapper’s room. “And he’s not there for punishment. He’s just a little fragile. Needs more careful care than the others. I made sure they all keep plenty of distance from him. But thank you for letting me know.”

Anonymous asked: for anti. why did you tie him up? he could just untie it right?

“He could! He could, he certainly could. But he doesn’t.” Anti glances at you. “I mean, it’s tied up a little too tall for him and the rope is quite thick, so it wouldn’t be easy. But I’ll tell you a secret - it’s not about keeping him there. It’s about the shame.”

Anti stares out the window, his eyes momentarily clouded. “He was the first one I trained,” he tells you, almost wistful. “And back then I used real chains and kept him strung up for days on end, until he was crying to be allowed to move. To have the awful chains off his throat. To not be tied up like a dog, licking food off his plate when I gave it to him, whimpering for affection. I don’t know how much of that he remembers - but enough. Enough. It’s an awful humiliation for him. He hated it more than being tortured, even when he still belonged to his last master. So he knows, if the rope is there, that he has been a bad dog, and that, if he wants to be free, he must show me he can obey. So, you see, he doesn’t try to take it off. He remembers who his master is, and makes better choices in the future.”

He returns his focus to you, blinking. “Well! Should we go check on the little puppy? Sounds like my stupid little pet found himself a stupid little pet. Dogs shouldn’t play with nasty things.”

Anonymous asked: Why don’t you let him see the others or let the others see him?

Anti stares at you, considering.

“The boys downstairs need each other,” he tells you, carefully picking his words. “And so I allow them to have each other, because I do not have time to care for each one of them myself. They wouldn’t get enough attention, enough affection. But there are dangers to that too… an independence and a sense of self-worth that come along with it. So I decided from the start that the most precious one - the one I cannot lose - he must stay close, and I will care for him myself. That way he will never slip through my fingers.”

He smiles coldly, his eyes flashing with victory pride. “Dapper will never slip through my fingers.

“Beside, you’ve seen how rough the boys downstairs are with each other. Even twins will strike and bite. Why would I subject my powerful little Dapper to that? He gets preferential treatment and they all know it. He has proven time and time again to be the most valuable, the most vicious of all his family. The others are all so jealous, it makes me laugh so much! The hierarchy is good for them. It makes them work to be more like him. Gives them a little ferocity of their own. Nothing to match my Carver… my mean little Carver, with those cold sharp teeth… of all of them, he is the most like me. Shouldn’t he deserve the best for that?”

musical-in-theory asked: Is Marvin back to being Marvin again?

You find him lying on the island, sitting across from Red. They’re watching each other with a cool wariness, unsure of where they stand.

“I’m not sure who I am,” says Red’s brother finally, glancing over at you with a grimace on his exhausted mouth. A cut on his forehead drips a little blood as he turns. Red moves forward, as though to brush it away, on instinct - but before his twin even notices the movement, he has drawn his hand back and recoiled on himself, crossing his arms over his chest, blushing in the low light. He has re-bandaged his head himself.

musical-in-theory asked: You are Marvin the Magnificent. A smart man with a deeper understanding of things. A man who carved out his own place in the world. A man who never needed a master.

Marvin blinks, looking up. “Hey!” he laughs. “Who told you that? I’ve heard those words before! Someone who loved me - ”

The camera is snatched off its spot on the ground and thrown several feet off, leaving your view crooked and fizzing.

“You’re going to get him killed!” cries Red, and his voice breaks right down the middle. He could scream for the pain of his own weakness. “Stop, stop! Can’t you just let him go, and then things will be easier on him! What, you’re crying out now, trying to stop this now? It’s too late, don’t you understand? Where were you when I was shattering, huh? You call out for him! You don’t know anything! I can’t - ”

He stops himself short, startled by the look of fear in Marvin’s eyes.

“Jackie,” he whispers.

“I - ” Red’s voice shakes, he retreats to his corner. “Don’t goddamn say that name. Fuck, I wish you had never come here. I wish you had gone free, I don’t care if we spent the rest of our lives searching without ever finding you. I don’t need you, you know… Anti acts like I do, but I don’t. I don’t want you.”

He curls in on himself, panting; his body hurts him, his body always hurts him and he’s tired. He wishes hatred hurt less. Breathless, he turns to look at Trick and Doktor, curled up side by side, crying softly in the darkness. He does not know why and he does not care. He sees them cry often, and chances are only one of them was hurting - or only one of them would be hurting, if he didn’t care about the other.

“Twins are just weakness,” he cries, reaching up to grip at his hair. “I don’t want to feel sorry for you! I don’t want to feel scared and miserable for you! I don’t need another person to feed, I don’t need someone to be reliant on! I’m stronger alone! And if you’re not careful, I’m going to have to watch you die. I don’t want your pain! I wish you had never come here!”

Marvin has edged in close to him, calling “Red, Red,” and maybe there’s some truth to his words, because the truth is seeing him in pain makes him feel like his own chest is on fire. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Not okay,” whispers Red, sinking down against his cupboards. “Don’t touch me, no - don’t touch me, I don’t want you, I don’t need you…”

“We were brothers once already,” chokes Marvin. “And, fuck, there were times that it hurt, but I can promise you - I swear to you, I swear - it was always, always, always worth it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you’ve been alone so long. But, I mean - you’re not now. I don’t plan to stay, but… I don’t plan to leave you, either. I promise that. I promise. And this brotherhood is always worth it.”

Red sits in silence for a long time, his eyes closed, his head on his knees, hiding his face.

“Life is different here, Marvin,” he whispers. “Stop believing in anything that ever made you happy. There’s only Anti now.”

Marvin puts a hand on his knee. Red takes his wrist, gentle, gentle in his cold scarred hand, and he pushes him away.

“There’s only Anti now.”

They fall asleep pressed against opposite sides of the island, huddled in on themselves, silent.

loganandoli asked: Carver. You need to trust me. Push Poe out, now. I know you won’t want to, but please. Please. For her and your safety, push her out and close the window. They told him.

Carver turns to you, stunned. “Push Poe out? Push her - told him! Who would tell him, they wouldn’t tell - ”

His head whips around at the familiar sound of Anti’s static growing in volume. He stares between you and the bird, who picks playfully at his ear, cawing. “I don’t - I don’t want her to go,” he stammers out, tears rising hot in his eyes. “I don’t want to lose my bird, my bird. What if she never comes back? She’ll be like my brothers and hate me. What if I never see her again? What if I’m just up here alone forever? Why won’t master let me keep anyone?”

Anonymous asked: It's all right, Carver, we'll keep you company!!! Now let the bird go!!!

You don’t know if he trusts you enough or if he’s just that afraid of Anti, but one way or another, he stands up on his bed and reaches up to close the window, shoving Poe out into the air. She gives an indignant cry, harsh and berating, and tries to land again, but there isn’t enough space to her feet. She wings away.

Carver stands on his bed, panting, staring out into the air after her.

“Hey, little man, what’re you up to?”

Anti stands in the doorway, his hand shoved into hoodie pockets. Flushed red, Carver turns to him with a trembling mouth, his eyes full of tears.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” murmurs Anti, instantly a picture of concern, moving forward to grab his hands and pull him to sit down on the bed beside him. He plays anxiously with a strand of Carver’s hair, touching his face gently. He glances around the room, but doesn’t see anything moving around. If Dapper has an animal here, he’ll find it and kill it violently enough that he’ll regret hiding it. If not, then he’s distressed enough already for one night. “Hey, hey, look at me. What’s wrong? You feel okay?”

Sniffling, Carver glances over at him, then up at the window, and then - exhausted, exhausted, exhausted, he tumbles against Anti’s chest and begins to cry in earnest, clutching onto Anti.

Clutching onto the only person he is ever allowed to hold on to.

 Posted the next morning:

Dawn breaks cold over Doktor and Trick, wrapped up in blankets. It’s getting too late in the season for them to keep warm with their nest and jackets alone, but at least Trick has fallen asleep curled in Doktor’s lap, keeping him warm after their fight.

Red and Blue sleep across from each other, neither making use of the sleeping bag, a tension fallen between them. Red’s bandages have begun bleeding again during the night and he will have a pounding headache when he wakes.

Upstairs, Dapper has not slept. He lies in his bed in Anti’s arms, staring quietly at the wall. Today is one of his confusion days, which might come out as anger, grief, or a desperate, slightly insane sort of boredom.

Anti wakes up and kisses the side of his head, noticing his mood immediately and leaving him to his distress. He takes the rope off his throat and leaves a clean outfit - sweatpants and a t-shirt with a big black coat - on the bed. Moving downstairs, he greets Dok with a cluck of his chin and then shakes his twin awake.

“Want you to go into town today,” he says.

Trick sits up straight, wide-eyed, disoriented from sleep. “M-me? I thought I was only allowed to go to the laundromat - Red is usually the one who goes to the store, I - ”

Anti puts a finger on his mouth, silencing him, and then digs into his pocket, pulling out a huge wad of cash. He shoves it into Trick’s coat. “Red’s still not well. You go. Get food. And something nice, pick out something nice for all your brothers. Or Red and Dok and Dap and yourself, at least. I’ll get Blue what he needs on my own. Spend it all, Trick, I don’t want to carry it around anymore. Understand?”

Trick’s eyes are alight with joy. He nods enthusiastically, his mouth shaking around the words “are you sure?” just to double check.

Anti hums and runs a hand through his hair, brushing a curl out of his eyes. “Course, Stammer, I know you’ll do well. You’ve been good lately.”

“Can I bring Dok?”

“Sure, just don’t draw attention to yourselves. No names, no nationalities, no talk of home where anyone can hear it.”

Trick is panting slightly with relief. He nods, and for a second he reaches out, as though to touch Anti in return, maybe looking for a hug or at least to brush his hand along his sleeve, but he thinks better of it, his hand falling fearfully. Anti gives him affection anyway, leaning in to kiss his cheek and ruffling his hair playfully. “We’ll have a quiet day today, Alright? Okay, be good. Bye, Trick.”

“Bye, Anti,” whisper Trick, with reverence, watching as his brother disappears.

There’s a long silence.

“Fuck yeah!” cries Doktor, and Trick lets out a loud, bursting laugh, and tumbles back onto his brother’s lap, holding up the cash, delighted.

Anonymous asked: well little stammer, what are you going to do with all that? (theres no record with cash, so you could even get stuff anti doesn't want you to have :0)

Trick flushes slightly at the nickname and you see Doktor’s eyes narrow, but Trick is already sorting through the cash again. “Well, first - first priority is food, yeah? And the first aid kit - Dok, will you go see what we need? What else, um… is there anything else we need? Maybe new clothes, if anything’s left over? More soap, we’re getting low…”

He pauses, seeming to register the second half of your question, his cheeks reddening. He glances up at you and down at the cash several times, but doesn’t say anything, memories of hunger and cold stirring in the back of his head.

loganandoli asked: Trick!! What do you think you’ll get everyone? And what are your favorite foods? :)

“Um, um, what will I get everyone?”

He’s more excited than you’ve ever seen him, pacing around his nest, combing his hair with his fingers. “I have to pick things out, don’t I? I’ll have to see what’s in town, um. Oh, I could get Dok a whole coat, a whole winter coat… and gloves, maybe, for when he has to do his - for when Anti needs him. A book! Holy shit, a book, he hasn’t had a new one in weeks!”

He grins, fantasizing. “My favorite foods, wow… I like, um, those chocolate granola bars and mandarin oranges and… well, a bunch of junk food, we don’t need all that… and nothing that we’ll have to cook, really. But I can get maybe some chips or good bread. Could really go for a drink, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. What else?”

He glances over at the island and up at the ceiling. “Fuck, I have no idea what they want,” he frowns. He turns to you. “Any ideas for Red and Dapper?”

immabethehero asked: If Dapper still has his moustache, what about a moustache grooming set? For Red, a new red hoodie for the winter! For Blue, magic cards!

“Haha, okay, that’s pretty good! We have knives for shaving but I like the new hood!”

loganandoli asked: Oh!! Get dapper some markers or charcoals! Or even a stuffed animal! (maybe a bird? He seems to like those)

“A stuffed animal for the baby!” teases Trick, grinning to himself. “Spoiled pet. You’re right, though, he likes animals.”

He pauses for a second, the smirk fading from his mouth. For a second, he almost looks like he’s in pain.

“I think he always liked animals… I think we used to… no, I don’t remember…”

oasisofgalaxies asked: Dapper may really love a sketchbook and pencil set! Don’t forget a sharpener and eraser! Anon added: you could get dap some new chalks/colored pencils! I’m sure he’d love that

“Oh, okay, yeah! Sounds like he’s kind of an artist, fuck. I guess that’s what he’s doing up there all day, huh? Okay, art shit for Dapper, that’s good. Thank you.”

Anonymous asked: dapper wants pens and charcoal to keep him busy. anything you can get red for his pain would help too

“Hmm,” nods Trick, thinking. “Something for his pain, shit, yeah. Okay, I’ll look!”

Anonymous asked: Are you going to have enough money to buy all you want/need? I don't know, this seems a little bit too easy...

“I’ve got…” Trick flips through his cash. “2,400 krone.” He bites his lip and looks up at you, slightly stressed. “I don’t know how many pounds that is. It seems like a lot. I need - I need to make sure I get everything Anti wants, or I could get in trouble. Red usually does this. Food, presents, soap, clothes - is there anything else we need? I need to get everything.”

Anonymous asked: Do you look presentable enough to be in public? Wouldn't want to catch too much attention, now do we?

“Good point,” agrees Doktor, returning to his brother. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

They don’t have mirrors, but they do have twins. Trick needs to shave, so they go outside and Doktor pulls a long sharp knife out of his coat, holding it up to his face. For a second, Trick can’t help but flinch, reaching up to grab his brother’s wrist. Doktor stops immediately. They meet each other’s eyes.

“Is okay,” mumbles Dok, using his spare hand to touch his shoulder. Just gentle.

Trick swallows the sensation of tears, nodding, letting his wrist go. He knows the difference between the brother who loves him and the one who can’t recognize him as anything other than one of his victims.

Doktor’s eyes are sorry. They talked about what happened. He wishes he could say yesterday was the first time he has looked around him and seen nothing but violence, the first time he has woken up holding a knife or a scalpel or a syringe that he doesn’t remember grabbing, but the truth is he’s often confused, and more than once he’s hurt himself or somebody he shouldn’t have. It haunts him. He doesn’t like to admit that it happens. Sometimes he doesn’t tell Trick, and sometimes he forgets the episodes once they’ve happened, but one way or another, he is cognizant of the fact that there’s something wrong with him, and the fact that that something could be harmful to his brother is a nightmare becoming a reality for him.

He shaves Trick’s beard down carefully, carefully, holding his chin in his hands. Trick closes his eyes.

They wash their faces with washcloths and water and change clothes - somewhere in their blanket huddle, there are t-shirts and pants, which they share indiscriminately, most of their personal style having blurred into necessity and apathy a long time ago. Dok puts a bandage over a particularly nasty scar on Trick’s hand, they both tug on their jackets, Dok pulls a scarf out of his pocket, they tuck weapons safely away, push their trackers beneath their sleeves, brush through their hair, and finally turn to look at each other, checking that they could pass for normal in the city.

“We’re okay?” asks Trick without words.

“We’re okay,” answers Dok with a smile.

“Okay,” sighs Trick, grinning and shoving the cash in his pockets. “Anything else, or are we ready to go?”

There is a low thumping coming from upstairs. Red and Blue are still asleep. Anti is nowhere you can see him.

spicydanhowell asked: carver? you okay up there?

The connection’s still up, but he hasn’t touched the camera. You can only see the empty bed, the clean clothes still draped over the unmade sheets.

loganandoli asked: Carver? Are you ok??

There’s no movement on the video feed, just the thumping noise, steady, steady. Downstairs, you see Doktor glance up, a frown twisting his mouth.

“Okay, ready to head out?” asks Trick, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and holding a second one out for Dok.

“Umm.” Dok accepts the backpack without looking, listening for the thumping noise. It’s clearly not the sound of him fainting. Should be okay…

loganandoli asked: Doktor, Carver isn’t answering us. I know you are not aloud to go up to check on him, so should we ask Anti to check on him?

“Oh, I - I am allowed up there. Only to check on him, but I am allowed. He’s not answering? I should go check on him.”

Trick whines, reaching out to grab his brother’s sleeve. “Dok, no! I hate it when you go up there! Anti might get angry anyway, if it turns out that he’s fine, that you went up there for nothing. Besides, Anti’s home, or at least he didn’t tell us he was leaving. Let him handle his little pet, don’t go up there. This is supposed to be a day out, when was the last time we were allowed to go into town? Come on, bro.”

“Trick,” sighs Dok, stepping back from him. “Just real quick, alright? It’s my job to look after everyone in the house.”

Gritting his teeth, Trick shakes his head, snatching his sleeve again, a sort of desperation in his eyes. Frustrated now, Doktor pulls away. “What, you want me to just leave him? He could be hurting!”

“That brat has everything he wants up there!”

“You don’t know that! When was the last time you even saw him, Trick?”

“Just the other day!”

“Yes, when Anti was dragging him into the goddamn basement! Is that what spoiled looks like to you, or are you just jealous that Anti hasn’t let you sleep in the same bed as him since the first time you called him your master? Why do you hate the little one so much? Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you should give a fuck about anyone other than yourself and me?”

He doesn’t realize his voice has risen to a shout until he’s stopped yelling. Trick stares at him, wide-eyed, mouth trembling. Blinking, Dok sees Blue’s head rising above the island, his eyes wide and confused. “Why are you fighting?” he asks, sleepy and confused. “What’s that thumping?”

Flushed, Doktor turns away from his twin and heads towards the stairs. “Deutsch!” cries Trick, remembering all too vividly Blue’s body crashing down those stairs.

“Enough, Trick.” Doktor makes his way up the stairs, taking a steadying breath at the top, but nothing comes to drag him away. Turning the corner, he enters Dapper and Anti’s room.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He steps gently in, looking around, glancing under the bed, opening the door to the bathroom -

“Oh, darling, stop, stop,” he whispers, rushing in to grab Dapper off the floor, dragging his head away from the leg of a broken claw-foot tub, where he has been striking his forehead hard enough to dampen his hair red. “Oh, poor thing, poor thing.”

All his anger, all his caution, all his resentment for the boy is gone. He holds him in his arms and tries to get him to respond, staring down at the glassy grey eyes as his head goes thump, thump, thump against the doctor’s arm.

Anonymous asked: carver stop hitting your head please? you're okay. everything's going to be okay

Carver whimpers wearily, curling in slightly on Doktor, seeming to register the presence of another living thing. He waits for the shock and the heat of Anti’s flesh, but… it never comes.

“You’re okay,” whispers Dok, rocking him gently. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Dapper stares numbly up at him, trying to understand.

“It’s me, it’s Dok,” he murmurs, suddenly very aware of just how long it’s been since they interacted while the little one was conscious. Fuck, he remembers so little about him. He could have sworn there was more, but, now, Dapper is hardly more than the noises in the attic and the safety net that Anti returns to at the end of every day. “I’m your big brother.”

Dapper breathes stickily, knocking his head against his knee. “Stop this, now,” murmurs Dok, taking his head in his hands. “You’re okay. Just a little out of sorts, huh? Sometimes I get like that too… sometimes I lose track of everything.”

Carver nods, processing slowly the shared sentiment. He speaks so softly, with that nice warm accent. Carver can’t remember the last time anyone but Anti spoke to him - let alone touched him.

Wait, no, he can… there was a boy with charcoal and long hair, reaching out to him, smiling on the stairs…

“Did you take your medicine this morning?” asks Doktor gently, brushing the hair from his eyes. Swallowing, Dapper shakes his head no.

Leaving him on his side on the bathroom floor, Doktor gets up to get his prescription out of the bedside drawer, pouring two tiny white pills into his hand and returning to him. Carver instantly curls back up against him, gripping plaintively at his hands.

“Here, here,” murmurs Dok, helping him sit up. He presses the medicine to his mouth and Dapper takes them in his mouth with a groan, knowing better than to refuse his pills.

“What’s going on here?”

Doktor’s head jerks up, his body suddenly shaking as he registers Anti’s presence behind him, peering over his shoulder. “Master,” he gasps. “Scared me, Anti. He was hitting his poor head, look.”

Anti blinks, disconcerted, reaching down to brush his hand over his youngest boy’s hair. Dapper stares wearily up at him, expecting little pity, but, whether it be the blood on his head or the attempts Anti is making to keep them all happy as he breaks in Blue, he seems concerned. “Poor thing,” he murmurs, stroking his eyelids with his thumb. Dapper closes his eyes obediently. “Dok, what’s wrong? His medicine isn’t working.”

“I don’t think it’s that, Anti,” sighs Doktor, leaning back against his chest as his big brother sinks to his knees beside him. He takes any chance at comfort he can get. “He’s just…”

Doktor trails off, biting his lip.

“What?”

Doktor winces, trying to pick safe words.

“Deutsch,” mumbles Anti, putting an arm around him to rub his shoulder. “Sprich mit mir.”

“Anti, he’s bored. He doesn’t have enough to do up here.”

“Aren’t you and Trick going to get him some pencils and things?”

“Yes, we - ” Doktor blinks, trying to remember when he told Anti that. “We are, but he’s still stuck in this room all day, and he - I don’t know how often you’re here but - he’s lonely, Anti.”

Dapper hides his face against his stomach. Words like these he does not dare speak aloud.

Anti stares down at his little one, stroking his hair. His face is quiet and thoughtful.

“You’ve been good lately,” he murmurs.

“Yes, Anti,” replies Dok softly.

“You’re steady. Reliable. You do as I tell you. Take care of Trick. Keep the others functioning.”

“Yes, Anti, I do.”

Anti looks up at him. Brushes a strand of hair away from his broken glasses.

“Take Dap with you,” he says. “Take Dap with you into town. I won’t risk him snapping again.”

Anonymous asked: Aight, nobody get separated! Buddy system plus one!

Doktor watches Anti go, biting his lip. Once he’s disappeared, he turns to you with a deep exasperation in his eyes. “Trick will not like this,” he groans, running a hand over his face.

Someone squeezing his other hand brings him back to Dapper, who is staring up at him with a cautious, hopeful sort of confusion in his eyes. He’s not sure he heard Anti right…

Doktor sighs and gets up, reaching down to help the boy to his feet. He’s shaky and still a little distant, but he’s responding better and better with every moment that passes. “Well… Dapper.” Feels weird to call him by his name. “Would you like to go into town?”

Dapper stares at him.

“To town?” he signs.

“Yes.”

“Downstairs?”

“Yeah.”

“Outside?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“And Anti said… that… I could?”

“You heard him as well as I did. You just have to stay close to me.”

Dapper stares at him.

“Dapper,” says Doktor flatly, frowning.

“Anti said I could go?”

“Yeah!”

“To town? Downstairs? Out - ”

Doktor sighs and grabs his wrist, leading him towards the door. “Put your clothes on and let’s go,” he says, turning around.

Confused, Dapper obeys, checking to make sure Doktor doesn’t turn to look at him, his hands scrabbling at his scars. He tugs on his pants and the t-shirt Anti got him - oh, it was a Shiba Inu on it! - and then throws on the coat, hurrying to follow Doktor into the hall.

“Doktor!” cries Trick, pacing anxiously at the bottom of the stairs. “Dok, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, um. Just - we’re, um. Trick, we’re taking Dapper into town.”

And with those words, it somehow becomes true in Dapper’s head. Panting with relief, he sets foot on the stairs -

And then he’s running.

Down the stairs, past the other boys, through the door, outside.

Outside, outside, outside!

He begins to laugh, kicking leaves into the air. What does it matter that the other puppets stare at him, that Trick and Dok are arguing behind him?

It’s been two months since he left the house.

Anonymous asked: What did you do the last time you were out of the house, Dapper?

Dapper grins up at you, his eyes almost wildly bright. He processes your question and his face twists up slightly with fear. “Anti didn’t come home,” he says. “First try or second try or third try, Anti didn’t come home. I went after him. Made sure he came home. And before that - the plane, and the running, the running away. But then we were here. Now we are here. Right? This is now? I’m outside? We’re going to town!”

He flips a cartwheel like a kid and laughs as he makes the birds fly up into the air. “Hopefully today is a better day than those days were.”

Anonymous asked: trick, you better not argue. it's what anti wants. but doktor you should probably hold onto him tight so he doesn't run off or get hurt

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” whimpers Trick, turning to you, chewing on the nail of his thumb. “I don’t understand, I don’t understand. He never lets Dapper go.”

“Trick,” sighs Dok, grabbing his sleeve and leading him towards the door. “Come on, don’t be so stressed! It will still be fun, yes? Come on, brother mine.”

“This is a trap!” shrieks Trick, yanking against his grip. “This is a trap! This - this isn’t right!”

Red sits upright, startling them all with the realization that he’s awake.

“Here’s something that’s not a trap,” he shouts. “If you don’t shut the hell up and get out of the house so I can fucking sleep, I’m going to dump your body in the ocean. Got me, Trickshot?”

Trick flushes red, his mouth open but no words coming out. Then he flees out the door, Doktor following quick behind him.

“This is fine,” he mumbles. “This is fine. Okay, okay. You’re right. I have to look after him. I have to keep them functioning. I should hold onto him, I - Dap?”

Dapper turns towards him, beaming. Doktor snatches his hand and pulls him closer, and Dapper is happy to go, squeezing his fingers tightly. Trick is hurrying along the path before them, panting.

“Let’s just calm down,” calls Dok, coming carefully after him with Dapper beside him. “Let’s stay calm, you know how you get when you’re too stressed. Come on, Trick! Nice calm walk, okay? Nice calm walk.”

Anonymous asked: Damn it, what did I just say? Dapper, I know you're excited but be mindful of the others okay? Stay close!

Dapper flushes, flinching slightly away from you, clinging to Dok’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he signs, moving closer to his brother. “Okay, yes. I will stay close, I can be good. Will you tell Anti if I’m good? So I can go out again?”

Anonymous asked: does... does anti purposefully lead you into situations where you're forced to disobey him and be punished? is that why you're afraid, trick?

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” sobs Trick. “No, no, no, that’s not what that was! I must have heard him wrong that day! And then - then Dapper couldn’t redo it, or - It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault! He wouldn’t - he wouldn’t trick me… he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t…. I just heard him wrong. I just heard him wrong. It’s my fault. Why would he punish me if I didn’t do anything wrong? So I must have done something wrong. I must have, I must have. It’s my fault. Don’t say things like that, no, no.”

He grips at the bandage over the scar on his hand, trembling. “No, no, no… I didn’t mean to be bad…”

“Trick!” Doktor calls on the path behind him. “Stop, dammit! Can you slow down?”

Flinching, Trick stops short, like his obedience is a tangible thing holding him to his older brother. Doktor catches up to him with the boy holding onto his hand, and a rush of jealousy cuts through Trick’s distress.

“He shouldn’t have come,” he cries, whirling on them. “He shouldn’t - ”

“Trick!”

Doktor’s hand is on his shoulder. “Trick, Trick. Just… just breathe.”

He pulls Trick under his shoulder. For a second, he feels no different from Anti - but Doktor, unlike Anti, is not laughing at him.

“It’s okay,” murmurs Doktor, knocking their heads gently together. “It’s okay. Nice calm walk, right? Nice calm walk. Don’t think about that night.”

Trick stares at the forest floor, crying quietly, ashamed and angry. But at least he’s with Doktor.

“And we’re going into town,” soothes Dok. “You were excited just a few minutes ago. Yes? So let’s go back to that. No stress right now. Just going to town. Nice, slow, quiet walk. Okay?”

Trick swallows hard. He’s right, really. He doesn’t want to ruin this for Doktor. He’s going to get him a coat and maybe new glasses… something for Red, so he gets off his back… and even the kid doesn’t seem so scary now, staring in awe at the world around him, clinging to Deutsch’s hand…

“Okay,” he whispers, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

It takes forty minutes to walk to town.

It’s pretty out and the leaves are falling in red and gold around the trees. The town is an old town, a small town, a quiet town, with cobbled streets and tiny shops with foreign writing on top.

“There’s the shop,” says Dok, letting Trick out from under his arm. “You know what you need to get?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Okay then,” grins Dok, stepping back behind his little brother. “Lead the way, my friend.”

And Trick, gripping the cash in his hands, smiles right back.

spicydanhowell asked: (psst dok. wipe the blood off his head before you go into the store)

“Oh, scheisse! Good point.” Dok turns to Dap and pulls out a smaller canteen from his pocket, tugging Dapper’s head slightly down and washing out his hair. “I should have bandaged this, I’m sorry.”

But Dapper just has his eyes closed, enjoying having his hair touched.

Truth be told, Doktor’s surprised to find him so gentle. Most of his memories of Carver are stained heavily in blood.

“How did you manage to hit your head so hard?” asks Doktor, trying to sound nonchalant. “You were doing it because you wanted to hurt yourself, or just bored?”

Dapper looks up, his eyes cloudy. He reaches up softly to touch his head.

“Did I do that to myself?”

Trick is waiting for them expectantly by the door. Doktor sighs and takes Dap’s hand, heading after him. “We don’t have to worry about that right now.”

Anonymous asked: whiskey? cigarettes? do you need infant formula or- oops, forget i said that :)

Trick blinks as he enters the store, his mouth falling slightly open. “Why would I need that?” he mumbles, trying to keep from looking like he’s talking to himself. “Oh, I get it, you’re teasing Dap? That’s funny.”

He gets a basket and starts picking up the things they need - food, soap, cough drops, gauze, vitamins, iodine. Turning around, he always finds Dap and Dok close to hand, and makes sure to shoot Dapper a few warning glares, hating the sight of his hand in Doktor’s and his kiddish delight with everything in the store. Dapper always cowers away from his looks, but Trick’s not about to fall into his sweet, innocent little kid trap. He scowls and turns back to his shopping.

“Look at this,” Doktor laughs, examining some foreign cookies with funny faces on them. Dapper grins and pulls away from him, wandering the aisle with a soft smile on his face. Trick’s relieved. He turns back to his basket, trying to focus.

And he’s still thinking about those fucking words.

Whiskey, why would he need whiskey? Henrik has disinfectant. He’s not allowed to drink. No one asked for it. He doesn’t need it.

Cigarettes, as if. He hates those fucking things - the nasty smell of the cancerous smoke, the taste of a kiss coated in tar, still sweet despite the poison, because it was her mouth and he loved her -

He bites down hard on his lip, staring at the shelves in the aisle before him, surrounding him with baby supplies.

Sippy cups. Pacifiers with monkeys or bears in tutus on them. Shampoo, sweet-smelling baby shampoo, warm and familiar, wafting. Rows of diapers with chubby, smiling infants patterned along the green boxes. Tiny outfits, tiny shoes, tiny socks in different patterns. Monitors, tubs, hygiene products, wipes, toys -

He’s stopped in front of the toys, shaking.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He’s just standing here, motionless in aisle six, staring at the toddler toys.

This feeling is familiar to him, though he wishes it wasn’t. The feeling that his heart is trying to benchpress a lot more weight than it can carry, that his lungs have gotten a fight with his ribs and made friends with his backbone instead, that his whole body is one great vessel of this terrible, terrible agony - the feeling that something is gone from him that he loved more than anything else that has ever drawn breath on the face of the earth.

He chokes. Sobs. Puts a shaking hand on his chest. No, no, why is he always so weak? He has to keep it together. He can’t keep crying so much. Everyone must think he’s so pathetic. No matter what he does, so pathetic. He’s never enough to earn any love. Never enough to have back what he wants, what he wants, this terrible ghost of a love he can’t remember, the wonderful warmth in his arms -

A hand touches his.

He jolts hard, recoiling.

Dapper falls back too, his hand drawing away.

His eyes are large and worried. His eyes are intelligent. Trick feels that he is staring a fox in the face.

“Why upset?” signs Dapper, tilting his head at him.

Trick backs off, panting, and lets out a sharp snapping scoff, turning his teary eyes away, fixating again on the toys in front of him. His eyes lock on a little sheet of crinkle paper and he sticks with it, trying not to cry. He won’t cry in front of Dapper. Won’t prove to him that he is better than Trick in every way.

Dapper reaches slowly forward and pulls the crinkle paper off the shelf. He holds it out to Trick.

Biting his lip to blood, Trick accepts it.

“It’s okay,” signs Dapper gently. “I think little kid stuff is really cute too.”

“Yeah,” chokes Trick, squeezing the paper in his hands. It has whales on it. “Yeah, cute.”

Dapper smiles and steps back, turning around to go find Doktor again. It is only after he is out of sight that Trick realizes he knew he was not crying because of the cuteness of the baby aisle. He gave him a chance to save face.

He should be grateful, but he’s mostly ashamed.

With shaking hands, he sets the crinkle paper in his basket.

There’s my gift for myself, he reasons, rubbing at his eyes. Now I need to get things for my brothers.

florenceisfalling asked: chase, why aren't you allowed to drink? and oh- what's doktor looking at now?

“Well, it’s not good for you to drink, you get sick and addicted and then you can’t function and shit - fuck, what is he looking at?”

Trick moves forward again and looks back at the last aisle, managing a grin at the sight of Dok happily shuffling through a bin of discount books. “How about this one?” asks Doktor, wheeling on him.

“What is it?”

“Thornton Wilder.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard the name so he’s probably famous. It’s 10 krone.”

“Fucking bargain. Get it.”

Dok beams, hurrying forward with the book clutched under one arm. He grabs Trick’s free hand and Trick tries to smile back at him, without much success.

“How about a coat for you?” suggests Trick.

“Oh, I’d rather get a coat for you.”

“My jacket is thicker than yours. We’ll get you one.”

“Gloves, at least, for you.”

“If we have money.”

“Red said I could get you gloves. That means you have to.”

Trick sighs, a small smile flickering over his mouth. “Okay, fine. Dapper, stay with us, we’re moving. Just a few more things before we head home.”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, how are you enjoying being outside the house! What's your favorite part? How's seeing your brothers again?

“I like it, I like it, I like it! I am a little scared because I don’t understand why Anti said I can go and usually only lets me out of the house for my chore, and he didn’t tell me if I need to do my chore today or not.” You notice that his hands, and even his smiling mouth, are trembling, but he still looks happy and bright-eyed. “My favorite part is probably when we were walking around, because I haven’t seen any trees but the ones right outside my window for a long time, and there were different trees today, and I liked them. I hope we will see a dog today! And seeing my brothers is - ”

He glances up at Trick and Dok, walking hand-in-hand in front of him.

“Well, Trick is not different from what I expected, but Doktor - ”

Dapper is suddenly wiping miserably at his eyes, a darkness returned to his face. “Well, Doktor doesn’t actively hate me, so… better than I thought. I really like having someone to touch other than Anti… I know that sounds stupid.”

“Hey, Carver,” calls Doktor, and Dapper hurries after him, reaching his side to find him standing in the school supplies section, complete with notebooks, pencils, and art supplies. “You want to pick something out?”

Dapper’s eyes widen. He stares at the pencils and paper for a long time. Doktor waits patiently, watching him with analysis in physician’s eyes, concerned with the boy’s erraticism. Finally, Dapper reaches out with shaky hands to take a small pack of charcoals and a big sketchbook with a windmill on the cover. 200 krone total. Not bad, Doktor figures, for a man trapped in a single room all day, every day.

“Come on, then,” says Doktor, reaching out a hand, and Dapper, smiling sweetly, reaches out to take it.

spicydanhowell asked: hey if you guys bought a coat for one of you, the other could wear both jackets at once? then you'll both be warm. (but also dok... why do you cover the scar on trick's hand? what happened to him?)

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” admits Trick, picking a pack of nice black gloves off a rack near the back of the store. “Sometimes Anti takes clothes away if we’re not using them enough or he gets tired of them, but maybe we could. That would be warmer, especially at night. It’s getting so cold.”

He blinks down at his hand as Doktor comes up behind him, adding neosporin to the basket. “We cover that up because, um… people have noticed it before.”

“It’s ugly,” Trick snaps, tired of mincing words. “Looks like my skin’s fucking tree bark. Disgusting-ass burn.”

“Hey,” snaps Dok, snatching his hand out of the air. “What have I told you about putting yourself down like that?”

“What, like it matters?” growls Trick, gripping at his hair. Doktor recognizes anguish in his movements and frowns, reaching out to touch his face, but Trick only shoves away from him, clutching at his crinkle paper, reassuring under his fingers.

“You want to hear about that night, do you?” he snaps, glaring at his scar. “I was just trying to keep us warm! It’s not my fault! Anti said to look after them while he was away and they - they were so cold!”

Tears spark in his eyes and he backs away.

“Enough,” demands Doktor, shoving the camera away from him. “Enough, let’s speak no more of this.”

“I didn’t mean to disobey,” whispers Trick, holding his own burned, scarred fingers in his hand. “I just didn’t want you to freeze… he told me to look after you…”

Anonymous asked: anti burned you? that doesn't sound like a loving brother

Trick flushes bright red, staring at you.

He glances down at his hand. Back up again. Down at his hand.

“Well,” he whispers, curling his hand into his chest. “Maybe that’s because Anti doesn’t love me.”

Uncurls his hand. Curls his hand. Stares at his hand.

“Not like he loves the others.”

His fingers were so burned he couldn’t move the hand at all for three weeks. Try handling a sniper like that. He earned plenty of abuse for his inability to do what he was supposed to, too, and every time, he faced it with more confusion, more distress. He was trying his best, he promised, he promised.

“Anti’s too good for me, really… I’m just the little fuck-up of the family. I know he doesn’t love me like the others, but… at least he keeps me, right?”

His hand opens, trembling.

“I started a fire,” he whispers. “To keep Doktor and Dapper warm, while Red and Anti were away on a mission. We were staying in this warehouse… it was January and freezing. Anti didn’t like the smoke. When he got back, he told me to put it out with my bare hands… so I did. Better a burn than what he would have done to me otherwise. And I was such a baby about it too. Couldn’t s-stop crying. He was so - he was so - so angry - so - so - ”

Trick snarls and backs away, angered by his own stammer. Ashamed. Clutching his hand to his chest.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he chokes out. “As long as Anti keeps me. I don’t think that I’ll ever earn his love. But at least he hasn’t thrown me out and taken my brothers away from me. I wouldn’t survive it.”

spicydanhowell asked: is red going to like what you all picked out? if i know him, he'd probably be mad if you forgot something... (also i think he has a thing for peanut butter so that might sate his rage a bit. ;) he seemed angry this morning.)

“Oh, peanut butter!” Doktor’s glancing around the store, trying to figure out if they forgot something. “Good idea, good protein! Let’s put one of these fruit cans back and get that instead. And I think he’ll like these?”

Doktor holds up a pair of good running sneakers, cheap but stylish, with blue laces and a white-grey pattern. “Not too expensive, either. They’re off-brand of course.”

“Not like Trick’s,” he adds, puffing up a little, grinning proudly at you. “He’s got real Converse. He loves those things. But Red, I suppose, needs some running shoes too.” He shrugs with fake modesty, grinning,

“Having money for once is going to your head,” grumbles Trick from an aisle away, and Doktor laughs.

immabethehero asked: Hey Anti! 🖕 Bitch. 🖕

Your cameras back home have lost connection, but the boys at the store hear you. Trick sighs and rolls his eyes, rubbing at his face. He wishes he could keep it together for a single day, but here they are. “They don’t have anything to say, let’s go,” he grumbles, heading towards the register, where a portly, cheerful-looking old woman is offering a smaller child a coloring book to play with on the counter.

“We got everything?” asks Dok.

“Present for me, present for Dap, present for Red. Food, all the medicine stuff you asked for. Got your coat?”

Doktor holds it up proudly. It’s green and thick, with faux fur on the big comfy hood, good for sleeping on. It’ll fall all the way to the backs of his knees. 370 krone. The most expensive thing they’re buying, by far, but worth it. Trick feels a rush of pride. It’s been a long time since he was able to get anything for anyone, let alone something nice for the person he loves more than anyone he remembers in the whole world.

Well, not more than Anti, obviously. “Let’s just check out,” he says, flustered.

The child on the counter ignores them as they unload their basket, cheerfully coloring in a picture of a storm trooper. Trick gazes at the gun in its hand while Doktor tries clumsily to make conversation with the woman at the counter. They usually pretend to be German when they’re out, so Doktor’s doing his best to make himself understood, while she only speaks a few words. She’s polite, though - interested, patient, friendly. She gives Dapper a big smile and he gives her a big smile back. Trick wonders idly if his little brother is always this friendly, even with the people he’s sent after - until, of course, he pulls out a knife. He’s a good little actor, he thinks, glaring over at him. Dapper blushes and looks away, scooting a little closer to Doktor.

Their total is close to 2000 krone, and Trick is so flooded with relief he almost faints. He’d been keeping track of the cost, of course, but he can’t help but always expect that something will go wrong. He counts out the cash quickly, smiling at the woman, who looks a little concerned at his enthusiasm. She pats his hand when he’s given it over with a comforting little smile and he tries not to flinch away, his burned fingers coiling up in his palm.

“Takk,” he says, grinning as he and his brothers scoop up their groceries and start shoving things in their backpacks. Doktor pulls the coat on and Trick beams.

“Takk,” answer the cashier and her grandchild, and then laugh at their synchronization, waving them goodbye. Trick is warmed by the fondness between them, by the presence of his brother, by the bags full of food and medicine and everything they need.

“That is everything we need, right?” he asks as they get outside.

“Umm,” says Doktor, thinking. Glancing around, he spots a pharmacy, a little tourist shop, a boat rental place, a fish and chips place, and a playground. “I think so? Is it?”

“We can’t forget something, Dok. Anti won’t like it.”

“I know. But I can’t remember if we need something else?”

“Well, we’ve still got like… 400 krone. Anti told us to spend it…”

Trick crinkles the cash in his hands, biting his lip. “So we…. could do that.”

Doktor glances at him, surprised, but he doesn’t say anything.

“We could… spend it if we wanted. Or… well, we could spend it. On something we need, if we can think of anything. Or, well. It’s midday, we haven’t eaten yet.” He glances over at the restaurant.

“Can’t remember the last time I ate something fried up,” he sighs, wistful. “Homemade. You think it’s normal fish and chips or something local? I guess it wouldn’t matter. Still be tasty.”

“So - lunch, something we need or save it,” Dok summarizes, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“Shh,” hisses Trick, glaring over at Dapper. “But… yeah. Yeah. What do you think?”

“I’m not sure. I almost feel like we’re missing something. But I’d really like something to eat. Or it could be safer to… not spend it.”

Trick sighs and glances over at the camera. “Well, what do you think?”

Anonymous asked: Did you get something for Blue?

Trick glances up. “That’s a really good note, but Anti said he’d get what he needed for Blue. Thanks for reminding us anyway, we would have been in trouble if we forgot something for him otherwise. We’ll share food and stuff with him, of course, but I guess Anti has his own plans for the other stuff he needs. New pets sometimes get… different treatment than the rest of us.”

Anonymous asked: dapper keeps secrets from anti too. he likes to keep little animals as pets, so as long as you don't tell anti about his raven, he definitely won't tell anti about you stashing the extra 400 for an emergency... orrr you can buy yourselves a luxury haha

Dapper flushes white and staggers away from his brothers, his hands rising up in front of his chest. He shakes his head hard, trying to stay steady through the rising rhythm of his heart, shaking his whole body.

“You keep secrets from Anti?” hisses Trick.

“You keep a raven?” asks Doktor, bewildered.

“No, no, no!” Dapper’s back slams against the wall of the store and he shakes his head. “No, no, no, she’s gone now!”

“Oh, this is too fucking rich,” laughs Trick. His voice is bitter as rhubarb. “You’re Anti’s spoiled little brat and even then it’s too hard for you to follow his orders? Oh, wait til he fucking hears about this.”

Carver gives a little croaking gasp, his hands finding the knife in his coat pocket.

“Trick!” snarls Doktor, grabbing him and yanking him towards him. “Stop, now. Drop it.”

“What? You just think we should let him get away with - ”

“I don’t fucking care if Anti knows or not,” snaps Doktor. “It doesn’t concern me. But how about this hypothetical, Trick - Anti finds out you threatened his little one. How do you think he’d take that, huh? Or better put, how do you think you’d take another beating?”

Trick’s gone almost as white as Dapper. “Okay. Okay.”

“I don’t care if you tell Anti. But don’t threaten the boy. I don’t want to get my ass beat because of the stupid decisions that my little brothers make. Understood?”

Trick nods. “Yes, Doktor.”

Dapper stares at the ground, his mouth trembling.

“Okay,” says Doktor, releasing Trick. “So that’s one in favor of saving the cash… provided we don’t all snitch.”

Anonymous asked: Wouldn’t Anti be mad if you saved it? I feel like that’s the best option but I’m worried that he’d get mad and punish you if he found out you had some money left.

“Yeah,” sighs Trick, staring down at the krone. “He would be. It’s just… well, never mind. Okay. That’s one for spend it.”

Anonymous asked: Well, Anti did say specifically to spend it all. So at the very least, if you want to save it, don't give it back to him because he doesn't want it. Do you ever go into town and have not enough money so savings would be helpful, or would it be better to have something you can use? Or food, now?

“Yeah, sometimes we don’t have enough for anything,” murmurs Trick. “Red never says it, but I can tell, because he stops eating. So that’s two for savings.”

florenceisfalling asked: maybe you could get a gift for anti? he didn't tell you to, but he might appreciate it. that could help you out, trick.

“Oh, interesting.” Trick blinks up at you, thinking. “Guess I’m not sure what I’d get him, though. All he likes are knives and computers. If someone has an idea, let me know.”

loganandoli asked: Anti said to spend all the money and to get food and gifts! You said before you needed a first aid kit and some soap too, so if you got all that then I think you’re good! :)

“He did say to spend it all.” Trick sighs out a deep breath. “And we got all that… And I’m really hungry right now. I don’t think we forgot anything… did we?”

immabethehero asked: Get Anti one of those toy phones. They're cheap. Or a black scarf.

“Haha, that’s pretty good really! A black scarf, I bet he’d like that. He has a red one he wears a lot when he’s out in public. Well, maybe I’ll think about that. I guess I’m not sure how he’d take it. I don’t want him to think I’m wasteful.”

Anonymous asked: I don't know what 400 krone can but, but maybe a space heater?

“A space heater, holy shit,” groans Trick. “Can you imagine? That would be fucking incredible. But there’s no electricity back at the house. Plus I don’t think we’d have enough. I’m sorry, I’d like that too.”

immabethehero asked: Use Anti as your electricity

Trick laughs. “You think he’d waste energy on keeping us warm?”

Anonymous asked: More ammo for your gun perhaps?

“Anti gets that for me! I never have to worry about that.”

Anonymous asked: Hmm. I read that you can use things like duct tape and plastic wrap or towels along windows and doors to prevent drafts, maybe?

“Oh, yeah! I think we have duct tape still in the med kit, right, Dok?”

“Yeah, from that time we ran out of gauze.”

“And we do have blankets.”

“Yep, yep.”

“We should try that, though.”

“Yeah, might help. House is drafty.”

immabethehero asked: If he wants you, he should. Give it a shot

Trick grins a little sadly. “I’m sorry, but Anti just doesn’t have time to fuel a fucking space heater for us. It’s a nice idea, though. Thank you.”

spicydanhowell asked: trick! be fucking nice! he's your brother and he loves you. he wants to love you but you treat him like shit because you're jealous of him. there's nothing spoiled about how carver has to live. he gets left alone all day and he's not allowed to touch or talk to anyone but anti, and anti hurts him and ties him up and you think that's special treatment? that's fucked up.

“Well, at least Anti fucking loves him!” shouts Trick, whirling on you. “At least he gets held and coddled and told he’s wanted and shit! Maybe that’s not spoiled to normal people, but my family’s not normal! At least he - at least he - at least - ”

Trick screams his frustration, only to find himself yanked towards Doktor and pressed against his brother’s side. “Calm down, Trick, goddammit! Calm down, they’re right! He’s your little brother too, you know.”

“He’s my only little brother,” snarls Trick, hiding his face in his hands. “And I never, never, never even get to see him!”

His voice shatters and he slumps against Doktor’s shoulder.

“Never get to see him,” whispers Dok, confused, brushing patiently at his hair. “Why does that upset you?”

Against the store wall, Dapper watches wearily, exhaustion in every line of his face - but a certain curiosity too.

“It doesn’t!” cries Trick, gripping Doktor’s shirt. “It doesn’t, it doesn’t! It - I don’t know! I don’t know! If I’m not supposed to remember anything why do I still miss him? I’m so angry! I’m so fucking angry all the time! I’m so fucking tired!”

“Okay, okay,” murmurs Dok, leading him to a bench on the playground and sitting them both down. “Okay, calm down. Let’s just breathe.”

For a few minutes, they sit in silence. Doktor rubs his brother’s back. Dapper watches, something hungry in his eyes.

After a little while, Trick lets out a soft laugh.

“Maybe they’re right,” he murmurs, pressed to Doktor’s chest. “Maybe his life isn’t any easier than this, up there all day, all alone. Cause much as I’d like Anti to want me more…”

He looks up. The earnestness in his eyes surprises Doktor. “Much as I want that,” says Chase. “I think, at the end of the day, I’d rather have you.”

Warmth blooms in Doktor’s chest like a rising tide. His cheeks fill in rosy red.

“Little sap,” he whispers, shoving their foreheads together. “I’m going to punch you in the arm for that one.”

Trick laughs, hiding his face in his shoulder.

“Don’t you go saying anything like that around Anti,” murmurs Doktor.

“Okay, Doktor, I won’t.”

“I love you too, Trick.”

“I love you, Dok.”

“Feeling calmer?”

“A little. Yeah. Calmer.”

“Well, let’s just… let’s just calm down. Let’s just - Trick, let’s get some lunch.”

Trick draws slowly back from him, hope in his eyes. “Really?”

Anonymous asked: Anti said to spend it ALL and I think he meant it...

Trick nods slowly, counting through his cash a second time. Swallowing, he looks up to meet Doktor’s eyes.

“So… spend it?”

Doktor grins slowly. “You want fish and chips?”

Trick shifts, smiling. “Haha, really? Really really? I was sort of kidding… it’s been forever since we had anything cooked.”

“Yeah. It has. We deserve a treat, huh?”

Trick grins dopily, like a little kid. “A treat, wow… um, maybe… I don’t know, Dok…”

spicydanhowell asked: if y'all are already hungry... you've got a long walk back, just buy some lunch and stop worrying :/

“That’s a good point,” giggles Trick. “We do have a long walk. We do need something to eat. We are supposed to spend it all.”

He stares down at the cash. Up at Dok.

“We’re getting fish and chips.”

“We’re getting lunch?”

“Dude. Dude. We’re getting lunch.”

They’re both laughing now. Trick feels a little overwhelmed. This is the fucking best.

“Okay, well, come on, then!”

“Okay, man, okay! Haha. Let’s get food!”

Doktor calls Dapper over to him - pausing gently to push a strand of hair out of his eyes before taking his hand - and they head past the pharmacy, over to the restaurant. There are other people milling around and the sun has risen cool and cheerful, sending wind brushing through their hair. They can smell the sea from here, crisp salt making the air clean.

The restaurant is more like a bar than anything else, and there are local workers off for lunch crowded around the bar, talking and laughing and chatting. After so long cooped up in that little house, Trick finds there’s something very comforting about the old, familiar feeling of other people being happy and safe around him. He squeezes Doktor’s hand and then asks for a table from a nice teenage waitress, who, luckily, seems to speak good English.

They end up in the corner, exactly where they’d prefer. Dapper presses up against the wall, looking tired.

“You want fish too or what?” asks Trick, avoiding his eyes.

Dapper sits up uncertainly, wondering if he’s being made fun of. He glances at Doktor, who shrugs and smiles.

“Yes?” knocks Dapper, frowning.

“Okay,” says Trick, checking prices. “We can get fizzy drinks too and then we should be close enough to spending it all. Safely close. Sound good?”

Dapper stares at him. “Yes,” he says finally. Sounds really good. He’s not sure he’s allowed to eat anything without Anti’s permission, but… Trick’s in charge right now, so he’ll go with it.

He glances over at Doktor again. Doktor smiles back. Trick looks cheerful, bouncing a little in his seat. The sun shines through the window.

Dapper giggles and sinks down in his seat, resting his head on Doktor’s shoulder, and he isn’t pushed away or even glared at by Trick.

Today’s a good day.

Anonymous asked: Eat out and save your goods for later!

“True!” grins Trick, setting his backpack down beside him and looking down at all of his stuff, proud of everything he’s secured for his family. “Saving more food for later!”

musical-in-theory asked: To quote my favorite show: “Love, hate, they’re so close. It’s easy to mistake one for the other.” Trickshot. Hate is easy, but it’s wrong. Hate is easy, but it’s not the only option. Hate is easy, but that’s not what this is. You get a choice. He’s not your twin, but he is your little brother. He’s your family.

Trick and Dapper exchange uncomfortable looks and turn back to their food, gone quiet. Trick and Doktor are mostly done, but Dapper has only picked at his food, though he has looked pretty happy, if a little tuckered out.

nikkilbook asked: This has to be the most physical activity Dap’s had in... what did he say, two months? Given how small that room is and how often he ends up tied up or restricted, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ended with muscle atrophy. How’s he doing? He’s gotta be exhausted, especially with how out of it he was this morning.

Dapper giggles. “Anti and I tussle a lot, he doesn’t want me to get too out of shape. I roll around a lot and stuff. Sometimes Anti even dances with me.”

He puts his chin in his hand and stares dreamily out the window. “That’s the most fun, when he does things with me. But I am a little tired… I haven’t been sleeping well. Or I don’t think I have. Have I? I can’t remember what time we’re in. Is it still today?”

Doktor and Trick exchange quizzical looks over the table.

Anonymous asked: You know, Dap. You have the ability to keep reliving this day. This one good day. Anti wouldn’t have to know.

Dapper sinks down in his seat, avoiding his brother’s eyes.

“The thing is, he often knows,” he sighs. “I get tired within a couple tries and he sees… my eyes change and I wear down… and if I ever used too much power and then wasn’t able to reverse things later…”

Dapper pauses, clutching his shaking hands together, biting down on his lip. Trick frowns. He never noticed they shared that tic before.

“I think he would just kill me,” admits Dapper. “I wouldn’t be of any use to him then.”

Trick and Doktor have gone quiet.

“But, if I could pick a day to relive…” Dapper grins and takes a sip from his drink. “It might be a day like today.”

musical-in-theory asked: Oh and Anti. My “fuck you” alarm just went off. You know what that means! Damn you, you absolute pecan. You three-month-old stale potato chip.

Your connection back home fizzles. You catch sight of Dapper’s room. There is something red drizzling across the floor of the bathroom.

musical-in-theory asked: Wait, wait. Hold the fuck up. What?

“I’m the fuck up,” whispers Trick. “Hold me.”

He and Doktor dissolve into giggles over their fish. Dapper tilts his head at you, confused.

florenceisfalling asked: well, maybe look for some hand warmer packs? they might be hard to find, especially if you don't know the language, but they heat up really fast without electricity (they're just lil chemical things in a bag). i dunno, we use them for hunting and hiking here. irrelevant but how's blue doing? or have the cameras lost connection still?

“Hand warmer packs,” repeats Trick, popping his last chip in his mouth. “That’s a really good idea! Fuck, I gotta tell Red that. They don’t use electricity? That could be really good, especially if - ”

“Wait, hold on,” protests Doktor, sitting forward. “The cameras lost connection?”

Trick blinks and sits up, looking at you. Dapper reaches quietly into his vest.

“The ones back at the house?” asks Doktor. “All of them? Entirely?”

He turns to look at Trick.

“I think we should go home. Cameras being disrupted could mean Anti’s in danger.”

“If Blue got loose…” murmurs Trick, remembering flowers bursting up through concrete.

“Blue didn’t get loose,” snaps Doktor. “Nobody ever gets loose from Anti. Come on, let’s just - I think we should just get home.”

“Okay, shit - I - okay.” Trick leaves the cash on the table and slings his backpack over his shoulder. Doktor grabs Dap’s hand and they head out together. The sky is beginning to cloud over.

Anonymous asked: Red? Blue?? ... Someone there?

Your downstairs camera flickers, trying to answer you. You’re fairly sure there is a body at the bottom of the stairs. Nothing is moving. The camera screen is glitching heavily. There is a soft but painful whining in the air - and maybe, if you listen, someone singing.

musical-in-theory asked: Guys hurry up!! Something bad went down back at the house and we can’t make out what happened!

“Fucking hell,” whispers Trick, picking up his pace along the trail. Dapper, on the other hand, is slowing down, his face dark with concern.

“I can feel his power,” he tells you, but his brothers are not looking at him. “He is dangerous when he uses this much.”

nikkilbook asked: Boys, I’m not sure what, but something’s gone sideways back at the house. I’d suggest you hurry, but be on your guard.

“We do need to be on our guard,” groans Dok, growing closer to the house. “Trick, maybe we should - maybe we should stay away.”

“The others could be in trouble, are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure! We’re just not exactly the fighters of the house, are we?”

Trick pants, biting down on his lip. “Got your gun?” he asks.

Dok’s face steadies and he pulls from beneath his jacket a beautiful silver handgun.

“Well, there’s something, isn’t there?”

Doktor nods, face white. “Get your knives out. Both of you. Trick, you’re sure about this?”

“No,” answers Trick, grinning. “But I don’t think we have much choice, do we?”

“Well,” sighs Dok, resuming his march. “When do we ever, my friend?”

Anonymous asked: Goddamnit.... Anti, anything you can tell us?? (Two others asking after Anti were added)

The screens flicker as one.

“What,” read green words glitching across the screen. “Are you so afraid of?”

The body at the bottom of the stairs is not moving. From Dapper’s room, something blue has joined the red on the floor of the bathroom. There is movement inside, and then quiet laughter.

The screen steadies.

Anti steps out of the bathroom.

There’s a towel, stained red and blue, wrapped around his throat. He approaches carefully, leans down to the floor, and scoops the camera up.

He looks exhausted.

But proud.

“Well, hey there, puppets,” he purrs. “How was your day out on the town, huh? Do you want to see what I’ve been working on? Huh? Or are you too scared to see what’s happened to your favorite boy?”

musical-in-theory asked: We are not puppets!! Just fucking show us the damage!! FUCK YOU

Anti drops the camera on the floor, sniffing. “Well, you can wait for the other boys to get home and hope they have the courage to investigate if you want.”

ari-trash asked: I'm a bit scared of what we'll see but I do wanna see the boy

“Now there’s a politer way to ask,” purrs Anti, scooping up the camera. “Or at least the bare minimum. Of course you want to see him! He’s a good boy! He’s wonderful, he’s mine. I’ll consider it.”

nikkilbook asked: Is it too much to hope that they had a roaring good time and Good Boy A is just taking a snooze downstairs and Good Boy B is getting his hair dyed in the bathroom. Cuz like. What the frick else is that blue stuff.

Anti laughs aloud. “You guessed it, Nikki, good job! Hahaha! That’s too funny. Good job, you must be the smart one. I’m not sure Red’s sleeping, but, hey, he’s quiet, isn’t he?”

nikkilbook asked: Not sure how I feel about Concerningly Amoral Boy calling me the smart one, but okay.

“Concerningly Amoral should be the name of a band. I like that.”

Anonymous asked: Ooh, our favorite puppetmaster's been busy? Well, if you'd let us see, we'd be glad to see your latest project :)

Anti giggles. “Okay, someone knows how to have fun. Come here, I want you to see.” He carries you back towards the bathroom and knocks gently on the door. “Blue? I’m bringing someone in to see you, okay?”

A pause. Soft breathing in heavy air. Then, shakily: “Okay.”

Anti carries you into the room.

Blue is stretched across the floor, shirtless.

His long, neatly-kept hair is gone, or at least it is lying on the floor of the bathroom instead of clipped up on the back of his head. Anti cut it off with warm hands, shaving the sides, leaving it longer on the top, which is soaked in a fine blue dye.

Blue’s eyes are dazed and empty. He stares blankly up at you, shaking a little from the cold. He moves, but only very slowly. Anti crouches down and puts a hand on his shoulder, rubbing his bare skin gently. “That looks good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, playing with a lock of his hair, leaving blue on the ends of his reddened fingers. “That looks nice. How are you feeling?”

Blue blinks and swallows. “F-feel sick, Anti.”

“Poor thing,” whispers Anti. “It’s okay. I told you I’d look after you, wouldn’t I?”

Blue nods slowly, tears in his eyes. Anti brushes them away and leans in to kiss the side of his mouth. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Hey, tell them you’re name.”

Blue stares up at the camera, his face very pale. “It’s Blue,” he says. “That’s what Anti told me.”

“Right,” murmurs Anti, stroking his shoulder. “Right.”

Anonymous asked: Wait, really? Why would you dye his hair?

“Oh, simple,” says Anti, standing up. “I fucking love character design.

“Isn’t it fitting that a new man should have a new haircut? New clothes? A new name? You know, in the Bible, when God would give a mission to someone he loved, a new purpose for living, he would rename them and send them away from the places they grew up. Simon becomes Peter, Abram Abraham, and so on. You have to destroy the old person to make way for the new.”

Anti pauses, tapping his lip. “Jack told me I was misunderstanding those stories, once,” he admits. “But I like to think my point stands. This is my new pet. He is no longer the man you knew. And he does not look it. You will see soon enough that nothing at all is left of your precious boy.”

Anonymous asked oh god, what have you done? What did you do, what did you do to them Anti? Was sending them out just a distraction? What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?

Anti smiles. “Hey, Blue,” he calls. “How long have you been with me, darling?”

Blue looks up, his eyes bewildered. He rubs dully at his face. “Don’t… don’t remember…”

“No? Can you tell me how many brothers you have?”

Blue frowns, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “You,” he stammers out, trying hard to think. “And… the other boy… Red… right?”

Anti simpers, smirking at you.

“Anti, my head hurts,” whines Blue, sinking down against the bathroom floor.

Anti reaches down to help him up again, rubbing his back. “Let’s get you downstairs, huh? Twin’s going to look after you. Okay? Let’s get you down for some sleep.”

nikkilbook asked: While I agree that Biblically, the new name is associated with laying aside your old life, I think the real misunderstanding here is yOU AREN’T GOD.

“No one is,” sighs Anti, sounding disappointed. He helps Blue get to his feet, stroking the back of his head, and his little brother leans in to rest against his shoulder.

musical-in-theory asked: Fine. A punishment, slight or harsh, is far better than a reward in this case. To do right by you is to give in to evil.

“Evil,” sighs Anti, and then, distantly, “What is truth?”

Anonymous asked: Anti, I hope you realize that when karma comes back around, shes going to make you pay dearly for what you have done here

“She better hurry up, then, I’m tired of waiting for her. No one ever makes me pay for anything. Being unequaled can be boring, you know.”

musical-in-theory asked: Okay Anti. I knew you were a damn psychopath, but why did you have to cut the hair? His gorgeous hair! Imma start calling you Telly the Barber for this

Anti giggles and there is a flicker in his audio. A second later, his mouth is moving, but out comes the voice of Cecil Palmer, intoning, “He talks with an accent and sneers. Telly the Barber cut Carlos’s beautiful hair. According to reports. Telly. Now, while I gather myself, let’s have a look at traffic. Oh, wow! Well, that looks pretty good. Yup.”

Anti sneezes and cuts himself off, laughing, his voice returned to normal. Blue, close at hand, looks vaguely unnerved.

musical-in-theory asked: Nope you don’t get to wax poetic here with philosophical questions. You’re a damn brainwasher and torturer.

To your credit, Anti is in fact beginning to look tired of talking. He heaves Marvin closer to hand and strokes along his stomach, glaring at you.

ari-trash asked: Is the new look the "gift" you mentioned giving to blue or do you still have something left for him?

“Ah, there’s a good question,” purrs Anti, helping Blue to sit on Dapper’s bed. “In fact that was only the first part of the gift. I got him a lot of presents. It’s his birthday, after all! His and Red’s.” He leans down to kiss Blue again, self-satisfied to the extreme, and Blue doesn’t flinch away. “Stay here for a second, kitten.”

Anti leaves the camera with Blue, who stares blankly down at you.

Anonymous asked: Marvin....? Are you still there? I said once that I wouldn't let your forget who you were and I am desperately hoping I haven't failed you. please, Marvin, you have to remember! You cant let him brand you!

Blue flinches every time you try to say the name, rubbing at his ears as a sharp shrieking noise reaches him again and again. “That’s awful, please stop,” he murmurs. “I have such a headache. You’re going to help me? I could really use that, I - ”

Tears spark in his eyes and his mouth quivers. He turns away, angry for crying in front of strangers. “I can’t remember who I am and Anti - well, he’s not very good at explaining…”

Anonymous asked: My, my, what a thorough job. That’s honestly impressive :P What happened to the little redbird, if we may ask?

“Thank you,” hums Anti, sorting through his closet. “And good question. My little cardinal has been so anxious lately. I noticed he was having trouble getting on with his twin. And that won’t do. I made it easier on both of them. You’ll see.”

spicydanhowell asked: could you put some clothes on him!? it's fucking freezing

“Good idea! I sure can.” Anti slings a bag over his shoulders and hurries back to Blue, setting it down beside him. “You must be freezing, Blue.”

“Yeah, it’s cold…”

“Here, get dressed, and then we’ll get you downstairs to lie down with twin. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Anti pauses, tilting his head. “Okay?”

Blue blinks, swallows, remembers. “Okay, Anti,” he manages. “Yes, sir.”

Anti laughs, hard, stroking his cheek. “There’s a good boy. There’s a really good cat. Everything’s going to be okay. Get changed, now.”

Anonymous asked: Ah. Right. He can't be disagreeable if he's not conscious. A-plus logic in peace building there.

“Oh, no, no, nothing so shallow as that.” Anti shakes his head, tsking his tongue against his teeth. “What do you take me for? No, something more permanent for my red dog.”

nikkilbook asked: I take you for a toddler with very few positive conflict resolution skills.

Anti pauses, considers, shrugs. “I’m five, so. It is what it is. PMA, right, guys?”

Anonymous asked: Tenacity, maybe. But not pma sorry.

“Yeah, well, I never understood that saying anyway.”

Anonymous asked: Boy howdy am I afraid for what's gonna happen next :D

Anti giggles and looks at you, giving you a huge smile in mimicry of the emoji. A second later a “:D” flickers across the screen and Anti bursts into laughter, turning away. “Okay, enough, enough! You’re all fucking comedians tonight, huh?”

Anonymous asked: what the fuck have you done to red? specifically what.

“Check him out for yourself, fuck, I’m exhausted,” snaps Anti, suddenly irritable. “When are my boys coming home? I’m tired, I want Monochroma, the bed is cold.”

Anonymous asked: Red? Can you hear me?

On the stairs, a soft whimper. The body stirs, turning slightly on its side.

Anonymous asked: Are trick and doktor still far away from the house?

Doktor approaches the house with the others close beside him. He keeps them at his back - he’s the older brother and he understands that, despite the benefits of his birth order, this also means his job is to protect the younger ones.

The door to house is shut, or as shut as it ever is, missing its topmost hinge. As they get closer, Dapper begins to gag, shaking his head hard, yanking back against Doktor’s grip.

“Hey, hey,” hisses Doktor, turning to him. “What’s wrong, the hell are you doing?”

“Power, power,” signs Dapper, shaking. “Bad, bad.”

“Blue’s power?” asks Trick, clutching his knife tighter. “Did he hurt Anti?”

“No, no, Anti power.”

“Well, then, what’s the matter?” sighs Doktor.

“Bad, bad,” whines Dapper, tears filling up his eyes. “Don’t want, don’t want go. Hurt me too.”

“No, no,” murmurs Doktor, turning back to soothe him. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

loganandoli asked: Hey Trick, Doktor, Carver, you’re all good. Anti was just dying Blues hair. He did do something to them both though, so be careful.

“There, there, see?” Doktor hushes Dap, reaching out to squeeze his shoulders gently. “Just hair dye! Just silly, fun stuff, yes? It’s okay.”

“Power, power, power,” signs Dapper, gagging, pulling away. It’s pretty clear that Doktor isn’t enough to reassure him.

Anonymous asked: Trickshot? You guys close yet? Where are you? We only have a vague idea of what's going on but I think the danger's passed for now.

Trick glances at you, nods, and stands up. There is a sudden light returned to his eyes, one you have never seen before. He turns to Dapper, hiding his face in his hands, and then reaches out, just gentle, to take his hand.

Dapper flinches at first, staring up at him with fear in his eyes, but a second passes, and Trickshot doesn’t hurt him. He’s finding it difficult to even meet his eyes, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I get it, okay?” he whispers. “It’s scary even when it shouldn’t be scary.”

Dapper stares, his face loosening slightly.

“But we can’t not go in. Right? It would be worse to try and run away than to stay and risk it.”

Dapper nods slightly, considering.

“If something goes really bad, you can reverse it, can’t you?”

Dapper looks exhausted. But he nods again, reaching out to touch Trick’s cheek.

Trick sighs but allows it, taking Dap’s hand in his own.

“And they say the danger’s past, don’t they?”

Dapper scowls, turning his face away. “Don’t trust them,” he snaps, baring his teeth. “Snitches!”

Trick can’t help it. He’s laughing.

“Okay, you’re right.”

“Told on me!”

“They did.”

“Twice!”

“I know, Dap,” sighs Trick. “I know. And yet…”

And yet, they have to go in. And yet, they have to trust you. And yet, Trick does not plan to tell Anti.

“We gotta go in there,” says Trick. “Don’t we?”

Dapper sighs and steadies himself, standing up straight. “What if I don’t get to leave again? For months, maybe?”

Trick bites his lip. Dapper copies him. Trick smiles, suddenly weighed down heavy by all the bullshit sorrow in his bullshit life.

“Well,” he says. “At least we had one day of freedom, didn’t we?”

Dapper’s mouth flickers in a smile. He reaches out to touch Trick’s cheek again, and this time, Trick takes his hand in his own, and squeezes it tight, staring him right in the eyes.

“Okay,” say Dapper’s exhausted hands. “Okay. Let’s go in. Come what may.”

loganandoli asked: Red? Can you hear us? Are you ok? What did he do?

The body turns over, revealing open blue eyes, staring right at you. A look of confusion on his face, a slight tremor on his mouth, red dye in his hair, cut short at the sides, left longer on top, just like Blue upstairs.

“Red,” he repeats wearily, his voice frail, and shaking, and very, very confused.

Anonymous asked: Red, are you alright? Can you move, buddy?

He blinks, swallows, and tries his best to sit up, managing to slump against the wall next to the stairs, panting hard. His head is unwrapped and he clutches at it, groaning. “I can move,” he manages thickly. “I can… Red…what’s…”

musical-in-theory asked: Wait, Jackie? Is that you?

“Ow, fuck,” he moans, clutching his head at the screeching. “Please…”

Anonymous asked: Dok, get your medkit ready. There's gonna be blood...

Dok rummages in his backpack to draw out gauze and disinfectant, so he at least has something ready. In his other hand, he holds the gun out.

“On three, okay?” he whispers, nodding at his brothers. “One, two…��

He shoves open the door and points his gun, staring around. Near the bottom of the stairs, Red jolts up, staring back at him, letting out a quick, panicked shout. Above him, on the stairs, a second man has gone still, frozen by the gun in his hand.

“Umm,” says Doktor, fixated on him. “What… uh…”

“What the fuck?” gasps Trick. “Blue?”

Blue stares back at them, his mouth slightly open.

He wears a long black coat, thin but sturdy, with sleeves drawn up to his elbows and the tail hanging at the back of his knees. His hands are coated in rings and bracelets, his ears glimmer with silver, his shirt depicts the turning cycles of the moon, he wears blue jeans and soft black boots.

“Um,” he chokes, backing up. “I think so?”

Dapper, Doktor, and Trick exchange glances.

Red staggers to his feet, pointing at the his brothers in the doorway, paranoid. “Okay,” he barks, panic in his voice. “I’m going to ask this once and once only - who the fuck are you?”

nikkilbook asked: Okay, this may sound horrible, but are we ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN which boy is which? Like, is the boy we’re calling Red the same boy we were calling Red this morning?

Anti laughs, his form flickering as he steps down the stairs, until he just ends up looking like a fanged Jack with his hood pulled up. “Haha, can you imagine? I just lose track of which is which? They lose track of which of which? So fucking lost in their heads they can’t tell where the old breaks and the new begins? Mind you, I might have with Trick and Doktor if not for the accents… needy, clingy little boys they were, pressed side-to-side in their little collars and chains, crying for Red to remember them… Funny. You’re funny.”

He staggers slightly and catches himself, anger flashing across his face. Straightening up again, he sets his feet down on the bottom step of the stairs, looking around at his puppets.

Red has pressed Blue protectively against the wall. He looks shaky and terrified - Blue just looks exhausted, his fingers curling around his twin’s hoodie. Doktor and Dapper and Trick stand in the doorway, staring at their brothers. Anti sees horror, grief, and confusion in their faces.

“Alright, everybody chill out,” he sighs, heading over to Trick and unzipping his backpack, pulling out a bag full of groceries. He walks over to the cabinets and begins putting food away, stacking peanut butter and canned fruit while his toys readjust to the situation. They’re so fucking slow sometimes. Not his Dapper though. His Dapper is already resigned, avoiding Red and Blue’s eyes, playing with the fringe of his coat. Sometimes Anti thinks he remembers more than the others. He is lucky to have not been in the house while Anti played with Red and Blue. He is lucky you sent Doktor to look after him.

“Anti, what’s happening?” pants Red. Doktor has lowered his gun, but he doesn’t look any more at ease.

“I told you,” sighs Anti. “You hit your little heads, you don’t seem to remember much.”

Doktor’s mouth tightens with a quick flash of anger, but he schools his face again immediately, drawing Trick closer.

“You know your twin. These are your little brothers, Doktor and Trickshot. They won’t hurt you. You need anything, you tell them, and they’ll do it. Right, boys?”

“Yes, Anti,” they promise in sync, twin faces white.

“And this is my Carver,” he adds, nodding to Dapper. “You leave him alone upstairs, he’s violent for such a tiny puppy.”

Carver blushes but offers no protest, staring at Red with sunken eyes.

What does it matter? He won’t see any of them again. What’s to say they’ll even remember him if he does? What’s to say any of this will still be real tomorrow?

Anti hums and closes the cabinets again, fighting off a wash of exhaustion to make his steps unsteady. Leaning slightly against the island, he glances over at you, considering turning you off, but another look at the confusion in Red’s face makes him smile again, and he decides to let you watch.

He yawns, licking his canines, and reaches out a hand. Dapper responds immediately, hurrying over to him to take his hand in his own.

“I need to sleep,” he admits, rubbing at his face as he turns back towards the stairs. He takes Red’s chin in his free hand and examines his frightened face apathetically.

“Keep your brothers in line tonight,” he says.

And Red, never washed clean enough to forget his training, responds: “Yes, Anti,” in a small, steady voice, the emotion draining from his face as he pulls himself back together.

Anti smiles.

The others watch him and Dapper walk upstairs, the shutting of the bedroom door leaving them alone and staring, confused and afraid, from opposite sides of the room.

Trick thinks Doktor is crying.

 End Section 3 of Chapter One.

Find this chapter’s masterlist here.

[blue-honeycomb]

Escape Artist: Chapter 1 [Aizawa x Reader]

Decided to play around with this for a bit before going back to my other stuff.

Masterlist

Prologue | Part 1

---

The Escape Artist stared at the television screen with incomprehension, blinking once, twice, until a small hand smacked her dead center in the face. The force was enough to shake her from her thoughts and she cast a sidewards glare at the little brat sitting casually beside her.

Big, off-white eyes stared unflinchingly into her own, equally white, featureless face twisting into some form of expression that was lost on her. Luckily, the little hellion's hair was prone to flashing colors with their emotions, so she at least has some idea as to what they wanted. Even if that idea was vague at best.

"How was I supposed to know there was a whole pack of heros right there?" She huffed, casting her eyes back to the news special broadcasting her latest anti-kidnapping kidnapping with concerningly clear footage. Like, crystal clear HD, not some fuzzy security camera but media quality definition; the kind that got you recognized.

On the screen was a video of her popping into existence in a police station not even 3 yards from where a group of heros and police officers were finishing up an interview, setting the child she'd brought in a chair as he chewed on the mochi she'd thought to bring with her for just such a purpose. As though in slow motion, she could see her screen self whip around and suddenly freeze, staring directly at the heros, and consequencely the cameras, before disappearing once more. Honestly, it was pretty comical, and apparently, a good portion of the in studio reporters seemed to think so too.

"That," She pointed at the screen for emphasis while leveling the yellow flashing, blank-faced little shit a glare. "Was not intentional, no matter what you little misfits seem to think." From the shadow of the color flashing cretin popped another one, this one gray haired and black eyed, grinning widely at her with his wickedly sharp teeth.

"Don't make up shit just cuz you can't understand me. Don't think I'm not on to you, shark boy." Not that any of her brats ever listened to a thing she said anyway. The only one who ever seemed to try was Spitter, but that was because the boy couldn't say no to anyone ever, so it was never satisfying. Hard to feel victorious about getting your way when it took years of abuse to make the person (a little fucking boy) willing to heel on command. Thinking about how'd she'd found the little guy made her stomach turn.

Moving on before she breaks something.

Shark brat said something about hero costumes to Whiteout Brat and a lot of gesturing took place, as well as a good bit of yelling. Thankfully they lived far enough underground to avoid being hear by any passerbys. Escape Artist turned away while they were distracted and let them entertain themselves while she thought about what she'd just seen.

It was the first time the public had seen conclusive evidence of her existence outside of a few shitty grocery store video feeds, and the entirety of Japan seemed to be eating it up. Words like vigilante and uncatchable were being tossed around, as well as theories about teleportation quirks and being a greiving mother seeking vengeance. All these things would have made her snort in amusement had it been even a few months ago. But now? Now she couldn't afford to get caught or have a hoard of glory-hounds on her trail. Too many mouths to feed, for one, and secondly, too many little bodies following her when she wasn't looking. Anything could happen with the added variable of nosy superpower enhanced dogooders.

The problem with working with homeless, traumatized children is that after you've taken care of them for a while they come to expect you to actually take care of them. As in, not just feeding them occasionally and giving them a place to crash, but actually filling that parent shaped whole in their lives and taking over all the responsibilities that comes with it. Like protection, love and trust. And time. Especially time. So much more than she has to spare.

So they've taken to following her when she's not watching closely enough, and that terrifies her because she can give them love and trust in abundance, but protection is something she just can't provide. She simply isn't strong enough to take them with her everywhere she goes, let alone into a situation that may one day be her last.

Speaking of situations.

It was time to go out and get more food. While nothing went bad in her inventory, thank God, it never actually stayed full with how many mouths needed feeding everyday. Shark boy alone could put away half his body weight in a single sitting if given the chance, and even that's got nothing on Bull or Hot Shot. Honestly, and though Escape Artist would never say it aloud, Bull's vigorous appetite may have been the reason she was abandoned in the first place. She just had to eat so much to function that even with the triweekly raids Escape Artist could barely keep up with the ever growing demand.

And then there's Hot Shot. Nicely put, he was a rather enthusiastic young boy in possession of a very destructive, fuel-exhaustive quirk neither she nor he had any idea how to train. It wasn't until he'd joined her merry little band that she'd learned the location of every clothing store in the city. Every single one of them.

Her life sometimes, she swears.

There was a shattering sound in the designated kitchen area, followed by a high pitched screech that fell somewhere between a frog croak and a chirp. Not even a second later the sound of footsteps darting through the tunnels at frankly ridiculous speeds creeked overhead, followed closely by the wall rattling thud of Bull chasing right after.

Escape Artist sighed, running a hand through her hair and pulling slightly. Beside her, Shark boy leapt to his feet in a dead run to go watch the drama unfold with unholy glee, Whiteout following at a slightly more moderate pace. Not even 8 in the morning and already the chaos had begun.

Her head thud quietly against the back of the couch. "I don't get paid enough for this shit."

---

Escape Artist was more than a bit concerned by what had happened on her way back home, but she supposed it could have been worse. For one thing, she wasn't dead, and for another, neither was the man she'd smacked headfirst into (or more accurately, he'd smacked face first into her). Unfortunately for the man though, the impact had left him notably unconscious and maybe a little bruised around the nose and forehead. In short, she done fucked up and this time it didn't involve another mouth to feed… she hoped. She didn't know if she had the patience needed to take care of a full grown man on top of the 8 kids at home and the 2 feral cretins that visited occasionally.

It'd been a simple case of bad luck all around, honestly. She'd just finished robbing the local Walmart (yes, it still exists and she still doesn't know how to feel about that months on) and was coming out of ID when she's suddenly been thrown to the ground by a speeding black mass all but flying through the darkened alley. Her first thought upon getting over her shock was to thank whatever was watching over her that night it wasn't a car. Her second was to fret over whoever she'd just gotten killed.

Luckily, it hadn't been a car and the stranger had survived the encounter. So, all was good in her books, besides the obvious part where the guy was laying unconscious in an alley and sporting an obvious hero getup in the shadier part of this district. If that wasn't asking for a knife in the back than she didn't know what was.

So now here she was, sitting across from the unmoving lump of man, chin in hand and elbows firmly planted on her thighs. She'd covered him up with a blanket from her inventory some time ago to keep him at least somewhat warm as the night gradually grew colder around them. She didn't think she'd manage to get the thing back before the guy was up and trying to kick her ass, but Hot Shot needed to learn to control his flames anyway and maybe going coverless for a while was just the motivation he needed to do so. She pointedly didn't think about the extra comforters she'd grabbed because she knew the first wouldn't last three nights in the little shit's care.

She blinked slowly, eyes roaming over what little bit of the man she could make out from under the blanket. Long, dark hair curling over the blanket and his heavily stubbled face (she'd picked the wild mass up off the filthy ground because ew), long lashes and a narrow, masculine face. He was attractive for sure, though the dark lines around his eyes, nose and forehead made him seem almost sickly pale in the unflattering street light. What she noticed most though was the peeks of sleek, firm muscle that the fluffy covers, ridiculously huge scarf and baggy clothing couldn't hide.

She was a woman with damn human needs. It'd been at least 3 years since she's gotten any and she was long overdue. She felt strongly that she should be able to appreciate this man's undeniable beauty so long as she kept her hands to herself and didn't do anything creepy like take pictures or some shit. She blatantly ignored the little voice whispering about how equally creepy it was to watch someone sleep without their consent.

It was also creepy how the observe function of her quirk let her learn a few tidbits about the man without any conscious effort, but for the most part she ignored the notifications hovering around the man all together. It wasn't like she'd ever meet the guy again after this, unless he was trying to arrest her of course. Either way, she doubted learning this guy's name or whatever was really worth invading his privacy anymore than her mere existence did. She'd like to think she has some standards.

In her uncharacteristic moment of distraction she failed to notice the subtle shift of the man's head before he went eeriely still. It wasn't until she was shifting to get more comfortable and noticed that a section of his hair was misplaced that she realized her mistake.

It happened too fast for her to properly react. With a quiet that belied the strength behind the attack, the man launched himself into her personal space and had her wrapped head to toe in the weird scarf he had with him. On instinct she tried to open her ID, but with a cold chill of realization discovered she couldn't get it to activate. In fact, her whole world seemed to suddenly swirl on its axis and for the first time since she'd come to this place her mind blanked with true, mortal terror.

His eyes glowed deep, sinister red against the shadows spread over his handsome face, dark hair whipping above his head like a dark, inhuman halo. Those muscles she'd been admiring just moments ago were suddenly the weapons of intimidation they were meant to be, something that made her heart race and quake with fear.

And her body. Maybe even worse than the sudden influx of terror was the sudden aknowledgement of her body's long forgotten functions. Where once she was satisfied she was now hollow, the movement of long unused organs felt like insects crawling though her body, scratching and nipping as they went.

Suddenly, the world was not just a thing that could be walked away from with a single though and a armful of goods. For the first time since she'd opened her eyes in that alleyway nearly a year ago, it was just her, the world and all the dangers that came with it staring her down with burning red eyes.

For the first time since she received her quirk she was well and truly alive.

"Escape Artist, was it."

[hypnoidvoid]

Key to the Jungle (Reddie AU): Chapter 2

A/N: I’m so fucking stoked with the amount of attention I’ve received for this fic, just after one chapter. I love you guys. In the chapter notes there are visual aids! 

Summary: Ecologist!Richie and Nature Photographer!Eddie. Eccentric Dr. Richard Tozier has graduated with his Ph.D in Ecology and was given grant money to conduct his own research in the Amazon basin. He gets a research team, one of them being the very talented nature photographer Eddie Kaspbrak of National Geographic. They could not have predicted the beauty and chaos of the adventures that will ensue.

Pairings: Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak,  Stan Uris x Bill Denbrough

Word Count: 4,334 words

Warnings: Fuck is said a lot ahahaha

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

// Link to Read on Ao3 //

[Chapter 2: Mimosas]

[Monday, February 24, 2018]

If I looked all over the world,

And there’s every type of girl

But your empty eyes, seem to pass me by

Leave me dancin’ with myself!

So let’s sink another drink

‘Cause it’ll give me time to think

If I had the chance I’d ask the world to dance

And I’ll be dancin’ with myself!

OH OH dancin’ with myself!

OH OH dancin’ with myself!

Billy Idol’s “Dancing with Myself” could be heard blasting at a deafening volume from the 14th story of Eddie Kaspbrak’s apartment flat, with an even louder Eddie straining his voice to sing along. The twenty-two year old was frolicking, strutting, and gyrating with fervor around his entire creative space. With a whisk in hand as a microphone, purple glitter boa constricting his neck and black heart-shaped sunglasses sitting on the edge of his nose, Eddie was indeed dancing with himself and indulging in every single second of it. His oversized baseball jersey swayed with him with every motion, completing his bold fashion statement. Highly acclaimed and respected nature photographer Edward Kaspbrak, that could capture awe-inspiring emotion through his photography, was a giggling mess of euphoria at the moment.

And he was a drunken, hot mess; a vibrant hurricane of soft masculine energy that sent shockwaves through his walls, reverberating towards the city beyond. He leaped to place himself dead center of his trifold mirror,

“WheLLLLL Eddee Eddee, aren’t yew lookin’ finE tooday…” he trailed off, while esteeming in his reflection. He did a 360° spin and gave himself a playful *SMACK* on his ass, followed by an open-mouthed wink.

Eddie had jubilantly slammed 8 mimosas by 9:36 AM on a Monday. He had the day off from work, and it was the last day he would be spending in New York City for a few months. Bags were packed, all his necessary paperwork was completed, logistics and timings for flights were solidified, so Eddie had a rare day of freedom from the usual weighted obligations. The preceding night he inquired at his work desk (which was smothered in vintage polaroid photos), composing a list of some of his favorite things he wanted to do on his day off. In order of importance, he wrote his agenda:

Mimosa(s) and French toast for breakfast

Reading a romance novel in Central Park

Go to a baseball game

Work on Silver

Stargaze from balcony

_____________________________________

Eddie Kaspbrak grew up in New York City, being constantly surrounded by the ubiquitous metal structures that surpassed the sky itself. The love he had for this city penetrated deep into who grew into as a person, with the mayhem of the city entwining itself into Eddie’s own being. He loved to be out late at night swimming in the crowds of people at unique bars, riding his motorcycle across the city bridge, and searching for moments worth immortalizing through photography.

As a teen he would participate in the local baseball league (and well into highschool), hiding it from his mother the entire time. He was even quite talented at the sport. How he wished he could have shared this part of his life with his mother, but he decided to hide many aspects of his life to avoid the scrutiny of Sonia Kaspbrak.

Eddie Bear, you’re so fragile! A boy like you does not belong in sports! Please, I don’t want you to to get injured, that would break my heart, she would wail. She would cry out even if it was as simple as attempting to learn to ride a bike. Nothing particularly life threatening.

See, Eddie once had an overwhelmingly overbearing mother, who treated him more as a crystal vase than like a child; a crystal vase that had a hundred different allergies, sensitivities, and predisposed conditions. The facets of his vase were seemingly faltered, and needing consecutive medical attention through her perspective. The only ailment she had been slightly correct about was his mild asthma, resulting in him keeping an inhaler glued to his side in case of emergency in his camera bag, or fanny pack. And no grown man has ever made a fanny pack look more chik and trending than Eddie Kaspbrak. He rarely used the inhaler, only utilizing it for comfort when an anxiety attack peaked. But he took a liking to the aesthetic and convenience that his fanny pack gave him, and settled on keeping it as his signature accessory.

Eddie had no shame and he needn't have any, because there was none to have. The majority admired his bold attitude, his outward confidence. And he was confident. But the selectively exuberant man had his vulnerabilities, and few would be able to break through that barrier of stubbornness. Not his close friends, not even his mother.  

Sonia kept him on a psychological leash for years, until he was able to consciously acknowledge that there were serious dysfunctions present with the way he was raised. Her gaze had been searing, and unrelentless with insane concern entangled with harsh criticism. Despite Sonia’s flaws Eddie loved his mother, and remained kind to her through her tyrannical dictatorship of his childhood. There was no father figure in his family, and he appreciated the love he was able to receive (even if it was oppressive love).

When she passed, it was an excruciating evening for Eddie. This was a woman that had sacrificed her mental sanity and personal identity to keep him out of harm’s way, even if harm’s way was a blade of grass.

However, when his mother’s presence left this earth, he felt a burdening weight lift off of his shoulders. The sudden realization ignited that he was able to do whatever he wanted, without guilt.

Fucking whatever, he wanted.

He could go bungee jumping. He could go on that road trip to Miami he always wanted to. He could verbalize how much of a snack another man looked in his basketball shorts jogging past his apartment complex without receiving a cold sneer. Fuck, he could walk down the block to buy a street-vendered hot dog without guff. Even with moving outside of his mother’s non-humble abode quickly after entering college, he was contacted incessantly by Sonia. She was exhausting. She left you fragile and wanting to crawl into a hole just thinking about her.

But this.This was a new sensation.

There was no one to order him around. No one to ‘suade him into doing what they wanted out of culpability. He was an individual with a lasso that could wield it around the world and make anything his bitch.

It may have been due to growing up in a concrete jungle and having “the grass is greener on the other side” syndrome, but his favorite settings to capture were those devoid of human contact: mountain ranges, open fields, flowing streams, any place that wreaked of natural genuity and untouched innocence. And he loved being able to memorialize beauty without getting his hands filthy. He would cautiously navigate scenery to snap his pictures, then flee to an open space where he could sanitize his hands and feel comfortable enough to revel in the moment. His mother may have passed, but the wounds she left in Eddie’s faux hypochondriac mind remained.

When his supervisors at the National Geographic headquarters in New York offered him the position on a research team heading to the Amazon basin one month ago, Eddie obliged quicker than a strike of lightning:

“Eddie, how do you feel about taking a three month trip to the rainforest in Ecuador?” his manager nonchalantly asked. There was a moment of silence, with a wild-eyed Eddie staring in reverie.

“....whaT?

“You’re a very talented young artist, and we would love for you to document an upcoming research trip that is embarking in late February, conducted by uhhhhh….. Hmmm let me see. Ah, yes! Dr. Richard Tozier. Our magazine is taking a particular interest in this so if you feel inclin-”

“YES”, he abruptly stated, then coughed into his fist sharply to regain a professional character. He rolled his shoulders back to obtain his highest stature that a 5’7” man could, eyeing his boss.

“Yes, I’m in. Sir, you have no idea how much this means to me.” Eddie was failing wildly at keeping his composure from the excitement that arose in his chest.

Richard Tozier? Sounds like an old homophobic goober.

A grin widened on the older man’s face, and he placed a gentle hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “That pleases me to hear Mr. Kaspbrak. I expect quality content when you return. I will make arrangements for your trip tonight, and send details to your email when I have them”. He began to walk away, but slyly turned towards Eddie without making eye contact. “.....they’re lucky to have you, Eddie”. As the man walked in the opposite direction towards his own office, he glanced over his shoulder once more to witness Eddie doing a “happy dance”. And he smiled to himself.

  Over all the sceneries that he’s dreamt of witnessing, Eddie desired to see the purity of the night sky undisturbed with city lights in it’s vast entirety. Basking in light of the stars from thousands of miles away seemed ethereal, and for him in this seemingly small existence, thus seemed surreal. Humankind had interfered amongst planes where they simply did not belong, he knew it. The opportunity to escape to a truly wild ecosystem that had been honored with the freedom to be undisciplined only heightened his wonder.

The night sky held untold mysteries of persistence, of death, rebirth, and explosive uncertainty. Stars danced in the atmosphere and created their own love stories. They encapsulated the interest of so many individuals that they wrote stories about their endeavors, and Eddie gaping from his balcony on the 14th floor of the Wyndham building***, would envision tales of his own. A precept he believed to be truth was that the more time he spent gazing into that infinite space, the higher likelihood he would have of being able to unravel it’s wisdom. Like those spheres of carbon fire, he yearned to create a love story of his own, so he continued to gaze and listen to what the night had to teach him. He would often be found humming to himself, while craning his neck up towards the heavens.

________________________________________

After taking a much needed impromptu nap, around noon Eddie begrudgingly awoke to the sound of “Saved By the Bell” reruns on his television from the futon where he had passed out. And if you haven’t theorized by now, Eddie has a hankering for 1980’s pop culture. He did not even grow up in the 80’s, but felt a close attachment to the art that was produced during the decade. He owned about 3 different models of polaroid cameras, obsessively listened to synth/new wave pop, and would spend hours on the internet ordering the ideal parts for his motorcycle that would make it functional, yet retro. After seeing the 1987 RoboCop film Eddie felt he was destined to own a FXSTC Softail Custom Harley, and when his mother passed, he mustered the confidence to purchase his dream ride.

He would name her Silver. Silver wasn’t even silver in color, but he loved the aura that the name gave off. It was a name of power. Stability. And dependency.

Weakly pressing himself from the couch, he glimpsed menacingly through squinted eyes towards his microwave to see that the time read “12:13 PM”.

“Fucking hell….”.

He stumbled to the bathroom to inhale three IBuprofen tablets and a glass of water he had so graciously left himself a few hours ago. He glanced in the mirror and noticed he had the remnant of a sleep induced boner lingering, so a boiling shower was necessary before he could continue his day of self indulgences; the steamy shower being one in itself.

Well. If I’m going to do this day right I might as well start with a happy beginning at noon.

After his shower, Eddie threw on a pair of perfectly fitted jeans and a yellow polo shirt, covered by a jean jacket that had some adorned patches on it. It was still late winter after all, he didn’t want to freeze while riding his his bike. Scrounging through his bathroom drawers he retrieved some hair mousse and wrestled with his grown out, wavy chestnut hair until it held up to his expectation. He knew the mousse would keep the shape for the short distance he had to ride of his bike, even with the helmet. And before he placed the hated helmet on his locks he reviewed his own constructed mantra in his head:

May the hair not be greasy

The curls not go flat

Not fall for a man who’s sleazy  

Amen

Eddie may not have been the religious type, but he believed in sending his thoughts out into the universe. After all, maybe one day by some greater power his thoughts would be answered.

With his mantra internally spoken, and helmet strapped firmly to his head, Eddie Kaspbrak zoomed off to complete his list of favorite shenanigans to do around New York City.

________________________________________

Richie and Stan decided to share a hotel room at the Crowne Plaza*** close to LAX airport the night before their departure, Stan refusing to take part in the possibility of any delays or inconveniences. He was a poignant adult, unlike Richie, who probably would have been hungover and missed his plane if it weren't for Stan. Since they would be inhabiting the jungle for a few months in the middle of fucking nowhere without the luxuries of home, they splurged on spending their last night in Los Angeles in an above average hotel. The room even came with a mini fridge stock-piled with little bottles of liquor and candy bars.

This here, this is tha’ suppa’ of champions! The only thing missing is a pack of cigs in this damn mini fridge. Now THAT’S a well balanced meal, crossed Richie’s mind.

Both Stan and Richie were resting their heads on their pillows of their separate beds, lightly quarreling as usual:

“ Stanny boy, I am quaking with excitement for tomorr’a. I think we’re really going to make a scientific breakthrough here…...ya know? We’ve talked about this since we were lil’ spermies. It’s always been you and me bud. My liaison of adventure. Stanley Manley”. Richie shifted his head and emitted an elated smile towards Stan.

“Jesus Rich, enough with the bullshit nicknames. How many times have I told you I hate that?  But heck ya, I am just as excited as you are. I’ve never seen a quetzal or a hoatzin in the flesh, and I know how much of a dominant presence they have there. There’s a good chance I’ll be able to see those and more….. shit, maybe even a mot-mot! Remember the list I kept as a kid?”

“Yessir, the famous color coded mess book of beaks. Gunna whack the ones off that you can? Before I left your mom yesterday, she also let me whack off-”

“Richie.”

“Apologies, bird boy.”

Richie slinked off of the bed to to comically make his way towards the mini fridge, imitating the movements of an inchworm. With one eager hand he piled all of the personal sized bottles of liquor into the bottom of his shirt, using it  as a pouch, and dumped them onto Stan’s bed.

“Let’s have a good night, dude. Here’s to the future”, and Richie cracked open a mini bottle of José Cuervo silver to knock it back with the slightest shudder. Stan obliged, and chose a bottle of Jack Daniels to do the same, but without the shudder.

They ended up reminiscing for hours about times they spent together as kids while lounging on Stan’s bed, shrieking with laughter at certain moments of their own stupidity. Their neighbors were not pleased with the amount of noise the two grown men were making at 2 o’clock in the morning.

“Sta-an, do you rembembER the first time I wh-ent bird watchin’ with ya?”, Richie asked.

“You were so fucking annoying, I swore to myself I-I would never take you again. But I guess I’m no good at keeping that promise, huh?” Stan followed with a chuckle, and drained another bottle of whiskey. This memory was a particularly fond one shared by Richie and Stan.

[Wednesday, April 29, 2003]

Stan sat with his legs crossed against a douglas fir tree, peering eagerly above into the deciduous tree forest. His ‘North American Field Guide to Birds’ book rested in his lap, opened to page 455 to reveal a picture and notes about the northern cardinal.  

Class: Aves

Order: Passeriformes

Family: Cardinalidae

Genus: Cardinalis

Species: Cardinalis cardinalis (Linnaeus, 1758)

Normally he would find himself alone to search his surroundings for flying creatures, but today was different. He brought along his best friend Richie for the first time, wanting to share his favorite hobby with his only friend. He hoped he wouldn’t regret his decision.

“Richie, can you PLEASE keep still for like two seconds? I’m trying to see a cardinal, and you’re just going to scare everything away. To be a good bird watcher you need to be still and sil-”

Richie darted to chase away a group of dark-eyed juncos while howling with laughter. On his walk back to Stan he whistled and gently kicked a rock until he was satisfied with where it was placed.

Stan exhaled under his breath a long “Fuuuuuuuuuck”. Richie eventually placed himself next to the other boy, also using the tree as a back rest, and kept quiet after many pleas from Stan. He would twiddle his fingers the whole time, however.

They were silent for probably twenty minutes before a little red bird perched itself on a branch directly in front of them. Richie snapped his neck to his right to look at Stan who had eyes so wide he mustn't of had eyelids. Stan slowly moved his hand to his pocket to retrieve a small pair of binoculars. He would peer into them for a few minutes, and excitedly passed them to Richie.

“Isn’t he awesome?” Stan whispered.

“How do you know it’s a guy?” Richie asked with his voice just as low as Stan’s, while still looking through the binoculars.

“Well, males have a big crest on the top of their head, and they’re vibrantly red. The females are pretty boring looking”, and he pointed his finger at a picture of a drab female cardinal.

“Yeah, he’s actually kind of pretty. Want to look again?” RIchie asked.

Stan snatched the binoculars back and took another long look before the bird chose to fly away in a northern direction.  

“I must be your lucky charm, huh Stanley?!”

“Shut up Richie, you’re the worst”, Stan remarked with an eye-roll but couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He couldn’t wondered if Richie really was a good luck charm. He had placed himself in this exact spot for weeks to see the cardinal but never saw it. He knew very well that seeing this species of bird was rare in Maine, especially during this time of the year, and couldn’t help but look at the rambunctious buck-toothed boy and thank him silently.

_____________________________________

[Tuesday, February 25, 2018]

“RICHIE ARE YOU DONE IN THERE”, Stan shouted as he banged against the bathroom door.

“Hold on princess, I’m just buttering moyself up fo’ ya!”, Richie quickly shot back in a butchered cockney accent. He needed this long shower, in particularly to soothe the mind splitting headache that ravaged his entire body, from last night’s drinking escapades. He combed his fingers through his dark, curly mane and massaged his temples under the scorching water. His eyes were closed, body still, but his thoughts were deafening. As excited as Richie was for these upcoming three months, he was anxious as well. Undeniably Richie had anxiety issues, but was too stubborn to ever go to a professional for a diagnosis. He didn’t ever want to cloud his mind with anxiety relieving drugs, after personally observing the way it had turned his mom into a Prozac induced zombie. And he hated those drugs for effecting his beloved mother like that. He would use classical music instead to soothe his body during anxiety episodes. Richie took a particular liking to Mozart’s compositions.

After Richie stumbled out of the bathroom, Stan went through his morning tasks to prepare himself for the flight to come later that day. He would also face the day sporting knee-high rain boots, as would Richie. Nerves heightened and hangover lingering, they walked to the terminal entrance with their luggage to meet Beverly.

“Professors, it’s so good to see yo-, holy shit you guys look wrecked. I mean, you look put together, but damn. Where was my invite to this party?”

“We would have invited you Bev, but unfortunately we were too fucked up to even exist. Next time, I promise”, Stan replied.

“Ya you goons better, I’m genuinely offended right now” she huffed with an over exaggerated pout. Beverly hated missing out on a fun night, especially involving alcohol with her favorite people.  They boarded their plane, and as expected Stan and Richie slept the entire plane ride into the Quito terminal, until Bev shook them both with angst to wake up. Stan had resisted to sleep with extreme persistence out of a fear of flying, but his body failed him and he drifted into a deep rest. Richie snored for the entirety of the flight, and his snores in concordance with the sounds of the crying child in the seat behind him created a symphony of annoying mayhem for the rest of the travellers on the airplane.

Once off the plane, the trio searched for a man holding a sign that read “Dr. Richard Tozier”, and piled into his taxi. The loading dock for the first boat into the rainforest was located 3 hours out of Quito, so they settled themselves comfortably in the backseat of the taxi, with Stan pulling out his copy of “Ready Player One”, Beverly finally taking a nap after not being able to on the plane, and Richie listening  to Van Halen while resting his head on the window to look out the window. Eddie Van Halen’s guitar solos never ceased to amaze Richie.

Around 5 PM in the evening, the biologists rolled up to the docking port to a group of anticipatory faces that were arranged in a half circle around each other with a decent amount of space in between them. None of these people knew each other after all, and were only about an hour in to being acquainted. Their guide, Mike Hanlon, opened up the back passenger door where Richie was sitting with a welcoming grin plastered to his face.

“Mr. Tozier! I’m honored to be able to finally meet you in person. Do you need help with your luggage?”, he said as he gestured to the trunk.

“Call me Richie, Mike. Mr. Tozier is the man that impregnated my mother”. A shit-eating smile crossed Richie’s features and in the twinkle of his eyes, behind the thick horn-rimmed glasses. With heated cheeks Mike nodded his head, and continued to open the trunk of the taxi to retrieve the luggage of Stan, Beverly, and Richie. With their bags in hand, Stan, Beverly, and Richie headed over the rest of the party awaiting their arrival by the boat dock.

On his short walk over, Richie linked eyes with one of the individuals of his research team. And despite keeping his feet moving in a forward direction, he felt utterly paralyzed. The man was undeniably handsome, was impeccably dressed, and held a captivating stare from hazel eyes. Richie’s lips parted to exhale a nervous breath.

Mike began to zealously introduce Richie’s research team to the new arrivals, as so:

“It is my pleasure to introduce Ben, our medic for the trip. I trust that he’ll keep our asses safe. He’s been to my reserve before too so y’all have nothing to worry about”. Ben raised his chin and smiled bashfully at the group, raising a hand to wave while one hand remained in his pant’s pocket.

Mike looked over sweetly to a man named Bill, and continued with “ This is Bill Denbrough, our botanist. A man with a wild imagination, and intelligence”.

Bill unexpectedly coughed out of surprise, being flattered. “H-h-hi I’m Bill. I’m glad I could c-c-come on this trip”. Stan beheld this man differently than Richie and Bev. He was a tall man with straight auburn hair, and held a confidence that was respectable. Stan had never met this man before, but Bill carried a sense of home with him. Comfort. Stan looked at Bill with a gaze that resembled that of a person who hadn’t seen their best friend in 10 years.

“And this is Eddie Kaspbrak, a renowned nature photographer from National Geographic. A born talent”. Richie and Eddie glued eyes to each other. Electricity singed between these two pairs of eyes. Richie stared at the chocolate waves gliding across Eddie’s forehead, and noticed at a closer view that his left pupil was keyholed.

Woah.

There was a moment of silence and Mike shoved Richie in hopes he would have a response after his brief introductions, “....Richie?”. Richie returned to a state of mild authority and reached out a hand to shake Eddie’s.

“I’m Richie Tozier, pleased to make your acquaintance buttercup”, Richie said while wiggling his eyebrows flirtatiously.

Eddie had previously thought that this man was going to be old, boring, and with a stick up his ass just by his name. He hadn’t even bothered to look him up online.

Holy motherfucking shit was he wrong. This man was nearly his age, brilliant, and hot. He hoped he wouldn’t be in trouble with pining for the lead scientist for three months.

“I’m Eddie. Nice to meet you, cherryblossom”.

____________________________________

CHAPTER NOTES:

I hope you guys enjoyed chapter 2! I will be providing visual references in the chapter notes as an addition, because fuck, it’s fun. Let me know what you think, and thanks for reading :) Reblog, comment, send me thoughts as always!

***the Wyndham building is not fictional and is actually located in New York City

How I imagine part of Eddie’s apartment:

https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1CALEAI_enUS790US790&biw=1366&bih=654&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=tNvGWtugGOGY0gLs9qfgBw&q=new+york+apartment+interior&oq=new+york+apartm&gs_l=psy-ab.3.5.0j0i67k1j0j0i67k1j0l2j0i67k1j0l3.34133.36013.0.39862.15.8.0.7.7.0.116.779.5j3.8.0....0...1c.1.64.psy-ab..0.15.866....0.sasZGuvXVLk#imgrc=MCgjbHAm5ZWH9M:

Eddie’s motorcycle:

https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1CALEAI_enUS790US790&biw=1366&bih=654&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=uwrHWoiRLMeQ0wLNnYioBQ&q=FXSTC+softail+red+Harley&oq=FXSTC+softail+red+Harley&gs_l=psy-ab.3...39077.39355.0.39521.3.3.0.0.0.0.95.244.3.3.0....0...1c.1.64.psy-ab..0.0.0....0.mn9dCDoiZxo#imgrc=7L01cKyX67Cf6M:

***The Crowne Plaza; Richie and Stan’s hotel room:

https://www.google.com/search?q=crowne+plaza+lax&rlz=1CALEAI_enUS790US790&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwicwrSgyqTaAhVT6Z8KHQHiDa0Q_AUICygC&biw=1366&bih=654#imgrc=MXY4GWD9CFRgxM:

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