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nincompoopydoo · 4 years ago

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PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— US AGAINST THE WORLD ; PART 4 / ?

( credits to @animusrox for this gif )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2247 hot diggy dog

SUMMARY: You have a heart-to-heart conversation with one of your students before the play and you're hit with the realization that your love for Bruce may be more than meets the eye. hence, you’re starting to wonder if it was a mistake you can never fix.

A/N: This one’s long and kinda depressing. I’m in an angsty mood now whoops. Nevertheless, thank you for reading this series, the bagels will make its appearance and enjoy this one folks.

WARNINGS: Anxiety, depressing thoughts.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

The night of the show arrived quicker than you anticipated. The flurry of theatre kids rushing about backstage is quite the sight, feeling the incredible sense of pride of a mother for her children. Yet in prayer, you ask Mrs. Wilson for the gift of strength and ability to manage a bunch of highly-strung teenagers. It’s only Shakespeare after all but you knew that wasn’t the genuine nature behind their stage jitters. With all tickets sold out within a week, it has easily become the biggest event of the year aside from homecoming. It may be a little pretentious for a high school production of an over-performed Shakspeare play to emerge as the highlight of the year, but you know it will help with some of the students’ portfolios for acting school.

The clock ticks—thirty minutes before showtime and panic starts to creep.

Your fingertips dance along the selvage of the extensive drapery of the stage as lighting queues are being run through for the last time. The urge of curiosity lets you crack open the curtain as you peeked at the rest of the theatre. The bustling crowd made up of mostly teenagers with seats rapidly being filled, it’s certainly a sight for sore eyes. Amongst the settling audience, you spot Bruce, seated between Mr. Walken, the principal, and Mr. Huckleberry, the vice-principal, likely being shamelessly asked for donations. He looks engaged, but his posture and the gaze of his eyes tell a very different story—Bruce is barely listening to a word they’re saying.

He then turns in the direction of your hiding spot and despite the distance, he catches your eye, immediately recognizing it’s you spying from behind the curtains. You watch the curve of his lips turn up into more of a smirk, swiftly sending a wink your way. You instantly disappear behind the curtains, cheeks burning.

You sometimes find it hard to believe you’re sleeping with the man with no strings attached because you’re incredibly attracted to him.

Someday, you’ll burst out into an exaggerated love confession, and you know it’s going to be ugly. It’s a reality check and right now, it’s the last thing you want. Running away from your problems is more of a habit than a choice as you would rather live in the world your mind has created, where miracles are made and defects cease to exist. Anyone would trade the cruelties of reality for a perfect one yet getting too caught up in a daydream will eventually evolve into toxicity. Bruce orbits the very core of your problems and daydreams. You want to run away from him and allow yourself to be engulfed by his presence at the same time.

You just need...to breathe. Hence, the second dressing room has a weird stench to it. It’s a mess but it’s empty. Yet, it seems you aren’t the only one in need of space, away from everyone else. Shaniqua is seated at the far corner of the room on a crooked metal chair, dressed in a somewhat modernized version of an Elizabethan era dress. Very elaborate and theatrical. Despite her introverted character, she was constantly bright-eyed and keen during your classes. She had a drive like no other. Hell, she miraculously memorized all her lines in two days.

You’ve never seen a furrow of the girl’s brows, until now, and it worries you. Even her glitter-covered eyes could not conceal the dismay they portray with prominence. Gingerly, you made your way to her as she stared at her fidgeting hands. It was only when you settled on the opposite dusty old chair when she finally noticed your presence.

“Stage fright, huh?” you casually asked, resting your arm on the dressing table. She mirrors your posture, heaving a deep sigh, and shakes her head. “No, it’s just,” A pause, her gaze finds yours. You nod, flashing her a smile. It’s a simple gesture that you’re here to listen. “It’s about Oscar...” You catch a hint of a smile as she trailed off and in an instant, your brow raises with curiosity. Oh? Another beat of silence, her eyes dart around the room. You sit quietly with patience because you knew she had more to say.

“It’s just that doing this play has got me thinking a lot about my feelings. I mean, if Romeo and Juliet could be lovers, despite their feuding families, then it must be easy enough for me to admit that I like Oscar.”

“You have a point.” You chuckle, eyes crinkling with amusement. Sometimes she thinks too much for her own good. She reminds you of Bruce. Shaniqua flashes you a faint smile, lips pressed with doubt. “But why am I finding it so hard to just tell him that?”

You stayed silent for a moment or two, mind deep in thought. The chair creaks as you shift in your seat. “Well, could it be that you aren’t sure if he likes you back?”

A hum in response, shrugging coyly as she mumbled a ‘maybe’. Although it was clear as day to you that Oscar liked her back, you wondered if her doubts emerged due to their differences in character. The familiarity of the situation is beginning to feel a lot like deja vu.

“How do you know that someone is the one?” Her sudden question catches you off guard because, in all honesty, you aren’t confident if you knew the answer. A straightforward question, commonly seen in the pages of teenage magazines, written for innocent eyes. You knew its true nature and it terrifies you. The image of Bruce charges through your thoughts like rushing water, memories of times when the two of you were younger clouding your mind. You forcefully push back your university days, buried back deep into your conscience.

“I don’t exactly know the answer to that but in my opinion, it’s—it’s the feeling of completeness when you love them and know they love you. They may be different from you, but it doesn’t make you love them any less. There’s no conflict or strife; it’s just the two of you against the world.”

Those words were raw and genuine, carefully crafted directly from the heart. You weren’t surprised by your words because you’ve thought about it a lot, especially on nights you slept on Bruce’s bed. Maybe, you do love him, and that's a huge ass problem. It’s amazing how unexpected situations tend to encourage apprehension on large issues you never knew existed in the first place. Perhaps it was your astonishing lack of discernment when it came to matters that could potentially alter your life.

Tonight, a sixteen-year-old girl did just that.

Amid your growing anxiety, you manage to catch sight of the wall clock, hung on the other side of the room. It’s now eight minutes until showtime. Your eyes are now wide as you sprung up from your seat in the sudden realization that everyone should be at their respective positions two minutes ago. “Oh God, we’re running late. Shaniqua, word of advice—don’t end up regretting something you didn’t do,” You shoot her a pointed look, index finger stretching towards her. “Now, you really need to go, or we’ll have to delay and you know Mr. Walken hates waiting.”

It’s a quarter to nine, and the theatre is empty. Outside, the foyer and the hallways are buzzing with the remaining audience, lingering and sharing inane conversations as others wait for a car to take them home. You had only just finished rearranging the costumes in the wardrobe of the dressing room. You tried to sweep the scatter of glitter all over the floor but it deemed a task as impossible; you’ll deal with it next week.

You’re sitting in the seat at the front row, nearest to the aisle with a large box filled with props on your lap. Alone in transcendental silence, feeling as empty as the theatre itself. It was partly the conversation you had with Shaniqua that hit you with the reminder of all the mistakes you made that have led you to this unchanging world of a blur that takes the blame for the wretched feeling in your chest. Yet, as the show progressed, hearing the words of affection from two lovers had sent your mind reeling. You were desperate to head home, crawl into bed and potentially cry yourself to sleep but the growing anxiety forbids it, you don’t even think you could drive home.

So, you stillness of the theatre reminds you of Edward Hopper’s painting, Solitary Figure in a Theater. With eyes shut, you pretend you are the figure in the painting, sheathed in black, sitting alone in the cavernous dark.

You hear the door of the theatre squeak, swinging open followed by the shuffling of feet. You don’t look at first, too tired anyway. You’d assume someone had either forgotten something or it was the janitor that you’re sure is going to be upset over the glitter massacre in the dressing room. It looked like a crime scene, except it was the murder of a literal unicorn. You made a mental note to send an apology sandwich of some sorts next week.

It was the familiarity in the whiff of cologne that made you snap your eyes wide open, looking over your shoulder to meet with the sight of Bruce, ambling down the aisle towards you. He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “What are you still doing here?” He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “I could ask you the same question.” He settles in the seat next to you, elbow brushing against yours. Your head tilts, gesturing to the box. Bruce merely hums and nods thoughtfully.

“So, how was the play? Does it get a Wayne seal of approval?” There’s a hint of teasing in the curve of your lips as his eyes drift to the stage. “I liked it. The kids have talent.” Your eyes glint with amusement, your smile growing wider. “I never knew you were a fan of romance.” His laugh comes out more like a huff of air, crinkled eyes meeting yours, and nudges you lightly. “Well, now you know.”

He recognizes the way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes and the way you’re fussing with the edges of the box on your lap. Something is bothering you and he knows it. He nudges you once more. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You blink once. Then twice, face wincing instinctively. You keep forgetting how well Bruce can read people, especially you. You exhale slowly as he watches you struggle to pick the right words.

“It’s really nothing. It’s just-” you say after a long minute, cutting yourself short. Then, you turn to Bruce. “I’m growing older, and I’ve spent my entire life in a fog with so much fear for reality, I’m afraid it’s too late to fix all my mistakes and regrets.” Your voice dwindles with every word that escaped your lips. You were young, naïve with the notion that time was extensive to make decisions without thinking it through. To know that you could never take back the things you did. Saturn’s rising, it’s a wake-up call now that you’re older and the fear that you would never change creeps onto you with every passing birthday.

Bruce defines the epitome of the sinking feeling in your chest whenever you lay in bed at night and let your mind reel about your existence. Yet, it isn’t as simple as you want it to be. The boy you met at university has grown into a far more complex and entangled mess of the grief of his parents, the responsibility he held over this city and the drive to just...keep moving on. For the longest time, it was him against the world, and a part of you wants to believe that it doesn’t have to be that way. That maybe, you could be enough for him.

He glanced away from you, trying to hide the despondency in his eyes. He holds back a sigh as he speaks, “Do you regret us doing this?” As vague as his question is, you know what he exactly means. He remembers the time the two of you used to exchange senseless conversations and laughter so vividly that it scares him. Juvenile friends, lacking the knowledge to know what love really was. Hence, the agreement—it was just two friends, messing around. Nothing could go wrong. Now, the hole has been dug in too deep, with no way of getting out.

“I don’t,” you reply and with just two simple words, his chest feels like fire. It was the way you had said it, with so much confidence and assurance, despite the intricacy of this relationship. For the first time in a long time, you were extremely sure about an answer. You could never regret Bruce. Never.

It’s almost hesitant in the way his hand finds yours, but it represents his care for you, even if you may not know it. The warmth of his hand feels like fire. Hell, your chest feels like it’s on fire, heart burning for the man beside you. “I’ll drive you home,” he whispers with a squeeze of your hand. You flash him a grateful smile as the two of you drift into a comfortable silence. Silence so eloquent that you don’t feel so empty anymore. No longer a solitary figure trapped in a painting but now two, hand in hand, against the world.

TAGLIST

@raineeace

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batman #batman x reader #justice league #batman imagine #bruce wayne imagine #pining bagels repeat

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cybernaght · 4 years ago

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The Rebel/叛逆者: A Review of Sorts

After being only semi-invested in the Rebel, I ended up getting so into it in the final weeks of its release, I’ve shelled out on IQIYI premium just to get the final couple of episodes a few days earlier.

That’s right kids, it’s a Review of Sorts. Unfortunately, I could not find a translation of the novella the drama is based on, so will be looking at it as a separate entity.

Most of this post is spoiler-free, however I have dedicated a few paragraphs at the end of it to discussing the final episode, as there are a few specific things about it I wanted to mention. There is a clear spoiler warning before that part.

If you don’t want to risk it, TL;DR version of this review goes something like this: Rebel is very decent, and positively one of the best things that I have seen to come out of China since I’ve jumped into that particular rabbit hole. It’s pretty well written, it’s very beautifully dressed and shot, and the cast is killing it. I thought it dropped the ball a little in post production, and I did not always love the pacing. Other than that, it’s incredibly decent, and well worth watching, unless communist propaganda really irks you, in which case stay very well away.

I have been having many conversations with @supernovasimplicity all the way through watching this drama, so there are likely to be some thoughts here that are influenced by those.

The story centers around Lin Nansheng, a struggling servicemen in the Guomingdang party. He has a great analytical mind, and absolutely no emotional capacity for his job. He has trouble handling violence, he is impulsive, he cannot speak to his superiors without bursting into tears, and has nothing even remotely resembling a poker face. And that is what makes this drama as enjoyable as it is.

I don’t think Lin Nansheng’s journey would have been nearly as exciting had he started it from a place of competence. He botches up everything he touches because his big brain switches off the moment his emotions kick in. And so, when you see him grow in confidence, learn to control himself, learn to fake his smiles and compliments, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of pride. It also makes Lin Nansheng very likeable as a character for reasons other than Zhu Yilong’s ability to look like a bush baby.

It did take me a while to feel fully engaged with his performance - not because there is anything lacking in it, but just because it’s hard to be truly surprised by his choices after the exposure I have given myself to his work. That said, at about a half-way point I got charmed by him anyway, and there were quite a few scenes that were truly mesmerising. There were scenes where he broke out of the familiar mould of big unguarded eyes and fluttering wet eyelashes, and tried something that was not pretty: every time to a great success. I am hoping to see more of that in his future work.

I really wanted to like the female lead, Zhu Yizhen, but unfortunately both the way she was written and the way she was performed by Tong Yao left me somewhat cold. It did not help of course that the screenplay ended up sidelining her at every turn, leaving her with very little personal agency. She was set up so interestingly, but in the end her sole purpose became being someone for Lin Nansheng to pine over. It is particularly curious from a perspective of meta storytelling: seeing how this is all centered around superiority of communism, which as a whole was, arguably, ahead of its time in the matters of binary gender equality.

The ensemble cast of the drama is stunning. Wang Yang came very close to stealing the show at several points as Chen Moqun, somehow managing to make his rather unlikeable character interesting. I can say the same thing about Zhu Zhu who absolutely shined as Lin Xinjie, showing an incredible range and imagination in her performance.

The overarching story of the show is engaging, with some incredibly suspenseful elements; every narrative arc including a nice progression through it. As spy thrillers go, it was fairly well plotted. You could if you go looking for a few things that did not pay off in a satisfying way (notably, the Chekhov’s cyanide capsule), but you overall the story really was well told for the most of it.

I did, however, feel like the pacing started to fall apart in the last quarter of the drama. Last episode in particular really did feel rushed, not just due to its pace, but also in a way it failed to pay off the final mission in any visible way. There will be more on that in the spoiler section of this post.

Important to note that The Rebel is a show made in Communist China in the year 2021. It does not ideologically side-step from the path that was laid out for it by that fact. Which is to say, it is, undeniably, filled with propaganda. Communists are the good guys, and if you think a good guy (or gal) is not a communist, they probably secretly are. With one exception of a friendly character who is not a communist, and whose fate we actually never find out. Curious, that.

The Rebel is not a kind of a show where censorship-appeasing scenes are shoehorned in. It’s a kind of a show in which the main theme is Sacrifice For the Party.

Aside from the being the moral vector of the show, Mao’s gentle teachings explicitly help get Ling Nansheng out of prolonged depression following his injury, and almost annoyingly, this sat incredibly well with the character, as he was written. Lin Nansheng is conceived as this naive idealist who wants to be on the front line, who needs validation and support of others. His - and I can’t believe I’m saying this - his being disillusioned in his beliefs and choosing to join a party which includes people whom he likes and trusts makes sense. Him finding this one thing that gives him hope and letting it propel him into gaining confidence and competence makes sense.

In many ways, the Rebel is a story of Lin Nansheng’s failure to become an antagonist within the world of the drama.

I have honestly spent this past couple of weeks pondering whether being well written makes political propaganda better or worse, whether the subtlety of it makes it more or less palatable, whether it’s enough, as a viewer, to be aware of it to shrug it off. Ultimately, this is not something I could or should make moral judgements on, but I do believe that it’s possible to acknowledge the fact that propaganda exists in the drama, and still appreciate it for a good piece of television that it is.

That said, I am very well aware that me being kind of okay with it stems entirely from my own removal from the culture this is made in, and I am, perhaps, lucky to even have a choice as to whether I want to engage with a product which is, undoubtably, here to dress political ideology in fancy clothes.

I have, on the other hand, also seen many things in Russian media of the “Annexation of Crimea is Good Actually” variety and those make me feel very unwell, so feeling somewhat at ease with blatant political propaganda in Chinese media makes me the biggest hypocrite.

But, I digress.

Before we go into some specific plot-related things, I would like to mention that the Rebel has this weird dichotomy in which the production is sublime, and the post-production… not so much. The show very well shot. Every element of it sits perfectly together, not a single prop out of place, not a single extra underdressed, not a page of script not put to good use. It’s lit to perfection. It’s scored beautifully. So much of this show is just stunning.

And then… there is post-production.

This is not even about bad CGI (and the CGI is, indeed, bad), it’s just that most of post-production as a whole feels rushed.

Starting with surprisingly imperfect editing, which at times just fails to make the scene flow together. The final line of dialogue would be spoken within a scene, and it would fade to black instantly without a single breath to indicate a full stop. A montage sequence would be created, but every shot within it condensed to a second, making it feel incredibly fast-paced when the effect should be the opposite. There would be a cut away from a speaking character and to the same speaking character from a slightly different angle, making it dynamic without any reason to do so. There are a couple of truly startling jump-cuts.

I did not speed this gif up. This is part of a romantic montage, edited like it’s a goddamn action sequence.

And of course dear old friend slowing down footage shot at 24FPS. Please don’t do this. You think no one notices - but we do.

There are other tell-tale signs of production rushing to the finish line: occasional, but very noticeable ADR glitches, very sloppy job done at sound mixing, which contribute to parts of the show feeling ever so slightly off.

It’s not unforgivable, but it does make me wish the same amount of care and efforts that went into shooting this drama would also go into it after it was all in the can.

Oh, and just because if you know me you know I have a professional fixation on fights, and I am happy to say most action scenes are toe-curlingly delightful. Hot damn those fights are good. I am absolutely in love with the shot below, for example. Placing an actor behind a piece of set so he can exchange places with the stunt double during a one shot is such an old trick, but the execution, timing and camerawork are just... flawless. This is what perfection looks like.

Now we got all that out of the way...

SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES FINALE BELOW

Here’s the thing. I wanted to love the ending and I found that I could not.

The final mission was presented as important, and honestly the scene in which Zhu Yizhen is sending the vital message out as Lin Nansheng holds his ground in hand to hand fight is incredibly dynamic. Party, this is due to the fight itself being incredibly well choreographed, yes, but it’s also where it sits within the narrative, how high the stakes are for everything surrounding it.

But then, the tension all but bleeds out. The Important Message is sent, the fight is won, and we are treated to ten minutes of a very slow car chase, problem of which is not even its speed as much as its placing within the story. As in, by this point both of those operatives have lost their cover, and completed their Very Important Mission. It would be very sad if they died, but their survival does not technically contribute to their cause. Moreover, Zhu Yizhen getting mortally injured in order to protect Lin Nansheng as part of her mission read a little empty when the mission is technically over.

While I personally found Lin Nansheng slow recuperation and his low key ending enjoyable, I think I would have preferred to have seen a more tangible pay-off to all the sacrifices made in the name of “bright communist future”, just a little more justification for every moment of death and despair we witnessed. I would have certainly at the very least preferred to see Wang Shi’an’s death on screen. Considering how many likeable characters martyred themselves on screen, denying us the death of the one antagonist just seemed cruel.

I really did love the ambiguity of the final few scenes however, if we consider the children choir at the end a fantasy. The idea that Lin Nansheng will live out his life in this hope that Zhu Yizhen is still alive, imagining her just outside of his field of vision, his only joy being in this fantasy of her… now, that is incredibly strong. I equally like the idea of rest being promised to him at the end of his journey, and said rest being painful, and slow and unwelcome.

But it felt like as they chose not to to lean into the “sweet” part of the bitter-sweet tone of the ending and we’re unable not commit to the “bitter” part either, so it lands with a splat which is somewhat lacklustre.

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This concludes my thoughts on the Rebel.

I am more or less out of Zhu Yilong’s filmography to watch, which is probably a good thing at this point. I have just emerged out of several back to back work projects - literally today - and will hopefully once more have time for things I grew to enjoy doing during the lockdown.

Those things, if you have not guessed, include watching Chinese television and writing things about Chinese television.

#the rebel #叛逆者 #Zhu Yilong #review of sorts #now with gifs #chinese drama

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whentheynameyoujoy · 4 years ago

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So the ATLA Movie Is... Good, Actually?

Just kidding, of course it’s not, it’s so bad it sucked the paint off my walls. But after ten years of people pointing out its glaring flaws, why would anyone bother talking about this garbage heap if not to go the other direction? So here’s a very brief and very superficial list of things the movie does get kinda... not atrociously wrong.

And they won’t be fake hipster pokes, like “It’s fun to laugh at”, “The Rifftrax for this is OK”, or “Kudos to the actress for managing to say we believe in our beliefs as much as they believe in theirs with a straight face”.

(though now that I mentioned it, it is fun to laugh at, the Rifftrax for this is OK, and massive props indeed.)

Rasta Iroh

Yes, I know it’s not exactly the aesthetic of the real Iroh or that it makes no cultural sense for him to sport this do when no one else in the racebended Indian “OMFG what were you thinking Shyamalan” Nation does but goddamn, long-haired dudes are my one mortal weakness and I will ogle the hell out of him.

Jesus is that a man bun I see that’s it mum I’ve been deaded

Yue’s hair

No.

Now we’re talking. Yue’s hair turned white when the Moon spirit gave her life, so it makes sense for it to go black again when she sacrifices herself to revive the koi fish. It’s a neat detail I find myself expecting whenever I rewatch the scene in the show. Yes, I realize it’d be a pointless hassle to animate since she, unlike in the movie, immediately goes on to become the Moon herself but still. I like.

The Blue Spirit’s mop

Zuko, hun, what’s with the dance-off?

First of all, I want to imagine that Zuko the Theatre Nerd was about to leave his ship with just the mask like in the show but then stuck his head into the cleaning cupboard and went, “Yeah, more coverage might be good, even though it do seem mighty fried to shit”.

Which makes me giggle. I like to giggle.

And secondly, the hair’s movement is what makes the static mess of the Blue Spirit’s solo fight scene appear at least bit more dynamic because God knows the cinematography isn’t doing it.

Any particular reason why it’s at the edge of the action, shot all boring-like?

Now, I get why circular shots would be reserved for Aang while he’s in the practice area and then used once the two join forces. What I don’t get is why Aang’s part of the action scene has a defined visual style while Zuko’s delegated to a few stationary wide shots from afar as though he’s a tertiary goon, meaning that when the time comes to combine the respective pieces of cinema language and visually convey collaboration, there’s not really much to combine.

But as long as Zuko is stuck in this static mess, it’s that awesome disaster on his head flopping about that draws the eye, helping me understand that something even is going on over there.

It also prevents me from paying much attention to how the extras are mostly just staying put and a lot of the hits don’t land, so that’s good.

The music slaps

James Newton Howard is too good for this.

youtube

Pls ignore that the word “gods” is used in the ATLA universe

I can’t be the only one who constantly uses this piece to daydream about writing specific fanfic scenes instead of, you know, actually sitting down and writing them. It’s just so good at communicating a sense of sorrow while speaking of rebirth that I find myself getting misty-eyed whenever I listen to it. Unfailingly, the soundtrack as a whole manages to break through the mile-thick crust of horrible acting, confusing writing, and uninspired cinematography and make me feel things. And considering how everything on screen is working against it, that’s no small feat.

Imagine what a powerful experience it would be if the score was used in service of an actual movie.

Dev Patel

No wonder since he’s the only one in the film occupying that crucial intersection between “is a good actor” and “was given something to work with”. It also doesn’t hurt that he breaks with the trend of actors starring in martial arts flicks despite never having done any martial art.

And all EIP-jokes about “stiff and humorless” aside, he’s a pretty decent Zuko considering how abridged this version of the character is. A while ago, I remember hearing a reviewer say that with his comedic chops, Patel should have been cast as Sokka. And on one hand, yes, god, absolutely, I need to see that asap. But on the other? He captures all layers of Book 1!Zuko, the desperate obsession, rage, and self-loathing, and at the same time gives you a peek at the soft momma’s boy dork that’s buried underneath. For Christ sakes, he exudes intensity and ambivalence even when acting against an emotionless hunk of wood that’s giving him nothing in return.

Oh, and I guess there’s a tree in the frame.

Ba dum tss

What can I say, the guy’s good.

Showing vs telling

OK, so this movie is all tell and no show, except for one single moment. And it’s the exact moment where the original goes in the other direction in terms of how information is conveyed.

See, I never liked this. The revelation is preceded by Iroh giving advice to Zuko who scolds him for nagging. Iroh then apologizes, moves in to say the line above, and is interrupted by Zuko who seems rather uncomfortable with Iroh laying his feelings out like this. And once they’re out, Zuko verbally confirms that he knew already and Iroh didn’t need to bother.

All this extraneous information and pussyfooting ends up weakening what should be a profound scene that reveals to us, the viewers, how deep the relationship between these two in fact runs.

Compare to the movie where Dadroh acts like a parent by fussing and worrying, with Sonion needing a single look to tell him and us that he understands what it’s all really about.

It’s genuinely efficient and just good.

No Cataang

Fine, a bit mean-girl bitchy from me since I only start minding the ship in Book 3. And probably unintentional on the part of the creators since there are moments where I think they’re trying to set the romance up? There’s a, well, an attempt to recreate the famous introductory shot of fateful meaningful destiny of meaningness, there’s some slight note of saving each other’s bacon going on, I’m pretty sure they’re the only ones in the film who smile, and oh, right, Katara’s shoved into her post-canon useless role where she doesn’t ever do anything, and is all about Aang right from the get go.

Yes, I will blame the “executive producers” because a) I’m incredibly petty, and b) it’s perfectly in line with their vision of the character so why the hell not.

Hilariously, none of it reads on screen because the actors are just... yeah. These poor kids are struggling so much with delivering their own lines and portraying their own characters they don’t seem to have any strength left to create something between them. To be fair, the bare-bones shot-reverse shot style of their scenes doesn’t exactly lend itself to the idea they occupy the same universe, let alone are friends or each other’s crushes.

And I enjoy this immensely because it allows me to forget the depressing horror show Katara’s life turns into post ATLA.

Yes Zutara

I need to delve into this because it’s fucking hilarious. So in a movie which fails to establish the original’s central romance so spectacularly that if Aang got lost in a crowd I don’t believe Katara would notice, SomEOnE thought it’d be a good idea to add an utterly unnecessary non-canon moment where Zuko for some reason feels the need to pause his character-defining hunt for the Avatar which otherwise has him ignore everything and snap at everyone, and explain his central conflict to an unconscious peasant he doesn’t know, complete with gently pushing the hair from the pretty girl’s the soulmate’s the Water Tribe Ambassador’s the Fire Lady’s the love of his life’s her face away, AFTER his uncle nagged him twice to find a girl and settle down.

I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page and this is what we really saw.

Celibate Avatars

I have no idea why the decision was made, if TPTB thought expecting viewers to understand the story through the lens of Buddhism would be too much, or if the “executive producers” already worked their retconny magic. What I do know, however, is that there’s a big shift in worldbuilding and Aang’s struggle with his role as the Avatar stops being a personal conflict defined by a) his grief for Air Nomads, b) his notion of being robbed of the loved ones in his life, and c) the selfish attachment to Katara he confuses with true love. Instead, what he has a difficulty to accept is apparently a general notion of who Avatars are supposed to be, i.e. a fantasy version of Catholic monks, no family and worldly relations, period.

I guess either someone understood the original’s portrayal of de/attachment as “hermit no freaky”, or thought the audience would so why not go there outright.

Now, do I like this on its own? No, God no, it makes the world infinitely poorer and changes the story from an exploration of ideas which aren’t all that ingrained in the West, to a cliché tropester about a Catholic priest going Protestant so that he could be with a girl.

At least I assume that’s where they were going to take this eventually.

I mean, I think the direction was “look conflicted, this isn’t the final stage of your journey”?

But consider this—the show went there, it built on the concepts of Eastern philosophy and touched upon the ideas of spiritual awakening, only to swerve in the end and strongly imply they’re bullshit and Aang should have never wasted his time with them.

So honestly, I much prefer scanty worldbuilding to an insulting retcon by a damn rock.

Multiracial Air Nomads

Probably the most substantial “no hint of irony” point on this list and a genuinely good addition to the universe’s worldbuilding.

See, the notion of the elemental nations being perfectly separate and never mingling before Sozin has always been sketchy but it’s especially ridiculous in the case of airbenders. It never made sense to me for all airbenders to be Air Nomads and for all Air Nomads to be monks and for all monks to be chilling at the temples all the time to facilitate a quick everyone-dies genocide should an imperialistic warlord ever decide to commit one.

Because committing everyone to a single way of life at a handful of places kinda goes against the central philosophy behind airbending. Like the freedom and nomadism part.

Instead, there should be more variety to the airbending culture, with some staying at the temples as monks, hermits, and teachers while others live as nomads, travelling the world and creating more airbenders, with the resulting children in turn being influenced by the non-airbending cultures they grew up in.

And thus, not only should airbenders not be modeled after a single culture to create a one-size-fits-all lifestyle, but they should have the most diverse and dynamic culture out of the four nations.

And it’d be precisely this diversity which would pave way for an eventual reveal that some of them survived, that their complete extermination is impossible.

Because they’re everywhere.

You know.

Like air.

#atla #atla movie #zutara #anti bryke #dev patel #the last airbender #anti-kataang

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dionnaea · 4 years ago

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Revelations | Pieck x Reader

pairing: pieck finger x gn!reader

warnings: cursing, some yelling, ends in fluff

wc: 1.8k

a/n: sorry that this is a couple days late! midterms wore me out, and i didn’t feel like looking at a word document for a day or two. hope you enjoy it nonetheless! let me know what you think :)

request: Hi can I request a pieck x male reader (or gender neutral if your more comfortable with that) maybe the reader is a scout that was captured after the attack and she is in charge of watching them maybe they slowly warm up to each other after reader reveals the horrors they’ve gone through with the Titans during an argument with pieck and eventually they start a relationship?

attack on titan masterlist | general masterlist

Yes, you had met some annoying scouts during your training, but you had never met anyone as annoying as the Marleyan soldier that was sent to guard your cells. He spent most of his time either throwing schoolyard insults your way or trying to flirt with every captive. It was ridiculous, and you were getting more than tired of listening to his squeaky, borderline pre-pubescent voice flood the stone-lined hallway. His break times had turned into a safe haven of sorts for you and your comrades, but as the thirty minutes creeped by, you became more and more antsy.

Today, however, seemed to be different as a woman walked in a little while after the regular guard left. She had walked by all of the cells, taking subtle glances inside each one, before having a seat near your end of the row. In fact, she was a mere five feet away from the bars of your current habitat, and you took the chance to study her.

The first thing you noticed was the red band clasped securely around her left arm, denoting her Warrior status. It shone like a beacon or a warning, you couldn’t decide which. Still, why would a Warrior be sent to watch over some captured scouts? And where had the other man gone? Not that you minded his absence. The curiosity started to eat away at you, and you figured there was no harm in asking.

“Hey,” you started. You were taken aback when you realized that she was already looking at you, like she knew exactly what you were going to say.

“He was moved to another post,” she answered your unspoken question. “I’m here in the interim.”

“Ah,” you responded.

Her voice was a bit too soft for your liking; it was unbecoming of a killer, you thought with spite. You didn’t like her being here. A regular, annoying Marleyan soldier was one thing, but a Warrior? It was like a stab straight to every scout’s heart. Your chest started to feel a bit hotter as your anger towards her grew. You hadn’t been there when she delivered the boulders to the Beast Titan to decimate your comrades, but you had heard the tale, a horror story only told late at night. As if she had the right to exist in the same building, on the same continent even as the predecessors of those she had killed.

You scoffed out loud, and the Warrior turned to face you, furrowing her eyebrows as if she were actually concerned. You glared in response. It was stupid, you thought, that she was allowed to have a face like that, the face of an angel, and still act like a devil.

The day passed, her sitting idly by while you did your best to play a card game in your head. You tried to picture all of the cards and their suits and numbers, placing them on the imaginary table you had set up on the floor of your cell. It wasn’t going well, you kept losing, as you kept getting distracted by the feeling of the Warrior’s gaze burning into the back of your skull. It was almost as annoying as the squeaks of the original guard, and you felt a sense of pure relief as soon as she left for the night and another guard took her place.

To your discontent, she returned the next day, too, and the next. By the third day, your blood was boiling. Even though you were always turned away from her, you could feel her eyes on you most of the time. It was pissing you off, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“What the hell?!” You questioned as you whipped around, not surprised to find her dark eyes piercing into yours. Hers were wide in confusion, and that made you even more mad. “What’s so interesting about the back of my head, huh? You busy picturing what it would look like with a bullet in it or something?” It was a harsh statement, you knew, but you also believed she deserved it.

She shook her head quickly and with so much force that her crutch started to slide from where it was balanced against her chair. She swiftly reached out to catch it, holding onto it with both hands instead of propping it back up.

“N-no. I just…” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I just was trying to figure out what you were doing.”

You scowled. “What I was doing?” You repeated incredulously. “I’m wasting away in a jail cell, that’s what I’m doing!” You stood up in a flash, pressing your body against the bars and grabbing onto them until your knuckles were white. “I’m stuck here because of you, you know!”

She shook her head again, denying your statement. “No, you’re here because you killed my people.”

“Well, you killed mine!” You shouted back. Your voice lowered as you spoke again, grief flowing through you. “Thousands, millions even. You slaughtered them all without a thought for their families, and children, and friends. You destroyed our home without regrets, without us doing a damn thing to you, so stop complaining that we destroyed yours.”

The woman was quiet now, her head bowed and hair covering her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and that pissed you off more. You started to go off again, but she stopped you with her next words. “Tell me. Tell me what we did to you. I want to know everything.”

When she looked up, there was an honesty and sadness in her eyes that you never would’ve expected to see. It shook you, and for a second, you saw a normal human being rather than a Warrior. Somehow that look calmed you, and you became willing to tell the stories of you and so many others, both dead and alive.

You learned her name was Pieck, and the two of you talked for hours. You described the horrors of life under the threat of Titans, you told of the atrocities that occurred on the battlefield, you explained to her the loss and grief and overwhelming depression that came with the life every scout and citizen of Paradis was being forced to live.

And to your stupefaction, she listened to every word quietly, nodding her head to signal that she was taking in the information. She didn’t try to sympathize or compare experiences, she just sat and let you talk, letting herself realize her own sins. Once you were silent, you could tell she understood, at least as much as an outsider could. She didn’t need to apologize for you could see in her face that she had plenty of regrets, and Pieck was well aware that an apology would mean practically nothing. It was atonement that she sought now, and Pieck figured a good place to start would be with you.

From that day on, you grew closer with the woman. You never shared mindless conversations, but instead always talked of the past and of your experiences. You heard stories of her Warrior training and realized the brainwashing that the Eldians living on Marley had been put under from birth. A part of you was proud to see that Pieck had overcome it in a sense, happy to realize that peace was truly possible if constructive conversations could be had. It was promising, and slowly but surely, talking to Pieck became the highlight of your day, something you looked forward to as she made you forget about your lonely little cell.

Weeks had passed, and then one night changed everything.

You were struggling to sleep, the thin sheet you were given was not enough to protect you from the cold and the hard bed was giving you a pounding headache. The only comfort you had was the knowledge that you could see Pieck again in a few hours once the sun came up. The hallway was silent other than the occasional moments when the night watchman got up to use the restroom. He sat on the other end of the hall from you, and you were thankful that he couldn’t see into your cell from where he was stationed.

The next time he got up, he didn’t come back for quite a while, and you started to wonder if something had happened to him. Were the scouts finally coming to rescue you? Your heart began to pound harder as you heard the door to the hall creak open and keys jingle. You cracked your eyes open to see who was here only to be met with the sight of Pieck standing outside your enclosure, fiddling with the keys before sliding one into your door’s lock.

You sat up quickly, tossing the sheet off of you and standing to meet her against the bars. Keeping your voice as low as possible, you whispered, “Pieck! What’re you doing?”

She whispered back, pushing your door open and holding out a pile of clothes to you. “Put these on. I want to take you somewhere.”

You obliged quickly, not questioning the possibility that you could escape somehow. Was she helping you to leave? But how would you get back to Paradis? Options were running through your head at lightspeed as you slipped on the long sleeve shirt and jacket. She guided you down the hallway after you were dressed, careful not to wake anyone or stir suspicion. You barely recognized the building as you walked through it as it had been months since you had last seen anything other than stone walls and metal bars. When Pieck pushed the backdoor open and let you wander back into nature, the breath was stolen from your lungs.

It was cold outside, but in a different way than your cell. The air was refreshing rather than stale and the wind was pleasant, not a musty draft. You could smell the light scent of flowers in the air, and you wondered exactly where it was coming from, suddenly craving the feeling of petals on your fingertips. Pieck seemed to understand your thoughts as she led you to a small garden on the other side of the pathway. Upon seeing the dainty plants, you rushed over to them, brushing your fingers over the colors and savoring the different textures.

As you straightened back up, Pieck took your hand gently. You felt a bit embarrassed with how dry yours were, hers as silky smooth as the petals you had just caressed, and you apologized quickly and quietly. Laughing softly, Pieck just tightened her grasp, assuring you there was nothing to worry about by how she pulled you closer. Her being this close was intoxicating, and you felt yourself melt into her, peace washing over you in waves. For some reason, all of this felt new to you, like you were starting over in the world with Pieck, and you were perfectly content to stand here beside her.

It wasn’t until later, when you were back and locked securely into your cell, that you realized you didn’t mind staying a bit longer on Marley as long as Pieck was here, too.

#attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #pieck finger #pieck x reader #pieck finger x reader #snk #aot #mere writes

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batarella · 5 years ago

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The Commander - Part 6 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

Let me know what you guys think! Still love you all for the response.

WORDS: 2137 WARNINGS: FLUFFY STUFFY FLUFF

Masterlist

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

He knew it was late when he awoke. He never felt so well-rested in years. The Knight peered his eyes open. The second thing that greeted him was the smell of greasy burgers being unwrapped from thin plastic.

“Mornin’,” Commander Y/N said. She took out a burger from a paper bag and set it on the table. “I got us burgers.”

“Mmm.” The Knight closed his eyes again. “What time is it?”

“Two in the afternoon. I woke up an hour ago.” The Commander sat on the desk and took a bite. “Didn’t you go out again last night?”

The Knight groaned into his pillow and propped himself up, leaning against the bed. “Hand me one.”

The Commander grabbed a burger and threw it at Jason. He caught it, then took a large bite out from the bun. He was starving. “Looks like you needed the rest more than I did,” the Commander said. “You snore like a pig.”

The Knight glared at her.

Y/N grabbed another burger. “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep like that in my life.”

“Tell me about it,” the Knight finished his burger, extending his arm for another one. “But we leave for the cave tonight, then take the jet back to Venezuela.”

“Fries?”

“Sure.” The Commander handed him the box. He slurped his fingers. “Did you hear anything from Slade?”

“Nope. Nothing from Crane either.”

His voice was still groggy and tired. He sounded like sex. “What do we do until then?” The Commander asked.

“We stay here. Or you can go out if you like.”

“Are you going out?”

“No.” The Knight laid on elbow above his propped-up knee. He looked up at her. His hair was an absolute mess. “I can't believe you abandoned this place for so long. Where’d you go?”

The Knight finished his second burger, then dug into the fries. “I’m not telling you anything about me.”

“I’ve seen you naked.”

He stopped chewing, slowly turning his head to her.

But then the Knight stared at his fries, looking like he was thinking of something to say. He scooched over to the right and placed his hand on the floor beside him.

“Sit here. That desk is as old as I am. It’ll break under your weight.”

The Commander jumped off the desk, then nonchalantly sat right at his side. She ate her burger silently.

He looked normal. He didn’t look like some maniacal supervillain. Like any young boy she’d meet if she were normal as well. And his hair, he still hadn’t bothered to fix. She just wanted to run her fingers down them like she used to.

He took a bite. “So you’ve slept with me the most, huh?”

“Fuck you.”

The Knight smirked. That was such a first. It was like Gotham brought out the humanity in this guy.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before.”

He looked at her. And he wasn’t frowning. There was still a slight curve in his lip as he looked at her up and down. “Likewise, kid.”

Y/N returned his expression, then looked down. “Thank you for the day off.”

The Knight didn’t say anything back. He’d finished his fries, then he set the box down on the space between them. He propped both his elbows up his knees and laid his head against the side of the bed.

“I lied to you.”

She threw the plastic from her finished burger. “Hm?”

“I don’t regret what we did.” His voice was that same low he’d speak in when he was hesitating to speak. Y/N didn’t know what to tell him. She looked in front of her, biting her lips. The air seemed colder all of a sudden.

Could she lean in? Kiss him? Do it just one more time? Will that make the time between now and a few days?

It won't. This side of him was different, something she wanted to just look at and last. It didn’t have to be something so sexual for her to air out her stresses. Sitting on the floor, eating fries and greasy burgers with him. It was enough.

“Me neither.”

Xxxxxxxxx

She ended up going with him to get smoothies.

They didn’t bother with the bikes. They just walked. And the Knight didn’t bother with his armor under his clothes either. He paid for the drinks and walked slowly back to the apartment.

“This is positively horrible.”

“The good ones are a drive away. I never said my neighborhood was any good.”

“I should have known,” she looked at the green slime in her cup. “You got it from a man that used a cardboard box to store his ice.”

“And I stole from him everyday as a kid.”

There. Finally. Another from his past. She had to bite her lip not to make it so obvious.

The Knight still kept his cap and hoodie on. He was so afraid anyone would see the mark on his face. Frankly, Y/N never gave it a second look. She looked away from him before he’d notice.

“How much time do we still have?”

“It’s almost four.”

She continued sipping into her cup, trying not to gag. “It’s refreshing not having five hundred men to worry about for a day.”

“Slade’s hired new recruits. More experienced. Said they didn’t need much training to begin with.”

“Can we talk about something else other than the militia?”

The Knight frowned. “We’re not here on vacation.”

“I’ve grown used to this,” she finished the drink until a large block of ice half the cup’s size was left. She threw it out. “I don’t think I’ve ever taken a brake.”

He looked at her, then threw out his own drink. “Commander.”

He stopped walking and looked up at her standing on the curb, and him right at the edge of the road. Y/N craned her head down, taking a step forward.

“How much money did I promise you?”

She shrugged. “Ten thousand.”

The Knight took another step. “No one will survive in Gotham after this. Not after what Crane has planned.”

Y/N nodded. “I understand.”

“A number of my men will be captured and interrogated. The Militia Commander will be the first one to take down on their list. I’ll give you fifteen when we get back. And when all this is done, you go to Bludhaven. Take your uncle with you if you have to and change your name. Promise me you won't look back.”

There were car sirens from afar. But all she could stare at was his face.

“I will,” she said. “I promise.”

Xxxxxxxxx

They were going to the Batcave.

It was dark, though the streets were far from empty. They sped off into the outer city, crossing the bridge into the suburbs. They’d reached miles of empty land. Hillsides and forests. The Commander just trailed behind him.

They drove up a hill, the road empty and silent, until they stopped where there stood a cave, dark and barren on the inside.

“Come,” he grappled to the bushes at the side of the cave’s opening. “We have to wait ‘till he comes out.”

There were no stars, just as Y/N remembered her home city would be. She thought of how she felt the first time she saw a field of stars above her in Venezuela, how she spent an entire night just staring at them.

But what she hasn’t seen was the view.

“It’s breathtaking, though,” she said. “The city you hate so much.”

“I don’t hate Gotham as it is,” his robotic voice echoed into the silent field, “I hate how it’s fallen submissive under him.”

“He’s never killed, hasn’t he? That’s why he’s a hero.”

“He’s delusional,” he said, “He should be out by now.“

Then there it was. The Batmobile. Almost exploding out of the cave’s opening, tires screeching as it landed on the concrete road and sped off. They waited until it was out of their line of sight, then they grappled out of the bushes at the higher grounds to land right into the cave’s entrance.

It didn’t shock her how much it was actually loaded with security.

“Don’t worry. Its security systems have only been upgraded twice since I’ve last been here.” He pulled out his hacking device, “Shouldn’t take me more than ten seconds.”

She stared in awe, both at the Knight and the cave, before the sensors suddenly disengaged.

“Eleven seconds. Not bad,” she said.

They walked in, “We only have a few minutes.”

Then there it fucking was. The Batcave. She knew it was something, but she had no idea what to expect. The Batwing was there. She had seen it fly over her house once or twice. There was another Batmobile parked beside it, looking like a few marks down from his current car. It was larger than two stories, and it looked absolutely magnificent.

Batman’s computer was at arm’s reach.

They dropped down onto the floor, making it more and more unrealistic the more she stepped further inside. The man had more suits than he’s ever even worn. The Knight, however, didn’t waste time admiring the Batcave. He walked straight to the computers.

Until something caught his eye.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured under his breath.

Y/N turned to see what he meant, but it turns out he was only staring at a displayed suit inside a glass case. “I think that used to be his sidekick’s. Robin.”

He didn’t answer, and instead continued to look at it. He didn’t move, or even take a second to look away the moment it caught his attention.

He pressed the button to raise his visor. He still didn’t say anything. His eyes were dark and hooded, and he took a step closer to the glass case.

She could feel something was off. Something she didn’t think to look for. Whenever the Knight grew angry, she never actually got to see his face. He had his visor for that. And now, he was there, looking at the suit like it struck something within him. The Commander looked down at his feet. Standing against the glass was a picture of Batman and Robin, smiling. The Knight was looking at the picture as well.

The Commander walked closer to him, standing behind his back. The Knight didn’t seem to notice her. She wanted a closer look at the picture.

And when she did, she regretted it.

Fuck.

No.

No. no. no. no.

Commander Y/N stepped back, and just as the Knight pulled his arm way back.

“Don’t!”

He stopped. The glass would’ve broken, and it would’ve triggered something in the cave. Fuck.

She had no idea what to tell him. Commander Y/N looked just as distraught, though hers was in fear and he was in his lowest, depressive state. She stepped back.

“I-“

“Wait outside.”

“But-“

“Commander.” The slight crack in his voice pushed her another step back. He didn’t scream. But she obviously didn’t want him to. “Wait outside.”

He’ll be fine. He has to be. But Crane was right. There was something that triggered him in the cave.

The Commander grappled up where they came in, not even turning back. Then it dawned to her.

Fuck. Fucking hell. That was him. In the picture.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

And she knew it. She just knew it. Then suddenly she felt horrible, somehow because she knew because she found out, not because he was ready to tell her. The Knight never would’ve told her. Never to the Militia.

And he knew. Just from the look of her face when she’d realized it. He’d probably kill her. Or leave her in Gotham. She knew too much. Fuck. This was the end of her.

The Commander leaned against her bike. How was she going to face him now?

Should she fess up? Tell him exactly how much she knew?

No. That’s how he’ll decide to kill her. The Knight was a ruthless, cruel man. She’d somehow forgotten that overtime. This was the man who assembled an army, dragged out anyone in his way, killed like no one could see him, and was planning to take control of an entire city. Whoever the man she thought he was until this point on, he didn’t exist.

The Knight walked so quietly out of the cave,

She kept her silence. Speaking would only do her so good. Commander Y/N kept her head down and picked up her helmet. She couldn’t even look at him.

The Knight kept his visor off. His face hadn’t changed. “It’s done.”

Y/N knew he was mad, but he was trying to hide it.

Say something.

“I’ll let Deathstroke know.”

And at the sound of her voice, so carefully picked out. He almost flinched. The Knight exhaled, smoke coming out of his mouth. His movements were so slow she could count the seconds. Then his head turned to her.

Her helmet dropped to the floor when he grabbed her face and kissed her.

-----

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

Taglist: @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki @everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208 @offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal @mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive

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my-brothers-corrupted · 4 years ago

Text

Book Four - Part 13

Trick breaks free. Then the real fight begins.

Tws for torture, possession, and blood.

Part 13 - Chase

Anonymous asked: Remember Trick, Chase. In the battle against your own mind, only one person can win. Don't let it, let him, destroy you.

“Here you go, my darling.”

Shifting and whispers in the bed beside him. His eyes slide slowly open, sticky with sleep.

“Nobody will take you away,” Anti is purring to Dapper, clipping tiny cameras to his shirt and the pocket of his pants. “I’ll be watching the three of you all day. Oh, my Trickster’s awake.”

He leans over to kiss Chase’s head, scratching at his scalp. “At least you never cause me any problems. Be good. I’ll be back later.”

“Anti,” croaks Chase, rubbing at his eyes.

“What?”

“I’m really hungry.”

“You eat a lot more than Dapper, you know. But then again, he doesn’t age. He’s low-maintenance. Even the scars tend to fade off him, and he goes all pretty and soft again.” Anti pauses, glancing around the room. “I’ll leave the door unlocked. You can get something from the kitchen. Just don’t let Dapper out.”

“Can’t you bring me something?” asks Trick weakly. “I’m having a down day.”

He can feel it already, his depression getting a tighter and tighter grip on him. He just wants to be taken care of for a little while. Coaxed out of bed and into the shower, brought food and massaged. He knows someone should be here helping him. Knowing what to do. Anti?

“I have to deal with your miserable brothers today,” murmurs Anti, leaning in to nuzzle together once again. “But in a couple weeks, when we’re out of here, I’ll spoil the pair of you all you want and then some. Give master kiss.”

Trick presses his mouth uncertainly to Anti’s cheek, at least soothed a little by the contact, but all too soon Anti is drawing away.

“Have a good day. I love you, Anti.”

He glitches out of view, turning only to flash Trick a smile before he vanishes into color and smoke.

Trick stares after him, numb.

Dapper’s very deeply asleep beside him, face drawn. Anti was talking to him while he wasn’t even awake.

Trick hides beside his brother’s arm and tries to go back to sleep. There’s a faint noise in the edges of his hearing like a faint whimpering, but it scares him too much to think about. He just wants to be unconscious again.

Battle for his mind. Ha. He can’t fight for anything right now.

“Anti’s fucking right,” he whispers. “I am broken.”

Anonymous asked: You will make it through, Chase Brody. You are a survivor through-and-through, and sure you may have had to change for survival a few times, but you are still the strong man with a protective gun in hand, the protagonist enough to lead the story and still be you after all this time. Jack made you for happy endings. And goddamnit you are going to have one, no matter how long the story takes.

Trick glances over at you, eyes dull. He supposes he has survived a lot. But protagonist - he can’t do that. He can’t be that. Right now, all he can do is lie in this bed.

He’s too scared to get up. He’s scared to check Dapper’s pulse and find it fading. Scared to look out his window and feel himself go weak with the confusion and distress from that body on the porch. Scared to see a calendar and know how long he’s been here, here, here, just… rotting.

Just him in this silent room, with moments of Dapper’s company to comfort him, and then silence again. His stomach groans as though to mock him.

“Happy endings,” he whispers, rubbing at his face.

He dreams of that warm smell on a baby’s head and hands pressed into the muscles of his shoulders. Dreams of a soothing mixture of English, German, and BSL to soothe him. Dreams of strawberry shortcake and cats curling up on his lap, of trees with no monsters in them. He would really like that. He would really like a happy ending.

Anonymous asked: Anti hasn't talked about that night because he doesn't actually want to make things better, Trick. He just wants to make you forget everything he's done to you so he never has to apologise. He does it to all of you. He doesn't want to make things better, he just wants to force you to forget, force you to love him. Anti is an abuser. All he will ever do is hurt you worse.

“That night…” mumbles Trick.

He glances down at the deep, ugly burn scar on his hand.

“If I try to go I think he’ll hurt me worse,” Trick whispers, blinking wetly at that old memory in his hand. “I’m scared of him. So angry. He does so many things when he’s angry…”

He hears faint flickers of screams, sees old traces of blood and injuries, watches Dapper’s hands cry for mercy. He curls down tighter against his brother, shuddering.

“I think he will hurt me again,” he croaks out. “You know, I really think he will. I’m scared. I think maybe I wish I could have a little time away? Like Dok and Red and Blue? But then Anti was only more angry. And he makes my head so confused. But you know, I think you’re right. I think maybe he’s always going to be someone who hurts me. I don’t know why we make him so, so angry, but yeah, I think maybe he’s being mean.”

Trick’s eyes well up with tears - and, for a second, a flash of his old ferocity, like the bitter, hurting Trick who crouched against the windowsill in that house near the sea in Norway.

“He makes me do things I don’t want to do and he hurts me and my brothers. Why does he do that? I’m trying to be good. He’s - he’s being a dick. He really is. I think maybe he hurt Dok really really bad.”

Tears begin to drizzle down his cheeks. He turns away from you, panting.

“Fuck him. What the hell? I don’t know what’s so wrong with me, but Dok is sweet. Dapper’s sweet. This is… oh, holy shit, this is all so, so fucked up…”

Anonymous asked: Is it really 'stopping the pain' if it was caused by him in the first place, Trick? Is it really 'stopping the pain' if he's made you forget nearly everything you loved, destroyed and hurt your family, and made you spill the blood of all those innocent lives? Are his lies enough for you?

Trick wipes at his face, feeling pathetic and low.

“He used to stop all the pain,” he says. “And I would float in that haze for days, feeling good, feeling okay, with just these moments where I got the sense that something was totally wrong. Like I was living a life I wasn’t supposed to, cause some god stuck me in the wrong skin or something. But he made it stop hurting. And when we hung out, I’d feel happy and we’d have fun. He’s funny, did you know that? He’s really funny and he can be sweet too. Cause when he’s feeling fond of you, all he wants to do is have you close to him and give you things you want. He glows when you praise him and treat him soft. I thought maybe it was the two of us, right? Like we made each other happy. That’s what I thought.”

He stares out the window at the trees and the golden light of a world that feels miles away.

“But I can’t watch him hurt my brothers anymore,” he whispers. “I don’t think he realizes that that’s what really destroys me. He thinks if he just treats me nice, that’ll be everything I need. Why… why would he lock me away like this? And hurt them like that? Didn’t we do our best? For months now, months and months? Didn’t I love him? All I ever wanted was to make him happy. Now he tells me he has to take me away from the people who make me happy for his sake.

He closes his eyes. A sliver of that faraway sunlight touches him, running over his cheek.

“I don’t think this is going to be enough for me. I can’t stay in this room much longer. And I keep thinking ‘well, surely he won’t make me a prisoner forever’ - and then I look over at him.”

Dapper’s mouth is parted with sleep, his face ashy and hollow. Trick manages to sit up for the first time in more than twelve hours to pull him into his lap and rock him, bent low over his thin little body.

Anonymous asked: Even if it doesn't look like the abuse you've suffered in the past, Anti is emotionally abusing and gaslighting you constantly. The feeling you have that you don't understand anything that's going on and don't know the truth? That's caused by the level of gaslighting you're going through. Being less confident, not feeling like the person you used to be, like everything you do is wrong, making excuses for him, isolation from your family, denying actions you /saw/ him do. It's gaslighting. Abuse.

“Denying actions I saw him do?”

Trick stares out the window, picking at his lip. Pick, pick, picking at his mouth until the blood seeps against his fingernails.

He sighs and shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head like he’s trying to throw the thoughts off. After a few minutes, his discomfort overcomes his exhaustion and he gets up to use the bathroom, leaving Dapper gently propped up against the pillows like a time-traveling Sleeping Beauty.

Trick comes back paler than he was before and sits down hard on the side of the bed, eyes glazed over.

“Anti chained Red and Dapper in the bathtub for a whole night cause they tried to sneak him his Haldol. That’s why Dapper’s arm is busted. Then he told me he’d kill Dok in our sleep if I didn’t take off his necklaces.”

Anonymous asked: When an abuser constantly insists that they love you, your mind learns to rationalize that any abuse is excusable because "they must love me!" in order to keep mental pain at bay. You learn to rationalize that abuse and love can ever co-exist for the sake of your own heart. But the abuser does not love you. Love and abuse cannot co-exist. 'Family' or not, Anti is an abuser, Trick. A violent, physical one. Eventually youll have to choose between real love, & an endless cycle of excusing abuse.

“No, oh, no,” whispers Trick, grabbing at his head. It hurts! There is a wound opening up inside his head, a mallet pounding down against something deeply sealed, a fire burning at his memories. “No, we did love each other. He’s being so horrible, but he… loves us. No, he doesn’t. He loves me? How could he treat me so well when things are good if he doesn’t? He wants to keep me. He loves me.”

But this cycle - this cycle!

He hears a girl laughing. She smells like good cooking and library books. He’s the one making her laugh and it lights his chest up. He presses his mouth to the soft skin of her cheek and she smiles and touches his hand. They say goodbye. Anti slaps him so hard he crashes to the ground. He hears Blue screaming for him to stop, but Anti doesn’t listen. Trick forgot by the next morning.

Trick clutches his head. His fingers intertwine with green hair. “No, no, no. What is he making me forget? He’s - what - what is he trying to turn me into? Please, please get him for me, tell him I need him to clear my head. No - no, but he makes me forget, or - or these are just nightmares. These aren’t real. These are just… just…”

Anonymous asked: It wasn't a nightmare. Don't let him control your head. Don't let him win, Trick. He's been hypnotising you, in your head nearly every single day. Don't you remember when you hated it? When you would cry every time someone was possessed, when him being in your head nearly caused you to kill yourself? Anti doesn't "make the pain stop", he just erases it, destroys it, destroys your sense of self and your freedom over your own mind.

“No, come on,” begs Trick, shaking his head, feeling himself beginning to shake. He needs to lie back down again. He hides under the covers, still holding his skull. “No, that’s not true. I don’t want it to be true. I’m scared. I can’t fight him if he’s really like that. He’s going to hurt me and my family. What do I do? Oh, no, no! He’ll get in my head again - I’m going to forget again and just keep letting him hurt us! Dapper - Dapper’s been stuck in one room for months and months, I have to - I can’t protect anyone, no, he’ll make me forget. He controls me. He’s right, I’m just a fucking puppet. I don’t control my own thoughts anymore…”

Anonymous asked: I'm curious about something, Trick. I'm not even sure if you still remember but there was a girl who Anti captured who you guarded and were told to kill when you all left the area... but you didn't, and you let her go instead. Did she say something to you? What made you directly disobey Anti that day?

Trick looks up at you, astonished. He bites down on his nail, turning away.

“You’re right… shit, what happened?”

Flowers and plants bursting from the earth. Blue’s eyes full of despair moments before glazing over with Anti’s shadow. In the shed, the girl looked back at him, her eyes raised.

“I think she said she wanted to go home to her family,” says Trick. “Or did I imagine that? That she said she had a family to go home to, a family that was looking for her and scared for her? She was all covered up in cuts. Anti used to make Dok do that to people. It was terrible. He would go so wild as he tortured them, just like Anti wanted, but then afterwards he would just shake and shake and shake for days in silence, stuck as deep in his own head as he put his scalpel into Anti’s prisoners. One time, he became convinced there was some sort of infection inside himself that he needed to cut out. I found him in the bathroom, completely delusional, completely incoherent, his scalpel stuck inside his thigh, splurting blood everywhere. I don’t think Anti even said anything about it… Dok cut up someone else that next day. It was always cruel, the torture. For Dok, for his victims. I remember that girl all covered in Dapper’s cuts.

“And I guess I thought I could get away with it. We were all leaving, so why not leave her? But then she brought the magicians. It was my fault she took Dok away.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, head aching.

“And Anti kicked Dap, didn’t he?” he asks faintly. “Maybe I was just angry at him. Like the fire. I didn’t set the fire for Dok, I just wanted to tick Anti off. I don’t know if I left the girl alive because I felt sorry for her or because I wanted to tick Anti off. I think sometimes I do. I think sometimes I want to get him back for all the things he’s done to us.”

As the memories come back to him, so too do the feelings, and with the feelings, a glimpse of reality.

Anonymous asked: Henrik, you can gift your necklaces to other people right? What if you gifted the protection over heart and head to Trick? That might be the only way to keep Anti out of him. I don't think he can fully fight it alone.

Blue eyes slide open on the porch.

Crusted and red. Bloodied on one side.

Henrik’s mouth barely parts. He tilts his head back, trying to readjust, and barbed wire pokes into his cheek, sending blood down his lips, tracing the pale outline of his mouth.

His necklaces hang off his throat. His last, solitary comfort and protection. You want them for his brother?

You must ask someone still standing to be selfless. He can’t care for anyone right now and he’s done his share of the sacrifice. Will you see to it that he is buried by the Chevra Kadisha after Anti kills him? It is his last request. His eyes have gone faraway from you, the pupils shrunk, and he stares at you like a hawk who can see the whole world beneath its endless gaze.

Anonymous asked: Who was it that said the line ‘anti tortured my brothers and made them thank him for it’ ? Cos I think u need to remember that one rn

“I guess he did,” answers Trick faintly. “He’s cruel on purpose. It’s not… it’s not his temper. He thinks it’s funny.”

aether-mae asked: Trick, as much as I love seeing you remember the truth, it’s all for naught if you don’t have a way to get free from Anti. We’ve brought you out of your hazes before only for him to drag you right back in. If you can reach enough clarity, please, please, get the fuck away from him (and bring dapper with you), otherwise we’ll be back to square one again

Trick’s eyes flicker. He looks over at Dapper, chewing on his nails.

“Can’t get out of the house with all the cameras,” he murmurs. “Can I? But I’m allowed go downstairs a little. He’s not, but I am. I don’t know how I could… can’t Red and Blue just come get me, please?”

aether-mae asked: Uhh noodle poodle, come back here please. There’s Dark things in the woods. Hopefully they like kittens..

You hear Trick gasp so hard it’s almost a scream.

“Holy shit!” he sobs. “My cat! Where is my cat, oh no, no, no!”

He scrambles to the door, pulling it open. Panting, he stands outside the room and clicks and kisses for his cat, calling for him like he always does. But Noodle doesn’t come running.

“He’s in the woods?” cries Trick. “My kitten is in the woods? Did Anti hurt him? Is he alive? Noodle! Come here, baby, daddy’s here! Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. I’m going to throw up. My cat, my baby.”

Anonymous asked: There was also a boy once, Trick. A kid you ran into when you robbed the pharmacy. I know you ran to avoid getting caught but I think partially it was because the name he had was familiar to you, in the same way your crinkle paper is familiar to you. No matter how Anti tries to shut your memories away, certain things always seem to linger.

Trick whimpers, shaking his head. Yes, he remembers. It hurt for a long time. It hurt for a long time even before that happened, before he even had that one name to cling to. There has always been a hole in his heart, for as long as he can remember.

But then he had his cat!

Having something to care for soothed him more than was probably healthy. He’s lost hope that he’ll see his children again, but his cat -

“I have to get my cat,” he cries. “I have to get away from Anti or he’ll leave my cat behind to die.”

And, on shaking legs, he begins his way down those great stairs, calling for Pot Noodle.

Anonymous asked: Anti took your children from you. Anti took your family from you, all of your friends, your life, your happiness. He took it all and filled your brain with false joy and lies all to make you a mimicry of Jack that he can pretend to control. Break free from him, Trick. Protect your real family.

The house is in ruins.

He doesn’t know when or how it happened. Struggles between Anti and his brothers, maybe, or just Anti himself lashing out. Maybe even Noodle caused some of the damage, in those first days where he was waiting for Chase to get out of the upstairs room and look after him. Some of it is just neglect.

The plant by the entryway door has fallen to its side and broken, the dirt spilling out across the filthy hardwood floors. A light is smashed above it and Trick can smell something like rot and spoiled milk in the air. There’s blood on the coat hanger.

Trick passes his hand over the wall, stepping through his broken home.

Here’s Red and Blue’s room. He remembers curling up with Red on the nights when Dok and Blue were both taken away from them. The room was cool and clean, Red meticulous in his organization and precise in his temperature control. They took what little comforts they could when they could hear their twins crying out from upstairs. Today, the room is in ruins. The sheets are torn off the bed and someone has been scratching at the door, leaving nail marks in the side, one hinge busted entirely. The drawers have been ripped open and the lamp is on its side, broken like it was used as a battering ram.

This home was so beautiful when they moved in, or Trick thought it was. And after everything that happened, he thought that maybe, just maybe, they would have a few months of peace and quiet, warm with the California sun and the love between them. It should have been idyllic.

He’s living in a fucking nightmare.

The basement is surprisingly clean, though Noodle’s sand box is full and his empty dishes have been pushed around and flipped in frustration by a hungry cat. But his and Dok’s bed is still untouched.

They would lie together. He would tell Dok about Anti. Dok would tell him about comfort and freedom and the future he wanted. Trick had barely even been able to listen at the time, ensnared in Anti’s power and his own self-delusions.

He puts his hand down on the mattress. His eyes water and spill over.

This was real family.

Anonymous asked: you were his nurse, trick. you were more than that. you loved him more than anti. you loved dok more than anyone. anti is torturing him, your real twin. anti is trying to force you to forget how much you loved him so that you'll be complacent. don't sit down and take it. fight for your family trick. see how horrible anti has treated you all for years and fight it with all your might.

“Dok was my twin,” he croaks out.

They would hold each other through the worst nights, whispering reassurances and secret sedition to each other, taking care of each other on their down days, days of blood and an exhaustion so deep as to eat holes in you. Dok - Henrik - was everything to him, when he had no one else to turn to. How did he ever forget, even for a hazy moment?

“Dok is my family. Anyone who hurts him like this does not belong. Dok is my family and I have to protect him.”

He holds his head up, breathing deep and closing his eyes.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

Anonymous asked: Red, Blue, and Henrik have done it and you can do, Trick. I feel like this is a truth you always knew. Anti is a snake in the rabbit's den. Anti is a falsity haphazardly placed inside the truth of your brotherhood. Anti does not love you, even if he seems 'fond' whenever you're under his control. He doesn't love you, he wants to control you.

Trick runs his hand through his hair, trying to think. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “And soon, he’ll come back and put me under his control again. I’ll be all confused and listless again, forgetting everything that matters so I can be his. I - I have to act right now. Right now, today. Before he tries to destroy me again.”

Anonymous asked: (1) Anti needs you to believe you'd be nothing without him. He needs you all to believe he is in charge and he is special and free from the rules because it fits his world view, where he's the all-powerful, in charge of everything. But you're not truly under his control. Trick, Dapper, Red, any of you, can be free at any time if you stop conforming to Anti's self-imposed world view. Anti treats you like a means to an end, you're only with him to satisfy his needs, to be the person he wants.

“He can force me to believe what he wants,” says Trick, treading back up the stairs. He’s so hungry he can barely think straight, so he’s decided to do what Dok would want him to do and try to find some breakfast while he thinks. “I need help to keep him out of my head, that’s the truth of it. In Singapore, Blue was the only anchor I had who kept me from getting completely lost in his power. Dapper will help me if he’s up to it, I know that now. I’ll get him some food too. I have to figure out what to do. I have to…”

He stares around himself at the prison of his home. The kitchen is absolutely wrecked, the fridge door left open so everything has gone bad. The stench of meat makes him gag. He grabs a tray of stale muffins and fills up a big water bottle before heading back towards his room, sitting shakily down on the bed.

“Need to get out of the house,” he whispers, his eyes flickering around to the cameras in the room. “Need to stop Dok from being his hostage. But he’s always watching. I have to distract him somehow. Or be very, very quick.”

Anonymous asked: Anti said he'll finish Henrik off if Red or Blue even try coming close to the house. You can't rely solely on their help to get you out.

Trick curls in on himself a little, his anxiety spiking.

“That’s why they haven’t come to get me. They can’t even get close. They… they can’t help me at all while Dok’s on the porch. I have to go get him. But I don’t know how. Dap - maybe Dap can reverse something for me when he gets up. Then I could try a couple times over and figure out what works. I’d feel so much safer. I’m pretty scared. Anti’s really going to beat me if he finds out. He’s focused on Dok right now, right? Not reading messages or anything? I think he’s been hunting Red and Blue in the forest.”

He rubs at his face and takes a big bite of his muffin, his mouth flooding with saliva at the relief of having food again. They finished off Dapper’s snacks early yesterday. Trick was getting about ready to try that rotted cheese he had in the drawers. He chugs half the water bottle and touches Dapper’s shoulder, trying to wake him.

“Hey, little man. Let’s see if we can’t get some food in your tummy, yeah? Dap, here I am.”

Anonymous asked: cracked screen cracked screen cracked screen-

For context, the moderator had, at this point, changed the blog icon from a square of glitches to a square of glitches with cracks through it, like a broken phone screen.

“Is it cracked?”

Trick peers at his camcorder, finding the lens intact.

“Looks okay from my side of things, but there’s a lot of different cameras in this house.”

He feels movement in the bed beside him and turns to see Dapper squinting at him, blinking as he comes back to consciousness.

“That is some truly fantastic bedhead, my man.”

Dapper manages a faint smile for him.

“There’s my guy. Come on, bud, let’s get you sitting up and get you some water.”

He pulls Dapper up against the headboard, propping his pillows up behind him. “How are you feeling?”

“Little better,” answers Dapper.

“Here, have some water. Is that true that you don’t eat as much cause you don’t age?”

“I think so,” his brother says. “But I can’t be sure. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten much. Just survive off what Anti brings me. But I’m okay.”

“We’ll get you some food and clean up your bandages.”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, Blue, if you could get to the house and provide a distraction, Trick is willing to jailbreak him, Dap, and Dok. Is that a possibility?

Blue sits up straight from where he was slouching in the lawn outside one of Dark’s houses, eyes lighting up.

“Yes, of course,” he breathes. “Whatever he needs. He’s really willing to go? I told you he was my little fighter, Ro! Let’s go now and we’ll get in a fight with Anti. I can light him up with my magic back.”

Jackie shifts against the tree he’s leaning on, more skeptical than his sibling. “I don’t know. They’re going to get hurt. If Anti catches them, we’ll have three brothers strung up on that porch. And I don’t think Dapper can take that right now.”

“First of all, have some faith in them,” says Blue, pinching Jackie’s wrist. “They’re tougher than you like to admit and they’ve been through a lot of dangerous situations and come out the other side. Secondly, we don’t have much choice here, my darling. We can’t get past Anti while he has a hostage. He’s willing to kill and the cameras are activated. We need Trick to get Dok to safety.”

“How the hell is he going to get out of that house?” asks Jackie, shaking his head. “Carrying Dok and supporting Dap? I don’t think he could get out if he were on his own. Anti will have his eyes on the cameras even while he’s fighting us.”

“Then Trick will have to be fast,” says Blue, getting to his feet. “And you and I will have to be very distracting.”

A smile curls onto Jackie’s face despite his trepidation.

“Well that,” he says, “I think we can do.”

Anonymous asked: Jackie if you know you can handle the backlash, then maybe taunting Anti about being not afraid, talking about beating him to essence in front of Jack, and being stronger than him, etc, has seemed to definitely do the job in the past.

Jackie starts laughing even as he shifts his weight from foot to foot and rocks on his heels. Blue watches him carefully to see if he’s getting overwhelmed, but he has it together.

“Oh, he’d be so mad.” Jackie rubs at his hair. “But… I guess that’s true, right? I beat him before. I did. We did! He should be scared. He can’t treat my family like this. We’ll go get him.”

He turns to smile at Blue. “Yeah. We’ll get him.”

Anonymous asked: Could Shep or Google sneak in and help Trick get the others out while you two distract Anti?

A window opens in the house above them.

“This isn’t a fucking crossover episode!” shouts Host. “Use your own characters! There’s a such thing as narrative integrity and I will not watch as it is - ”

“Gigi!” calls Blue. “You want to come help us with our brothers?”

Gigi appears in the doorway, letting Moses out of the house. “Sorry, not allowed. Dark doesn’t want me involved.”

“Come on, don’t be a sycophant,” says Blue, flashing Gigi a look that makes Ro roll his eyes. “You know, I think we could have some fun, Gigi. You don’t have to listen to Dark. We might really have a good time.”

Google shakes his head. “I’m good right here, thanks.”

“You like being Dark’s, Gigi?”

Google gazes at him, then across at Dark’s house, where Wilford is chasing the dog around the yard. The peach tree outside the house offers leaves to the wind, pink fruit bursting on its branches. Birds cascade around the roof and windows. The breeze stirs his hair.

“I’m good right here,” he says again, and you think you see, just for a moment, the flicker of a smile on his mouth.

“Well, what about Shep?” asks Blue, glancing around for him. “Host, where is he?”

“Out looking for that cat again,” answers Host. “I recommended he put some meat in a carrier and see what he catches. My bet is on possum, but I would also accept bear cub or porcupine.”

Anonymous asked: Shep? ...Did you ever find Noodle?

“Guess not,” sighs Blue. “Trick’s going to be broken-hearted if we don’t find that cat.”

“He’s been out alone in the forest for days now,” says Ro. “He’s a house-cat, never lived out on his own. Most likely he’s dead.”

“Ro,” snaps Blue, and then remembers to soften his voice. “Sorry, just - a little too blunt, love.”

“Sorry. Yeah, uh, we’ll find him! Somewhere.”

scunneredzombie asked: Trick, if your oldest brothers create a distraction would you run? Can you get away in the middle of a fight, if that breaks out? Blue has faith in you!

“I wish Blue was here,” says Trick quietly, staring out the window. “He’d make everything better. He always does.”

Anti was the one who made him sick… the memory of his body in the hospital feels suddenly overwhelming… Trick bows his head and sighs, clutching his shirt and wringing it between his hands.

“Run away in the middle of a fight,” he mumbles. “Away from Anti. I don’t know. I’m…”

Scared.

“Maybe that’s why he likes me so much,” he says. “Cause he knows I don’t have the guts to stand up to him. I always come back all warm to him. No matter what he does. Even in Norway, before he messed with my head like he has been lately, I was so hungry for any affection for him. Now I still can’t seem to run away. I’m sorry, I don’t - I don’t think I can do this.”

Warm fingers cup his chin. He turns and finds Dapper looking at him, smiling. His little brother’s fingers move back to stroke against the hairs at the nap of his neck and Trick relaxes wearily, eyes sliding shut. He takes a deep breath. Dapper tugs gently at his hair and he opens his eyes to see him again.

“Can I tell you something?” he signs.

“Course, man.”

“When Anti caught you and Henrik, Red and I were both lost deep in his power. He had treated us very badly for a while, but as we came around and became more and more willing to do what he asked us to do - to be what he asked us to be - he started to become warm and loving with us. Our missions felt like adventures back then. Even the killing was satisfying. Red was having breakdowns most every night without ever being able to tell me why, but in the daytime, he and I were Anti’s monsters. In Italy and Denmark, we killed and stole like we were born to do it.

“You and Dok changed things. Anti was obsessed with Dok’s savagery as a torturer for some time, but as he watched it begin to destroy him, he got bored again. And you - ”

“Were always his little yellow-belly,” chuckles Trick. “He didn’t have any interest in me back then.”

“No,” protests Dapper, touching his chin again. “No, that’s not true. You only remember after he reset you. But Trick, you lasted longer than Dok and Red had before you lost the fight to Anti. You fought so hard, Trick. Fought him every step of the way. I think that was the first time I began to get my memories of who we had been back. Because you fight, Trick. You fight when you need to. That’s one of those things that Anti can’t take from you. And I think that’s one of the reasons he gets caught up in this fascination with you. Anti only respects power and ability. To him, you should be helpless, hopeless, lost all the time - a human being with no magic and a lot of pain going on in your head. But you still keep fighting. He can’t understand why. Why mortal things, despite all the suffering and weakness they have to go through, still find things in life worth fighting for.”

Trick stares at him, clinging to his words.

“Now, Trick, Chase, my brother - if you want, you and I can go with Anti. Maybe we could even convince Anti that Dark is right, and he shouldn’t kill the others. Maybe Anti could even make us feel happy for a while. If that’s what you want, you and I can go. I’ll stay with you. We’ll be family. And I think we could survive it.”

Dapper leans forward and lets their foreheads thunk together, just for a second.

“But that’s not what you want, is it?”

Trick shakes his head slowly, tears dripping down his face.

“Because that’s not who you are.”

Trick shakes his head again. No. That’s not who he is. That’s not what he wants.

“Trick, I’m too sick to help reverse things right now. I’m sorry. And I know you’re tired too, and I know you’re scared. But Chase… your favorite person in the world is down there, hurt and alone, while Anti plans to kill him. He can’t stay there, not for another minute if we can help it. Right?”

“Right,” he whispers.

“So what are we going to do?”

Trick reaches up to hug him. For a minute, they just hold each other. Eyes closed. Hearts together.

“Dap, I’m not a fighter like you think I am,” whispers Trick. “I want to, I just - I know I can’t. I know I can’t do this.”

“Why? What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“Because - ”

His voice breaks. He draws back with tears in his eyes, holding on to his little brother.

“Dapper, I still love him. I still love Anti.”

“Oh, my brother.”

Dapper reaches out to cup his face in his hands.

“I do too. But we don’t have to stop loving him. We just have to look at him, and see what he truly is, beneath the idea of him we fell for - and then choose to love ourselves more.”

“What if he needs me?” whispers Trick. “What if I’m the only one who could save him from himself?”

“Dok needs you more,” says Dapper, and he presses his hand to Trick’s heart. “And today, you really are the only one who can save your twin.”

Anonymous asked: To Trick (and all who need to hear): Healing from pain is a choice, and it is up to you to consciously /decide/ that you deserve to move on from the weight and hurt you've dealt with for so long. Because you do. You deserve hope and love and freedom. But you have to choose it for yourself.

“You don’t deserve to be hurt for his sake when he doesn’t even want to be saved,” signs JJ, the pair of them sitting side-by-side in their monster’s bed. “They’re right and they always have been, even when you were too lost to realize. You deserve - we deserve - to be free and safe and cared for, Chase. So what are you choosing, my brother?”

“Hey,” whispers Trick.

“Yeah?”

“You’re really good at giving speeches.”

He gets to watch Dapper’s tired face light up with laughter. It makes him smile too. A moment later, they are locked against each other, giggling and rocking each other on the bed, faces squished together.

“You have to choose with me, then,” says Trick. “I know how long you’ve been scared and alone. You got to choose to fight with us today.”

Dapper wipes at tears on his face, hugging him tighter. He doesn’t want to let go just yet.

Anonymous asked: Dapper is right. Trick it takes a looong feckin time to stop loving people who've abused you. It takes even longer to love yourself again. But it's a choice you are capable of making. Choose to love your family, love yourself, more than you love the monster amongst you. Anti is a calloused, cold abuser who delights in pain and cruelty. No amount of love will save him from himself. Go and be with the people who loved Chase before you ever had to be Trick to survive.

“You and the others are the only hope that I have held onto for long years now,” signs Dapper, stuck fast to him. “If you’re ready, then I am too. I’m not sure I can do much, but what I can, I will.”

“Okay, then - then me too, me too,” whispers Trick, wrapping him up again. “Me too. Okay, I’m stuttering like fuck, haha. You gotta give me a minute. Just to breathe. Then - then I’m ready. Okay.”

“You should change out of your pjs, maybe,” Dapper recommends.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Alright, shit. Do you have everything you need if I go get him?”

“I’m okay. I want you to worry about Dok first.”

“No way, you’re just as important as he is.”

“Thank you, but Dok’s in a lot more danger than I am with Anti. Anti won’t kill me, I’m fairly sure. If it comes down to it, get him to safety first and worry about me later.”

“No, I won’t do that.”

“We’ll see what happens, alright? Now go get ready, quickly. I’m sure big brother will be here soon to make a mess and cause problems.”

“His specialties.”

Trick hugs him one more time before getting out of bed, leaving you beside Dapper as he goes to change.

Anonymous asked: Good luck!!!

Chase gives a small laugh.

It seems almost too little, but almost too much: good luck. He needs it more than he knows how to express.

But he is also the gunman, the guard dog, the father, the nurse. He is a fighter and a softie too. He needs luck. He needs hope. He needs courage. He will find them.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

He’s wearing one of Jamie’s blue hoodies, basketball shorts, and worn, well-kept, fading Converse. He has no weapons and no magic.

For the first time in days, he dares to search for his twin’s body outside his window. He can see very little of him from this angle, but he knows him nonetheless. So fucking still. Why is the deck red beneath his unmoving hands?

“Go,” signs Jamie. “Look, in the woods.”

In the woods, movement. Anti appears from the air in front of the trees, eyes narrowed.

“I know you’re there!” they hear him shout from far away. “I can see both of you with the cameras I have in the trees! You’ll never get close to him before I can transport back and stop you! Neither of you will get out of my gaze.”

“He is watching for Red and Blue, as long as they keep him distracted,” signs JJ. “He knows all the magic and help they have. They will not be able to get to Dok on their own. Go, while he is so focused on them he feels safe.”

Trick hugs him one more time before moving towards the door.

“I’ll come back for you,” he vows. “Nobody’s getting left behind this time.”

“Please don’t worry about me.”

“No, Dapper - ”

He turns back to him and takes his face in his hands, drawing his gaze up.

“Don’t give up,” he says softly. “No resigning yourself to anything. Today, you find some hope, okay?”

Dapper bites his mouth. He nods, just once.

“I will come back for you and you will be ready to go. Okay?”

“Okay. Okay. Yes.”

They pull away. Chase goes.

JJ stares after him for a long time, hands clenched.

Then he gets up and he gets dressed.

It feels very similar to stepping back from the edge of a cliff in Lima.

Anonymous asked: Speak of the devil, where is Anti anyway?

“Speak of the devil indeed!” calls Blue through the trees. “Who’s the guard dog now, bitch boy?”

Anti turns his head towards him, snarling, but Blue vanishes behind a wall of ivy. A rock thwacks into the side of Anti’s head and he yells, touching a patch of blood on his skull and then making it glitch out of existence once more.

“How long can you keep that up, do you think?” asks Red, taking aim once again from a slingshot borrowed from the twins. “Can you glitch all day? Or is it like after you stole Blue’s magic, where you got fucking exhausted and crawled away from the battle half-draped across Trick’s shoulders?”

“You’d be tired too if you fought off half a legion of magicians single-handedly,” spits back Anti, and despite the irritation they’re bringing him, there is some wild light coming back to his eyes, a light you have not seen since Jack was still filming videos of him. “I think I can handle one magician and his useless brother just fine.”

Jackie leaps out of the underbrush, swinging his staff and hollering a battle cry, and Anti lunges forward to meet him. A wolf closes its teeth around the staff, shoving him to the ground; fire lights up the wolf’s fur and makes it screech; Anti rolls away again to find Jackie slinking back - goddammit! These fucking annoyances. Fuck, fuck, but he’s glad to be trying to kill them again. There are hot tears in his eyes. He hates them. He will tear them apart like he always wanted.

He follows them farther into the woods, his cameras lighting up in the trees. As long as he has eyes on them, no one will take the ones who still belong to him.

Anonymous asked: Help is coming, Henrik. Your twin remembers you. We're going to get you out of here.

Those blue eyes slide open again.

He doesn’t know what relief feels like anymore.

But he still has that raven on his breast.

He will die his own man.

His eyes slide shut again.

Anonymous asked: Just hang in there a little longer Henrik. Everything will be okay

“Dok,” whispers a soft voice. “Dok. Deutsch. Henrik.”

He has been whittled down to his own faint breathing; it is the only sound or sensation still existing in his chest. In - out. Slower. In.

Out.

In.

Breathe.

“Dok, I’m here. I’m here.”

Warm hands on the side of his face, caressing him, holding him, around the bloodied barbs of the wire. One on the right is close to piercing his eye. He has been trying for days to stop it from getting too close. Now he can no longer feel it. Perhaps it has already blinded him. He can see very little.

“What happened to you, what happened? I’m here. Dok, I was wrong. I couldn’t see him. I’m sorry. I’m here now. We can go. We can go home.”

He has no words left.

“I’ll get you out. Quick, before Anti checks on you. Here I am.”

Chase.

Anonymous asked: You've got this Chase, go quiet, go fast! Be careful of his injuries, Anti has been torturing Henrik for a long while.

Chase grabs at his hair, tears wet in his eyes, and he curses himself for being a crybaby and a sycophant and a coward.

“I’m here now!” he repeats, almost screaming it, and you see him leap to his feet and turn towards the yard, picking up the shovel that Red was using last week when he decided to dig holes in the lawn to trip Dark’s soldiers. Trick turns back to his twin and stalks back onto the porch, drawing the shovel back like a spear. He thrusts it down with keen accuracy and slams the sturdy metal against the thin dog chain lanced around Henrik’s throat. Again and again, he brings that shovel down, finding the weak chain and snapping - snapping - snapping free!

He kicks the end of the chain off him, panting. He sinks back down to his knees, holding his brother again. Trick lets the barbed wire cut into his arms. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“Dok, hey, are you awake, even? Say something to me. Ich bin hier. I won’t leave again, not ever. Maybe you can’t talk right now. Sometimes you get like that. I don’t mind. I never minded. We take care of each other, right? Remember how you used to stay up with me so, so late and rub my shoulders just so I could relax? I was so scared of Anti finding that I hadn’t guarded all night I would stay awake for days at a time. You were my only comfort. I’m here.”

Fingers flicker against his waist. He touches his head against Dok’s, beginning to try and peel the barbed wire off him, but fuck, fuck! Every barb has to come out one at a time, slow and delicate, and he knows he’s hurting his brother from the way he starts to tremble beneath him. Trick’s fingers too are being cut open by the barbs, because it takes real force to begin unraveling these thick bindings, stronger even, perhaps, than the chain. He won’t be able to get this all off in an hour, let alone five minutes.

“I should have stopped this from happening,” sobs Trick, rocking him. “They’re right. Anti’s been torturing you for ages, especially since we came to this house. And I just waited for him to stop being angry. That’s all I did. I should have stopped him. He wanted to make sure you were punished just for trying to live your life without him. Is this the price he asks for? Look at you, my poor Deutsch…”

Wounds beneath the wire. Wounds and bruises beneath the wire. His left hand is swollen immovably, blue and black and red. He has been cut to pieces. Trick has looked at him for only a moment and found a half-dozen injuries.

“What do I do with you, Henrik? Tell me what to do. Come on, you were always the smart one. I won’t leave, okay? Even if he comes back and kills us both. I’m never leaving you again.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Dok? I don't know if you have a camera about you, but... Do you think it would ever be possible to give Trickshot the necklace that protects your head and heart? I don't know if he could ever be fully safe without that magical help. He's deep in the fire, man.

“No, let him keep them,” croaks Trick, stroking Dok’s hair. “They’re for him. They were presents for him. To protect them. You keep ‘em, Dok. I’m sorry I tried to take them from you. I thought I was keeping you safe, but there are more important things than surviving. You didn’t want him back in your head again. He never will be again. I swear.”

He clutches the two ravens on his brother’s heart. Today, the birds do not burn him.

Anonymous asked: Get Henrik and JJ out of there, Chase. The only place you can be safe is far away from him, otherwise there's a chance he'll get into your head again.

“If I carry him they will dig into his body even more.” Trick looks around for help, but he knows none is coming. “I need pliers or something, but where would I get them? Anti locked up everything that Dapper or I could hurt ourselves with. Shovel won’t work. I’ll just - I’ll just have to start pulling them out and hope I can tug him out or something soon. Right? What else do we have? What else can I do?”

Henrik’s tired red fingers rest over Trick’s, still pressed against the necklaces. Trick clings to him, hearing a rough sigh of relief press out of him. It is the only sign of life Henrik has given him other than his breathing. Their hands rest together.

aether-mae asked: Every day I wake up and pray this story isn’t a Shakespearean-esc tragedy. These boys are going to make it. They have to

“Right,” mumbles Trick. “We have to, we…”

Their hands rest together on the birds. He looks at Dok and sees blue eyes slide open.

They hold on to each other.

“You trust me?” whispers Trick.

Dok breathes.

In.

Out.

His body, stiff and aching, relaxes against his brother’s body. His eyes slip closed again, unafraid.

Yes. Of course.

Here they are.

Trick snaps the string of Dok’s second necklace.

Anonymous asked: You guys have been so distant lately. I'm happy for him to have you back Chase, even if just for the moment right now. Also, does JJ still have his lock picking set from Max? Maybe you could break into wherever Anti locked things away.

JJ is standing in the window of the room upstairs, throwing his shoes at the camera above the porch, trying to knock it down.

“I threw the lock pick off the side of a cliff, unfortunately,” he signs. “I was not very future-oriented at the time.”

He has run out of his own shoes. He heads to the closet to get the shoes of the man who used to live here, the man he killed, but when he runs back to the window with his arms full of dress shoes, his brothers are gone.

“Oh, I think he got him,” he says. “He really did move fast. Damn, maybe we should break into Anti’s things though. I’d really like to have some knives.”

Yelling and fighting in the forest outside, and then Anti’s shriek of anger.

Dapper stares out the window, head tilted up, trying to catch sight of someone. Anti flashes back to the porch, shouting threats, but Dok is already gone.

“No fucking way they got to him, I had my eyes on them,” he snarls.

He looks straight up at Dapper. Dapper backs away from the window and goes to hide in the closet. Trick bursts into the room about halfway through and they smack right into each other, skulls slamming together.

“Owwww,” groans Trick, clutching at his stomach.

“Trick! Watch it! Come here, he’s coming!”

Dapper grabs his brother and they slide into the closet, closing the door behind them and hunkering down beneath coats and shirts, hands clutched together.

“Where did he go?”

Anti is stalking around the house, his mouth full of poison and vitriol.

“What the fuck did you do? Who else is here? Dark, if this is you or any of your soldiers, I swear to hell I’ll kill the lot of you!”

They hear Anti shove the bedroom door open, snarling like an animal. He tears the room apart, doors slamming and furniture crashing to the floor. When he finds nothing, he turns towards the closet.

“Where is Dok?” asks Dapper. “Did you - ”

Anti forces his way inside, grabbing them both by the hair.

“Where the hell is he?”

“We don’t know, we don’t know!” cries Trick. “Ow, Anti, ow! He’s not here!”

“If I find out either of you had anything to do with this I’ll feed you to each other!” shouts Anti, throwing them back to the ground. Dapper grabs onto Trick’s shoulder and they press back against the wall, panting.

Anti pauses at the door, eyes flickering.

“What’s that smell?” he demands.

Trick and Dapper exchange glances.

“Moths?” signs Dapper weakly.

Anti stares around the closet, eyes narrow.

“If you catch sight of Dok, tell the cameras,” he says, turning to stalk away.

Trick slumps back against the wall, one hand over his mouth, one hand over his stomach. Dapper pulls him into a hug and they both try to calm down.

Anonymous asked: Is something wrong with your stomach, Chase?

“No, nothing’s wrong, thanks, I, uh - ”

“What are you holding?” asks Dapper, pushing at his hands. “Let me see.”

“No, JJ, stop being a little shit,” scowls Trick, pushing him back, before the sentence has left his mouth, Dapper has stopped still, staring at him.

“What?”

“JJ?” he signs.

“JJ? What’s JJ mean?”

“You just called me JJ.”

Chase blinks, hands loosening on his stomach. “Oh. Dapper, I meant. What’s JJ?”

Jameson looks away, mouth turning down.

“Is that… you? Is that your secret name?”

He’s looking back at him like he might reply when there’s movement in his hoodie. Chase clasps his hands over his tummy again, but too late.

The little white and grey head of a sleepy-looking rat pokes out of the side of Trick’s hoodie pocket.

“Oh,” breathes Dapper. “A baby!”

Trick looks desperately up at Dapper and sees nothing but delight in his eyes. He relaxes a little, letting out another long, shaky breath.

“It’s an important baby. We have to keep it safe.”

“Can I have it?” begs Dapper, cupping his hands.

“No, no,” says Trick hurriedly, holding his hands around the rat, stroking its white head with his thumb. “Gotta let him rest and hide, okay?”

“Little baby… what a pretty fancy rat. It looks kind of sick though. Will we keep him?”

“We’ll worry about that later, okay?”

“Cutie. I’m in love. Oh, don’t let Anti see, he’ll kill a little mouse.”

Anonymous asked: How goes the fight, Jackie & Blue? Anti seems utterly pissed

“Tell my brothers to get out of the house!” he calls. “We’re leaving today and we’re not coming back.”

Anti screams and glitches towards Jackie in a flash, but Jackie rolls away and Blue is there a moment later, intercepting Anti’s attack with fire and plant life, guarding his older brother.

“Feeling a little useless, I admit,” pants Jackie, circling and loading another stone in his slingshot. “He’s got a fuckton of magic, and me? I have this rock!”

He launches it at Anti and hits him dead on once more. Anti snarls and glitches the wound away, slicing through thick vines with a machete pulled from thin air.

“Your tricks won’t stop me!” he shouts, finding Blue on one of his cameras and transporting towards him, knife swinging.

“He’s not pissed!” Blue calls to you, taunting. “He’s just scared!”

Anti shouts and transforms into the wolf, launching himself at Blue, teeth snapping.

Anonymous asked: JJ is him, yes! Jameson Jackson!

“Jameson?” repeats Chase, and though he remembers very little, the name still seems to fit, somehow, in his mouth. “That’s… kind of awesome. You look like a JJ.”

Dapper seems particularly touched by this, his mouth drawing shyly up again.

“Do you know the others’ names too?”

“It’s not my place to tell you,” says Dapper, touching his cheek for a moment. “Give them time.”

“Well, should I call you JJ?”

He pauses, glancing away.

“I’m not… sure yet. Should I call you Chase?”

Trick stares at him, cupping the rat in his hand. The warm head drifts sleepily against his palm.

“I think that’d be okay,” he says. “Trick, he - he wasn’t always kind to you. I’d like for Chase to be better.”

He tucks the rat gently back into his hoodie.

“Get everything you need from the room and let’s go.” Chase pulls Dapper to his feet, stroking the rat in his pocket with long, soothing strokes of his thumb. “We might have to be away for a while, I don’t know.”

“I want a knife.”

“We’ll grab one from the kitchen.”

“Then I think I got everything in here.” JJ grabs a black coat from the closet. It’s too nice and warm to match his thin, worn t-shirt and the short sleep pants he’s wearing, but its pockets are stuffed full of what few things he has - his favorite chalks in a ziploc bag, one half of a torn prayer card, a wad of American cash, the picture of Eshe that Max gave him, a GoPro camera, and a few slips of paper Chase doesn’t recognize. He pulls them from the pocket, flipping them over.

“What are these?” he asks. “What - plane tickets?”

“Anti was going to take us back to England to kill Jack like he said.” Dapper taps the word ‘London’ on the tickets. “There’s four tickets. Figured I’d grab them. I don’t know, I just grabbed everything.”

“Clothes and drawing stuff and everything?”

“Still in the backpack.”

Trick swings the pack over his shoulders. He takes Dapper’s hand and holds the rat inside his pocket in the other.

“Here we are,” he tells them both softly. “Let’s go, okay?”

Dapper squeezes his hand. They race down the stairs together, heading for the backdoor, hoping Anti is still distracted long enough for them to reunite with Red and Blue.

In the trees, Anti sees them step out onto the porch. You see him stop short, expression contorting.

“Get back inside!” he shouts, moving towards them. Chase and JJ exchange glances.

Blue and Jackie are panting in the foliage, taking a second to breathe, already half-exhausted. Blue’s hair is singed from his own fire and his hands are heavy with weeds, while a fresh cut bleeds heavily across Jackie’s forehead, but he hardly seems to mind. There’s a vibrant ferocity burning in his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he coughs, staggering to his feet to race out and protect the others.

“Jackie, wait,” calls Blue, pulling him back down. Jackie looks at him, astounded.

“You called me - ”

“Listen, is this the talisman Dok gave you?”

Jackie touches the raven on his breast. “The necklace, yeah. It doesn’t have any more magic, though.”

Blue grabs his shoulder, looking up at him.

“You can use it, though. When you have it. You burn like a star. You’re my counterpart, my twin. I don’t care if Anti was the one who decided it at first. Now we decide it. You are the other part of me.”

“This is sweet, but my baby brothers are on the other side of Anti’s glare right now.”

“Give me the talisman. It can still hold magic. Take my fire.”

Jackie’s eyes go huge.

But only for a moment. He accepts the idea a moment later, blinking. Mind already ahead. Strategizing. Fighting. Leading again. Like he was always meant to do.

“If you can,” says Jackie softly, pressing the necklace into his brother’s fingers. “Then give it to me. And we will share this fight together, my Blue.”

Blue smiles at him.

And then he lets all the power he can give blaze into that necklace, and gives it to his other self.

“Let’s go.”

Anonymous asked: Go Jackieboy Man, protect your family!! You're a shooting star, Astrifer, and it's time to burn like one!

Ro liked having the light magic. He liked burning like a star. The magic felt like having a blanket of warmth wrapped around his whole body. But even then, that was Emmanuela’s magic, and this - this is Blue’s.

This is Marvin’s.

He would know it without sight or sound or touch. He would know it by the way it comforts him, just like Blue always has. He would know it by the way it makes him brave.

Flame follows Jackie out of the trees, his twin at his side, wreathed in bloom and thorn.

“Look at you two,” snarls Anti. “Aren’t you straight out of one of his stories? I should have known. None of us can avoid the destiny he set down for us. We were always going to end up right here once again.”

“This time,” says Blue. “We finish it.”

“When I raze you to the ground, we will call it finished.”

“Anti,” says Trick quietly, eyes wide. “Don’t, okay? Just - just stop, please. Dap and I don’t want you to hurt them. There’s things we won’t forgive.”

Anti turns to him, lips drawn back in indignant fury. “You little bitch. Don’t tell me what to do. You belong to me so keep your mouth shut.”

Trick’s mouth is tight and trembling. His eyes reflect the fire in Jackie’s hands.

“What if I’m not,” he says.

“What?”

“What if I don’t want to be yours anymore?”

Anti hears himself laugh. He’s shaking his head at Trick, eyes slightly confused. “What? Who told you to say that?”

Trick stands close to Dapper. Anti sees the same expression in their faces - wary and scared, yes, and then something harder underneath. Dapper’s eyes speak to him. After all these years, Anti does not need to look into his head. He can see the change in him.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “Where… did you go? Dapper?”

Dapper doesn’t answer him. Doesn’t comfort him. He steps slightly closer to Trick, head low.

“Get away from them, Anti,” says Jackie. “Just… hell, man, just go. Just leave us alone and don’t come back.”

“No, fuck that,” snaps Blue. “You stay and learn what it’s like to scream in fear all over again.”

Anti breathes out, chest shuddering. The fire freezes over in his bitter blue eyes.

He glitches and he grabs Trick and Dapper, wrapping one arm around Trick’s waits, hauling him off his feet, and grabbing Dapper by the hair.

“Anti, don’t do this!” screams Trick.

“You get the hell away from them!” shouts Jackie, fire lighting in his hair.

Everyone is shouting or signing or both, moving towards each other; fire and plant life and painfully-bright colors burst up around them, Anti has a blade to his little brother’s throat and -

Anti hollers in alarm as something sharp digs into his finger. He looks down at his hand around Trick’s stomach, startled.

“Rat!” he screams, dropping Trick and Dapper immediately, glitching all the way up to the roof of the house. “It bit me, it bit me! Fuck you, Trick, you hid that from me? You - ”

His eyes find the raven on Jackie’s sweatshirt.

Anti looks back at Trick, hiding that rat back against his stomach, eyes frantic.

“Dok,” hisses Anti. “You… you, Trick… you took him off the porch, you - all of you… all five of you, the ones that belong to Jack… traitors.”

ari-trash asked: Oh- oh my god, the last raven necklace! Dok is the rat?? Is he okay? D:

“Uhhh, no, this isn’t Dok!” says Trick hurriedly, pressing him down into his pocket. “He’s fine, I hid him! Dok’s not here and he’s definitely not this rat, no way.”

“You… turned my brother into a fucking rat?” says Blue.

“Hey, I got him safe! He trusts me! He’s fine. Aren’t you, Deutsch?”

The rat does look remarkably settled in that hoodie pocket, its tired eyes closed and its little body rising and falling with soft breaths. Anti is gripping his knife so tightly his fingernails cut into his palm, panting almost to the point of hyperventilation. Fuck, muscles and bones confining him, animal flesh coating him, caging him…

“You keep that thing away from me,” he warns. “Trick. Even Trick. Even Trick has… you really are just Jack’s, all of you. Dapper is the only one who… fuck you, fuck you…”

Jackie keeps his eyes trained on Anti as the others surround Trick and Dok, Blue desperately checking on the little body in Chase’s hoodie, stroking his little head and calling sympathies at his younger brother.

“Anti,” says Jackie.

“No, no, no,” Anti is chanting, pupils shot. “No, no, no.”

Anonymous asked: The time has come, Anti. You are alone, utterly fucking alone. As you always deserved to be. They won't take abuse from you any longer.

The trees are mocking him.

Monoliths erected in the deep rich earth, subject to the will of a magician and dotted in his cameras, playing out messages to him - alone, alone, alone.

He can hear laughter. His head spins. He runs his hands along the smooth cool surface of a pumpkin, turns his green eye toward you in a red hallway, sinks beneath Jameson’s skin, tilts his head at the Darkness and laughs, stares at you without saying a word, eye twitching. He hears Jack whispering his name and Chase asking who’s there, feels the heat of Marvin drawing away from his own prophecies in terror, smells the scrap paper and ink of a trashed research room with a doctor sitting at a table, trying to fix everything gone wrong.

And he remembers something unseen by the cameras as well, something you have only heard of - screaming out for Jack to save him while his body mangled into hollow bones and winged flesh, watching his creator turn away from him.

There was grief in Jack’s eyes, but no pity.

“No,” he groans. “I wiped all that away. I’m beyond it now. No. You don’t remember.”

He hears one of them breathing and the bloody beat of their mortal hearts.

“We don’t have to remember, Anti,” comes a small, sad voice. “Not the past. You’re right, it doesn’t matter. Not really. But Anti, we want… we want to be happy now. We don’t want to get hurt anymore. You have to let go of us, Anti. We won’t stay here anymore. They’re right… it’s done.”

His eyes flash open and he is present again, his shadow cast over the group of siblings standing below him, guarded and together, shoulder-to-shoulder, side-by-side. They all have the same blue eyes.

And he sees grief, and rage, and hurt, and fear, and love, and determination.

But no pity.

Not one fucking shred of their pity.

“Very well then,” he hears himself breathe out, and he watches alarm fill up their faces as his body begins to shift beyond his control. His face is twitching. He can feel it, but only distantly. He’s numb and his ears ring, high-pitched and screaming. His body distorts and spasms, blood racing down his ivory throat. “You want to play Jack’s games? Let’s play. I only need one of you. And he will be mine whether he wants to or not.”

Dapper steps back, shaking his head, but too late. Too late.

Anonymous asked: None of them belong to you. Not even Jameson. He always said the day the rest of them turn is the day he too abandons you. You don't own any of them, you utter mythic glitch bitch.

“Jameson!”

“Dapper!”

“Leave him alone!”

His body crashes to the ground, fingers scraping at his skull. He feels Anti in his head again, just like he has been since that first day.

“You will never get free of me,” he hears his Anti’s voice scratch at the inside of his brain.

“Stop, stop!” his hands cry. His brothers are screaming for him, crying out.

“Possessing him won’t do anything! We’ll stop you from hurting him!”

“You’ll just confine yourself to flesh, coward. Fight us in your real form!”

“Dapper doesn’t deserve to get hurt, let him go! You’d have to be able to possess all of us at once to get away with this, Anti. You can’t make us your slaves ever again!”

“Fine!” screams Anti’s voice from all around them, and Jackie, Marvin, and Chase all falter to the grass, grabbing at their heads. “You think I can’t? You think I won’t control you all at once with nothing but my own power? I never needed your faith! I will make you mindless!”

Jackie hollers in pain, his skull pounding with a terrible pressure. Chase is on his side, protesting with the voices he can hear. Marvin grips at the grass, shaking his head out, shaking, shaking, shaking.

“You’re - you’re losing control,” he gasps. “You’ll destroy yourself, Anti.”

A foot presses against his throat and chokes him. He opens his eyes, wheezing, and sees, looking back at him – himself. With green eyes and hatred in his face, glitching and broken, distorted and transparent, himself. Marvin and Anti and Blue all in the same being. Turning his gaze with a desperate cry, Blue sees broken beings like shadows standing around his brothers, too, dark versions of themselves, corrupted and in pain.

And he hears a bitter voice, his own bitter, aching voice, lonely and afraid:

“So be it.”

#chapter four

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suntrastar · 5 years ago

Text

abstract: chapter 1

chapter 2!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word count: 7k (i am insane i know this!! you can also find this fic on ao3 !!)

Author’s note: hello! attempting to upload a fic on here for the first time ever! do i understand this website’s format. perhaps not. but am i going to try? perhaps yes! anyways hope you all like it :) likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!!! umm idk how this works if you wanna follow me you can?? do follows exist on tumblr dot com i think they do. hope they do. love you all. this is a long chapter buckle up (BUCKle up lmao i am not funny)!! enjoy ;o

“Hey, can you come look at this?”

You teach three classes a week- Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. The latter two are enjoyable in their own right, but Mondays are definitely your favorite. Instead of teaching kids, who are funny and creative but so messy, and so loud, you get to teach adults. People your own age or usually older, putting you in a position of authority, valuing your opinion, wanting you to come look at things.

It’s a delightful power trip.

You turn away from the window to see who’s speaking.

It’s Steve.

Of course it’s Steve, your star student, staring at you with a worn, weary intensity, wiping a paintbrush on a paper towel. He’s already pushed his sheet of paper across the table, bumpy with water and watercolor paint, cream-colored edges starting to curl. He leans away from it, reclining in a seat that’s adult-sized but dwarfed by his frame, looking so forlorn, like the paper just abandoned him, moved to the opposite side of the table by itself.

You stifle a laugh.

“Sure,” you say, and make your way over to his table.

Steve fidgets in his seat as you look at his painting. You try to keep your jaw in check.

It drops anyway.

As always, it’s beautiful. He’s painted a sky, swirling with purples and pinks, and careful clouds, flickering in and out between layers of paint, elegant and pale yellow-orange. And the sun- it’s off-center, and you’re sure it was unintentional, but that adds to the effect, because it’s hot red, and dazzling, and slowly seeping into the still-wet sky. Tendrils of red like real sunbeams, pushing through the clouds like a real sunset.

You don’t know why Steve even takes this class. Half the time, you feel like he should be the one teaching.

“It’s gorgeous,” you say eventually, once your words come back to you. “I love how you painted the sun- the red, oh my god. You’re seriously a natural.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and you push the paper back towards him. He looks down at it, still tense, brow furrowed, and you almost laugh again, until he looks back up at you. “I wanted to know what you thought about it.”

Power trip.

“I love it,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, which he hesitantly returns. You might be laying it on a little thick, but Steve still looks distressed, and you genuinely like the guy enough to try to help him.

When he walked in with his friend for the first class, you were floored. People like Steve don’t attend classes like this- classes like this are attended by regular people. Not people that walk like dancers, all grace and light steps, not people that are extraordinarily jacked, with jutting shoulders and rippling muscles, not people that have a weirdly authoritarian air around them, like a politician, but less shrewd.

Still, you welcomed them and made awkward small-talk and tried not to stare at their arms and hoped you came across as a somewhat decent person. It’s your first time teaching adults, you explained, and Steve gave you a smile so sincere and reassured you that you would do great, boosting your confidence to the point where you actually did.

Steve is lovely. He’s passionate about art and has a good eye, a better eye than you, really, and he always tries so hard with whatever he does, and he’s funny in a dorky way, and completely unaware of it. He always wears a baseball hat and tucks his shirts into his pants and called you ma’am once, and looked so surprised when you burst out laughing and told him to call you by your first name. With him, two classes have flown by, and now, during the third, he’s warmed up to you enough to talk to you like a friend.

The friend he brings with him, though?

A total douchebag.

The night to Steve’s day, the rain to his sunshine. It’s obvious that Steve brings him along as some sort of moral support, to make himself look less out of place, which is fine, except the guy always treats you like you’ve perpetually offended him.

And maybe you have, maybe one time you did something that’s worthy of his eternal dislike, but you wouldn’t know what it is, because he’s never brought it up, because he barely fucking talks.

You don’t think he’s a naturally quiet guy. He definitely looks like he has a lot to say, but no matter what, he only ever talks in single-syllable bursts, quiet enough that half the time you miss what he’s saying.

He doesn’t ignore you, either- he listens to everything you say and lets his judgement flicker over his face- which is way worse. A glare is a slight misstep, a shake of his head means that you’ve just said something that he finds stupid, a scowl is a catastrophe.

You don’t even know his name. He’s never introduced himself, and always writes his name in a shaky, illegible scrawl on the sign-in sheet, and by now you don’t care enough to look it up.

Still, you’re nice to him, polite. It’s okay if he doesn’t like you. You don’t need to be liked- being noticed is enough.

You shift away from Steve to his friend, sitting next to him at the table. He’s staring at you in a way that you can only describe as violent, and you flinch, and then plaster your smile back on.

“How’s it going?” You ask, expecting no response, stealing a glance at his paper. He’s painted the entire sheet a watered-down blue, and you want to congratulate him, for actually participating this time, but you don’t say anything. “The watercolors working out for you?”

Your heart goes out to the poor paintbrush in his hand. It’s barely been used, is steadily dripping water, and is being throttled in his gloved grip. He always wears one glove- it’s weird, but you’re not going to pry.

He catches you looking and a whole myriad of emotion plays over his face; irritation and shame, a creased brow and a scowl. You have the feeling that you’ve taken a massive overstep, even though you haven’t said anything else, even though you’re not looking at his hand anymore, just at him.

His hair hangs over his eyes, glossy and carelessly wavy, which you would find pretty, maybe, if he wasn’t looking at you the way he is. Like you’ve just done something terrible.

“Sure,” he says, and that’s it.

Even when you turn away, he’s glaring.

You hate it, so you pretend it’s not happening.

Steve gives you a sympathetic glance before you head back. You wave it off.

“Shonna,” you call, to the fiftysomething woman hunched over her painting a few tables down, “how’re the flowers looking?”

***

Thirty minutes before your fourth Monday class starts, you arrive at the studio to find Rina washing paintbrushes in the sink.

“Hey,” you call.

She turns to you and gives you a surprised grin. “Oh, hey! You’re here early- come help with these brushes.”

You set your bag on the counter by the wall and join her at the sink. You’ve known Rina for ages- ever since you were roommates in college. The class before yours is taught before, some advanced painting thing that she is extremely overqualified to teach.

She’s kind of famous. And kind of self-absorbed, and a little bit pretentious, but maybe that’s just what happens when you’re as successful in your field as she is. No matter what it is, you can’t complain- she’s the one that helped get you this job in the first place.

“A couple of people in my class like to get here early, so I just try to arrive before them,” you say. She passes you a clean paintbrush. You reach around her and tear off a paper towel from the dispenser. “Did you dye your hair? It looks so pretty.”

“Yes!” She shakes her head, letting her hair sway. Last time you met her, she had dyed it pink. Now it’s mahogany red, straight and sleek and falling just past her shoulders. She looks a little unreal. “How’s your class going? Are the people okay?”

“Yeah, most of them are pretty nice.”

She passes you another paintbrush to dry. You consider bringing up Steve’s friend, but decide against it.

“That’s good- and you’re welcome, by the way. But okay, listen. Do you remember that one guy I told you about a while back, Dustin? So yesterday I was just sitting at home, and then he texted me…”

With the formalities out of the way, she launches into a story about someone you definitely don’t remember. Still, you humor her, listen to what she has to say, chime in at the right parts and say “really?” and “no way!” too many times. The minutes tick by.

When all of the brushes are washed and dried, you take them, since you’re going to be the one using them next, and start setting up for the class. Rina walks away and grabs her stuff from the counter. She lingers by the doorway, door already propped open, aimlessly scrolling through something on her phone, hesitant to leave for a reason you don’t know. Maybe she has more to say- if that’s even, like, possible.

You set the brushes in a container at the center table, and head over to the shelves on the far wall to pull out more supplies. Unfortunately, today’s class is revolving around watercolor again. It’s drudgery, such a boring medium- dull, unsaturated, painstaking when it comes to detail. You bring out a stack of paper, the least-depressing palettes, and then mason jars for holding water.

You’re setting the last jar on the table when Rina shrieks.

It startles you, making your hand slip.

The jar wobbles over the edge of the table and then falls, shattering into cloudy glass pieces at your feet.

“Shit,” you curse, and look over at her. “Rina, what the hell?”

Standing across from her in the doorway, having arrived early for class as usual, are Steve and his friends, two shades more flustered than usual. Rina is gawking at them.

Okay, they’re attractive, but not that attractive.

Not shriek-worthy attractive.

You sigh loudly and carefully step over the glass, making your way over to them. “Hi, Steve,” you say, and he jolts, like a scared cat. He’s blushing, stepping back into the hallway, hands awkwardly dangling at his sides. His friend is staring at Rina like he’s about to murder her, and you’re staring at him like you’re about to ask him to pass you the broom behind the door.

Because you are.

“Sorry about… that. There’s a broom behind the door, could you pass it to me?”

He opens his mouth to say something, and you are desperate to hear him, even if he’s only going to utter a simple yes, but Rina buts in.

“You did not just ask the Winter Soldier to pass you a broom.”

Who?

“Girl, what?”

All three of you turn to her, cornering back into the wall. She looks even more unreal, eyes blown wide, red creeping up her neck, giving her hair a run for its money, still gawking. You resist the urge to reach out and pull her chin back up, to close her mouth.

She alternates between looking at Steve and at…

“That’s the Winter Soldier,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to convince herself, or you, and then steps closer to Steve, who instinctively takes a step back. He’s fully in the hallway, now. “And you’re Captain America.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. He stays silent, and you feel bad for him, that��s all you can feel, really- you are confused beyond reason, halfway convinced that Rina is losing her shit, still awaiting the broom, still awaiting Steve’s friend’s words, racking your brain for any image of Captain America or the Winter Soldier that you might have- and coming up completely empty.

You don’t watch the news, like, ever.

Little details float back to you. Steve’s dressing sense, his manners, his muscles…

The baseball caps that both of them are always wearing...

His friend’s glove…

Oh, fuck.

“Are you?” You ask dumbly. The question is meant for both of them, but you only look at one of them while speaking. A glare meets you back- a slight misstep.

You can’t even see your feet, in this situation. You’re walking blind.

Steve crosses his arms and looks at you sternly. He doesn’t look angry, but as close as he can get. “Yes,” he says, completely guarded and unfriendly and not lovely at all. “I thought you knew that.”

You are so stupid- how did you not know that?

“I didn’t,” you say, and you don’t sound convincing at all. Not much fazes you, but you are absolutely, positively fazed right now, and starting to spiral out. “I had no idea- I thought you guys could have been, like, bodyguards, or something, not actual Avengers, oh my god. I’m so sorry, shit, thank you for your service?”

You’re going to end it all- this is so embarrassing.

Steve’s mouth twitches. Rina is scarlet-faced. The Winter Soldier, god, looks so tense, like he might shatter, too, into silent, grumpy pieces all over the floor.

“You’re welcome,” Steve says, and marginally relaxes. He stays in the hallway, the Winter Soldier by the door- you should have paid more attention in your tenth grade history class, what is the guy’s name?

Rina peels herself off the wall, and you start to get nervous. There’s a painful silence, with lots of staring, where you’re still trying to coax a few rational thoughts out of your brain, and only coming up with one- Rina needs to leave.

You try to tell her that with your eyes, with a pointed look, but you’re not great at this whole communication-through-expressions thing, so she doesn’t get the hint, or does and just ignores it.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, tearing the silence like a plastic seal, voice starting to rise, from wonder to excitement, from painless curiosity to danger, “there’s two Avengers taking your class? And you didn’t even recognize them?”

“Nope,” you say, looking away, at a stain on the wall, at the distant glass shards still unswept away on the floor.

“That’s…”

She trails off before she has the chance to call you stupid, because the Winter Soldier gives her a pointed look of his own. Low brows and dark eyelashes, blazing blue eyes- she has no choice but to listen. Your staring was irritating, but his is intimidating.

She scampers away, mumbling something you can’t catch and brushing against Steve as she leaves.

This whole thing is so unprofessional, but at least you can breathe again-

“Here,” the Winter Soldier says, and a broom handle comes into your view.

Just one word, but you’ll take it with open arms. You take the broom from him, give an unreturned, unfamiliarly sheepish smile and head back to the broken glass on the floor.

The broken glass is swept up and tossed in the trash. You avoid looking at the doorway, focusing on other useless tasks instead. Rearranging the supplies on the table, fiddling with the window blinds, chatting with the rest of the class attendees as they start to file in.

Then the class starts and you’re swept back into your demonstration, talking and teaching and showing off different techniques that can be done with different types of brushes. You only look in their direction once, right after showing off some technique you barely remember from art school with a fan brush- they sit at their table near the back, Steve paying attention as usual, his friend silently reacting, as usual.

So they decided to stay- that’s good. Great, even.

Until the next part of the class starts, when everyone gets to work on their own paintings, when you have to stop talking.

You mill around the room, searching for a conversation to join in on or a comment to make, but find none. Then you take a sheet of paper and hopelessly try to draw- search for a distraction and a spark up of an idea, something, anything, and come up completely empty. It’s just...

How famous are they? Like, A-list celebrity famous? Are they offended that you didn’t recognize them- should you start treating them differently? You don’t keep up with this stuff. You have an impossibly long list of other things to worry about- you don’t have the time to worry about this stuff. The Avengers aren’t something you think about ever, because why should you?

If you opened any newspaper or magazine you would find something about them- a charity gala they attended, some recent threat they neutralized, the latest gossip surrounding their personal lives. But those lives are so far detached from your own that you’ve never bothered to look.

You simply don’t care. You’re not a native New Yorker- it’s not like these people are your hometown heroes, that you grew up idolizing them. They save the world time and time again and society is forever indebted to them and all of that, but what are you supposed to do about it?

And most importantly, what is the Winter Soldier’s fucking name?

Enough of this chaos goes on in your mind to make your head hurt. Fuck it, you decide- you’ll face it. You straighten your shoulders as you stand, trying your best to look purposeful as you walk to their table, like you have reason to go over there. Yeah, they’re strong. Genetically enhanced and all of that, and they’re important: they’re Avengers.

But they’re taking your class.

You slide into the chair across from the Soldier without taking the time to gauge their reactions.

“Do other people here know?” You ask.

Steve startles, eyes widening, and then considers the question while swirling his brush in green paint. He’s working on a landscape today, you think. “Shonna might,” he says, not rudely. “But nobody else.”

So maybe not that famous. Or maybe the people here are just like you and don’t care.

But it still doesn’t make sense. “Then why did you think that I knew?”

“Because you talk a lot,” Steve says, like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Well, yeah, that’s part of the job-”

Steve cuts you off, and fuck, you hate getting interrupted. But he’s smiling, and you can’t bring yourself to get upset over it. “You talk a lot to us.”

Us?

More like to him.

You take it in stride, don’t let your confidence slip. You’ve purposely angled your head away, and you know the Winter Soldier is staring at you- you can feel it on your cheek, on your shoulder, on every nerve in your face. You don’t look back at him. This revelation hasn’t made him any less unpleasant.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s just as obvious, “because you’re a nice guy, Steve.”

Steve raises his eyebrows so high that they disappear under the brim of his hat. You smile at him as nicely as you can, sugar-sweet, until he can’t take anymore and drops his gaze back to his painting. You turn back to the nameless man across from you.

Winter Soldier.

“Hi,” you say, only to him, and prop your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. “I love the little pattern you have going on with your painting.”

It’s random splotches of black paint- calling it a pattern is an exaggeration. But you carry on.

“This is probably a bad time to ask, and it’s kind of a dumb question, but, like, what’s your name?”

He just barely raises an eyebrow, allowing for a fraction of surprise, before schooling his expression back into his usual mix of anger and boredom, a casual glare and slight frown. For a moment, you wonder what he looks like when he’s happy.

“You don’t know his name?” Steve is in disbelief, and then he winces, and you think he’s been kicked under the table. Abruptly, you laugh.

It rings out. A few people turn and stare, but you brush it all off with another smile.

He’s still staring. You don’t mind it.

The paintbrush in his hand is suddenly unsteady.

“My name is Bucky,” he says, slowly and loudly enough for you to make out the sound of his voice, for the first time ever.

He is definitely bothered by you asking, his mouth drawn tight, and you can’t even take the time to appreciate how cutesy his name is compared to his demeanor, because oh hell. It’s going to be difficult to keep up this whole dislike thing, if his voice sounds like this, low and rough and gritty like sandpaper, pleasantly grating over you and your skin…

You have to consciously remind yourself to keep on smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Things should feel different, but they don’t. Nobody really reacts- everything resumes as normal. Steve focuses on his panting, adding delicate brushstrokes to the branches of a tree. You linger for a moment, and then get up from the table and flutter off to someone else.

For every class, you wear this kitschy apron, paint-stained, with strings tied in a hasty bow against your back that Bucky always aches to even out. Someone tells you something, and you respond eagerly, fully phased out of the past incident.

He stares until he realizes he’s staring, and then drops his eyes back down to his paper.

Steve wanted to attend this class for a number of reasons- he was bored and wanted something to occupy his time, he wanted to revisit an old hobby, he wanted to learn from you- some hip, emerging artist he’s a fan of, whose work he’s been following for a while now, who is seriously talented, although you have yet to prove it. He wanted to go do something separated from the events of his regular life.

So much wanting. Bucky wants to know why you’re so indifferent.

He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that you didn’t know his name, or that you didn’t flinch or gasp or accuse him of something, or pointedly look at his left arm. Should he be thankful? Steve is clearly thankful, already loosening up, freed of any lasting tension.

Bucky just feels wary. You’re unsettling.

You come back over to their table one more time. The sleeves of your shirt are pushed up, and there’s a smear of something dark on your forearm, ink or paint. On one wrist you’re wearing a bracelet made of braided leather. On the other you wear a bulky digital watch.

Practical.

“Everything okay?” You ask, as if something not okay could potentially have happened, in your forty-five minute absence.

Steve fixes you with a friendly smile. Bucky can’t ever bring himself to do the same.

“Yep,” Steve says, and you nod your head, clearly relieved.

“Great!” You glance at him for a spare second, and turn away again.

Everyone he knows is so guarded, walls built high and doors barred shut. Except for you, if Bucky can say that he knows you, the perky art instructor, Steve’s favorite artist. You’re confident and flippant, and that should be a bad pairing, but somehow you can carry yourself within it just fine. Always purposeful in the space you occupy, not reacting to the knowledge of his and Steve’s major, momentous identities.

Bucky wonders, idly, as he blots water over what you so generously called a pattern, why you didn’t.

It’s not like he wants you to acknowledge it, wants you to call him a war criminal or a Rusisan spy. He just wants you to-

He doesn’t know.

The class goes on. An older couple sitting a few tables away have caught your attention, chattering on and on about their personal lives.They have a pet cat that their landlord doesn’t know about, and when they retire they want to move to the seaside in Italy, and in May their son is going to graduate high school.

“High school?” You gasp, loud for no reason. “I hated high school.”

Before the class ends, you take your position at the front of the studio, and talk some more. He knows it’s part of your job, but you are excessive.

There’s an art exhibition going on at some museum, and one of the featured artists is an acquaintance of yours, and on Saturday the admission fee is discounted, and if anybody is interested, you have a stack of flyers on the center table. And you hope that everyone has a good week.

You look at Bucky while finishing up your little monologue, giving a half-smile that’s for the whole class, but seemingly only directed at him. He blinks slowly, and when he opens his eyes again, you’re looking somewhere else.

***

“Morning, pal, you ready to go?”

Steve gives him a hopeful smile as he peels an orange.

Bucky’s hair is still wet from his shower, dripping water onto his shirt. It’s early, too early to go anywhere. He doesn’t even know why he’s awake- usually after his wake-of-dawn runs, he falls back asleep, or lies down and just stares at his ceiling, thinking, until he grows restless enough to get up and do something. But today, the restlessness came much sooner, so he got up much sooner, and it might already be a mistake.

He takes a seat at the kitchen island, next to Sam, trying to think of something that Steve might have had planned for today, and coming up completely empty. “Go where?”

Steve looks hurt, for a brief second. “The exhibition at the museum, remember?”

Oh.

That.

“I’m not going to that,” Bucky says, harshly enough for it to be dropped.

Steve does not drop it. “Hey, come on. Just look at it.”

From his back pocket, Steve pulls out a flyer, one of the flyers you had out on Monday, folded up in a neat square- when did Steve pick one of those up? He holds it out, and Bucky, wishing he was asleep again, takes it.

He unfolds it, and the words are written in tiny letters, and the few photos on the paper are in color but too grainy to make out, and it gives him a slight headache, but he pretends to look it over. Sam leans into him to see it, loudly crunching cereal in Bucky’s ear.

“Looks cool, Rogers,” Sam says, and Steve grins, and now Bucky is the bad guy in the situation, for not wanting to go, even though Sam isn’t going either.

Bucky passes the flyer back without reading a single word.

“I’m not going,” he says, again.

But Steve is relentless. He sets the orange peels aside and gives him a look, and Bucky can already feel his resolve starting to crumble, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. Does he not understand that Bucky is already doing as much as he can?

“Why not?”

He picks the easiest answer.

“I don’t want to.”

Steve’s brow furrows as he splits the orange into two, giving half to Bucky. Sam slurps the milk from his cereal bowl.

They’re all blissfully silent.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve says suddenly, almost begging. “I really want to see it.”

“I don’t-” He falters, he’s losing the battle. “How many people are there gonna be?”

Steve lights up. Bucky tries to stay indignant, tries to keep his face twisted in dislike, but it’s difficult with Steve. He’s always so full of optimism, has so much of it that it spills out through the seams, rubs off onto whoever’s closest.

“Not that many,” Steve says, like a promise, shaking his head. “That’s why we should go now.”

“Will she be there?”

Sam perks up.

Steve frowns. “No? Or wait, maybe. It’s a public place- I don’t know. She could be.”

It’s miles off from the answer he wants, but again, for Steve, he’ll take it. Bucky ignores Sam leaning across the counter like an idiot and asking “who’s she?” and eats his orange slices in silence.

***

Huge, bulbous heads, and beady little eyes. The limbs are long and wavy and contorted in the weirdest positions, seas of arms and legs and joints, women twisted over each other in gnarled embraces, a man with his arms twirling over and over again around his own torso. And the colors- a complete eclectic mess of everything- blue, red, yellow, green, purple. Everything.

You walk through the museum floor one, two, three times. The paintings on display are unsettling and ugly, and you’re on the verge of tears.

They’re gorgeous. Pain thrown on a canvas, told through canvas. It’s overwhelming- you’re overwhelmed, and you can’t do anything else about it. The museum just opened and there’s barely any people around- you can wallow in your sadness as much as you want to, for now.

Or maybe you’ll wallow in your frustration, instead.

This… you want to create like this.

But you don’t have it.

It being an impossible, nearly unattainable type of pain, or misery or anger or any other emotion so strong and visceral that you could translate it into something like this, something that evokes something else from other people. From an audience.

You might have had something like that once, but that’s all too far behind you now. Forgettable. What you need right now is an idea, a spark of inspiration, a single coherent thought. A confirmation that you aren’t completely lost.

You wander back to a painting in a far corner, all alone in a small alcove. A red woman, with her head nestled in green grass and legs wrapping around the sun, quite literally head over heels for it. Her mouth is wide open, gaping, calling, wailing, maybe. She has a hooked nose and a mole on one of her arms, and her white dress has fallen down to pool on the grass, and her legs are lithe and unshaven, prickly like the grass, just like the yellow spikes of the sun, drawn almost comically.

How do you even- how do you even come up with things like this?

By living an interesting life, probably. Through not being boring.

You stay there for a while. Long enough that more people start to file in, pretentious art students wearing all black, eccentric people with awesome haircuts, tourists. They peer over your shoulders, awkwardly, waiting for you to move. When you don’t, they leave you to be, giving you a rude look or two that you pay no mind to. There’s space on either side of you, if they’re so desperate to see. Sidling up right against you is kind of weird, but you’ll excuse it, for this painting.

Eventually, you realize that you should probably get going.

You’ve been standing so long that your legs are starting to ache, and there’s countless other Saturday errands you have to run- doing your laundry, buying groceries, calling up your mom- boring Saturday things to do.

You leave the red woman, regrettably. The fabric of your sleeve comes back dry when you wipe your eyes, even though you feel fully washed away, feel like you’re floating as you drift over to the elevator.

The doors slide open and a few people file out, and then it’s empty, thankfully. You step inside, press the button for the ground floor, wait for the doors to fully close-

“Wait,” a voice calls.

You’re not rude- you press the button to hold open the door.

When it fully opens, Steve steps inside, followed by Bucky.

You’re still out of it. You don’t even realize who they are, not until the doors have slid shut and the floor jolts as the elevator starts its descent and they’ve been staring at you for a solid five seconds.

“Oh, hi,” you say, after too much silence. You need to get yourself together. “You guys came!”

Put a little pep in your step! And more joy in your voice- nobody wants to listen to someone so drained.

Steve shrugs. “I wanted to see it.”

Bucky just smolders, clearly saying with his silence, “I didn’t.”

“Did you like it?”

Steve considers your question. The elevator stops at another floor and the doors slide open, but there’s nobody waiting to step inside. You wait for Steve to gather his words together, sure that he’s trying to come up with a nice way to voice whatever he’s thinking, which is definitely not nice. There’s no way that he liked the art, not one chance.

“It was… intriguing,” he says, at last. Neither of them are wearing hats today, because the museum doesn’t allow it. Even in this artificial light, his hair shines, golden-blond. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you say, without wasting a second. “The one of the red woman- it’s probably the best thing I’ve seen all year.”

“It’s only January,” Bucky grumbles.

His voice shocks you, sends an ice-cold jolt up your spine that you definitely dislike.

Steve turns to him, peering over your shoulder, surprised and disappointed. The two of them have a silent conversation with their eyes and you stand in the midst of it, waiting for the goosebumps to settle back down, waiting for the chill to go away.

It’s difficult- he clearly doesn’t like you, either- and even if he has his own troubling little backstory, which you don’t care enough about to google, it’s not justified.

But…

It almost makes his aggression... amusing.

“It is January,” you say politely, dismissing him. “Great observation.”

The elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors side open. You exit in step with Steve, with Bucky right on your heels.

You all stand around in the museum lobby, a wide hallway down from the giftshop and a small cafe.

“Are you headed out?” Steve asks. He puts his hands in his pockets, feet planted wide.

Bucky crosses his arms. He’s wearing all black. If it were anyone else, you would make a joke- he could almost pass off as a pretentious art student, if the outlines of his body weren’t so visible through his clothes, all taut muscle and sharp angles. His hair curls over his shoulders, prettier than anything you’ve seen on any girl.

These guys are Avengers, you think, and proceed to push the thought away.

They look so… un-Avenger-y.

“Um.” You press a hand against your forehead, trying to formulate a response. Chores suddenly seem miles away, the last thing you should be doing. You have all of Sunday to complete them, anyway.

“I was going to get something to eat from the cafe first,” you say, nodding over in its direction. “You guys wanna join me?”

You don't know why you look at Bucky when you say it

“Sure!” Steve says, all cheery, still standing alongside you. He smiles and his teeth are pearly white.

Of course his teeth are pearly white. Dentists everywhere are probably cowering, clutching their little metal instruments for dear life.

Then he hesitates, and turns to Bucky. “If you have nothing else to do, I mean.”

Bucky pauses. You and Steve both stare him down.

“They have these raspberry-almond muffins that are to die for,” you say, like it’ll convince him.

He rolls his eyes. Bored and still gorgeous- if only.

“I’m free,” he says, and you don’t know why he looks at you when he says it.

You pay the bored teenager working the cash register with cash. He gives you your change, and when he turns away to prepare your order, you shove half of the bills and all of your coins into the tip jar.

Bucky sits at the farthest table with Steve. His knees can barely fit underneath it, and the tabletop is sticky, and he’s now willingly spending more time here, and with no disguise there is no way that he isn’t going to be recognized by someone, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t fully booked it yet.

Because…

He doesn’t know.

Maybe because you’re not asking for anything from him, aren’t minding that he’s sullen or unapproachable or anything else- his presence seems to be enough for you, which is bothersome, and at the same time, mildly exciting.

“Are you having fun?” Steve asks, while you smile at the teenager handing you plates of muffins, little glasses of some milky-espresso-coffee drink.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks, while you start your journey back to the table, and Steve opens his mouth to respond, already bothered, and Bucky’s already guilty, but then Steve hops up to help you carry everything back.

You sit down laughing. Steve is laughing, too. The corners of your eyes crease and he can see all of your teeth, and you look at him for a split second, and then turn away before he can get a read on your expression.

He sits in silence, while you and Steve trade jokes and stories and easy banter, talking about art and local politics and all types of things he can’t bring himself to care about, things that Steve is relishing in. You’re witty, apparently, or at least quick enough to get a few quick laughs out of Steve, and Bucky would never say it, he’s barely thinking it, but he appreciates you for it.

And the muffin isn’t quite to die for, but it’s okay.

During a lull in the conversation, you break your attention away from Steve and turn back to Bucky. You look concerned, almost, still smiling but without showing all of your teeth, leaning towards him like you’re about to tell him a secret.

“I never apologized for before,” you say, and Bucky immediately sits up on edge.

Even Steve goes wary, eyes narrowing.

You suddenly give a long, weary sigh, and press a hand against the back of your neck, like whatever you’re about to say is going to be so tedious. “For my friend flipping out when she saw you guys- she’s literally crazy, she’s always doing too much- but on her behalf, I’m sorry.”

The silence following afterwards is deafening.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, after a long moment, while you’re still looking at Bucky- your eyes make his skin itch, and he doesn’t say anything else. “She’s not the worst that we’ve gotten.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, great,” you say, and you slump back in your seat, looking away, back to your half-eaten muffin. You pick off an almond from the top and eat it. “Glad we got that out of the way. I just thought it would be weird if I didn’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, so polite, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve his thanks. “Have you known her for a long time?”

“Yes, oh my god,” you say, and readjust yourself in your chair again, accidentally bumping your knee against Bucky’s, but not apologizing for it. He glances underneath the table, at your entire bare knee, visible through a rip in your jeans. “Rina- her name is Rina- was my college roommate for a while.”

“You went to college?” Steve asks.

“I have an art degree,” you say dryly, “which was… an okay decision, I guess. Sometimes I think I should have just dropped out and done, like, stand-up or something.”

You clearly don’t want to discuss it, leaving the last part as some sort of rhetorical joke. Steve takes the hint and nods, already closing the chapter, and you take a sip from your little glass, finally silent. The foam on the top of the drink sticks to your mouth until you lick it off. Bucky replies to it anyway.

“Why stand-up?”

You turn to him so fast that he almost misses you faltering, and give him a dazzling smile. He thinks of your bare knee under the table, and tries not to sweat. “Because I’m funny, Bucky.”

He doesn’t like how his name sounds when you say it. “Tell me a joke.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, and clasp your hands together. Steve is watching, rapt at attention. “Let me think real quick- oh, I have one. Which beverage has a black belt in karate?”

Bucky waits.

You wait, expecting something from him.

It’s Steve that has to say, “I don’t know, which beverage?”

“Fruit punch,” you say, exaggerating the last part, and Bucky just keeps on waiting.

Steve cracks a small smile.

“Let me tell you another,” you say. “What type of phone does a piece of fruit carry?”

Steve takes a few wild guesses. He’s enjoying this, and you are too, both of you feeding off of each other. “A phone-fruit. A fruit-phone. A frone?”

You shake your head. “A blackberry.”

Bucky doesn’t tell you that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“Tough crowd,” you say, when he doesn’t react. “Don’t worry, I have more. Where do you go on red and stop on green?”

“Where?’ Steve asks, waiting, leaning forward in anticipation.

“When you’re eating a watermelon!”

It is not funny, it’s painfully unfunny, and maybe that’s why you and Steve burst out laughing. Bucky steals a glance at your watch, since he doesn’t wear one of his own. It’s nearing noon- how has so much time passed? Why is he still even here when he doesn’t even like you?

“Why are all of them about fruit?”

You look at him like his question is the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. “What food is the best listener?”

Bucky just sits. All the foam in his little espresso thing has dissolved, having been left untouched. He doesn’t like the taste of coffee- too bitter, and caffeine doesn’t work on him, anyway. Maybe he should drink it, because you paid for it, and because you didn’t make a comment about old-fashioned manners or chivalry when Steve offered to at first, just shrugged and got in line.

He knows that you won’t care.

The drink sits on its own, glass beading with condensation.

“Corn is the best listener,” you say, without waiting for Steve to throw his questions or guesses at you, without waiting for Bucky to spit out another sentence. “Because it’s all ears.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he says, and glares at the spot beside your head.

You nod sympathetically, and he thinks again of the rips in your jeans. “I know. But it was about a vegetable.”

Oh.

You stare at him straight-faced, crossing your arms over your chest. Steve does the same, and then he realizes- the two of you are a bunch of kids, punks, juveniles- mocking his stature, pretending to be serious, somehow not offending him.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says. “You’re…”

He can’t even help it. He looks back at you and his face works on its own. He gives a single, dry chuckle, but he’s smiling, and dragging his hand over his face, scrubbing it off just as fast, but you still see it, and smile back and gently nudge his knee again underneath the table, and then turn back away again, and he’s still staring at your hair while you take big bite out of your to-die-for raspberry-almond muffin, already back in conversation with Steve.

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goldeneyedgirl · 4 years ago

Text

TwiFicMas20 Day 3: Married in Vegas

I hope December is treating everyone well <3 Today’s offering is ‘Married in Vegas’. G requested it to be included in FicMas months ago, and it’s here. In pieces, because I may have over-estimated how ‘ready’ it was to be seen.

It also degenerated into something terribly depressing, when I was definitely going for something happier, rom-com meets coming of age, so large chunks definitely need to be rewritten.

Oh, and if you want more of a specific fic, you NEED to tell me, or it will simply languish on my harddrive, forgotten forever.

Onwards!

I meet him on a Thursday night, in the shitty little bar where I work. We talk, he drinks, and then he leaves.

By Saturday night, I am Mrs Alice Whitlock-Hale, with a ring bought from some cheap jewellery vendor and a plastic flower crown in my hair.

It was the best night of my life.

Okay, so I could start at the beginning. But the true beginning is a four-year-old girl being left behind when her mom runs away with her baby sister, and the middle is when, at fourteen, that girl is thrown out of her father’s house. She tries to go home once, at sixteen, only to find out that her dad and step-monster moved away. Left the state and left her behind without so much as a forwarding address.

But that story is depressing as hell, so we’ll start when things get interesting.

My ‘husband’ – Jasper Whitlock-Hale - was a strapping 6-foot-something soldier fresh from his last tour – honourably discharged, he was quick to inform me when we first met, and I could tell that was a point of some pride for him.

I worked at a bar called ‘Sassy’s’. It had been opened in the 70s and I was pretty sure it hadn’t been cleaned or redecorated since those halcyon days. The current owner was Bruno – his son, Emil, was the manager. They were both decent, in that they paid me on time and never groped me. It’s pretty sad when those factors qualify as ‘decent’, but you tend not to be too picky when you’re applying for work at places like ‘Sassy’s’.

Especially when you’re an underage runaway.

How were we still in business? Well, we did dollar beers after nine at night (it wasn’t good beer), and we served pretty good nachos, and we had a huge flat-screen television. Oh, and we ignored any kind of gambling that happened in the dark corners.

It started off as a totally normal night – the usual crowd waiting for their cheap beers, wiping down sticky tables, and killing time. If I was lucky, there wouldn’t be any decent sports playing tonight, and no one would bitch much if I switched the channel over.

He walked through the door just after nine, limping quite obviously. He was wearing a button-down shirt, jeans and a worn leather jacket. He looked kind of haunted – but that isn’t exactly unusual in Vegas; if you don’t arrive with regrets, you’re probably going to leave with them.

He also looked too young, too clean and way too promising to be a patron at Sassy’s. I was slinging beer at that point, as he approached.

“Beer, please,” he said as he sat at the bar.

“Dollar, thanks,” I said with a smile, grabbing a chipped – but clean – glass, and grabbed a dish of peanuts. They were pretty good – more than often, they were my dinner.

“Thanks,” he nodded once, staring at the amber liquid for a moment. He looked exhausted.

I kept working – stacking fresh glasses, packing the dirty ones into the ancient dishwasher behind the bar that Bruno had installed last summer, so proudly. Pretty sure it was older than me, but it meant that I didn’t have to deal with the washing-up anymore, so I smiled and thanked him, as if I didn’t spend at least half a shift trying to get the damned thing to work.

“Mija!” Luis ducked his head out of the kitchen, passing me a plate.

“Thanks,” I said. “Need a drink?”

“Nah, just fine girly.”

Luis had it easy. He was in college, so this was a part-time gig for him – he only came in two nights a week. He earned twice what I earned, but we didn’t get as many orders for food, so he got to sit in the tiny-ass kitchen (seriously, two people couldn’t fit back there) and study. He’d make me dinner every shift we worked together, which was nice of him. Tonight was grilled cheese.

On quiet nights, I liked to prop the kitchen door open, and sit on the bar and listen to him talk about his classes while I ate. He was always hinting about me going to college, about financial assistance and scholarships, but it just wasn’t going to happen for me.

I had a mouthful of food when the group in the corner started yelling for more drinks. These guys knew Bruno and Emil, so I had to tolerate their smart-ass mouths. They liked to tease the ‘princess’ who worked there. I got that from a lot of regulars, but these guys liked to imply that I was a whore, and tell me they’d wait for me after work to ‘test me out’.

Luis said it was because they were testing me, and they were pissed that Bruno never fired the white girl. Camila, one of the ex-waitresses, was the daughter of one of them and that was why they never tipped me. A form of protest. I never breathed a word about it, and treated them just as well as any other customer.

“Beers, gentlemen,” I said, sliding the tray onto the table. “Can I get you anything else?”

“I’ll say,” one of them leered and another slapped me on the ass. I rolled my eyes and turned to go back to the bar.

“Rough night?” the guy at the bar said as I returned.

“What? Oh, them,” I shrugged, picking up my sandwich. “They’re here every night.”

“They act like that all the time?” he asked.

“Yeah, but they’re just blowing off steam. Don’t like that I kept my job and one of their daughters didn’t,” I said. “Can I get you another?”

“Please.” He watched me move carefully. “What’s your name?”

“Mary,” I said, placing another beer in front of him, and grabbing a soda for myself.

“Jasper, ma’am,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Jasper. You from around here?”

By closing time, Jasper had nursed four beers and half my sandwich – which he inhaled like he hadn’t eaten in a while. We’d chatted. He’d just returned from his third tour in the Middle East – he didn’t say much about that, though I heard some pride in his voice when he mentioned it.

We talked about Vegas a bit, about the things he missed when he was overseas (his aunt’s chocolate cake, the cool forests of Washington state, and books). He was just passing through Vegas, here for a few days. Trying to adjust back to civilian life.

He stayed as I cleaned up, loading the dishwasher and scrubbing down the benches and tables. He watched as David and Sammy came up to pay, smirking as I leant over the bar to reach the money, giving them an unwilling flash of my pitiful cleavage.

All twenty-six dollars of it, in crumpled bills.

“Thanks,” I smiled brightly, handing them a receipt and a package of matches with the logo on it. They grunted at me and left. Their table was a mess of napkins, peanuts and glasses.

“Hope they tipped you well,” Jasper said as he watched me load the tray.

“Oh, they don’t tip. They hate me,” I said, as I piled the garbage onto a tray.

“How long were they here?”

“Since five. It’s fine, really,” I said. “It’s tradition.”

“No, it’s being an asshole,” Jasper muttered.

Luis chose that moment to leave the kitchen, bag on his shoulder.

“It’s closing time,” he sung at me, just like every night. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!”

I snorted. “Well, Jasper, it’s been nice talking to you, but I have to lock up,” I said with a little regret. He was a nice guy, and nice guys didn’t spend a lot of time at Sassy’s.

“Do you need a lift home?” he offered and then froze. “Sorry, that sounded really… seedy. I was going to offer to split a cab.”

“Thank you, but Luis gives me a lift,” I said.

“Okay. Do … you work any other nights this week?” he asked, almost shyly.

Luis was doing his best to be invisible, grabbing the trash and dragging it out the back.

“Tomorrow morning, from eleven til seven, I said. “Beer is full-priced, I’m sorry to say.”

“Okay. Thanks. It was nice talking to you,” he said again, fumbling with his words.

“You too. And if I don’t see you again, have a good time in Vegas,” I said, and, leaving money tucked under his glass, Jasper finally rose and limped out.

I sighed; dumping the glass in the sink and counting out the four dollars for the till, I jammed the tip into my bra. There wasn’t much else to do – I was opening tomorrow; we opened from 11am til 1am, so it would be me who unpacked the soda in the backroom, and the glasses and ran a mop over the perpetually sticky floor. So I could go into the kitchen and change out of my uniform and go and find Luis.

Once the hot pink wig was peeled off, my black hair stuck clammily to my face. My make-up had mostly melted off and it was a relief to tug on my leggings and hoodie and grab my bag.

Luis was waiting for me in the car as I locked up.

“So, you and soldier boy,” he began as soon as I got in.

“Ugh, really?” I pulled my tip out of my bra. “He was alone, and flirting with the waitress. Won’t see him again.” It had been a quiet night – fourteen dollars, plus whatever Jasper had left me. I mean, on average, I made maybe twenty-five dollars in tips a night.

And I stared. Two twenty dollar bills were staring at me, along with six dollars. A forty six dollar tip for four dollar beers. And half a cold grilled cheese sandwich.

“No, he didn’t like you at all,” Luis drawled.

“Shut up,” I grumbled, but inside I was giddy. He was dashing, and smart and polite. And now I could make my rent.

“Here were are. Sleep well,” Luis pulled up in front of the apartment block.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, spinning my keys around my finger, and headed home.

The apartment block was a grim brick building of roughly eighty apartments. I lived in number 48. Well, I rented a room in number 48. The apartment was really Victoria’s. Victoria had two kids and never actually told me what she did for a living. Nothing would surprise me. She was a bitch, didn’t give a shit about her kids, but rented out the third closet-sized bedroom complete with air mattress and a locked closet full of canned soup to me for the princely sum of eighty bucks a week.

What did I know about my new husband?

He walked with a limp – I was guessing an injury that got him discharged from the military.

He had a twin sister – one he spoke of with equal parts affection and irritation.

He liked history – American military history, specifically.

He was raised in Texas, until his mother died when he was 10. He and his sister were packed off to live with his mom’s best friend and her husband in the wilds of Washington state, where he stayed until he finished high school. He never mentioned his father.

And he was a consummate gentleman.

I, on the other hand, lied my head off.

Well, I only told the usual lies – I was 21, earning money for college, hoping to be a nurse one day. Oh, and when he asked about my family, I told him they were dead. It was better to keep it simple, it meant there were no questions.

We got married on the Strip, Saturday night.

And when he woke up Sunday morning looking hilariously horrified at the fact we got married, I might have exaggerated how drunk I was.

That makes me sound like the worst kind of person, and I don’t think I am, really.

I mean, he was dressed very nicely, he had a black AmEx, and was clearly educated. But I didn’t want to take advantage of him, truly. I wasn’t looking for money or anything. He was so nice, so handsome and he made me feel safe. And before she left me, my mom always told me that life was meant to be full of adventures, and I had to get out there and grab them with both hands. She didn’t leave me with many good memories, so I kind of held onto that advice.

Just once, for a moment, I wanted to pretend to be the type of girl who could marry someone like Jasper Whitlock. The kind of girl who got to stay in beautiful hotel suites.

He kept apologising to me, seemingly more shocked that I had slept on the hotel couch than the idea we had gotten drunk, married and might have had sex. He looked completely panicked, pacing and muttering and staring at me like a stranger.

I took advantage of the giant bathtub and the endless selection of bath gels and lotions whilst he tried to be subtle about the panicked phone calls he was making, his knuckles white as he gripped the damning piece of paper that declared us husband and wife in the state of Nevada.

I emerged smelling of cherry blossoms and lavender. I mean, I only had the previous night’s clothes – my black mini-skirt, leggings, a Sassy’s tank top and my poor flats – but at least I was clean and tidy.

“I need to shower,” Jasper managed as I came out. “There’s coffee and juice if you want something.”

“Thanks,” I smiled.

As I went to grab a drink, his phone buzzed and I looked down to see the messages flash across the screen, one after the other.

ROSALIE (CELL) 9:17:04am: Cut the tramp loose. C spoke to E & u can annul when u get home. JFC.

CARLISLE (WORK) 9:17:11am: I’ve spoken to Eleazer, and he’s willing to work this out.

EDWARD (CELL) 9:17:24am: Tell me this is a joke or something. Rosalie keeps shrieking every time she calls.

ESME (CELL) 9:17:31am: Rosalie told us. Bring her home with you and we can fix it. Love you XOXO

BELLA (iMessage) 9:17:49am: R u ok? Saw on R’s FB what happened.

EMMETT (CELL) 9:18:00am: Did u srsly marry a stripper in Vegas?!?

EMMETT (CELL) 9:18:09am: Rose is losing her shit. Nice knowing u.

EMMETT (CELL) 9:18:34am: At least send pix of what she looks like dude.

I turned away from the phone, though it was fascinating watching the messages pop up. My cellphone was a beat-up second-hand Sidekick Tiffy had given me for my seventeenth birthday, the back bedazzled in pink and purple, and the only text messages I got were from Luis, Emil and Bruno, about work.

Or Victoria, bitching about the rent.

I grabbed my drink and sat on the couch, flipping on the television whilst I waited for Jasper to finish in the shower. He emerged, looking calmer, though pale and hung over, snatching up his phone, with a towel slung around his hips. I tried not to stare – goddamnit, this guy should not be marrying strange bartenders in Vegas. He would have absolutely no trouble getting a date. I knew I was bright red, refocusing on whatever cartoons were playing on the screen.

Jasper took me to breakfast at the hotel restaurant afterwards - I felt super underdressed with my sweater over my top, as I was served the fanciest eggs I had ever seen. Jasper crumbled a bagel up and drank about a gallon of coffee, barely meeting my eyes. I figured I might as well take advantage of my wedding breakfast, and also helped myself to fruit salad that included fruits I wasn’t aware were even available in America, and a doughnut that looked hand-painted with icing.

“I have some appointments today,” Jasper said, finally, when he finally pushed his plate aside. “We could meet for dinner later.”

I popped the last bite of doughnut into my mouth and wondered if he was planning on leaving town, leaving me behind.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

I had the day off, surprisingly enough. Normally on my days off, I had plans – sometimes I worked for a catering firm I was registered with, for some extra cash. Sometimes I’d hit the thrift stores to try and pad out my meagre wardrobe, or go and sketch or read in the park. I hated hanging around the apartment, since Victoria, James and Laurent kept unpredictable hours and could be there all day.

But today, I had nowhere to be. My phone needed charging and I could do with a few extra hours of sleep – a headache was definitely lingering. Plus, if breakfast was any indication, I needed to dress up for dinner. I was pretty sure that breakfast had cost more than my entire wardrobe. But I had one dress that was passable.

Luckily, the apartment was empty when I slipped in and collapsed into my bed, noticing only for a second that the hotel couch was far and away more comfortable than the ancient air mattress Victoria provided.

I was woken at five pm by a text message from Jasper.

360-555-0134 5:03:44pm: My meetings are done. Just heading back to the hotel for a shower. Our reservation is for 7:30pm. Pick you up at 7?

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face – I hadn’t been sure I’d ever hear from Jasper again. But he was taking me out to a fancy dinner. Hell, I would have been over the moon if we went to a movie and ate hot dogs in a park. Flipping open the keyboard, I tapped out a response.

775-555-0182 5:04:59pm: Sounds good – am sending my address. Hope your day was good.

I had two hours to get ready for the fanciest meal of my life.

I could so do this.

—

Considering my resources, I didn’t think I looked too bad. I’d left my hair loose, since I didn’t own a curling wand or straightener, and managed to paint my nails with the half-empty bottle of nude pink I’d found amongst my stuff.

My dress was a black polyester number I had fished out of a basket at the thrift store and had cost me eight dollars. It was a baby-doll style and I thought it made me look older. My shoes were black wedges that were nowhere near fancy enough, but I didn’t own any proper heels.

I had run to the drug store around the corner for a lipstick, a deep crimson that made me feel much older and more glamorous. The effect was somewhat spoilt by the fact I didn’t own a decent coat, just a purple cardigan and a hoodie. And the only purse I owned was a silver crossbody-bag that looked like I had only paid two dollars for it.

At seven on the dot, I emerged from my room to find Victoria, the kids, James and Laurent eating pizza.

“Look at you, baby,” James was practically drooling as I walked through, jamming my wallet and phone into the tiny bag. “Told you she was gorgeous.”

Laurent made a non-committal sound but his gaze never left my legs, ew.

“Where are you going?” Victoria demanded, glaring at me. She definitely preferred me as skinny, bedraggled Mary instead of girly Alice.

“I have a date,” I said.

“A date? Finally working for the money, Mary?” Victoria said. “Thought you were too good for that.”

I made a face at her. “A date. With a guy. Where he takes me to dinner and we talk.”

“You didn’t come home last night,” Victoria said carelessly, and I caught a dark look pass over James’ face. “Excuse me for assuming that you’d come to your senses.”

I swallowed my vulgar response and grabbed my keys. “Don’t wait up.”

My stuff was packed up – in the end, I had only a small duffle bag and my messenger bag of stuff for nineteen years of life.

Jasper was planning on driving back to Forks over two or three days. He had considered – and offered – to pay for us to fly back, but I’d never been in an airplane before, and figured a road-trip would give me time to prepare to meet Jasper’s family.

I wasn’t expecting it. Not for James to half-punch, half-slap me, and shake me by the throat. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs burning, slightly disoriented from the blows.

James half-threw me against the fridge, the handle digging into my back. I dropped my bags as he grabbed me by the scruff of the shirt and pulled me back towards him.

“You think you can leave?” he spat at me. “Stupid bitch, think you’re better than this?”

I tried to pull away, but I was too small.

“You’re just like Vic. Just like ‘em all. You’ll come crawling back when that prick gets bored,” he purred at me, one hand sliding down my stomach and I suddenly was terrified. “I’m not picky, I’ll take you back – when you beg.”

“James.”

We both jerked around to see Laurent standing in the doorway, with one of Victoria’s daughters in tow.

James pasted a bright smile on his face. “Just sayin’ good bye to Mary here. Takin’ her chances in sunny California.”

Laurent looked from me to him and shrugged. “Coming?”

James looked back at me and sneered. “Yeah. The trash can take herself out.”

Within seconds, they were gone, and I was alone. I span on my heel and headed to the bathroom.

I stared at myself in the mirror. My throat was red, where he’d shaken me, and my eye and cheek were already swelling – and my lip was split. My back and shoulder ached, plus my right ankle was tender.

Thankfully, the collar of my cardigan would cover up my throat, and my sunglasses would cover up my eye. Hopefully, my lip would stop bleeding by then. Nothing that indicated James had hurt me. But I didn’t want to hang around, in case he came back.

Snagging my bags off the floor, I dropped my keys on the kitchen table and fled apartment 48 for the final time.

Jasper was waiting in the bar with a coffee and the paper when I showed up. I’d tried so hard to dress nicely – a blue shirtdress and lavender leggings – but the women in the hotel foyer made me look like a middle school student.

“Hi,” I smiled as I reached the table.

“Good morning,” Jasper said, jumping up to take my bags. “Can I get you anything?”

“An oj?” I asked, looking around at the fancy surroundings. I wasn’t sure anything as pedestrian as an orange had ever crossed the threshold of this place.

“Certainly.” A hotel employee suddenly appeared at Jasper’s elbow. “Could you put these bags with mine? And the lady would like an orange juice, and perhaps the brunch menu?”

“Of course, Mr Whitlock,” the employee said.

I wriggled around in my seat, gazing around the bar. One woman was wearing the most incredible red and gold heels, and another had an embroidered floral dress that was to die for.

“The hotel had some computer difficulties this morning – we should be able to leave soon,” Jasper said to me, drawing my attention back to him. “I’d like to make it to Boise tonight.”

“Sounds good,” I said, as a waiter swept to my side, placing the fanciest glass of juice in front of me, and a tasselled menu. “Thank you.”

“I’ve already eaten,” Jasper said, looking guilty. “Early start. But please, get whatever you want.”

“O-kay,” I said. I wasn’t very hungry, and my throat hurt after James’ assault, but I needed to eat – I wasn’t sure if we’d stop for lunch. Rule number one was never, ever turn down free food.

A hotel employee appeared at Jasper’s elbow the second my breakfast plate was cleared, to let us know that the ‘issues’ had been fixed, and our luggage was in the car.

It was happening. We were going.

Mary-Alice Brandon: now leaving Las Vegas.

The motel was neat and pretty clean, with two double beds and a TV. We’d grabbed burgers through drive-thru, and were ready to settle in for the night.

I had some ancient pj bottoms and a tank top to sleep in, and didn’t think of anything else as I left the bathroom, my hair hanging loose.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jasper was at my side in a second, his eyes wide.

“What?” I gave him a confused look, and belatedly realised that my make-up was washed off and in my tank top my throat was bared, the bruises that James had given me so much darker and angrier than before.

“Oh, um, my landlord’s boyfriend had a problem with me leaving,” I said uncomfortably.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “We can find a doctor in the morning.”

I waved it off. “I’ve got painkillers in my purse. Just have to wait til I heal.”

Jasper was determined to buy me clothing as soon as we finished breakfast, and I gave up and let him drive me to the Gap outlet. It was a novelty to be able to purchase whatever I need, something I wasn’t used to, as I carefully chose jeans and dresses. I also picked up a winter parka on sale, when Jasper warned me how wet and cold Forks was.

But when Jasper went to pay, he gave me a Look. “My sister spends more on a single pair of shoes,” he grumbled at me as I gathered my bags.

“I’ve got everything I need, I swear,” I said. “Probably too much, honestly.”

On the way from Seattle, I tried to memorise everything about Jasper’s family and friends, so not to fuck this up worse than it already was.

There were his ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’, Esme and Carlisle. They had one biological son, Edward, who was 22 and married to Isabella, with a toddler named something strange. Ness, Jasper called her.

Jasper’s twin sister, Rosalie, was engaged to a man named Emmett, who was also one of Jasper’s best friends. They were building a house in Forks, and were getting married at the end of the year.

Jasper’s best friends were Emmett and a man named Peter, Jasper’s roommate in college, who now worked at a law firm in Seattle and had a girlfriend named Charlotte whom Jasper called ‘an angel’, and designed wedding dresses.

I felt like I needed flashcards.

#twificmas20 #ficmas20 #alice cullen #jasper hale #alice/jasper #jalice #twilight renaissance #twilight fic #human au #getting married in vegas #wip #my fic #my fic: vegas

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ruthoakenshield · 5 years ago

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Thorin and the Gem Carver (part 7)

It’s been two days since Jade was allowed to wake and during that time, Elrond and his sons have fully healed Jade’s spinal column and spine. She has very little feeling past the injury site at the moment and is frustrated by her body’s weaknesses.

She struggles to even sit up, let alone hold anything in her hands and begins to fall into a deep depression as she realizes she can no longer do her carvings. She feels worthless and of little use to such a great kingdom.

Each day, different members of Thorin’s company come to visit her, Balin always being with them for introductions. They try to keep her spirits up, but see her slipping further into depression. She continues to withdraw inwardly and cries frequently.

Elrond is concerned and tries to talk with Jade and encourages her to be patient. But she just cries and refuses to talk about it.

Galadrial arrives with her retinue and are shown to their rooms. Elrond and his sons meet with her and share their concerns. She sighs. “I will visit with her. Perhaps sharing her feelings with a female will help her cope.” She tells them.

She is shown to the Halls of Healing by the guards and she approaches the chair by the fireplace and window, where Oin had Jade propped up in a sitting position, hoping a change of scenery would help her.

She is looking at a book of dwarvish designs when Galadrial enters the halls. She approaches Jade and greets her. Jade looks up with glassy eyes and does the grabby hands towards Galadrial. Oin looks at the two of them and Galadrial asks him in his mind if he would mind giving them some time alone. He nods and leaves them to their chat.

Galadrial approaches Jade and squats down to look her in the face. “Oh, my dear, sweet Jade.” She says. “I know you are hurting, but tell me why are you pushing away those who love and care for you?” she asks as she holds Jade’s face gently in hers. Jade wraps her arms around Galadrial’s neck and buries her face in Galadrial’s shoulder and cries quietly.

“I…I...I don’t want to be here anymore. Why did I have to survive? I just want to be with Amad and Adad!” Jade says quietly. “I have no use nor purpose here. I can’t do anything!” she cries. “I can’t even feed myself or comb my hair. I can’t even sit up without tipping over! Why would any kingdom want me around?” she cries. “I’m nothing but a burden, as always.” She sighs.

“Oh, my dear, Sweet, Jade. You have never been a burden to anyone, or any kingdom save your Uncle. You are a delight to be around and talk with and are greatly loved by all who meet you and get to know you!” she tells Jade gently. “You still have value and a purpose, dear Jade. In time, you will find it once more.” She assures the frightened young dwarrowdam.

“Then why did my Uncle hate me so? Why was he so cruel and mean to me? Why did he want to sell me off to the highest bidder?” Jade sobs as Galadrial holds her and pets her head of white hair.

“Oh, my dear. He has always been jealous of your father’s skill and luck. It was nothing against you. He treated you so, because he saw so much of your father in you.” She tells you. “But you, my dear, you are a blessing to everyone who has met you, even if they didn’t know it. Your Uncle is now realizing that.” She says to Jade.

“Give these dwarves a chance to get to know you, Sweetheart. They care greatly for you and you have the highest respect from them. Dwarves honor and cherish their women because they are SO rare. Your One is here. And when you realize who he is, you will finally feel at peace here. He will make himself known to you and I assure you, he will leave it up to you what you wish to do with the relationship, he will honor your decision and not push you to do anything you do not want to do.” Galadrial tells Jade.

“Now, I know you are frustrated by your injuries and paralysis, Jade. You have always been an independent and strong dwarrowdam. But you need to accept that right now, you need other’s assistance, which is being happily and freely offered. I assure you, in time, you will regain your strength, skills and independence. But for now, be patient, use this time to just enjoy the assistance and focus on your relaxation and healing. These dwarves are incredibly eager to pamper you and see to your every need. Let them indulge in this. They are eager to get to know you and become your friends. They are noble and honorable dwarves, like your father was.” She informs you.

“I miss Adad.” You sniffle. “I miss his hugs and how he made me feel safe. I miss his soothing voice and his wisdom.” You tell the Elf Queen.”

“I know, dear Jade. He is greatly missed by us too.” She assures you. “You will see him again, one day. When it is your time to join him and your mother.” Galadrial reminds you as she caresses your face. “But for now, you are here. And these dwarves are eager to be your friends and get to know you better.”

“Now, I hear that Thorin has ordered a room be prepared for you in the Royal wing!” she tells you, her eyes twinkling and her smile knowing. Would you like to see it?” she asks.

“In the royal wing?!?” you exclaim. “Why am I being put in the royal wing?” you question.

Galadrial grins. “Someone seems to want to impress you and spoil you rotten.” She teases with a wink.

You look at her surprised. “Who? And Why me?” you ask.

Galadrial just smiles and turns her head towards the doors as Thorin, Oin, Dwalin and Balin enter with your Aunt who is actually smiling and talking with Balin excitedly as she clings to Dwalin’s arm.

Galadrial rises and steps back to allow them to approach you.

“Jade.” Thorin says with a slight bow. “Oin tells me you are well enough to be moved to a room. Would you like to get out of the Healing Halls and be shown to your own rooms?” he inquires.

You sigh and nod. “Yes, please.” You say quietly.

Thorin grins happily and Balin comes over and gives you a gentle hug. “I’m glad to see that you are in a better mood today, Lass.” He says as he gently cups your cheek. Your Aunt was shown the rooms that are assigned to the two of you and she has approved them. We’ve made a few modifications to accommodate your injuries to make it more comfortable for you to move around in there.” He tells you.

You sigh and nod. “Thank you, Balin.” You reply quietly.

“I would like to introduce you to my brother.” He says with a chuckle. “Though you already met in the tavern.” He chuckles. “This is Dwalin, son of Fundin, Chief of Security in Erebor.” He says indicating the massive brute of a dwarf to his right. Dwalin gives you a low bow. When he rises, he gives you a warm smile, “At your service, Lass. I apologize for frightening you in the Tavern when we first met.” He says and offers you his hand.

You look at him, and his hand, and then up at Galadrial. She is smiling and nods to you. You look at Dwalin again and timidly raise your hand. He sees you struggling to move it, and he slips his hand under yours. You grasp it weakly and try to give it a squeeze. “Apology accepted.” You tell him. Dwalin gives you a big grin and gives your hand a gentle squeeze in return, before placing your hand on the arm of the chair.

You look at your Aunt, she approaches and stands in front of you. “I am so sorry, Sweetheart. I did not realize you felt so strongly about the arranged marriage that you’d be willing to flee into the woods. I am so sorry it resulted in your injuries. Your father would be so mad at us if he knew how this ended up.” She says and falls at your feet in tears. “Please forgive me for not seeing your distress.” She sobs.

Her words surprise you and you look confused. When your Aunt collapses at your feet begging for forgiveness, your heart breaks for your Aunt, knowing how unkind your Uncle treated her. “We were both caught in a tradition we could not seem to escape, my dear Aunt. I could not face life in a loveless marriage like you had. I would rather die than be forced into such a thing. But I am told now that we have been freed from such a fate and the choice is now ours.” You tell her.

She nods. “That is true, Sweetheart. We are free to choose now.” she confirms. “I do not blame you for what happened, Aunt. You could not stop it any more than I could. What will you do now though? How will you survive?” you ask her.

“Balin and a dwarf named Ori have agreed to teach me to read and write. He tells me there is a massive library here that Ori could use help running.” She tells you.

You grin. “Oh Aunt! You always loved a good story! Libraries are filled with such treasures. I’m sure you will thoroughly love it and thrive there!” you say with a huge smile.

Everyone is stunned by your beautiful smile. Your Aunt finally looks up at you with tears in her eyes. “What about you, Sweetheart? What will you do?” she asks quietly.

Everyone sees your smile disappear. Your head drops. “I do not know. I have no value now that I can not carve anymore. It was my only love and passion. I have nothing else to give a kingdom. “I do not wish to be a burden and not earn my keep. Nor do I wish to sit idle.” You sigh.

“Then use it as motivation to regain your strength and abilities.” Thorin says quietly to you as he comes around to your side.

“I will consider it you earning your keep as long as you work hard to regain your strength, independence and abilities, but you MUST be patient. Listen to Oin and Elrond and his sons, follow their instructions and do what they say, and I will consider it your work until you are able to once again do the beautiful carvings you once did.” He tells you. “Even if it takes years to regain them. As long as you do not give up, I will consider this your job and contribution to the kingdom. Is this acceptable to you?” he asks.

You look at him in disbelief. “Why would you do such a thing? What good does it provide a kingdom as grand as yours to feed and care fore a crippled, broken dwarrowdam?” you ask, astonished.

Thorin squats down beside you and gently takes your hands in his. “Because each dwarrowdam in my kingdom is a TREASURE, no matter her status or station, no matter if she is able to contribute actively or only able to grace us with her presence and smile. Every dwarrowdam is cherished and valued above all else here in Erebor. They are more precious to us than all the gold and jewels inside this mountain.” He tells you with glassy eyes. He bows his head and kisses each of your hands and stands and kisses your forehead. “Please, stay with us, even if it is simply gracing us with your presence, and your lovely smiles.” He asks you.

You stare at them all in shock and disbelief. You don’t know how to respond. You look up at Galadrial for help. She just gives you a smile and tells you in your head. “You will be well cared for here, my dear, accept their offer. Their request is genuine and heartfelt.” She assures you.

You look at the dwarves again and see the hope in their faces. Words escape you and all you can do is nod.

Thorin smiles and gives your hands a squeeze gently. “Thank You.” He whispers as he stands.

“Now, since you are under my care, protection, and provision, you will need to choose a new family to represent you and protect you. I will give you a month to decide. Get to know my company first, then we will gradually introduce you to the rest of the kingdom. My company are loyal to me and will protect you with their lives. If you feel like you need more time to decide, then let me know before the month is up. Understood?” Thorin tells you.

You nod. “What about my Aunt? Who will care for and protect her now?” you ask.

Dwalin gets a sheepish grin. “That’d be me.” He says, clearing his throat and looking at your Aunt with a mischievous grin, making Balin and Thorin chuckle.

“Oh.” You reply.

Thorin chuckles. “Now, would you like us to show you your rooms?” he asks you.

You look up at him and sigh, then nod. “I guess that would be nice. I’m rather tired of staring at these walls. No offense master Oin, you have a nice Healing Hall, but it would be nice to see something else.” You murmur.

Oin chuckles, “No offense taken Miss Jade.” He assures you. “Now remember, just take it easy. No walking yet. Not until your legs and back get stronger.” He reminds you.

You nod.

Thorin comes around in front of you and bends down. Slipping his right arm behind your back, and his left under your legs, he gently picks you up with ease. “Wrap your arms around my neck.” He instructs you.

You let out a little gasp when you realize he is going to pick you up. “You’re going to carry me?!” you ask shocked.

He chuckles as he picks you up. “Yes, Jade, I’m going to carry you.” He replies. “Does that make you uncomfortable?” he inquires as he stands and shifts you slightly in his arms.

“No, I just thought it would be a bit odd for your subjects seeing their king carrying a lowly, cripple in your arms.” You say quietly so only he hears it.

Your words pierce his heart and make it ache. “Ghivashel, you are not lowly. Your father and mother were well respected in Middle Earth by many races. You are a master gem-carver. It is not inappropriate for a King to carry his injured guest to her chambers to show her where she is welcome to live, rest and recover her strength.” He assures you quietly as everyone moves out of the healing halls. Galadrial follows last, with a knowing smile on her face at seeing how taken Thorin is with you.

As he carries you through the corridors, he gives you a mini tour along the way. Explaining where certain hallways lead, and you marvel in amazement, especially at the carvings. Thorin notices this and begins to pause his tour to let you admire the carvings closer. He watches with a grin as you caress the carvings with a finger, tracing their deep grooves in the green stone of the mountain. He hears the mountain hum in it’s appreciation of your gentle caresses. “The mountain approves of her.” He tells himself with glee feeling it start to pulse gently beneath his feet ever so slightly.

As he carries you, you see the dwarves and few dwarrowdams all bowing to their king with surprised looks on their faces and some with kind smiles.

Kili and Fili join your merry group and tease you about their Uncle carrying you. You blush a beet red and turn to bury your face in Thorin’s fur collar. He glares at the two boys and they just giggle. You feel his arms tighten just a little around you as his nephews tease the two of you and you feel more heat radiating off of him. Wondering if he is feeling as embarrassed at their teasing as you do, you peek up to see his neck, you see it is pink, as are his cheeks, which are mostly hidden by his soft beard.

You rest your head against his shoulder and tuck your face against his neck. He swallows hard and you feel him stiffen momentarily, then relax. You sigh and breathe in his musky, earthy scent of clove, cinnamon, Sandalwood and Cedar. His scent reminds you of the delicious cookies that humans make called, ‘ginger snaps’ and you wonder if they are something he would like.

You listen to his voice rumble as he talks, explaining the different things you pass by, but you are not paying attention to the tour he is giving you. His voice is like velvet, a calming baritone rumble deep in his chest and you feel it calming and soothing you in it’s soft timbre as you listen to him speak. You realize you feel safe in his arms as he is carrying you and you feel calm and peaceful, and now, veeeeery sleepy.

Thorin is telling you about his kingdom when he suddenly realizes you feel heavier. He glances at Kili, who is giggling. “I think you bored her, and she fell asleep, Uncle.” He teases quietly when he sees you sleeping against his Uncle’s shoulder, your face tucked into his neck and beard.

Thorin sighs, happily, that you felt relaxed and safe enough in his arms to be able to do that.

The group arrives at the doors and Thorin turns to Dwalin, who chuckles at seeing you fast asleep in his King’s arms. He just grins and opens the doors for Thorin. The King steps into his mother’s chambers and for a moment, his heart aches. But he sees the changes that have been made to accommodate you and his heart leaps for joy knowing his mother would be pleased to have you live here, in her rooms. “Jade.” He says quietly, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Jade, wake up.” He says and you stir.

“Mmmmm?” you murmur and lift your head with a groan.

“Here are yours and your Adadnamad’s (Aunt’s) rooms.” He tells you.

You let out a little gasp at seeing such beautifully decorated rooms. The sitting room he is standing in with you is filled with all kinds of different opals and fine carvings and warm golden colored woods. There is a scent of freshly baked cookies, there are fine furs on the floor, luxuriously soft fabrics cover the furniture, and it is absolutely gorgeous. “OH!!! This is ours?” you ask surprised.

You hear Thorin’s chuckle resonate in his chest. It sends shivers through you. “Yes, Ghivashel, it is yours and your Aunt’s place now.” he tells you.

Your Aunt is beaming and is carrying a tray of tea and freshly baked ginger snaps over to the coffee table. The group joins her, and everyone sits down. Thorin carefully sits you next to himself and allows you to lean against his side once he is seated. Your Adadnamad (Aunt) sits next to you and passes out tea and cookies she had prepared.

She thanks Thorin for showing such kindness to her and for freeing her from your Uncle. “I haven’t been so happy in a very long time. Thank You, Melhekhul (My King). Tan menu selek lanun naman! (May your forge burn bright!)” she tells him.

Thorin smiles one of his large, warm happy ones. You see it reach his eyes and how they sparkle with joy. “It is my pleasure to do this. It frees me as well since I am no longer able to be pressured by the council now to take a wife. I can do it on my own time and of my own choosing.” He explains.

She grins when she sees him glance down at you and smile. “Would you like to see your room, dear Jade?” he asks you. “If you wish for any changes to be made, simply let someone know and we will see it done.” He tells you.

You sigh and nod. “Yes please.” You say.

He sets down the teacup and stands. Turning towards you, he once again carefully picks you up and carries you towards your room. You marvel at the beautiful fire opals inlaid into the wood. You trace them with your finger. “These are so beautiful!” you murmur.

Thorin smiles. “This chamber belonged to my Amad (Mother). She would be happy to know that someone who appreciates her favourite stones now resides in it.” He tells you quietly.

You look up at him in disbelief. “Why give us this room? Won’t it be hard for you to know we now live here in it?” you ask.

“No,” he says quietly. “It eases my heart to know she would be happy to see you enjoying it’s beauty instead of it sitting empty holding nothing but dust and old memories.” He explains to you. He moves to push the handle down and the door swings open.

He enters your chambers and chuckles at your gasp when you see the lavish opal room. There are all kinds of different colors of opals in the decorations throughout the room. The wood in here is also a warm, honey color that compliments the opals. It is finely carved, and the stones set with care into the different items.

You look around and see the huge ornately carved four poster canopy bed against one wall covered in rich Purple velvet and silver furs, the floors covered with purple and silver rugs with gold accents, and silver fur pelts. The upholstery on the furniture is royal purple with subtle embossed patterns on it.

He lets you look around and moves around the room, letting you inspect the furnishings and caressing the carvings with loving fingers. You smile and stick your face into the bouquet of wildflowers someone placed on a side table. Their scent filling the room with a lovely mixture of floral notes.

Thorin can feel the mountain humming happily beneath his boots whenever you touch the green granite whether it is the walls or something sitting on the floor. It is happy you are inside the mountain, blessing It, and it makes his heart soar.

Next, he shows you to the bathroom and explains how the hot water is piped into the room. There is an in ground large bathtub, and a large shower in the corner. Toilets, and a huge counter with double sinks and a sit-down vanity with bench and mirror all take up two walls. Between the two sinks is a shallow cabinet with all kinds of oils, soaps, lotions and creams. Thorin points to the cabinet in the other corner and tells you that it contains towels, washcloths, shampoos and conditioners of varying scents. There are also additional soaps in there as well as supplies for your monthly visitor.

You blush a deep red when he mentions that, and he chuckles. “Do not be embarrassed, dear Jade. I remember my sister, Dis, having to deal with it before she had her boys. It is nothing to be embarrassed about.” He assures you.

You nod and look around. Thorin had set you on the counter between the two sinks to give his arms a rest.

“Do you like it?” he asks quietly.

You nod. “It’s beautiful, Thorin. I don’t know what to say. Thank You seems so insignificant for such a gift as this.” You reply and look up at his face.

“It pleases me to know you approve.” He says as he moves in front of you, holding your waist to keep you steady.

He looks down at you and admires your face. It amuses him that your face is showing such wonder at your surroundings. He has to remind himself that you did not grow up in these lavishly decorated rooms like he did.

He caresses your face gently, feeling the hairs of your thin beard along your jawline, and turns your gaze back to his face. “I hope you will be happy here.” He tells you as he runs a gentle finger along your cheek. He swallows hard.

You gaze into his sapphire blue eyes with your grass green ones, feeling like you’re captivated by them. His long black lashes framing them like the most perfect setting for such jewels. You wish you could reach up and caress his face like he is doing to yours, but you struggle to even lift your arms at the moment.

As if reading your thoughts, Thorin gently takes your hand and brings it up to his face, allowing you to touch it. He almost purrs when you run your nimble fingers through his soft beard, caressing his jawline as you do so. You watch as his eyes close and he leans his head closer to you until his forehead is against yours. “Ghishavel,” he purrs. “Will you permit me to call on you each day?” he asks quietly. “Will you join me for meals and grace my halls with your beautiful presence?” he inquires as he gently runs his fingers down your neck to your shoulder with his one hand.

You are feeling an overwhelming sense of peace and protection and love, such as you haven’t felt since your Father passed away. You close your eyes as he caresses your neck and continues to rest his forehead gently against yours, the two of you sharing breaths. You feel his warm breath caressing your face with each soft exhale. His scent strong as he stands so close to you, but it doesn’t overpower you. You open your eyes again and see his sapphire orbs watching you as he patiently awaits your answer.

You give him a soft smile and nod. “Yes, my King, you may call on me as often as you wish. It will be an honor to dine with you whenever you desire me to.” You tell him.

He gives you a radiant grin and his eyes twinkle with happiness. “Thank you” he whispers as his thumb traces your jawline feeling the soft, thin dusting of white hair.

“You are truly a treasure to me, Jade. Your presence gives me a sense of happiness and peace I have never felt before.” He confesses. “Come, Let us rejoin your Aunt and discuss your recovery.” He says, slowly pulling away from you and taking a slow, deep breath, as if coming out of an enchantment.

He moves to your side and slowly picks you up, carrying you bridal style, and brings you back to the formal living area between the rooms.

“Does the room suit your fancy, Lass?” Dwalin asks once you and Thorin are seated.

“They are beautiful!” you tell him. “I don’t know what to say! Thank you just seems so inadequate.” You reply and they all chuckle.

“I’m glad you’ll enjoy it then.” Balin tells you. “There will always be a set of guards stationed outside of your room’s doors. If you need anything, holler for them and they will enter to see what you need.” He informs you.

You look surprised, but don’t say anything else. Galadrial smiles at you and knows you are feeling overwhelmed by all of this. She draws the dwarves into a discussion about your recovery, letting you just sit and rest and listen to the conversations around you. You hear her voice tell you it’s okay if you wish to sleep, to go ahead and do so. She will see you are placed in your bed when they are done with the conversation.

You look over at her and nod. You close your eyes and continue to lean against Thorin. His body is radiating heat and his arm is draped along the top of the sofa just above your shoulders. His fingers gently caress your shoulder occasionally. You listen to his voice rumbling in his chest as he talks, and it lulls you to sleep.

He smiles as he feels your weight change as you lean against him. He glances down seeing you have dozed off again and he wraps his cloak around your shoulder.

Kili and Fili are trying not to giggle at the adorable scene and Balin and Dwalin are smirking.

Your Aunt finally notices you sleeping and apologizes to them for you nodding off. “It’s alright.” Thorin tells her. “She needs the rest. If she is comfortable resting against my side, just leave her. I do not mind it.” He says and continues on with their discussion.

Finally, they finish talking and Thorin carefully picks you up and carries you into your room. Your Aunt follows and turns down the bed. Thorin places you in the bed and leaves her to remove your shoes and corset. He kisses the top of your forehead and whispers, “Sleep well, Amrâlimê, I shall see you at supper.”

He stands and informs your Aunt that both she and you are invited to join him and his family for supper. He tells her he will send someone with a wheeled chair for you since the royal dining hall is on the same floor.” She nods, curtsies and thanks him again.

Thorin smiles warmly and takes his leave with one last glance back to your sleeping form.

He rejoins the others in the living area and invites Galadrial and her retinue to join them for supper tonight in the Royal dining hall. She smiles and tells him she would be happy to. He bows slightly and heads out to take care of some other matters the council was asking him to deal with for the last two weeks.

As soon as Thorin leaves, Kili and Fili can’t contain their giggles any longer. “OH Uncle has it SO BAD!!!” they say between giggle fits.

Dwalin and Balin chuckle. “This is going to be interesting to see how he handles this.” They say to each other.

Galadrial sits and is entertained by the dwarves’ reactions to Thorin and You. She smiles sweetly with a knowing gleam to her eyes.

“So how long do you think it’ll take him before he asks her to marry him?” Kili asks Fili.

Fili shrugs. “Considering how skittish she’s been about the whole marriage thing, I’m saying it will take him a long time. He won’t risk her fleeing if he asks.” Fili says.

“He’ll wait till she’s recovered and back on her feet before he asks.” Fili adds.

Galadrial just grins and smiles, having seen in her mirror how quickly the two of you will click and connect.

“What do you think, my Lady?” Kili asks.

She just gives him a knowing smile, but doesn’t say anything. She looks up when your Aunt comes out of the room and quietly closes the door.

“She’s sleeping and I left a bell beside her to ring if she needs anyone.” She says.

“Thank you all again for helping us. I feel just horrible though about what has happened to her. Carving gems, stone and wood is all she has ever known. I do not know how she is going to stand not being able to do that anymore. She can barely raise her hands and can’t grip even a spoon yet.” She bemoans as she sits back onto the couch and looks at the fire, trying not to despair.

“Jade will carve again, Julia,” Galadrial tells her with a comforting tone. “she will one day be just as good as she was before. It will just take time and she will need to be dedicated to doing her strengthening exercises and therapy.” She replies, trying to reassure the dwarrowdam.

Julia sighs. “I still feel incredibly bad though. What is she going to do in the meantime? She is used to being active and has always hated just sitting around.” She says.

They all pause and think. “I’m sure we can find things for her to do.” Balin tells Julia. “Do not fret about it. Come, let’s sit at the table and work on your Khuzdul.” He says and the two of them head over to the table.

Kili and Fili head out and go to the practice arena to work on their sword fighting.

Dwalin smiles at Galadrial and asks if she would like to see the gardens that have been planted recently with Bilbo’s help before he left. She grinned and rose. He ushered her out and down the hallways to the gardens.

More chapters to come!

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