#tried handwriting. got an entire page of crossed out lines baby

[bang-bang-gang]

i wrote about 750 words yesterday, about twice that amount if we account for deleted words. feeling really insecure about my own writing at the moment and that hasn't changed but at least i made some progression in the story.

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Book Four - Part 9

Dapper wakes up somewhere new, feeling unwell, while Trick struggles alone in his room. Red, Blue, and Dok come home to help.

Tws for imprisonment, major illness, psychosis, sedation, and verbal and physical aggression from Anti.

Part 9 - The Locked Room

Anonymous asked: Sorry for saying you were a joke... it's just that your source material didn't really paint you in a nuanced or multidimensional way, and that's mostly what we're all basing our understanding on... You're a bit of a prick tho

Your camera comes back to life in unfamiliar hands as afternoon light spills across black hair and turns it to gold. Silver turns you gently in his palms, curious and bright-eyed, the panic of the night before gone from his face. Closer up, you can see some of the ways in which he is not Mark - a pair of small scars across his chin, a habit of picking at his lips that leaves them raw and red, a gauge in one ear.

As for your camera, the tiny symbol of an eye that usually resides in the corner, either opened or unopened, has been replaced by a small, presumptuous G.

“Hi,” says Shep, sat on his bed and looking at you. He hears footsteps down the hallway outside his room and furtively tucks you against his side, waiting for the steps to pass before he draws you out again.

“Hi,” he repeats, beginning to smile. “This is cool. I actually have a way to talk to you. Yeah, no, it’s okay. My source material is a joke, that’s why I said it even before you did. But - a prick?”

He pauses, glancing away.

“A prick,” he repeats in a mumble. “I think that’s new… I like that, let me just…”

He hops out of bed and takes a journal from one of his dressers, and then opens it up to reveal a long list of descriptors, some more inane than others, all printed in scrappy handwriting down the lines of his notebook. There are general adjectives in some places - “strong,” “bold,” “foolish,” “cute,” “conniving,” “selfish,” “clever,” “sweet” - but other places have full phrases or apparently random words - “you fucking annoyance,” “loves kids,” “buddy,” “your own kind of superhero,” “my soldier,” “a joke Mark forgot about,” “martial arts nerd,” “eats all the fucking candy in the house” - and it goes on for pages and pages.

On the first open line, he pulls out a pen and writes “a bit of a prick.”

Anonymous asked: damn, shepard. what happened to you lot?

Shep puts down his pen and turns to you, grinning. “Ah, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that. It’s been a long… eight years? And you haven’t exactly kept up to date with me. Which isn’t your fault. I guess. Not really.”

He side-eyes you, flipping his pen between his fingers.

“Anyway, this is my first year back in Dark’s houses for a while. I was living in the city for a few years after Dark kicked me out because I kept, uh. Bringing criminals back to the house for interrogations. They said I brought too much attention to us, so they had Google throw me out. Guess I deserved it… it turned out to be mostly okay. I had my own apartment for a while. My own pet rat. I was teaching martial arts and making rent. Then I kind of got into some trouble trying to be a fucking hero again… and I got lonely. Stressed all the time. Can’t keep a girlfriend. Rat died. Kind of a breaking point for me. So I came back here. Because of course I did. Because I always do. Because I don’t have any purpose without somebody else fucking giving it to me.”

He sighs bitterly, scratching at the web of cuts on his leg from Anti’s vines last night. Some of them are fairly deep, but he’s just stuck a mess of Band-Aids over the top and went to sleep with a towel beneath his legs just in case.

Anonymous asked: are you happy with this, shep? i'm trying to figure out how much we can trust you.

“You can trust me entirely, we’re just not on the same side,” answers Shep frankly, raising his eyebrows at you. “What’s not to trust? I belong to Dark. That’s true. There you go. Make of it what you will. And as for being happy, it doesn’t bother me. I’ve done much nastier things for Dark and enjoyed them much more. Parts of my life are still hard on me, but I’ve done what Dark tells me for the better part of eight years, ever since I pulled my head out of my ass and realized Mark was never going to come back and make me a real hero. So now I make my own choices. Sometimes I make ones he probably wouldn’t make for me. Sometimes I make ones almost no one else would be able to make. And that’s freedom. That adrenaline… that knowing that you are changing someone else’s life, that you matter, even in the worst fucking way possible… that’s freedom.”

Anonymous asked: are you doing ok, shep? seems like your life's been a bit of a mess.

“Yeah,” laughs Shep. “Honestly, things are fine now. I’m just never getting out of this house, you know? I don’t know. Ippy moved out two years ago. Yan’s in prison and nobody wants to bust her out after what she did. Dark has Google throw out or kill anybody who annoys them. Wil travels half the year, Eric works at the aquarium, Host’s published, even the twins have jobs, haha. And Bim…”

Silver scratches bitterly at his legs, maybe trying to draw a little blood now, bored of the scabs.

“Ran off about four months ago,” he mutters. “I miss him. Asshole. Didn’t tell me where he was going. Doesn’t answer his phone. Could have taken me with him. There was nobody quite that chaotic. I don’t know, maybe Dark just killed him to stop him from making our faces too public like he always wanted to, the little showman. But no, it’s okay. I’m like Google, you know? I’m just always going to be stuck in this fucking house. But I like it pretty well. Dark keeps me busy. And I like when the others come visit. I’m pretty much friends with everybody. Maybe I’ll get another rat soon.”

He flashes you a sudden look of alarm, his hands drawing away from his legs.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m… first time I get to talk to you in years and I don’t have anything worth saying, I just - I can tell you stories! Maybe. Uh. I’m not good at telling stories. Ask Host. I should have taken video then so I could have something to show you. You’re going to forget again and then all of this will be for nothing and no one will even see me differently. Eight years! Fuck. Do you want to go talk to somebody else? I bet you do. Well, sorry I’m not good enough for you, okay? Guess I never was. Whatever.”

He shoves the camera onto the bed, picking tersely at his mouth.

The door swings suddenly open. A figure in a long coat leans against the doorway, crossing his arms.

“I can hear you being a little bitch all the way from my room,” drawls Host.

“Oh, fuck off!”

Host laughs and leaves him again. He’s not interested in chatting.

“This story isn’t about us,” he calls back at Shep. “Don’t damage the narrative integrity with your need for their attention. Let them see their baby brother. He’s not well.”

Anonymous asked: hey, shep, don't you start saying you're not good enough for us. no matter what mark says or did to you, made you a joke or whatnot, that doesn't mean you can't become something different. and i have no doubt that one day, people will know you, and people will love you. maybe you'll have your own story. you just... can't rely on mark to write it for you. sometimes you have to do things like that for yourself. and for what it's worth, i think you're pretty cool. you're different. for example, what's up with that book you just wrote in?

Shep grins weakly, acknowledging the foolishness of his own outburst.

“I try to get rid of the thoughts of him,” he says. “You should hear Dark snarl about the stories Mark told about them… but I’m just jealous. It’s stupid. And you guys - you never - ”

He shrugs and lets out a huff, the irritation fading again. He knows it’s all useless and unfair, but it never stops eating at him. What could have been. But he tries to cheer up for you.

“These are just things I am or might be,” he says, hefting the book. “Things other people have called me. I try to figure out which ones are true. And which ones I want to be. I’m not good at that part so much, though. Sometimes I decide I want to be, like, nice, but then next thing I know I’m shouting at somebody for looking at me wrong, ha. I’m glad the others put up with me. I mean, some of them are dicks. But we kind of make a team together.”

“I’m not what I was then,” he adds after a moment. “So maybe I broke away a little. But at the same time, I’m not sure the story I’ve told is the one that I wanted. Or the one that I want.”

Anonymous asked: it's okay, shep, we don't mind hearing you talk. could we go see dapper, though? i'm a little worried about him.

Shep lets out a sigh, breathing out some of his anxiety. “Yeah. Sure. Is that actually his goddamn name? We’ve got some pretty nutty names around here, but not ‘Dapper.’ I guess it’s kind of cute.”

He gets to his feet and scoops you up, wandering down the stairs. The house is quiet but for the whirling of a fan overhead and the buzzing of a show somebody left playing on the TV. Out in the yard, you catch a glimpse of a few of them playing badminton, dropping the birdie most of the time and then racing each other to pick it up and bring it back to their side. Wilford’s booming voice drifts into the house as though from much farther away than it is. Around their feet, barking joyfully, is a dog almost as enormous as Anti’s wolf-like form, wagging its tail furiously and racing to the birdie along with its owners.

“Actually,” says Shep, pausing outside the only door with extra locks. “I’m not sure Ippy will want me inside. Let’s see if he’s in here.”

He pushes the door gently open. Edward only glances up for a second before turning back to his notes. It’s a makeshift clinic room, barely even the size of the bedrooms, and it’s cramped with a desk and a bed and some examination equipment and dressers with supplies in them. Dapper’s on the bed, tucked up tight, asleep.

“What’s that?” asks Ippy.

“Uh, a camera.”

“Is it now?” he answers dryly.

“There’s an audience or something.”

“Is there someone who can tell me what’s going on with my patient?”

“Well. I guess. I think.”

Ippy reaches out, beckoning for the camera. Shep hands it over and Ippy drops you on the bed, still scrawling in his little notebook. “I’d like medical history, please, allergies, recent injuries, notable behaviors, sleeping habits, blood type, next of kin, etc. Start talking.”

Shep chuckles at his bluntness and pulls up a chair beside him, grinning at his friend as he works.

“What are you looking at?” mutters Ippy, and he reaches out to shove playfully at Shep’s head. “Called me in on my day off for this, huh. Fuckers. You’re lucky he’s actually sick or I’d be peeved.”

Anonymous asked: you can always change. seriously, shep, it's never too late to become someone different. and i'm sorry that none of us did anything. it's difficult, when mark made so many videos and gave so many more characters attention and left others with nothing. you did not deserve that, and i'm genuinely so sorry. does mark still even make videos? we haven't heard anything about him in a long time.

“You’re talking to them about this?” asks Ippy.

Shep shrugs, settling down in his chair.

“It’s very simple, Shepherd. Mark doesn’t have much control of his power and even if he did you were still early enough that you would have been created.”

“I know, Ip.”

“Telling a story about you would only limit your freedom and subject us to more publicity, which is dangerous.”

“I know, Ippy.”

“The audience can’t do anything for us without videos and them dwelling on the thought of us does not make you any more of a - ”

“I know, Edward!” snaps Shep. “Okay?”

Ippy rolls his eyes and turns back to Dapper.

“Mark makes videos sometimes, but he focuses on bigger productions,” adds Shep with a sigh. “I think he mostly wrapped up ego stuff, but you never know with him. We don’t talk. And ever since he got that bigger deal as a real producer - ”

“Can we not talk about Mark?” asks Ippy. “I don’t like hearing about him. He’s fine, I guess, but I just prefer to live a Mark-less life at this point, thanks. A life unmarked by Mark, as it were.”

“You really are peeved today.”

“I just have boundaries, Shep, maybe you should learn some.”

.

Dok wakes to the buzzing of the lights in the bathroom.

He shifts uncomfortably, feeling his back protest, but the cold plastic of a hospital chair is much better than waking up in that room back in the house, aching on the unfinished floor, dreaming of spiders crawling over his skin. He shudders and sits up, pulling his - oh. This is Red’s hoodie, wrapped around him. He sighs and glances at his brother splayed over the side of Blue’s bed, dead asleep.

The bathroom is silent but for those burning lights. He waits a long time, but nothing moves.

“Blue?” he calls wearily, getting to his feet. He knocks his fist gently against the door. “Okay? Want the nurse or something?”

Blue doesn’t answer.

“Hey, Blue, no silences,” he begs with a sigh, rubbing at his head. “Too many nights finding Trick hurting himself in the bathroom. Come on.”

Blue mumbles something. Dok grimaces and pushes open the door.

He’s okay, which he’s grateful for, though he’s almost too tired to be relieved. He steps forward and takes Blue carefully by the wrists. He was just standing there staring at them. Too intently. Too blankly.

“What’s going on?” asks Dok.

Blue turns to look at him and his eyes are fogged and all but blind. Dok touches his cheek to ground him, sighing in his brother’s stead.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t have to be sorry. Tell me what’s up.”

“I don’t… know. Just… looking at myself. So weird.”

“What’s weird?”

Blue reaches out and touches his own reflection on the surface of the mirror.

“Not me,” he mumbles. “More and more often, it’s not me. Not real. It makes me feel really… I don’t… I don’t like it.”

Dok shifts on his feet and pulls his sibling’s fingers away. “That’s called dissociation,” he says. “I get it too sometimes when Anti uses me. It can’t be easy having been possessed so often lately.”

Blue shakes his head numbly, managing to fix his eyes on him for a moment. “Dissociation,” he repeats.

“Let’s ground. Tell me three things about your body.”

“What?”

“Look. In the mirror. Tell me three things about yourself. Anything. Obvious things. It’s okay.”

Blue stares into the mirror, blinking. His mouth parts. But he doesn’t say anything. After a moment, there are tears welling in his eyes.

“Blue,” breathes Dok.

“Sorry,” repeats Blue frailly, turning away from the sight of himself, covering his face with his hands. He doesn’t want to see himself. He doesn’t want Dok to look at him. He doesn’t want anyone to look at him ever again.

“What’s going on?”

“I just want Anti’s fucking head, alright?” snaps Blue. “I just want to murder him. And then I’ll feel like myself again, and I’ll get my magic back, and then my body back, and we can have a chance to be okay again. And until then I just have to deal with this. Until I rip his goddamn throat out. Like I promised him I would. When my hands are covered in his blood, then I’ll feel better.”

Dok looks at him, taken a little aback. His hands curl together nervously on his stomach. He stares down at the floor.

Blue sighs bitterly through his teeth, shaking his head. “I know you don’t like talking about blood. Sorry.”

Dok shrugs. “Is fine.”

“Dok, I just can’t take much more, you know that, I know you feel the same way… surely you get this same bloodlust, don’t you, my darling? He’s been torturing you. Don’t you want to torture him back?”

Dok’s stomach turns. He takes a step back, shaking his head.

“I would not like to ever torture anybody ever again,” he says quietly. “I have had my fair share, thank you.”

They stand side-by-side in the bathroom, frowning together, cold.

“What if it doesn’t make it better?” asks Dok.

“What?”

“What if killing Anti doesn’t make it feel better?”

“Killing Anti will solve most every problem of mine I can think of,” answers Blue soundly, straightening up.

“Oh, goodness,” grumbles Dok, rolling his eyes. “I’m not even going to start with you.”

“Better not, you sassy little monkey man.”

“Monkey man? I am monkey man? How dare you say this.”

“Yeah. You’re bananas.”

“Blue, I will end you.”

But he’s laughing now and that’s what matters. Dok snorts and rolls his eyes, trying to let himself laugh a little too. He leaves the bathroom and flops down on his chair, gazing at Blue as he limps back into his bed and sits down. They look at each other for a long moment, trying to make each other smile with their own tired grins.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” whispers Blue. “I wish I could keep all of you safe.”

“Don’t have to be sorry,” Dok says again, letting his eyes slip shut. “I know you’re trying so hard. It’s not your fault at all.”

“I’ll kill Anti for you,” Blue swears, his eyes shining through the haze that seems to lie over them most days. “Then we can be okay again.”

“And what if we can’t?” asks Dok, barely even registering the words before he feels them leave his mouth. “What if we can’t kill him, Blue? What happens then?”

Blue stares out at the smog of the sky, wishing he could see the stars.

“Then I think he’ll kill us instead,” he answers simply. “And then, either way… it’ll be over.”

Dok nods slowly, not opening his eyes. Blue reaches out. They hold each other’s hands in the low light.

.

Anonymous asked: Hey there Ippy, we don't know much about Jameson medically, besides that he has schizophrenia and takes the medicine Haloperidol/Haldol, and he's allergic to rowan (as though he might be a chageling?). He's not a regular human either, he's basically Jacksepticeye's version of you guys.

“Ohhh,” says Ippy, standing slightly outside his clinic, arms crossed over his chest and eyes wide. “Schizophrenia. I’m relieved, actually. Because if this was fever delirium… we would have a problem.”

Google leaps out of the room, synthetic blood dripping down his neck, and slams the door hard behind him, panting. From within the room, hissing.

“Kid’s fucking nuts,” Gigi snarls.

“Kid’s fucking delusional,” answers Ippy sharply. “And that’s not his fault. This is on you for kidnapping somebody with a psychotic disorder.”

“He would have died there anyway,” sneers Gigi, stalking past Ippy. He has a red shirt now instead of blue. “That little monster wasn’t going to get him any help for that infection. And if you don’t do something fast, he’ll die here instead. He’s exhausting himself. Sedate him again.”

“No. Too much sedating. We have to calm him down. I’ll give him his Haldol intravenously so he can’t throw it up with this fever. You just have to steal some for me.”

“I only take orders from the Darkness,” answers Google.

Ippy sighs and shakes his head, turning stonily back to the door of his clinic. “If this doesn’t change, I’m sending him back to his brothers.”

“That place has no family. And Dark will speak with him before he’s let go. You get him well enough that he can have a discussion, then he’s free to go.”

Anonymous asked: JJ, honey, are you doing alright? I know you must be absolutely terrified right now, but at the very least you're getting medical treatment and they plan to give you back to Anti after you have a discussion with the Darkness. I know it'll be absolutely terrifying, but I think it's the only way to get home. Ippy is going to give you Haldol, if you'll let him? You'll feel much clearer if you do, then maybe you can make plans on what to do next.

JJ has not struggled this much with his symptoms since he and Red were homeless in Columbia and he knows it.

But he can’t make it stop.

“Tell my big brothers to come get me if they have to kill everyone in this house to do it!” his hands scream, and that is the last coherent thought you get out of him.

He moves! He has to move. He doesn’t just pace, he darts around the room, he races. His hands strike strike strike every surface. He pauses only for a moment to be sick over the waste basket, leaving him pale and dizzy, but even then his body is consumed by wracking spasms and shakes. He spins in a circle. He can’t stop looking at the lights no matter how hard he tries. His eyes are up, up, up. Fluttering, rolled back. Watching the light. Fixed on the light. If he looks away bad things will happen. The cameras told him so. Didn’t they? Someone did and he knows it must be true. He has to look at the light or the Darkness will get him.

“I’m already here,” whispers Dark’s voice in JJ’s head. He spasms and jolts back with terror, rubbing at his arms and shaking himself like he’s trying to act out a seizure, but despite his frantic motion and his fear, his face is numbed to any emotion, blank as it was when Red would struggle to understand him in Columbia. Dapper starts to sign wildly, but the words don’t make sense together to anyone but him.

“Skin. I was in. Blood up tree branch he made me go there and I didn’t want to! Can’t Red come? Miss candy and bedsheets, where? The radio, turn down. Does my blood come up? Does my blood rise?”

Ippy peeks his head inside the room. Dapper turns and sends a lamp flying towards him, smashing it against the wall, and Ippy ducks away again. Dapper grins joylessly, with his teeth, his eyes rolled towards the lights on the ceiling. He holds up his wrists and his hands dangle as though on string. Then he crumples to the ground, dazed and panting, scratching at the fever in his face.

“Jackie,” he begs. “Chase.”

Anonymous asked: dapper, jamie, my dear. you're okay, yeah? we would tell you if we thought you were in danger. and now i'm telling you to try to be calm, okay? we'll tell you if we think you're in danger. i promise.

For just a moment, he manages to drag his flickering eyes over to you. There’s a red light on the camera. That counts, right? Does it? His hands search the floors for his bear. Trick packed his things. Didn’t he? But what if it was a trick? Isn’t that why he named him that? Also guns and grey shirts.

He rubs at his aching, pounding head, and swats at a tactile hallucination on his legs. Just a snake, though, and those you don’t have to worry about. It’s dogs and cats that will tear their teeth into you.

He registers the promise vaguely, but his paranoia is so high he could be home safe and sound and still feel that Dark was slowly killing him. He casts his eyes over your message, counting the y’s. Nine. Does that mean something? He knows it means something. The universe is trying to talk to him. God is trying to talk to him. He just needs to listen.

Anonymous asked: ippy's gonna get you your haldol, okay? he's kind. he won't hurt you. do you think you can agree to that, dap? that way, if you are in danger, it'll be clearer, and if it's a hallucination that'll be clearer too.

He would like his Haldol. He would. That’s one of the only mercies Anti usually grants him. He registers that someone is coming into the room and you said it was okay. He rocks his head back and forth, trying to think, feeling drool clinging to his lips. Where is he?

Ippy tries again. Creeping, patient, quiet.

“Are you feeling up to talking?” he asks quietly, when he manages to get into the room without being assaulted. Dapper learned from Anti and when he does not have a blade he makes use of his teeth and his mean white fingernails.

Dapper rocks his head, still trembling from the catatonia, burning with fever.

“I don’t know where to fucking start,” Ippy mumbles, kneeling down beside him. “You’re going to puke up your medication. Google might get you some of the liquid stuff, might not. Depends how generous he thinks he’s being. And what Dark tells him…”

Dapper shudders, baring his teeth.

“Please turn down the radio,” he says, clawing at his ears between signs, but it just looks like more frantic movement to Ippy. “So many people talking all at once.”

“Can I give you something for the fever?” asks Ippy, getting up to get him some water and medicine. “Yeah? Try to keep you hydrated? I need to look at your wrist.”

Dapper clutches his arm to his chest, squirming. “Anti? You’re playing games with me? Can I come out, please? Been good.”

scunneredzombie asked: Jay, they're going to give you some of your medicine. You have a really bad fever right now, it's most likely making the psychosis much much worse. We're here to help and so is Ippy. You will be okay. Breathe, Dapper, just breathe. You will get through this. Remind yourself of things you know are real, things that are unchanging and true no matter what. Cling to those for now. That's what I do during my psychotic episodes.

What’s real? What’s unchanging? What’s true?

Dapper squints his eyes up at the light on the ceiling and tries to think. His hand is still searching for his things. Ippy passes his backpack towards him and Dapper finds his bear, dragging his gaze down to it. Red and Blue and Dok got it for him for Christmas this year. He’s had it for months, even in Columbia. The fur is alpaca. It doesn’t feel quite like any other texture. Cloudy and thick at the same time. Warm. It still smells, faintly, of their home in Peru.

He tries to breathe.

“Okay, I’m going to try to give you some medicine here,” Edward warns him carefully, moving closer. “It’s good for you. Just to bring the fever down a little. I’ll look at your wrist again here in a minute.”

JJ scoots away, shaking his head, but it only makes him dizzy. A hundred voices speak to him. Edward’s is rich and deep and all too familiar. He concentrates on the faint beep of the camera, a sound he’s grown used to over months and months of what would otherwise be total loneliness.

He hopes Trick is okay at home. He’s sorry he left him alone.

Anonymous asked: yeah, you're doing well, dap. just gotta hang on a little longer, okay? and ippy will help you, dap. you don't have to trust him, but you trust us, don't you? and we trust him. it's okay, dap. you're gonna be okay.

Ippy takes his chin in his hand and angles him towards him.

Nope.

Anchors fall away and Dapper feels something inside himself snap. This has always been the rule. This has always been the rule, the rule he has learned since his creation: no one touches him but Anti and his brothers.

No one.

And the punishments he’s seen Anti inflict on those who broke that rule -

Dapper does not often wish for a voicebox that works. But right now, all he wants to do is fucking scream.

His teeth flash and bite down hard on Ippy’s hand, making Dark’s look-alike yelp in alarm. Dapper slams their heads together and grabs him by the throat, burning with fury, burning with fear, burning alive on a pyre he did not set, and then Google is there, and he has him by the hair, and he shoves a needle deep into the neck of Anti’s most savage attack dog.

Dapper quails, gripping frantically at Gigi’s hand. He chokes and looks up into deep brown eyes. There is no red glow.

He slides to the ground, asleep. Google lets him go.

“Alright?” asks Google quietly.

Ippy swears under his breath and puts his hand to his forehead, teeth marks indented in the skin. “I’m fine, goddammit.”

“Keep him asleep til he’s better,” says Gigi. “I will not tell you again.”

Edward shakes his head slowly, biting his lip, but he doesn’t protest.

Jamie sleeps. The fever is burning in his flesh.

Anonymous asked: Trick is right, Anti. You keep asking, multiple times now, "why did this all fall apart?" And the answer is because you constantly excuse your cruelty, excuse your abuse and all the pain you cause, by blaming Jack and saying you "can't control yourself". You, sir, are just as capable as anyone else in the world of controlling your temper and controlling your aggression. You need to stop making excuses. They will leave over and over and over if you do not change.

“Leave over and over,” mutters Anti under his breath, his eyes angry, aglow in the morning light through the great window in the master bedroom.

Trick is still asleep, though he shifts now, his hair mussed around his eyes. The roots have turned brown. The bright green is beginning to fade to yellow.

Anti wraps his arms around his waist, tugging him close. Trick rolls over with a yawn, trying to rise, but Anti’s grip holds him in place. Trick cracks open an eye and finds himself pressed against him.

“Anti, hey, wake up,” he mumbles, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. “Lemme go. I want a shower and some coffee.”

Anti is already awake, but Trick can’t see that, and he doesn’t move. Trick pauses. He starts trying to squirm out of Anti’s arms without moving enough to wake him if he is sleeping, but he doesn’t have much luck. Anti tightens his arms around him as he tries to escape.

“Anti?”

Anti glares out the window, ignoring his wriggling. Eventually, blinking in surprise, Trick just stays in place.

Leave over and over. Anti grips his ribs until his fingernails put cuts in Trick’s shirt. Leave. Ha. He isn’t going anywhere.

Anonymous asked: are you alright then, anti?

Anti gets out of bed after a half hour has passed. Trick is hot and uncomfortable, needing to stretch and change out of his sweaty sleeping clothes and use the bathroom. But he’s stopped struggling by the time Anti releases him.

The glitch gets to his feet and picks out an appearance for the day in the mirror, settling on the younger man he wore when Dapper was created, ruffling teal hair in the mirror. Trick sits up and gives him a smile. Anti doesn’t answer your question, but the way he looks at Trick - he focuses on the bruises someone left in his wrist as they pulled him along. Something simmers in Anti’s eyes. He turns towards the door.

“Where are you going?” asks Trick, hurrying out of bed. “Hey - Anti? Come on, have breakfast with me or something. Don’t leave me, dude.”

“I have to go get your little brother,” answers Anti. “Just stay here, Trick.”

“Anti, I - ”

He glitches away.

Trick stares at the door, mouth slightly parted.

Anonymous asked: You gonna do something that will stop Dark from kicking your ass a second time?

“Where in the narrative did Dark kick my ass?” snaps Anti, stalking into the forest. “Last I checked I was tearing them and their fucking soldiers a new one when Bubblegum McGee scoops my kiddo off the ground and disappears like the deranged little thief he is. And then all of them went sprinting for the hills. No. When I find Dark, I’m burning down everything they love and tearing apart that mangled excuse for a spine of theirs. Then we’ll see if they remember me.”

Anonymous asked: Trick? You want to talk for a bit?

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” says Trick, trying to recover quickly, nodding his head and straightening up. “Yes, please. House is super quiet without anybody else! Last time I was this alone was when Blue was in hospital and I’d come back to the house and try not to worry about everybody else too much. But I do have Noodle! He’s always got my back. I’m just going to get changed and then we’ll go make some breakfast and check on kitty cat, yeah? Doesn’t have to be a sucky day just cause things are trying to go bad. I can stay positive.”

Anonymous asked: Alright, we'll just have a bit of a "you" day. Decompress a bit. It's good to check in on yourself and have a little time off. (Give noodle some pets please!)

“Yes,” laughs Trick. He worries at his hands, yes, kneading his fingers into his palms, and you can see the edge of a breakdown somewhere in the back of his eyes, but he has survived a lot and he wants to prove to himself that he can be okay even without Dok sometimes. Maybe even to be okay when Dok isn’t, so he can look after him better. So he can look after all of them better.

Next time they’re scared enough to run away, he wants to be someone they can trust.

“Decompress - play some games, probably - chill with my cat - cook a ton - swim, maybe… yeah!” Trick pulls his shirt over his head and turns toward the door, grabbing the handle. “I’ll - ”

It’s locked.

Trick stops. Tries it again. Stares. Glances at you. Tries again.

It’s still locked.

He stands in front of the door. His hand rests on the door handle.

Outside, a mewl.

Anonymous asked: can the window open, trick?

“The… window?” he asks. “Yeah… yeah, it can. But I’m on the second story.”

He moves to the window and lets it swing open. The fresh air and the scent of the forest are refreshing, but the red brick of the patio is still several meters down.

Anonymous asked: where's noodle?

Claws pick at the carpet outside Anti’s bedroom. Trick hurries back to the door and kneels down, crouching to try and see his cat through the crack beneath it.

“Mrow,” complains Noodle loudly, scraping at the carpet with his claws out. “Meehhhh.”

“Daddy’s here, kitty cat, I’m right here.” Trick reaches for him as though he could pull him beneath the door. Noodle attacks one of his fingers, chewing on the end, but Trick doesn’t even mind. “Are you hungry? I’m sorry I didn’t let you out last night. Things were crazy, baby. But I’m coming, boyo, I’ll… I’ll, uh…”

What is he supposed to do?

Anonymous asked: do you think anti will be mad if you leave the room?

“I don’t know. It was probably an accident.”

Noodle yowls on the other side of the door. Trick stares at his kitten’s paws, his eyebrows drawn back in worry. You see him look down at his feet.

He knows it wasn’t an accident. And he wouldn’t have locked it if he was okay with Trick leaving.

Anonymous asked: Okay unless we know a for our window downstairs is unlocked, I wouldn't use the window, don't want you getting locked out of the house entirely. You think you might be able to find a key or break the lock if you need to?

“It’s… maybe I could? I don’t want to get in trouble. But there’s no keyhole on this side. I’d have to really bust the door up. And then he’d be so angry.”

Trick steps back from the door, chewing on his nails. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “Okay. I wish he hadn’t done this, but he did. I’m safe in here. I have a bathroom with water and all the stuff I packed into a bag in case I got kidnapped is here. Dapper was keeping food in the drawers. I’m okay. But my poor cat…”

Anonymous asked: for now, at least, you can make sure noodle has food, right? is the food only in there? maybe you can grab a little something and push it under the door

“That’s a good idea. Okay, let me look.”

He goes back to the bottom drawer and pulls it open to reveal Dapper’s stash. He recoils a little, scrunching up his nose - he hadn’t realized how bad it smelled in the panic of last night, but now he notices.

“This is kind of nasty… we’ve only been here a couple weeks. Why would he keep - ugh, cheese!” Trick chucks the hot string cheese towards the trash, making a gagging motion. “He has to know this would go bad right away, right? Why even take it? Look, my cookies from last week. Hard as rocks cause he didn’t even ask me to wrap them. There’s lint on them. He just shoved them in his pockets. Fuck’s sake… oh!”

Here’s some stuff that should still be edible. Crackers still in their packs. A couple apples. Tupperware with brownies. One pack of raisins, one pack of dried cranberries. And a little pack of Dapper’s favorite - jerky. Most of it is gone, but there are a few good chunks still at the bottom.

“At least I can give him something, then,” says Trick, taking a breath.

Anonymous asked: Anti keeps his favorite trophy locked up in a case when not in use

Trick looks at you, eyes wide, and then away, trying to make himself scowl. He crouches down beside the door and pushes dried meat towards his cat. Noodle seems to accept the offering. He goes quiet and Trick hears him chewing. It’ll take him a while to get through that.

Trick sits back on his heels and stares at the door.

“Always wanted to be Anti’s favorite trophy,” he mumbles, something frightened and tired passing across his face. “Or thought I did, I guess.”

Anonymous asked: you have a choice, then, trick. do you want our help in leaving the room, to go to noodle? or will you stay here and wait for anti to come back and let you out?

Trick sighs and slumps down against the door, rubbing at his face. He stares out the window and thinks.

“You know… I think I’ll try to stay here for a while,” he says, giving you a smile that looks more like a grimace. “It’s not bad. We’ve definitely stayed in much worse places! I have lots of room and a clean bathroom and everything I need. Maybe I’ll take a bath. Yeah… it’s okay.”

He glances around the room. How long has he been in here? Two hours? Oh, twenty minutes. He bites his lip and sighs. He puts his head between his knees and rubs at the back of his neck.

“Always kind of knew it couldn’t really be fun for anybody to be locked in a room all day. But I thought maybe, with Dapper’s nerves, it was better for him just to stay up there with Anti. And when I imagined it, I guess I made everything nice. Him getting to eat his own food, sleep whenever he wants, just working on his art all the time. Doing whatever he wanted, you know? I usually imagined Anti actually… being here, though. Yeah. I guess that I thought that when he loved me, I’d be able to feel it.”

Trick pauses, looking up. Looking out at the sun.

“That’s always the thing with me, though,” he says. “Even when I know for a fact people love me - it doesn’t always feel that way. And I thought - well, Anti, he just… with his power, it’s like he can make me feel that way. Or maybe it’s just him. But those days when I would just spend all my time praying to impress him… and then he would brush his hand across my hair or smile at me… it would be my favorite part of the week. Like I finally got it all right. Like I’m finally worthwhile.”

He puts his head down again, looking at the carpet, his fringe falling into his eyes. It occurs to him that he doesn’t really like bright green. Or dying yellow.

“I love him,” he says, a little hollowly. “But I think maybe Dok was always right. Nobody else can magically fix me. I need to stop expecting Anti to put everything right in my head. That’s not fair to either of us. I should have been happier just being with Dok. Cause Anti gave me these bursts of joy, yeah, and he’s trying to be better to me these days - but Dok has been the earth beneath my feet for months now.”

He stares at the food in the drawer, rotting. He tugs uselessly on the door handle. He stares around the silent, empty room, and the silence stares back, and says nothing.

“I shouldn’t have been jealous of my little brother,” says Trick, heart sinking. “I should have been making sure he had ground to stand on too.”

Anonymous asked: yeah, i get that, trick. and i think anti does love you, as much as he can love someone anyway. although, trick, you don't have to answer this now, and if you don't want to talk about this right now i'll stop, but trick? if given a choice between dok and anti, who would you choose?

“Oh, hey,” protests Trick, a little weakly. “That’s family both, we don’t talk like that. Hey, it’s okay to love people in different ways, and I know you don’t like Anti. But the truth is that just because I’m closer to Dok, I would never ‘choose him’ over any of the others. We all gotta just love each other in the way we need. I want to do what’s best for all of them. If… if Dok and Red and Blue need some space from Anti, well… maybe they should have some. But even if I lived with some of them instead of the others, it’s not because I’m trying to pick someone as my favorite. We just all need different things at different times. Whoever needs me most is who I ‘choose.’ Whoever I can help. And I hope it’s always… all of them, you know? When you’re a family, helping one person is good for everyone.”

Anonymous asked: It's easy to fall into a "grass is greener" mentality but abuse is abuse no matter if you're crouched by a window with a gun, locked away in an attic, or running through the streets with stolen drugs. I don't blame you for wanting a higher standing with Anti but he's not going to give you what you want, to no failing of your own.

“Ha! Okay, fair… maybe being in the basement and being in the attic both kind of suck. But I’ve always had Dok. Having someone there with you is what makes it not sucky. Look, this house is fucking awesome! But there’s no one here with me right now. And that does kind of suck, even worse than when Dok and I were sleeping in the same pile of cheap blankets beside a window in a broken down cabin during a Norwegian fall. We had a good time in Norway, didn’t we? Before everything went wrong? Do you remember… we got fish in a restaurant in town, ha… and I got my crinkle paper…”

Trick pulls it out of the pocket of his basketball shorts and presses his fingers to the crinkly baby paper, familiar and fond. He smiles while his eyes grieve.

Anonymous asked: Those sound like fair conclusions, Trick. It sounds like you've been thinking a lot about yourself and how you've interacted with your family in the past. That's really good; well done. For what it's worth, I am really sorry you got left here alone. You don't deserve that. Are you sure you don't want help leaving, or looking for something else to do?

“Aww, you guys are like my therapists now,” laughs Trick, genuinely pleased. “That’s sweet, thanks. No, um… I’ll stay here a while, I guess. Think Dap would mind me looking through his sketchbooks? Maybe I’ll draw a little myself. Or… write, maybe. Yeah. Maybe I’ll write a little.”

Anonymous asked: trick, that's admirable. and i do mean that. you have a lot of loyalty. but trick, it's not just that they need some space from anti. anti has hurt them, time and time again. family doesn't hurt each other like that, trick. anti has gone too far, many, many times.

“I am loyal,” he agrees quickly, because that’s something he’s always known and one of the few things he’s almost always liked about himself. “Yes. Mh.”

He pulls his eyes away from the rest of the message uncertainly, fiddling with his hands as he sits down on Anti’s bed and pulls Dapper’s latest sketchbook off the bedside drawer. He’s grinning for a minute. They’re mostly pictures of animals. Some people scattered in there - dancers and babies and old people in love. Dapper’s good and he’s gotten even better since the last time Trick checked in on his art, which was… how long ago?

But there are other things in the pages too.

Faces that almost hurt from how familiar and yet unrecognizable they are. Images Trick recognizes from Dapper’s hallucinations, painful and threatening. One baby that is not like the rest in a way Trick can’t express. And… himself?

Himself burning?

Trick takes a moment to realize what this is. The night he got the burn that now laces from his palm to the back of his hand. He hadn’t realized Dapper remembered, or was even there, watching, as it happened.

In the image, a dark figure shoves him towards the fire. His shirt sleeve is already ablaze, his hand consumed, and yet - despite the fire, despite the pain, his eyes are like those of a monk in Mass, wide, adoring, tear-filled - and those eyes are fixed on the creature pulling him into the flame.

Trick shoves the sketchbook away from him, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” he croaks, turning his face away from you. “Later. Okay? Later, I promise, just… not right now.”

It is the second time he has pushed your concerns aside in as many nights. There are messages waiting for him that he’s avoiding. But he still isn’t ready to hear it.

Anonymous asked: okay. that's okay, trick. do you wanna talk about something else, then? i can tell you a funny thing one of my birds did, if you'd like.

“Ha. Birds, wow, that’s awesome. Yeah, sure! Tell me.”

Anonymous asked: alright! so, my sister has an obvious favorite, and the bird knows it, and likes to hang out on people's shoulders and stuff. and today, she flew up onto my arm, and then stared at me face very curiously, and so i started talking to her, and she immediately tried to eat my teeth. very smart bird, who apparently does not quite get what is or is not food. she's very funny.

Trick snorts and covers his mouth with his hand. “Oh, no! I do not like the sensation I am imagining. A beak picking at my teeth, haha. Geez. Sounds like a funny bird. Noodle likes to try to eat toes when we move at night.”

Anonymous asked: oh, yeah, my friend's cats are kinda like that too. for a while, when they were kittens, we had to be careful because they would try to attack our feet. is noodle chaotic like that?

“Half the time he is nuts-o crazy boy, and then half the time he pretends he’s a perfect angel and he just wants all of Daddy’s attention and all of Uncle’s attention and everybody’s attention one hundred percent of the time. And he looks up at you and cries until you scratch him.”

Anonymous asked: oooo, do you write, trick?

“Well, I thought since I’m sure jabbering your guys’ ears off, I could write some shit down. Dok had me do that for a while once. It was right after… well, there’s blurry spots in my memory. It was right after I started being his twin. I was pretty low. I was, um. Self-harming a lot. Losing a lot of my memories. So he recommended I write stuff down. Whatever I was feeling. And he said even he wouldn’t read it, he promised. We were in this kind of warehouse place at the time, and there was nowhere to sleep. Not a lot of privacy except my pieces of paper. They’re gone now. But I think they kept me focused on something, at the time.”

He holds Dapper’s pencil in his hand, taking a loose sheet of paper. But his eyes get fixed on the stretched out sketchbook on the floor once again. He looks away from the image of himself with a grimace.

That night - that look on his face - that wasn’t what he remembers. Not exactly.

Want to know a secret? he writes.

He has scrawling, beautiful, messy handwriting.

I was pissed at you that night. You left me and Dok to freeze. I don’t even think I started that fire because I was trying to keep Dok warm.

He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut. Bites on his lip. Puts his pencil back down.

I wanted to make you angry. I wanted there to be a confrontation. I was angry at you. But I didn’t know how to tell you because you didn’t care about me back then and that was what burned, more than this goddamn scar on my hand. I wanted to hurt you for hurting me. But all you did was hurt me worse. You act like you want things to be good between us now but we’ve never even talked about

He stops and sighs and scowls before crumpling the paper up, scratching at his scalp.

“Forget it,” he mumbles. “Not that. Just…”

Noodle mewls at the door, beginning to get bored with his jerky. Trick smiles softly and chuckles, turning away.

When you were a kitten your body was like a slinky and I could feel every one of your bones. Hot little spine rubbing against my wide palms. Big fuzzy leaf ears. When you were a kitten you made a weight beneath my throat and when I breathed I would feel the tiny thump of your heart. You are the memory of someone I lost.

And Trick is stopped again, closing his eyes again, turning away again.

“Maybe I’ll just go get a hot bath. Relax a while. I’m okay. Poor kitty cat. Don’t be lonely, okay, baby boy? I’ll be back in a while.”

Anonymous asked: Keep your head high and your standards higher, Trick.

“My standards for this rich guy’s bath are high as fuck right now,” he says, slinging a towel over his shoulder. “Motherfucker got bath bombs and everything. This better be some Spirited Away experience or I’m out. Minus the evil lady, though. Just the big steamy bath and the nostalgia, please. Hey, keep an eye on my kitty for me, yeah? You’re still in the cameras all over the house? I’ll be out in a little while. Maybe a long while. Thanks, guys. Uh. For real.”

Anonymous asked: I'm sure noodle is going to be okay, Trick. If you're worried about him just stay near the door and he should be fine óvò You might want to try to slip him something to eat tho, I have no idea when was the last time anyone could've fed that kitty

Trick slips him one more piece of jerky and lets him chew on his finger for a moment before he slips into the bathroom. Noodle has his snack happily outside the door, and then, deprived of Trick’s presence, he goes exploring.

Trick has made toys for him out of anything he could find. He plays with string and a ball that makes a jangling sound. He zips around the house for a while. He searches for Trick and Dok, or anybody to give him some attention.

Usually they’re down in the basement. Usually they all stay down in the basement, Noodle himself shut in most of the day to avoid Anti, though he’s perfectly content to stay down there with everything he needs. But today, he gets to explore. The door was opened while Dark’s soldiers searched the house and he’s free to roam. It’s a little exciting.

He’s okay. For now, he’s okay. Trick has fed him and there’s a little water still in his bowl by the door. He’s okay.

But Trick was too hot in his bed for a reason. And he’s right - the windows do open.

Noodle gets tired of the basement. Noodle gets tired of his toys. Noodle wants to see Trick and the others.

He explores. The fresh breeze and the smell of the trees - the movement of the grass and the warmth of the sun - the song of the birds, the scurrying of mice, the cool water of the pool - they call to him.

He has not been outside since he was too small for anything but milk. Not until today.

He slips out through the window of Red and Blue’s room, and he explores.

Anonymous asked: hey, shep? dapper's brother has a golden cat, who we just saw leave, but he's away from the cameras at the moment so we can't tell him about it yet. could you and the others keep an eye out for the cat? his name is noodle, although i don't know if he knows it or not.

Shep hears the beeping in his pocket and pulls the camera out immediately.

“Shep! Come on, throw it in!”

“Just a second!”

His eyes scan your message and brighten, a hint of gold from the sun lighting up the brown curve of his irises. He feigns disinterest for a moment, pausing to kick a soccer ball back towards someone on the lawn. You can hear a dog barking and voices chatting. The sun is overhead. It’s a beautiful day.

“Would that make you happy?” asks Shep. “If I found the cat for you?”

He looks up at the forest.

Outside of the sunlight, Darkness reigns in more ways than one. The trees are thick and tall and heavy, shrouding the earth in a loving chill. Animals scamper across the dirt and lean plants curl up from the ground and latch onto the broad backs of trees, clinging to damp red wood. And for miles - for miles - it stretches on before him.

“Okay, then,” he says. “I will.”

Anonymous asked: it would help. thank you, shep. anti doesn't like animals, so i wouldn't recommend bringing the cat back to the house they're in, but you can bring it here and we'll tell the brother about it.

“I’ll start looking right now,” he says. “It’s a big forest. But I can do it.”

Anonymous asked: sleeby jj...Soff sleeby bean.. get well soon

His eyes slide open to your familiar light.

He stares at you for a second, his eyes heavy with shadowed circles.

Then he registers the message and manages to roll his eyes for the first time in days, huffing out a bit of a sigh.

“Not a bean.”

It’s only as he signs it that he realizes he’s no longer restrained.

He sits up slowly, pressing his palm to his forehead and grimacing. He doesn’t feel well at all. His stomach swims with nausea and he can feel his blood chugging sluggishly through his veins. But it’s better than the last few days.

He glances around the room, blinking slowly. He’s alone and there’s light streaming in through the barred window.

Alright. He’s had his nap. Time to start trying to escape.

Anonymous asked: Jj, think about this first. Anti is already coming for you, and if you try to escape you'll be in miles and miles of unknown forest, with no haldol, no medication for your fever, and no way to be sure you can get home. At least maybe wait until you've gotten over the infection and until you can steal some haldol to have with you? Just trying to analyze the situation fully before action is taken.

“I am not going to sit quietly while the monster who has haunted my nightmares - well, one of them - keeps me prisoner. I only do that for Anti. Come on, don’t be boring! Help me get out, yeah?”

He struggles to his feet, but as soon as he’s found a moment of balance he loses it again, tumbling into the wall and holding himself there on shaking arms and legs. He swallows thickly and turns towards the windows, yanking on the bars with his good hand. The other one is swaddled so thickly in bandages he can barely feel it, but at least his fingers stick out to let him speak most words.

That being said, he has about four good yanks on those bars before his head is swimming. He slumps against the wall, clinging to the metal. His whole body aches.

“Maybe you have a point,” he admits sullenly, rubbing at his face.

Anonymous asked: Haha, sorry Jay, not trying to be boring! I just want to make sure you've got a second voice to help think clearly. Look around you maybe? See any spare haldol or fever medication you can swipe and save up for when you do the grand escape?

“Thank you,” says JJ, grinning slowly, though nothing quite makes it to his eyes. “Okay, let me look. I think I must have something in me now because my psychosis is a lot less intense right now.”

He glances around the room. He isn’t hallucinating and his thinking is much clearer, but his expressions are still dulled, his face is twitching, and he isn’t sure what’s true and what’s not. He needs rest and a lot less stress.

He checks the drawers, but everything’s locked up.

nikkilbook asked: JJ, remind me again why Dark frightens you so much? I’m sorry, but I can’t remember clearly. He doesn’t remember any of you either. He showed up that first time because he didn’t know why Anti was trespassing in his territory.

Dapper looks over at you.

He turns away for a second, chewing on his nail. Shrugs. Sits down on the bed.

“Not a fun time,” he signs eventually.

scunneredzombie asked: Rest up, if you can, JJ! I'm almost completely certain you'll be safe here. Darkness won't hurt you because they want you healthy enough to talk to them. You need rest and to let your haldol take effect.

“Dark can do a lot worse things than hurting anybody,” he answers. “It’s the talking to them that’s more likely to fuck me up than anything. And I never want to see them again. Tell them to leave me alone! Where’s my big brothers? Are they coming to get me yet?”

Anonymous asked: How are you feeling, JJ? Still burning up?

“I actually feel quite cold.” He hugs his arms around his sunken chest, staring around the room. His lips are chapped to blood and his face is the color of bleach. He doesn’t look well.

“This is miserable,” he admits, his signs soft. “I remember when I was created I always had energy and felt strong and healthy most of the time, even when I got hurt. I bounced back. The last few months, I’m just… every day I’m sicker. My bones break and I catch every cold and infection. Keep have psychotic episodes. Don’t sleep well.”

He realizes he’s just complaining and makes himself stop, digging his nails into his palms. Won’t help anything. He needs to get out.

He creeps to the door and takes the handle in his hand.

“Going somewhere?”

He turns, spitting, back to his bed, the hair on the back of his neck standing up like an angry cat’s as he snatches a pen off the nearest counter for self-defense.

Wilford nods patiently, following his movements as he swings his legs on the side of the little clinic bed. “Very good, very good.”

“You stay away from me.”

“Oh, my dear, forgive me, I don’t understand a word of that. Shall I get you paper?”

Dapper steps away from him, watching him with glittering eyes. After a moment, he nods.

Wilford pulls a pad of paper out from behind his back as though it had been there all along and sets it on the bed beside himself, smiling.

“What are you so frightened of, young man? Come on, then, calm down.”

Anonymous asked: Are you wearing your dress-shoes? The heel might be good for smashing the locks off the drawers! Though you'd have to be uh... as quiet as smashing can be haha.

JJ looks down at his bare feet. He scowls. Just like the day he was created.

But Wilford has boots on. “Give me those,” he demands.

Wilford doesn’t speak sign language, but he gets the gesture. “Sure,” he says, tugging a boot off and tossing it to him.

Dapper slams a desk drawer handle remorselessly. A loud clang signals the death of the handle as it flies to the ground. Dapper yanks the drawer open.

“Ippy says you’re all sorts of unhealthy,” says Wilford cheerfully, still kicking his legs, halfway bootless now. “Do you feel better today? He said you have so little Vitamin D he could probably break your bones with a pillowcase. You need some sun, dear boy!”

Dapper searches through the drawer, but there’s nothing but cotton swabs, gloves, tongue depressors and everything boring. He raises the boot and smashes another dresser handle, a little breathless.

scunneredzombie asked: Anti is trying to find you right now, I'm pretty sure. I understand not wanting to see them, they're frankly a terrifying jedi-powers 3D glasses fender-bender in you all's life. You'll be home soon, JJ. But you need rest right now, you could end up hurting yourself if you're in a bad mindset or not with the proper medication. I know being careful is no fun, but right now it seems like the best option. I know this sounds fucked, but trust Anti to find you. Like he'd give you up that easily, ha,,

“You don’t want to see Dark?” asks Wilford, finally sounding genuinely wounded. “Oh…”

“You stop,” signs JJ fiercely, whirling on him. “You’re lucky you’re out of your mind or I’d call you a creep for staying around that horrible - that horrible - thing. Whatever. Leave me alone. You’re a killer just like them.”

“I think your camera’s right. You ought to sit. You don’t look very well.”

Dapper glares, panting a little. He glances around the room again, a sense of despair shuddering its way over him. Always locked in his room. Always locked in his room. Always locked in his room. He grips at his hair, breathing through his teeth.

“Hey,” says Wilford. “It’s okay. Can you hear me at all? Do I need to be writing things down too? My handwriting is very good. Would you like some water?”

He clears his dry throat, his eyes flickering over to Wilford. Actually, he would. He’s parched.

Wilford nods and gets up. He disappears for a second and returns with a glass of water. JJ takes it from him with shaking hands, sinking down onto the bed.

Anonymous asked: Hey Wilford, you're not... planning on hurting JJ, are you? You don't seems like you have any intention of it but knowing you we can never be too wary >_>

“Excuse me!” Wilford waggles his finger indignantly, making a noise like pshaw! again and again. “I have never hurt a living soul in my life. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m a pacifist, actually. Excepting that door-to-door salesman who would NOT stop coming by…”

Dapper hisses out a breath, pressing at his forehead, feeling faint again. He scoops up Wilford’s pad of paper and sets Ippy’s pen to it. “You really have no idea what’s going on, do you?” he scrawls out in a bitter, looping cursive.

“Do you?” spits back Wilford just as quick, a little fire flashing through his eyes.

Dapper sinks in on himself, exhaling. “No,” he writes. “Not ever.”

Wilford eases again, grinning his nonchalant, slightly dazed grin.

“Why’d you come in here?” writes Dapper.

“To see you,” answers Wilford eagerly, clapping his hands together. “Finally, a new ego with a real aesthetic!”

“I’m not a new ego, Wil. Look, I don’t look like you.”

“No, you’re not like me - well, like him,” insists Wilford, undaunted. “You’re one of the boys that runs around with him sometimes. He can create things too, that’s alright. You can still stay here.”

Dapper softens a little, quirking his eyebrows. “You’ve met Jack?”

“Seen him! They made a lot of videos together for a while, do you remember? Every day!”

JJ laughs, shaking his head. “You’re thinking of Ethan.”

“No, who? Noooo. The brown-haired one. Loud? Bouncy?”

“They’re both - ” JJ cuts himself off, laughing into his hands. “Never mind.”

“I don’t have my glasses on.”

“Apparently.”

Anonymous asked: Hey JJ, did you and Wil knew each other before the whole timeline mess?

“No, not really,” JJ signs to you gently. “I’ve never really had anyone outside of Anti.”

“Are you mute?” asks Wilford politely. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

“I’ve never been able to talk,” he writes out. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t be able to stay for long.”

“Oh,” says Wilford, face falling. “Oh, I thought that was why you came.”

“You took me from my house. Do you remember?”

“No… you’re thinking of one of the others, I think?”

Dapper lets out a sigh and smiles. “Never mind. Just - ”

It’s then that Edward enters the room.

Dapper stiffens, rubbing his shoulders and staring down at the floor. Ippy looks relieved, stepping carefully into the room, as though approaching an animal caught in a fence.

“Hi,” he breathes. “Feeling any better?”

JJ looks away, uncomfortable.

Anonymous asked: Hey Dap? I just wanted to let you know that it's ok to be experiencing symptoms right now. You're under so, so much stress, your body must be having hell and two pence. It's ok if you feel apathy, have a hard time with facial expression, hallucinating. You will be okay. You will get out soon, and you will have time to de-stress, you will see your brothers again soon. Know even through the fear, everything will be okay. You were made for happy endings.

“Do you have symptoms like these often?” asks Ippy.

Dapper plays with the edge of his paper, unsmiling.

“Your, uh… friends? Said you had a psychotic disorder. When was the last time you saw a clinician about that? Seems like you’ve been on Haldol a pretty long time.”

Dapper draws circles on his pad, not looking up.

Ippy sits down in one of those backless chairs that doctors roll around their offices in. “Are you aware that you have a Vitamin D deficiency? Serious enough to be impacting your bone strength?”

Dapper glances at Wilford but doesn’t answer.

“Broken rib… infected wrist… some pretty serious scarring…”

Dapper leans down to write something. Ippy waits patiently. Dapper turns the paper around and he’s written “stop talking to me” across the whole page. Ippy rolls his chair away and lets out a grumble beneath his breath, getting up to -

“Hey! Who broke my drawers!”

Wilford and JJ exchange glances.

“Probably the dog,” answers Wilford wisely, and it almost, almost makes JJ smile.

It’s okay. He’s okay. It’s okay for him to be psychotic. He’s just got to get through it, like he always does. It’s okay to struggle.

Anonymous asked: Hey now! Let the doctor take care of you, bud. You deserve some proper medical attention, you deserve some healing after everything you've been through.

“That’s not my doctor,” signs JJ bitterly, glaring Ippy down as best he can, though he mostly ends up looking like he’s squinting. “Give me back to my brother.”

“Five questions,” asks Ippy. “Yeah? Then I’ll give you some space.”

“One question.” He holds up a finger.

Ippy holds up three.

Dapper turns his head away. Tries to glare again. Nods. Fine.

“When was the last time you saw a psychiatrist?”

He’s never seen a psychiatrist. That’s why they mostly just call it a psychotic disorder. Schneep says it’s probably schizophrenia, but he’s a surgeon. Until Anti stole Dok, he would just tell Dapper that Jack fucked his head up as bad as his voice.

“I don’t have a psychiatrist,” says Dapper. “The Haldol is fine. It manages most everything.”

“Most of the positive symptoms, I bet,” says Ippy. “And even if antipsychotics are helpful, they still need to be adjusted sometimes, and you should probably be seeing a therapist for behavioral therapy.”

“What’s positive about psychosis?” asks Wilford. “Is that like the fun kind of psychosis? A little LSD, anybody?”

“Wilford,” sighs Ippy. “Positive means something added. So things like hallucinations, delusions, hyperactivity, disordered thinking - those are positive symptoms. Most antipsychotics work best for those. But there are negative symptoms too - depressed mood. Flattened expressions. Lack of enjoyment or pleasure. Feelings of hopelessness.”

Dapper stares at the floor. After a moment, he writes “question two” pointedly.

“Why do you look like Mark’s friend?”

“It’s exactly what you think it is. Don’t waste either of our time.”

“Dark says Jack doesn’t have videos with you or any of the others.”

“Is that a question?”

“No, grumbles Ippy, rubbing at his forehead. “Forget it. Who gave you all your scars?”

Dapper’s eyes flicker. He glances away. “Self-harm,” he writes.

“Liar,” answers Ippy evenly. “They go all the way to your back.”

Dapper hisses, tucking his pad up against his chest for a second. He lets out a breath of air, shaking his head.

Anonymous asked: His ribs are broken because his "big brother" nearly beat him to death then left him sitting in filth for hours until he passed out. He's deficient in vitamin D because he spends his entire life locked inside one room and that same brother almost never lets him out. He's scarred from year of torture and abuse. Let's just say he doesn't have the easiest home life.

Ippy sits back, setting his clipboard aside.

Dapper closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t feel well.

“Please just leave me alone,” he writes. “There. You got your answer. My brother did all of it. Go away.”

Ippy gets up. He takes Dapper’s bear off the bedside table and hands it carefully over to him. Dapper swallows and accepts it, pulling the familiar warmth and texture and smell to his chest. It’s grounding.

“Want to come sit in the sun for a while?” asks Ippy.

Dapper looks up at him, eyes wide. Ippy waits.

Dapper sighs and shakes his head, curling up against the wall. Even if he wanted to accept anybody’s niceness right now, he’s too tired.

“Okay,” says Ippy. “You don’t have to. But you should know - now that you’re awake and talking - ”

“No,” Dapper is already writing, the pen shaking in his grip.

“They just want to talk. That’s all. They won’t - ”

“Tell Dark to stay away from me,” writes Dapper frantically, tears budding in his eyes. He underlines it. Again and again.

Tell

Dark

To

Stay

Away

Ippy gets to his feet wearily. He unlocks one of his drawers and sets a Haldol and a Vitamin D tablet out on the dresser beside Dapper.

“Get a little sleep,” he says. “You’ll feel better.”

“I want Dok,” writes Dapper. “Please.”

Ippy is already shutting the door behind him.

nikkilbook asked: Edward, do you have any contacts in the city that work with homeless shelters or other kinds of emergency housing? I think that’s where three of his brothers are.

Edward’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? Sure, there’s some shelters. I usually refer them to LAAG. Sets you up in a hotel for a month or two if you’re out of somewhere to stay. Mostly for moms with kids, though. There’s some men’s and women’s shelters in town. Lot of homeless people out here, unfortunately. Hey, Gigi.”

“What?”

“What’s the closest homeless shelter?”

“Are they finally kicking you out of that pigsty you call an apartment? The closest homeless shelter is Missionaries of Charity Relief Services, 23.6 miles away. There is an adjoining soup kitchen.”

“There you go.”

nikkilbook asked: Could you send someone (non/less threatening, if possible?) to ask after them, see if they’d be willing to come and help you with JJ? Though one of them, Marvin, is hurt really bad as well because of some messed up dark magic crap that Anti thought was a good idea. Schneep, the doctor that JJ keeps referring to, is doing his best, but he’s technically a surgeon with holes in his memory.

“Excuse me,” Google cuts you both off, stepping forward. “You have to run decisions like that past Dark.”

“Then ask Dark,” answers Ippy mildly. “I’m sure they’d love to worm their way into somebody else’s heart. They wanted that other kid that was there, right? Bet they’d be happy with you if you brought the other three back to them.”

“You think you’re very clever.”

“But I got you thinking about it, didn’t I?”

Google glares at him.

Then his composure breaks, just the smallest bit, and you see a smile on the edges of his mouth. Ippy laughs and trails past him towards the kitchen. “Come on, you goddamn sycophant. It’s curry night. You can help me make it.”

“I’m not your maid,” says Gigi stubbornly.

But he follows right after him into the kitchen.

Anonymous asked: Does seeing outsiders reaction help you realize it JJ? How horrible Anti really is to you? You're dying, Dapper. You might be dead if you hadn't gotten medical treatment. You have all the scars because of his actions. All of your pain was caused by him. You have a psychotic disorder and he's never /once/ taken you to a psychiatrist. If he was your brother, if he loved you beyond being his pet, he would have at least taken you to therapy. Can you see the damage he's done, Dap?

“Save the realization tactics for my brothers, my friend,” JJ signs quietly. “I’ve always known exactly what Anti is. I used to stay because I was scared of what he’d do to me if I tried to get away. Now I just know there’s no escaping. Not for me.”

And that is when the light from the sun flickers and dies.

Dapper closes his eyes. He knows. Right away, without pausing.

“Dark,” you see his mouth move.

“Feeling… hopeless?” asks a voice that echoes. “I can help with that.”

“No,” says Dapper. “No, you can’t.”

And he gets to his shaking feet.

Anonymous asked: They made a deal JJ. This is the last time. If you don't allow yourself to escape, allow yourself freedom and family, true family, love... Then I fear you'll be stuck with him forever. Let yourself escape. Let Jameson Jackson live. Let your soul breathe again.

JJ holds the camera close to his chest, sinking down beside his bed as his legs give out on him. It makes Dark tower over him. He closes his eyes.

Family, true family - what he wouldn’t give for them to be here right now. And it’s odd to him because most often, when he wishes for family, he wishes Anti were here to protect him.

Today, he doesn’t wish for Anti at all. Even if Anti would protect him from Dark, it doesn’t matter. He wants… fuck, he just wants Red and Blue and Dok and even Trick, because every one of them, he has begun to realize, would take care of him if they ever had the chance to. Blue would be shouting at Dark to back off, Red would already be on the attack, Dok would be making him feel better, and Trick, he thinks, would just be wrapped around him, holding him, just like he did when Gigi and Shep came to take him away.

Maybe he wasn’t stuck up in the attic or in the backroom or in Anti’s bed because everyone else hated him or didn’t want him around. Maybe it was always just Anti’s barriers.

“How interesting the pair of you are,” Dark says, looking down at JJ with your viewpoint in his hands. “To know him intimately… to speak with him. Even when I talk to you, it’s always me on the one side of the camera, and you never able to answer… Mark sees to that. How interesting, though, to be the ones to tell him he’s loved.”

Dapper takes the writing pad in his trembling hands. “What do you want?” he writes.

Dark leans down, too close to him. “I told you. Let’s talk. I want to know everything about that monster you live with - and just how I can get rid of him.”

Dapper creeps along the wall away from Dark, shaking his head minutely. He and Anti have their struggles, but he doesn’t sell his brother out, and especially not to Dark.

“Come on, little one. What are you so scared of? My soldiers have all seen the markings all up and down you. Wouldn’t you rather let me extract a little vengeance for you?”

“Not little,” writes Dapper. “What do you want with Anti? Why kill him?”

Dark cocks their head coolly, eyes flashing red and blue.

“If you don’t remember him, there’s no reason to be angry.”

Dark doesn’t answer. Dark never answers if they don’t have to. They don’t give up information, period.

“I hope you know I hate your guts,” says JJ.

And then Dark’s hand is on his throat.

JJ wheezes in alarm, grabbing Dark’s arm as the room seems to flood with a darkness so thick it seems to shove at his bones like a fist or a car collision. He kicks his legs desperately and, for a moment, manages a shrill whistle of alarm - and then Dark makes him still.

The calm is like an infusion of something, settling into his lungs and chest and softening his violent terror into a whimpering fear. Dark drags him back to his bed and throws him onto the mattress. And Dapper, shaking and petrified with a weepy, muted alarm, curls his body into a roly-poly and hugs his bear to his chest, staring up at Dark with huge, watering eyes, because the times when he acts childish and too cute to hurt have never been anything more than a fear response.

“There you go,” says Dark, sitting down in the chair beside the bed and leaning back, their eyes closing for a moment from the strain it puts on their spine. Anti’s attack has left them physically shaken and weak, the pain haunting them through waking and dreams. For that, they will have revenge - and for the way that the thought of Anti has haunted them for more than a week now. “Be good now and tell me how you know me.”

“My brother brought me to you some years back to reset me even better than he can alone,” writes Dapper shakily. “He manipulates thoughts and he can possess people. You manipulate souls and emotions. I woke up a different person. Since then I feel like I have a different personality every day. You and Anti took who I was from me.”

Dark shakes their head faintly, squinting for a moment. They glance at Dapper, at his eyes, at his chest. They don’t say anything.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore,” writes Dapper.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” says Dark gently, and they try to make it feel, in Dapper’s heart, that this is true, but all he does is close his eyes and hide.

Anonymous asked: hey, jamie, dapper, my dear. i know you've been hurt by dark before, and i'm not saying you have to forgive them, or trust them, or anything. but can you try to trust us, when we tell you that you are safe? i wouldn't say that lightly, dap. but right now, you are safe. deep breaths. we're here to help you.

“There, that’s right,” agrees Dark quietly. “Don’t be scared.”

Dapper shudders under another wave of their power. Affection and faith well up in his chest, and this feeling, at least, has an anchor of truth in his head, a foundation it can stand on. Yes, he remembers the days when you have kept him company, the days when you have warned him of danger or convinced Anti to leave him alone. He remembers Trick and Dok taking him for fish and chips, presents you picked out for him, and the beeping of the camera on so many of the nights in the past seven months where he would have been completely alone without you.

He sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“If I met you and your brother,” says Dark. “Why don’t I remember?”

“You are a creature manipulated by the stories your creator tells,” writes Dapper slowly.

“Mark did this?”

“No. Another storyteller. My creator gave me his power of manipulating stories. Last year I changed things without meaning to. There are inconsistencies now - people who remember things that never happened in this timeline, and people who have forgotten things that happened to them in another life. And then there are things like you, somewhere in the middle - torn between memory and loss.”

Dark’s eyes narrow, smoke curling off their shoulders.

“I know you don’t remember Anti,” writes Dapper. “But at the same time, you do.”

“Enough,” says Dark. “Quiet. Let me think.”

Deep black eyes pierce into JJ like a scalpel. He stares up at the light, trying to breathe.

“The truth is you know nothing of what’s happening around you,” Dark murmurs.“You’re delusional and ill. You remember things that haven’t happened because you have a disorder.”

“No,” signs JJ, shaking his head. “No.”

He does have delusions sometimes, very intense ones. But he won’t let Dark tell him that he doesn’t know his own power - the piece of himself that Jack gave him.

“Look at you.” Dark shakes their head, eyes glittering, and smoke curls around them like creeping cats wandering through the air. “The moment you’re away from him, you crash, is that it?”

Dapper closes his eyes, turned up to the lights.

Dark hums and gets to their feet, drawing out wine and glasses as though from the shadows themselves. They pour two cups of rich, black wine and press a cool cup into his hands. Dapper’s fingers wrap around the glass slowly, his eyes blank.

“Why did you become psychotic the moment you were away from him?”

His gaze flickers up to Dark’s. He doesn’t answer.

“Of course,” mutters Dark, backing away and sitting down in their chair. “You live with a mind manipulator. I bet he makes the voices quiet, doesn’t he?”

Dapper’s mouth parts, a gleam of something hard appearing for moment in his eyes before shifting away again, leaving him tired and only vaguely annoyed.

“Admit it,” says Dark. “You rely on him. Don’t you? You wouldn’t last on your own, not without him. The medication manages some of it and he manages the rest. When he’s away, you can barely survive. You need him – desperately.”

You can hear Dapper breathing now. His eyes are fixed on the light above. He holds his wine too tightly in his fingers.

“And he tells you so,” adds Dark slowly, staring at Dapper’s face. They tilt back their wine and they drink. “Doesn’t he? Constantly, I would guess. You and him both know that you need him – and he loves it.”

Dapper doesn’t have anything to say to them. He wants to be far away. He hates them.

“It must be difficult to be both – ”

“Don’t even fucking start with me, jackass, as if you know anything about what it’s like to be mute and psychotic and abused by the person I love most in the world, as if you’re not the one who fucking triggered my schizophrenia, as if you know anything about my life or what I’ve done to – ”

“Calm down,” says Dark gently, and Dapper feels a rush of unnatural calm flood over him. For a second of raw terror, he is completely aware that he’s being forced to feel something he doesn’t really feel, and then, the next moment, he is slumped back in his chair, letting out a low sigh of relief.

“I can’t understand sign language, so you’ll have to write for me,” says Dark. “We can have a calm conversation if you stay level-headed instead of getting so out of control. I’ll forgive you because of your fever.”

Dapper reaches dazedly for the writing pad, trying to keep his thoughts straight. This is happening again. He’s losing himself again.

“You talk about my brother controlling me and then shove your way into my chest yourself,” he manages, his handwriting scrawling and small. “Just tell me what you want from me or let me go home.”

Dark drinks from their glass again, never breaking eye contact.“What do you think I want?”

“I think,” Dapper scrawls. “That you don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on.”

It is Dark’s turn for their eyes to gain a hardness. Something glitters in black irises.

“And you hate that, don’t you, Darkness? More than anything. More than anything.”

Dark does not answer.

“You want to know how to kill Anti because you remember him,” writes Dapper. “The fragments of the memory of him haunts you because you hate not knowing and you hate being confused, and the thought that I somehow changed your story is second in bitterness only to the knowledge that Mark has already told it for you. Of course you don’t want to admit you don’t remember. It means someone else changed you without your permission. Your greatest fear.”

“Watch your words,” warns Dark.

“Anti hated you at first. We would agree that you were a creep, a control freak, an asshole. But you were insistent. How pretty he was, you would say, and how you had finally found someone who matched you in ferocity. After a while, it started to flatter him. He decided he was some sort of exception to you. You would be terrible to everyone else but good to him. He loved that. The thought of being special to someone. His abandonment issues made him look past everything horrible about you.”

“You’re making this up.”

“You taught him to dance,” writes Dapper, his words coming faster and faster beneath his scrawling hands. “Do you remember? Your hands on his waist as he finally trusted you enough to put his head on your shoulder. You would bring him flowers, roses he pretended he didn’t want and then put in a vase by his bed, purring to me about how wrapped around his finger you were. You would go hunting together and let him have the kill because you loved to see him lose his mind with the power and the fun of it all. His sadism was wild any time he was with you. He would come home and hurt me on accident - mostly - because he was so violent and worked up he couldn’t control his energy and his excitement. Do you remember?”

Dark’s eyes are raised to JJ’s now, staring at him, their mouth faintly parted.

“Have you been dreaming, Dark?” asks Dapper. “Killing him won’t make it stop. Speak with him. I don’t think the two of you know what love is, but you loved the time you spent together.”

“You’re sentimental as well as delusional,” answers Dark, tilting back their wine.

“I would listen to me if I were you,” writes Dapper. “Because at this point, Dark, there are outcomes - you cool his fury, or he will kill you.”

Red and blue in Dark’s eyes. Bone through their rotting fingers.

“My brother has taken on power he should never have stolen,” says Dapper. “You can’t beat him with Blue’s power combined with his own. Calm Anti down, Dark - or he will burn down everything you love.”

Dark blinks, revealing, if only for a moment, an unsettled look on their face.

Outside the window, the others are laughing and talking. Dark catches a glance of Wilford’s bubblegum hair and the movement of the enormous dog you spotted earlier. Host’s voice murmurs down to them through the ceiling and someone is cooking in the kitchen, making the house fragrant with garlic and spices.

“Please leave me alone now,” says Dapper.

“One last thing. Is it true that you can time travel?”

“Yes,” Dapper answers. “I know you can feel the power in my chest.”

“I could take it,” says Dark. “If I wanted to. Your power is a part of your soul and that, my darling, is my specialty.”

Dapper flips a page on his pad and writes across the full page:

“It would burn you alive.”

A flicker of a small on Dark’s coy mouth.

“Yes,” they say. “I suppose it would. I’m not as stupid as your brother.”

“Whatever you say,” writes Dapper dryly.

Dark gets to their feet, draining the last of their wine.

“Can I go?” writes Dapper desperately.

“Hm? Oh, no. We’re not finished, doll. Hey.”

Dark reaches out to cluck his chin, but Dapper jerks back, terrified. Dark laughs and takes their hand back, leaving Dapper with a sudden and painfully intense feeling of exhaustion. He crumples against the bed, his eyes flickering shut.

“Get some sleep,” murmurs Dark, turning their back and beginning to disappear back into the shadows. “Hostages are no good to me dead.”

Dapper fades into darkness.

.

Blue wakes up to a hand on his shoulder. “Mh? What is it?”

He hears his twin chuckle softly above him. “You make cat noises when you’re waking up.”

“Mmmhhhh,” protests Blue sleepily, cuddling down deeper into his blankets.

“You can go back to sleep,” Red whispers. “I just wanted you to know I’m heading back to the house for a couple days. Stay here with Dok and I’ll - ”

Blue is awake. He almost flinches out of the sheets, sitting up fast and grabbing Red’s sleeve. “Wait, no. I’m coming with.”

“No, Blue, you need to stay here and rest.”

“I’m feeling much better,” replies Blue, his tone brooking no argument. “And I am NOT going to be miles and miles away while you go back to an Anti who’s no doubt furious. I need to see the others too. I have to make sure they’re okay. That’s my job.”

“I’m coming too,” answers a quiet voice from the doorway - Dok slipping into the room with three cups of hospital coffee.

“Guys, no,” protests Red. “Please. I’d rather you be here. Dok, Anti threatened to kill you.”

Dok shrugs, placing coffee down on the bedside table. He plucks at his necklaces. “We might need these,” he says, picking at each raven talisman in turn. “And I… I need to see Trick.”

“We’re both going, Red,” Blue insists, touching his arm and squeezing reassuringly. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’re here.”

Red smiles weakly at the both of them. “Just… promise me you won’t try anything stupid, okay?”

“Promise,” says Blue.

“I never do,” answers Dok dryly.

The twins laugh quietly at his answer. It does not, however, hide the fear that trembles in Dok’s fingertips and rattles the insides of his chest.

He can do this. He can. He has to.

immabethehero asked: Good luck dudes!

“Thanks,” says Ro, looking up at the house. “Yeah, thanks, we appreciate it.”

Blue and Dok are behind him. He can hear them whispering to each other, but he doesn’t want to interfere. Blue is wrapped around Dok like a vice, rubbing his back as he tries to reassure him, and Dok clings to his necklaces and his sibling and hides.

“Is, um.” Ro stares at the windows and door. “Is Anti really angry? Is he in there right now? I don’t really know what to expect…”

Anonymous asked: uh, trick? i believe noodle has decided to go exploring. outside. i'm going to tell the others, so they can look for noodle too, but i thought you should know.

“Noodle?”

You find Trick kneeling by the door, scratching at the carpet and trying to catch his cat’s attention. Yesterday, he waited patiently for Noodle to come back. Today, four days after Dapper was taken, Trick has only seen Noodle twice, and the light in his eyes has become desperate and frantic.

“Baby!” he hollers, sticking the last piece of jerky under the door. “Come here, sweetie! Daddy’s upstairs. Where are you? No, no, no, he can’t have gone outside. Noodle, come here! He’s never been outside in his life. He’s always been with me. Noodle!”

He wipes at hot tears on his face, back shaking from how long he’s been crouched there. Anti has let him out of the room a couple times, but he’s been with him the whole time, so all he’s done is make himself dinner a couple times or watch a movie with Anti.

He wants things to go back to normal.

“Noodle! Please come here! You’re scaring me!”

Anonymous asked: Dok, what if you feigned that you were "taking off" your necklaces, but quickly clasped the animal one around Anti, then got him weak as you could and used the light? Or perhaps told him the only way to stop their power was for him to wear them, then put the animal one around his neck? Do you think a plan like that would work?

“Yeah, if I can manage that I would like to do this,” says Dok frailly, gripping Blue’s hand so hard it’s beginning to bruise. “Might not be able to trick him, but could maybe act fast and hurt him.”

“Remind me what all of these do,” murmurs Blue, touching his brother’s collarbone.

“This one is light, this one is transformation, and this one keeps Anti out of my head,” Dok whispers. “They said I should give the light one to a warrior.”

Blue glances at Red, pacing his way towards the house. He wants to be the first one inside, to bear the brunt of Anti’s fury. Blue pulls Dok after him, trying to think.

Anonymous asked: Trick has been alone for such a long time, and Anti has been locking him all alone in one room most of the days, he really needs you Dok, needs you to help him fight. As for Anti, he's been in and out of the place, we're not sure what he's doing.

“Anti locked Trick in his room?” asks Red.

“Let’s go,” says Dok, pulling away from Blue and hurrying towards the house.

“Dok! You don’t know if Anti’s in there!”

“He’s already seen us on the cameras from this close,” answers Dok, yanking open the door to the house and moving inside. “If he wants to come after us, he will. There’s nothing we can do about that. Right now, I just want to see Trick. Where is he?”

He runs down into the basement where they’ve been staying, but Trick isn’t there - and neither is Noodle. Dok returns to the ground floor, where Blue and Red are looking through their own room. Blue shuts the window that’s been open for days, making the room hot and airy.

“Where’s kitty?” asks Blue.

“I’m sure he’s just with Trick,” answers Dok. “Right?”

Anonymous asked: Trick is locked up in Anti's bedroom, and Noodle is missing, he escaped outside. Trick's been alone with no one but Anti for this whole time.

Blue and Red exchange wide-eyed looks, Red already pacing towards the door to look around for the cat. Dok races upstairs, feeling more awake than he has in weeks.

“Trick!” he knocks rapidly on the door and shuffling sounds greet him from the other side.

“Anti?”

“Trick, it’s me,” Dok calls.

“Dok!”

The way he calls his name is almost a sob. Dok scrambles with the lock on the door, turning the stiff lock to the right. Trick shoves the door open and meets his eyes.

“Are you okay?” croaks Dok.

“Fine,” whispers Trick, though his hair is limp and dry and his eyes hollowed out. “Are you?”

“Yes. I’m okay. Listen, Trick, I just - ”

Trick crashes into him and hugs him to his chest. They fall back against the wall, pinned together, skulls pressed together and arms wrapped around each other’s ribs.

“You don’t have to explain,” says Trick. “I should have protected you better, so you didn’t have to run away. I’ll be better for you, Dok. I’ll take better care of you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have been someone you could trust.”

“Trick…”

They wrap tighter around each other, rocking each other’s bodies against the wall, safe in each other’s grips.

Anonymous asked: He's here.

Blue is hugging Trick and Dok to himself, babbling at them about how he loves them, about how he missed him, about how happy he is to see him. Trick is relieved to feel less alone for the first time in days. He tells Blue he looks better and that he loves him too.

It’s Red who sees Anti.

He’s leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at him with cold blue eyes.

Red swallows. Anti doesn’t say anything.

He signs “come here.”

And then he walks away.

Red feels a shudder down his whole body. He glances back at his brothers, celebrating the mini-reunion together, talking about everything that’s happened.

He doesn’t see Dapper. Anti must have him with him.

Red needs to see him.

He swallows once again, clearing his throat this time. He won’t be afraid. He can’t let himself get lost in Anti’s lies again. He sees what he is more clearly than he has in years and now - now he has to protect his brothers from the monsters in the middle of them.

He moves down the stairs after Anti.

Anonymous asked: Uh guys, look out, the big-bad wolf is here

“Big bad wolf…”

Anti turns back to Ro for a moment in the middle of the hall, his eyes burning red.

“That’s me, then, right, Jackie?”

Ro’s blood seems to frost over in his veins. He stops short in the hallway, mouth parted.

Anti narrows his eyes and turns away, leading Ro further down the hall. Red can barely bring himself to follow, but his nerves are tempered by his confusion.

Anti has never called him Jackie before.

“Where’s Dap?” he asks quietly, stepping after Anti.

Anti doesn’t answer. He steps into the office room where you once found Dapper drinking and waits.

Red steps in after him, chewing on his lip.

Anti closes the door behind him and sits down at the desk, propping his feet on the table. He glares at Ro, flipping a knife in his hands.

“You got a deathwish or something,” says Anti.

“No,” Ro manages. “No.”

“Tell me why you went,” Anti snaps.

“You were threatening Dok. Blue was sick. I got scared.”

Anti stares at him, eyes burning with flame.

Anonymous asked: Anti Blue was dying and you were threatening Dok. Don't punish Red for being their protector, that's literally what you make him be. Thanks to his action, neither of them are dead. You have him to thank for the time away you got to think about your temper.

Anti takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. “Was that all it was?”

“Yes,” says Ro quietly. “I just didn’t want them to get hurt. Anti, you can’t threaten to murder Dok and expect me to - ”

“I can do what I want,” snaps Anti. “What’s your name?”

“What?”

“What’s your fucking name?”

Ro licks his mouth anxiously, glancing around for a second. He wishes Blue were here.

“It’s Red, Anti.”

Anti sighs, shaking his head at him. His posture relaxes slightly, letting his head thump back against the office chair.

Anonymous asked: Dapper isn't with him because Dark's soldiers stole him away. It seems like Anti can't find him.

“What?” asks Ro, incredulous. “Wait, you mean you actually let that monster get their hands on him?”

“You weren’t here!” shouts Anti, glitching to his feet and making Red stumble back. “You were the one I chose to protect them, Red, but you ran away without him or Trick like they meant nothing to you!”

“I thought you would keep them safe!” cries Red.

“I would have been able to if you had been here and I had known about Dark!” Anti snarls back, slamming his hand into the office table, a slight tremor in his palms. “But you and them both turned your backs on me! I can’t trust anyone but myself!”

“You were going to hurt Dok!”

Anti’s palm connects with Red’s face, sending him staggering back. He feels blood rush to the handprint on his cheek and he grips at his face weakly, looking up at Anti with watery eyes.

“You would have been useless if you were here anyway,” growls Anti. “You’re terrified of Dark. Fucking coward boy. And to think, Jack called you a hero.”

Hurt and fury light up in Ro’s chest. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, straightening his back again and clutching his hands into fists.

“I found Dark today,” says Anti coldly, turning away. “We can get Dapper back. If you help me, maybe I won’t fucking slaughter you for running away like the little bitch you are.”

“I’m not a little bitch,” says Red. “You… you’ve never liked me.”

“Correct,” answers Anti.

Anonymous asked: Jackie's throwing caution to the wind, you're willing to throw everyone's lives to the wind. Even moreso now that this is the last run-through, right?

“If you turn on me like that again,” says Anti. “I’ll kill you like I promised you I would.”

“You expect my loyalty,” says Ro. “But you don’t even like me. You threaten us and hurt us. How do you expect me to stay?”

“You’ll stay because if you don’t I’ll end all five of you,” snarls Anti, Jack’s teeth in his mouth giving way to those of a dog. “What, you think you did a good job, running away from me? Think you saved them from anything? I know you were staying in Ashley Valley Hospital Room 412.”

Ro’s blood is cold.

“I know the fake names you used, I know the food pantry where Dok was getting you food everyday, I know what Blue’s doctors said, I know, I know, I know. You can’t get away from me, Red. You never will. All the more because you’re a spineless, needy moron who can’t think of anything but a man who doesn’t love him anymore and whatever bullshit your mind fixates on on any given day. You’re broken, Red. Same way Jack made Chase and JJ broken. Even when you were Jackie, you were still pathetic.”

“Wonder why Marvin and I were able to beat you to hell, then,” says Ro.

It’s a mistake as soon as he’s said it. It’s a mistake. It was a bad choice. He shouldn’t have said it.

But he doesn’t regret it.

Anti takes a step back towards him, his eyes narrowed like a cat’s.

Jackie takes a step towards him too, fists clenched.

“When I said that you made me forget important things in the past,” he says. “I meant that you made me forget people I loved and the places I come from. But there are other things you made me forget too, Anti. You’re not as untouchable as you’ve always told me you were. And you know what else?”

Anti’s eyes are pupil-less, iris-less, white.

“I think you’re still afraid of me,” he says. “I think that every time you flinch back from a bird at the window, you are flinching away from the memory of just how bad I hurt you the first time you stole my baby brother.”

Anonymous asked: Stand strong, Jackieboy man. You've got a war to fight.

Stand strong. He straightens his back. The others need him.

“Come on, then,” he snaps, taking another step forward. Anti takes a step back. “I can see it in you. That you want to hurt me. It’s a look I’ve gotten used to. That you want to see me begging so you feel less scared.”

“You shut your mouth, Jackie,” says Anti.

“No,” spits Ro, clenching his fists. “No, I won’t. I’m tired of you silencing me. I’m not stupid and I’m not a coward.”

Anti strikes him, harder than the first time. Red backs off, grabbing his face with a gasp. Tears water in his eyes. He straightens up again, seething.

“You’re the fucking coward, Anti,” he croaks out, something snapping in his chest. His little brother really has always hated him, no matter how hard he tried to love him. “I won’t let you tell me differently anymore.”

Anonymous asked: Hey younger brothers, you miiight want to go to the office with Red and Anti, something tells me it's about to go downhill from here, and you'd be stronger together, protecting each other.

Blue blinks and looks around, realizing only now that his twin is gone.

“Oh, shit,” he breathes.

He turns and races down the stairs, tearing towards the office.

Anonymous asked: You are not pathetic, Jackie. You are a hero, through-and-through. You've spent your every waking moment protecting them from abuse in any way you were able. "Broken" is just Anti being an ableist, abusive asshat. You are stronger than him. You always have been, no matter what he tries to convince you of. Break free of him, Jackieboy Man.

“Yeah, you know what, they’re right,” Jackie continues, lifting his chin up and glaring at Anti as bruises form on his face. “You know what I think, Anti? I think you’re so desperate to believe that our creator - that Jack - ”

“Don’t say that name!” screams Anti, slapping him again.

Red laughs. “I think you’re so desperate to believe that Jack was in the wrong that you tell yourself he did something wrong to us just because of things like me being autistic. And that’s pretty fucked up, Anti. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with Dap and Trick. Honestly? I think Jack was probably an okay guy, and you’re the one who’s always been the villain.”

“Stop it!” screams Anti, driving his fist into Red’s chest. Red steps back, but doesn’t falter. “Stop it, stop it!”

“You like to act like you’re in control and you can’t even control your temper and your fucking daddy issues!”

“Red!” shouts Anti, his eyes flashing. “Stop it! You’re just like Jack, you’re just like Dark, everybody turns on me eventually! You were always just Jack’s little soldier, his failsafe! You think I made you a guard dog? Jack used you for years to get what he wanted.”

“Jack was trying to protect us from you!”

“You don’t even remember!” Anti grabs Red by the throat and slams him into the wall, crashing his head into wood. “Who have you been talking to? You - ”

“Hey, stop, stop!” cries Blue, appearing to grab Anti’s hands, trying to tear him off his twin. Anti kicks his cane away from him and sends him crashing to the ground.

“I ought to put both of you right back in the hospital!”

“Anti, don’t hurt him!” shrieks Blue. “Dapper’s not here! You can’t fix this if it all goes wrong!”

Anti’s grip tightens for a moment on Red’s throat. Ro chokes, gripping at his fingers.

Anti drops him to the ground.

“You’re right,” he spits, turning to grab Blue by the hair, dragging him back up to a sitting position. “So I’ll deal with you two once I have my boy back.”

[chocoluckchipz]

The Other You - 3

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

< Previous

Marinette groaned loudly as a ray of light caught her eye, disturbing her sleep. She stirred lazily, slowly regaining awareness of her surroundings. Her neck was stiff from the odd position she had fallen asleep in, and she couldn’t feel her left arm after having laid her head on it all night. Eyes bleary, she groggily looked around her and barely muffled a defeated sigh upon realizing her current whereabouts.

She had fallen asleep in her office.

Again.

The night before, when she had left Chat Noir on the Eiffel Tower, she had fully intended to follow his sound advice. Heading home was definitely the sensible thing to do, considering Alya was more than likely already pissed at her for having ignored her calls all day. No use adding fuel to the fire.

But as she was swinging her yoyo from building to building, images of her cluttered office flashed before her eyes. Her desk, buried under bolts of fabric and spools of thread, the unfinished dress hanging from the mannequin, and the pile of designs waiting to be sorted and put into production.

She had worked herself to the bone for months for that first women’s line, had suffered through so many sleepless nights, had stood up to her boss so many times… This project truly was her baby, her greatest achievement yet, and she wanted everything to be as she and Gabriel had envisioned it.

So, convinced she could squeeze in a few more hours of stitching before Alya would notice her absence, she had changed directions mid-jump and headed straight back to her office. Detransforming in an alley across the street, she had let herself into the building, bid goodnight to the security guard, and snuck back into her office like she had done countless times before. She turned on all the lights in her office, took out the designs Gabriel had approved just before passing away, and got to work.

She had cut, pinned, and sewn for the better part of the night, losing herself in the passion that had become all work and no play. Exhaustion quickly caught up with her, and after pricking her fingers a few times with the needle, her head steadily began to drop, and she lost track of time.

Soon enough, the weight of reality crashed back on her, and the next thing Marinette knew, she was waking up amongst her mess, groggy and disoriented.

Her cellphone chimed on her desk, and she reached for it to check the time. Maybe, just maybe, if Tikki’s luck was still on her side, she would be able to sneak back into the apartment without waking Nino or Alya up.

As soon as the little digital screen lit up, however, Marinette instantly knew that she was utterly and perfectly screwed. Any hopes of a stealthy return home were crushed by the heavy amount of missed calls and text messages overflowing her phone.

Just her luck.

Scrolling through the messages thread, she cringed, her heart jumping into her throat. Of course there were the usual inquiries about her current whereabouts, the expected question about whether or not to save dinner for her. But where the usual follow-through was “Are you coming home at all tonight?” she instead received, “Guess I’ll have to buy my wedding dress off-the-rack.”

Her heart broke reading those words.

Panic rose in Marinette’s chest, and she blindly reached for her planner, refusing to believe the implications of said message. She almost tore the book open, finding the right page with shaky fingers. It just couldn’t have happened. Alya had to be mistaken, there had to be a huge and horrible misunderstanding.

That was the only explanation she could see. There was no way she could have forgotten that.

And yet, hastily scribbled in her own handwriting on the previous day’s page, was definite proof that she had committed an unforgivable crime against her relationship with her best friend.

9 p.m.: Design wedding dress with Alya !!! <3

Her defeated whine resonated loudly in her empty office. “Tikki! Why didn’t you remind me?”

The little kwami lifted an unimpressed gaze toward her charge. “I did, Marinette. Several times. You ignored or dismissed me every time, like you usually do when you’re working. In the end, I gave up.”

Marinette groaned, not bothering to answer the bitter jab. It was already bad enough that she had to pencil her best friend in her planner for something as important as her wedding, but she had managed to forget about it altogether. The uncanny absence of any other message after the mention of the dress was telling volumes.

Alya was not pissed.

She was utterly and completely furious with her.

Breath short, heart pounding in her ears, Marinette put away the mess of fabric on her desk as quickly as she could, not bothering to fold them correctly. She would probably curse her lack of foresight later, when she’d resume working and find herself dealing with a bunch of wrinkled and mixed up fabric, but for the time being she couldn’t bring herself to care about anything other than the friendship she had probably just destroyed.

Going home by traditional means was going to take too much time considering her jittery nerves. So, ignoring Tikki’s disapproving glare, Marinette quickly transformed and let herself out through her office window. She’d have a hard time explaining why her security badge’s log would show an “in” but no “out” if anyone was to look at her file, but that was a problem she’d have to deal with later.

For now, she just wanted to salvage what little was left of her bond with Alya.

Part of her wanted to just crawl in through her bedroom window and pretend to have been asleep the entire time, but the rational part of her brain knew Alya would never be fooled by such a weak excuse. After all, it wasn’t exactly past the blogger to have spent the night in her bed only to make sure she wouldn’t risk missing her arrival.

Reluctantly, Marinette instead settled on hiding in an empty alley to detransform and walked to the building entrance like a convict heading to their death sentence. Feet heavy with dread, she headed for the elevator, the silence only disrupted by the pounding of her heart in her chest.

When the doors opened on their floor, her breath hitched in her throat. This was it. No going back now. She messed up, and she had to face the music.

Her keys jingled loudly when she pulled them out of her purse, and the rattle of the metal when she slid the right one in the keyhole made her gasp inwardly. Marinette pushed the door open slowly, bracing herself for her impending doom.

Sure enough, Alya was sitting at the kitchen table, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Her expression as her eyes landed on her friend standing awkwardly in the doorway was unreadable. Marinette twitched uncomfortably, feeling bare and vulnerable under the piercing gaze.

Gulping painfully, she hung her purse on a hook and took a few careful steps into the apartment, trying to assess the situation. She made it about three feet in before Alya’s voice, dripping with venom, stopped her dead in her tracks. “How kind of you to finally let me know you’re still alive.”

Marinette blanched, startled by the anger behind her friend’s words. “I’m sorry, Alya, I—”

“Don’t,” Alya interrupted her, holding a hand up. “I’m sick and tired of your lies and your excuses, Marinette. I can’t sit around and pretend I’m fine with you wasting your life away like that anymore.”

Deep inside, Marinette knew that it was the anger talking, and that Alya didn’t really mean to be this harsh. But she’d had a long day. She’d spent the night in an office chair and she was still feeling shaken from her encounter with Adrien. Her patience had already been wearing thin, and despite her best intentions and how much she cared about Alya and wanted to mend their weakened friendship, she couldn’t help but snap.

“Oh, because you patronizing me basically every single time I set foot in the apartment is your way of pretending you care about me? Could’ve fooled me.”

Alya’s eyes widened, and her expression shifted to something darker, sadder. She stood up, her arms still crossed in front of her in a defensive manner. “You know, I’m starting to think that maybe Adrien had it right after all.”

“Don’t you dare bring him into this. Adrien Agreste is nothing but a selfish, manipulative jerk,” Marinette snarled through clenched teeth.

“Who tried to warn us that working for his father would change you.”

Marinette backed up a few steps, looking every bit like Alya had just slapped her across the face. How dare she suggest that what Adrien had done back then was anything less than pure treason?

Swallowing the painful lump in her throat, she spat as angrily as she could, “Okay, so you’re going to pick the awful human being who didn’t even bother showing up at his own father’ s funeral over your best friend now?”

“No. I love my best friend to pieces, Marinette, but she isn’t you,” Alya answered, her fists clenched by her side. “Not anymore. She’s the kind, sweet girl that I met in middle school. The woman standing in front of me right now is nothing more than a stranger to me.”

Hurt and confusion choked Marinette, who bit back an angry sob. Her life was unravelling under her fingers, and she felt powerless. “Then why don’t you ask Adrien to be your bridesmaid while you’re at it?”

A shadow crossed Alya’s face. “You know what? Maybe I will! That way maybe my bridesmaid will actually show up!”

“Is that so?  Well, in that case, count me out!”

“GLADLY,” Alya yelled, fists clenched tight.

At first, Marinette couldn’t even answer. Words were stuck in her throat, the air was heavy, unbreathable. She knew that feeling all too well, it was the same feeling that had overcome her upon realizing Adrien was so disgusted by her confession and wanted so little to do with her that he had hidden her internship application from his father.

She was clearly unwanted.

Anger bubbled up in her chest, the rejection stinging badly. “You-you want me out of your wedding ?”

“Mari, I’m sorry. I—”

Marinette shook her head, crossing the apartment in long, harsh strides. She rushed past Alya and headed straight for the front door. “It’s pretty clear that I’m no longer wanted here,” she spat angrily, trying to ignore the tears pooling in her eyes. “I’ll be out of your hair in no time, don’t worry.”

“Mari, wait—”

"I'll send someone for my stuff later. You know, someone who won't nag me constantly and who doesn't believe Adrien isn't the biggest asshole on the planet." Grabbing her purse from the hook, she slammed the door shut behind her, ignoring her friend’s pleas.

Marinette made it back to Gabriel ’s headquarters in a dazed state with about an hour to spare before office hours, still shaken by the entire encounter. She let herself into her office through the same window she had used to exit, briefly noting that her security log wouldn’t be a problem after all. Throwing her purse in a corner of the room, she let her transformation fall and absentmindedly offered a cookie to a worried Tikki.

“Are you okay, Marinette?” came the soft voice of her littlest friend.

“I don’t know, Tikki. I…” Marinette swallowed painfully, refusing to meet her gaze. “How dare she say Adrien had been right? He selfishly tried to sabotage my career, and—”

“She’s right, though.”

The words hurt more than Marinette wanted to admit. Eyes widening, she whispered, “W-What?”

“You did change, Marinette,” Tikki said softly. “It’s up to you to figure out if it was worth it or not.”

As she slumped in her chair, landing an unimpressed gaze on the ambient clutter, Marinette suddenly felt overwhelmed by recent events. Her boss was dead. His son, whom she despised above anything else, was back in her life despite her wishes. She and her best friend were barely even on speaking terms anymore.

Emotions bubbled up in her chest and tears spilled on her cheeks, unbidden. This was not how she had envisioned her career going, much less her personal life. But she was too far gone; she had accomplished too much to back out now. If only she could salvage the line she had been working on with Gabriel, she would make a name for herself. Then maybe, just maybe, land herself a position that would actually allow her to have a life and an apartment of her own.

Gabriel had had projects for her. The upcoming women’s line had been meant as a test, an introduction of some sort into the management of an entire line. If she did well, he had promised to let her take care of the feminine branch of Gabriel on her own.

Now though, with Adrien behind the wheel of the company, her future within its walls was less than assured. It was no secret the young man loathed everything related to fashion and the Agreste name. Not a really good combo when you’re aspiring to a stellar career as a fashion designer in Gabriel Agreste’s empire.

She threw her frustration into her work, furiously sewing, cutting, and drawing the day away, barely stopping for fifteen minutes to eat a sandwich from a vending machine in the early evening. She worked until her bleary eyes couldn’t focus on her fingers anymore, until her brain refused to make the stitches remotely even.

With a loud sigh, she pushed the skirt she had been working on away and waited warily for the flow of worries and memories to come back to nag her. Shoulders hunched in defeat, she rested her head on her folded arms. This wouldn’t be the first night she’d spend in the office, and probably far from the last. As long as she didn’t figure things out, she would be stuck sleeping there, so she might as well get used to it.

Her sleep that night was restless, not bringing any soothing to her troubled mind.

Still exhausted, her patience long gone, she had half a mind to bite off the head of the rude human being who saw fit to wake her up at five a.m., unceremoniously barging into her office. The icing to the cake, though, was half-jumping out of her skin only to meet the worried gaze of none other than Adrien Agreste.

“Marinette!?”

Next >

[neocityarchive]

a lover’s dictionary | n.y.t.

— words from A to Z loosely defined from a lover’s perspective

genre: fluff, angst, poetic

pairing: yuta x y/n

word count: 1.7k +

warnings: bit of suggestive smut

definition guide

a/n: i wrote this on a whim. i wanted to try different writing formats so i really hope u guys like this one 🥺

inspired by david levithan’s “the lover’s dictionary”

Alexithymia (n.)

— Yuta was scared to admit to himself he was already falling in love. But as he watched you laugh a little too hard at his bad impression of Mark, the crazy, out-of-hand beating of his heart left those three words hanging on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be said.

Babble (v.)

— As much as the whole group chat loves to see Yuta this happy for the first time, they couldn’t help but mute their notifications after he flooded the chat with keyboard smashes and random heart emojis after he got home from your first date.

Cafuné (Portugese) (v.)

— The strands of his hair lightly tickled the spaces between your fingers as you tugged on them gently. Yuta smiled against your lips before deepening the kiss, his hands desperately trying to get rid of your ponytail and every other article of your clothing.

Debunk (v.)

— Your friends didn’t trust Yuta at first. They seemed to believe he will be just like everyone else who dated you before him: gone when they’ve taken what they could.

“Did you believe them then?” he asked when you told him about it.

You couldn’t answer. You just shrugged. Part of you used to be worried they were right. But Yuta didn’t need your words to know what you think.

“Do you still believe them?” He looked at you, barely masking his hurt expression.

You shook your head immediately. “You’ve proved them wrong every step of the way.”

Eccedentesiast (n.)

— “Hyung,” Doyoung said, surprised when he opened the door to see Yuta on a Sunday morning. Everyone knows his Sunday mornings are for you. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing. Can I crash here?” He entered Doyoung’s apartment without waiting for his permission. “I’ve been up all night.”

“Sure, but are you okay?” the younger asked.

“Of course.” Yuta smiled but his chest felt like it was being ripped apart at the seams. His head was pounding from the headache of having drank a few bottles too many last night. He never liked being in a fight, especially with you. It rarely happens, but it always makes him question everything about himself.

Fika (Swedish) (n.)

— After a long and hectic week, you and Yuta decided to just stay at home and cuddle all day. At 4 PM after watching all the movies on your watch later list, he proceeds to pepper you with soft kisses, muttering I love yous in between your giggles.

Guffaw (v.)

— Yuta’s laughter can be heard from the other side of the hall, strangely sounding like that of a Disney villain. He clutched his stomach, eyes disappearing as he watched you ask a stranger for some change after losing on a bet with him.

Happiness (n.)

— It’s all those moments between waking up and going to sleep, such as when Yuta leans over to the passenger’s seat to peck you on the lips before the stop light turns green again or when he brings you your favorite doughnut when you’ve got too much work on your hands.

Interstice (n.)

— You reached out to the space on the couch beside you, expecting to find Yuta’s hand waiting to be intertwined with yours, before remembering you decided to take a break on your relationship after he walked out on you a few days back.

Jouska (n.)

— “Move in with me,” Yuta rehearsed in front of the mirror for the hundredth time that day. He shook his head, still not satisfied with how he said it.

“Y/N, please move in with me,” he said again, his mind thinking about all your possible reactions. Would you say yes? Would you say no?

“Do you wanna move in with me,” he tried once more, almost giving up on himself.

“Y/N, move in with me?”

“Okay.”

Yuta jumped, not realizing you’ve been watching him for the past two minutes, laughing to yourself as you watched his silly antics.

Koi no yokan (Japanese) (n.)

— Yuta was a stranger to you before he was anything else. The coffee shop was too crowded on the day you met. He needed a place to sit as he waited for his friend, and you happened to have an extra seat on your table.

He told you he didn’t usually talk to strangers, but you were crying that day and he couldn’t help but ask if you were okay. You said yes, but the book you were reading is killing you inside.

He laughed, and upon glancing at the book in your hand, said, “If it helps, that book killed me inside, too.” He flashed a smile. That perfect smile. “I’m Yuta.”

“Y/N,” you replied.

It was a normal conversation with a random stranger, and yet, at that moment, you couldn’t help but think he’s gonna break my heart someday.

Lacuna (n.)

— It wasn’t your physical absence that made this whole cool-off thing hurt, Yuta thought. It was the Y/N-shaped hole in his chest that he had no idea how to fill up.

Maybe (adv.)

— A vague answer. A not-so-safe response;

“Do you think it’ll rain tonight?” he asked one rainy afternoon.

“Maybe,” you answered.

“Do you think it’ll be us til the end?” he asked a little while later.

“Maybe,” you replied.

Night (n.)

— These are the hours where Yuta would either hold you close or push you to your edge.

Oblivious (adj.)

— Before you started dating, everyone but you and Yuta knew that you were whipped for each other. When you two broke up, everyone but you two knew you were still whipped for each other.

Procrastinate (v.)

— It’s those extra five minutes of cuddling that Yuta begs for every morning, making you miss the bus to work. But it’s also those hour-long make out sessions that makes you two late for your dinner reservations at night.

Quibble (v.)

— “That’s not the point!” You were already raising your voice, unable to control your emotions. It was 2AM and Yuta just got home from god knows where without so much as texting you.

“There is no point. I’m already here, Y/N. What more do you want?!” He was drunk. Not so drunk that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but enough to let his guard down and say things he didn’t really mean.

For a moment, his legs became shaky, making him lose balance. He leaned against the kitchen counter for support. But as mad as you were, you were still concerned about him.

“I want you to stop acting like there’s no one who gets worried about you. Why do you always have to be so reckless?” you snapped, helping him steady himself.

But Yuta moved away from you. “You’re not my mother. Hell, my own mother doesn’t even care about me. So stop acting like you have control over everything in my life.”

He was drunk, but sober enough to recognize the pained expression on your face. It was only then that he realized had crossed the line.

Right (adj.)

— It includes everything from the way Yuta touches you to the way your name drips from his tongue like honey.

Sunday (n.)

— It doesn’t matter what went on during the week. Your Sundays were Yuta’s, and Yuta’s were yours. It’s the day of walking up short mountain trails or discovering new restaurants or skinny dipping in lakes or even just staying at your apartment to binge watch Netflix. It doesn’t matter where your mood will take you as long as your Sundays are for each other.

Tacenda (n.)

— “I’m sorry,” Yuta muttered as soon as you opened the door. “I know you’re right. It’s my fault. Let’s just–“ he swallowed. “Please, let’s fix this.”

That was all it took to have you break down in front of him. You’ve only broken up for three days, but it was three days too many.

Yuta took a step closer, still testing the waters if he could put his arms around you. When you didn’t move away, he pulled you in his embrace. Your entire body melted into his arms, your face buried in his chest, your arms almost subconsciously wrapping around his torso.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice as fragile as you were.

“You don’t have to say anything anymore,” you said in between sobs. “Just please don’t walk out on me again.”

A tear slipped from Yuta’s eye. “I’m sorry.”

Umpteen (adj.)

—You could no longer count the number of times Yuta has said “I love you,” but weirdly enough, it makes you feel the same way every time.

Vandalism (n.)

— When you opened the book you borrowed from the university library, there was a small note written in the corner of the page you bookmarked: “I can’t wait to kiss you senseless again when you’re done with all this studying.”

Your cheeks blushed as your eyes scanned through Yuta’s handwriting once again. You closed the book and looked around, hoping no one saw how your boyfriend defaced school property to send you a flirty note.

Whiskey (n.)

—“No,” Yuta said firmly. “The last time you had a shot of that, I had to physically stop you from stripping while standing in Taeyong’s dining table in front of everybody.”

“But–”

“No.”

X (n.)

— You couldn’t help it. Your nails drew crosses on Yuta’s bare back as he softly grunts your name.

You (pron.)

— “Mine,” Yuta whispered in your ear before kissing you goodnight.

Zing (n.)

— The feeling you get when Yuta’s fingertips graze above every inch of your skin, your chest rising up and down heavily in anticipation.

[sunevial]

The Pianist

Commissioned by @zephyrus-gryphon (or more accurately, my way of thanking him for donating to my glasses fund)

A bit of a thought experiment, this piece follows the character from Death Parade, the Pianist. What might she been have like in life?

---

The lights dimmed, bathing the concert hall in gentle shadows until there was only a single white spotlight shining down on the stage. Space filling chatter fell to nothing more than the barest of whispers as eyes turned towards the main attraction of the night. There were no dancers in colorful costumes, no actors ready to belt out emotional lines, just a simple grand piano and a woman in black. She raised her arms, slow enough that it seemed they were breathing deep, and placed her fingers onto the keys.

 Light burst from the stage, grabbing audience members by the ear and demanding that they pay attention for just this short burst of time. It flowed, it swayed, it rose and it fell, it pushed them to the edge of their seats and flung them back until they were helpless to do anything except ride out the storm. If there was magic in this world, this was it, and they were getting perhaps their only chance to see it done by a master.

Perhaps it was lifetimes later when the spell broke; perhaps it was only minutes. The hall was left in stunned silence as the woman stood and gave a polite bow. Only then did everyone leap to their feet, applause breaking their stupor and reminding everyone that this was, in fact, not a dream. 

Among the commotion, a young girl remained with her eyes on the stage, drinking in the sight of the woman in black and the instrument at her side. She closed her eyes, desperately searching in her mind for a place to remember the song by so that she would never lose this experience, this memory. Music had found its way into her life, and she could never go back down the path she had started down. 

With wide eyes filled with wonder and resolve, the little girl tore her eyes away from a dream made manifest and tugged on her mother’s skirt. 

“Mom, I want to do that too.”

Her mother blinked a number of time, face softening with each one as she realized the determination in her daughter’s words. 

“It’s going to be a lot of work, you know. It’s going to take a long time. It’s going to be hard.”

The little girl simply nodded.

“That’s okay. I can do it.”

---

“Beside the bone fractures and the torn muscle tissue, not to mention you have a severe concussion and I still have no idea how you managed to survive a broken neck, there’s probably going to be quite a bit of nerve damage in your hands.”

The words jumbled together after that, meaningless strings of phrases that meant nothing and would mean nothing. Unable to so much as move her head, her eyes flickered without purpose between the harsh white walls and the harsher hospital lights. All manner of monitors for her breathing and her heart rate and who knows what else beeped in steady patterns, the sound maddening in its ever repeating loop. There were so many wires in and around her body that she was honestly surprised the doctors hadn’t replaced all of her organs with gears and cogs.

She was supposed to be grateful. She was supposed to count her blessings that she was so much as breathing after the car had rolled over five times, the same accident that left her mother paralyzed from the neck down and made her baby brother lose an arm. She was supposed to feel lucky that she would make a nearly full recovery except for some problems with fine motor control.

Piano was all placing fingertips to delicate keys, light touches or hard slams for different styles and genres and time periods, stretching wide for octaves or pinching them tight for smaller intervals, the quick dancing movements of jazz piano or the flowing runs of classical music, all turning precision technique into art. 

Straining her eyes, the girl’s eyes fell on the black hands of a nearby clock. Seven thirty at night. She was supposed to be practicing an accompanist piece for her friend’s senior recital in a month. She was supposed to be hammering away at jazz charts for her band’s performance next week. She was supposed to be memorizing one of Mozart’s piano concertos for her college auditions.

She was supposed to begin learning the song that made her heart sing and fill the world with light and wonder.

The doctor kept rattling off her recovery plan, reading off lists of medicines she needed to take and the exercises she was supposed to do once everything had healed.

The girl said nothing. Shock had dried her tears.

---

Her daily walks to class forced her to pass the music school. At the very least, the practice rooms inside had soundproof walls.

Shrugging her backpack higher up onto her shoulders, the young woman put her head down and picked up the pace as fast as her legs would allow. Vines and moss held the old bricks and yellowing windows together, trailing up towards the small belltower. A small garden sat under the windowsills, white flowers clinging to the last bit of summer’s warmth. It was a refuge for stressed arts students, lost English majors, and environmentalists needing a quiet place to light up and let their minds wander.

Four weeks, and she hadn’t stepped a single foot closer to the building than necessary.

The accident had forced her to pull all of her college applications, spending an unintentional gap year remembering how to sit up and wiggle her toes, bend over and crawl and take her first steps once again, brush her teeth and brush her hair, get dressed and use a knife and fork again. Each day had been an opportunity to give up hope entirely. Each day, she made the choice to try again. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was simply trying to spite the world.

Whatever it was, the first time she walked around the block alone nearly made her cry. 

It had been enough to send her applications in once again.

Not everything had returned. Shoe laces were hard to get right without a helping hand or a half hour of slow, painstaking work. After one too many balls were thrown in frustration, she switched to slip ons. Her handwriting was barely serviceable as chicken scratch, much less something that could be reliably used to take down notes for later. Thankfully, the professors didn’t mind being recorded that much. As for piano, well, there was nothing wrong with a career in education. Teaching the next generation was a noble pursuit, one that would end up doing good in the world.

Not that she had even tried going back, instead jumping at the chance to offload her piano paraphernalia to a neighbor. She shoved sheet music into every box she could find, tore her room apart until she was sure that not a single practice book remained, even offered her standup piano for far less money than it was worth. Trophies were stripped off the wall. Ribbons found a dark corner of the attic. In less than a week, all signs of the offending instrument were gone.

There would only be disappointment if she tried.

She had resolved to keep moving forward, even if something got left behind.

A window flew open, black shutters banging against the sides of the building and carrying the forlorn striking of a piano’s keys. The song tugged at the corners of her memory, winding around her like a siren’s call as images of a darkened stage came to life.

Eyes fixed to the ground, she plugged her ears and walked away.

---

“You know, I wish I had picked up an instrument as a kid.”

The woman looked up from her reading, raising an eyebrow at the other mother waiting in the dance hall. Colorful crayon drawings and messy coloring book pages covered up every inch of wallspace, turning every surface that wasn’t a mirror into a haphazard mess of color with patches of white paper strewn between. Little children bounded across the dance floor, feet moving somewhat in time with slow, steady beats of the man at a beat up piano.

She couldn’t help but tap her foot in time.

“Never learned?” the woman asked, eyes searching for her daughter amongst the sea of black leotards and bunned hair.

“Well, I played violin for maybe a year. Parents didn’t push it, and I thought it was dumb and boring, so I didn’t even bother trying” the mother said with a slight laugh, her gaze far off and filled with a longing sorrow. “But that doesn’t count. I don’t remember a thing. Can’t read music, couldn’t tell you what the strings mean or what one piece is from another. Now I’m just kicking myself because man, wouldn’t that be a cool skill to have.”

“You know, it’s never too late to learn.”

The mother laughed. “Says the teacher.”

She returned with a slight smirk, eyes flickering across the hall and trying to land anywhere else but the upright instrument. With each pass over, it was harder to tear her gaze away. “You know, I actually used to be pretty good at that when I was a kid,” she said, pointing a finger across the way. “Got a lot of awards for it, went to a couple of championships. Really could’ve gone somewhere big with it.”

“So why’d you give it up?” 

“Car crash.”

Words died on the mother’s lips, only nodding in simple understanding as the simple beats faded to a close and a cluster of children ran across the room to waiting parents. There was no spell that had been broken, no masterful revelation of the arts for either the adults or the children.

And yet, her foot continued tapping.

Noticing her daughter more engaged with a gaggle of friends, the woman rose from her seat and crossed the floor, each footstep following the rhythm that had been playing all throughout the class. As a solo instrument, a steady beat was the hardest thing for any piano player to learn. There was no one to follow, no one to lead, just the speed the player wanted to take and the instrument.

She could keep time. The hardest step was already done.

With trembling fingers, she placed her hands on the keys, remembering the feel of a familiar chord, one she still remembered despite just wanting to move on and forget. But how could she forget something so utterly real and raw. One breath in, one breath out, and she struck them down.

The piano was horribly out of tune.

But the sound still rang true. 

---

“Mom, come on, we’ve gotta go.”

“Let me just finish this up,” the woman said, fingers lightly dancing across the piano keys and filling the space with sound. The coffee shop was bathed in sunset’s glow, casting deep shadows on the faces of people buried in their readings and writings. Each table had a small vase of white flowers picked from the garden outside. Paintings from local artisans lined the walls, a motley assortment of picturesque landscapes, blurred street corners, and thought provoking portraits. 

She came every Saturday at two, setting out a small tip jar on the antique piano and playing a number of tunes she had practiced throughout the week. They were never perfect nor polished nor something that would be worth paying money at a fancy venue, but it was good enough for the sleep deprived patrons of a small cafe. The owners were understanding, the people were polite, and she always came away with something by the time night fell.

As it turned out, grading papers for ten years had been almost better physical therapy than what the doctors prescribed. The finesse and grace of her youth was long gone, but she remembered where to place her hands and how to read inbetween the black notes splashed across sheet music. Speed and technical ability would come with time. 

Time, patience, and a lot of practice books.

As her fingers danced to a gentle halt, the song faded into the evening until there was nothing left but the grinding of coffee beans and the occasional muffled cough. Some of the regulars looked up, giving polite claps and nods and finally checking the clock only to realize it was far later than anyone had thought to give attention. Others remained absorbed in their work, eyes focused on piles of papers or personal sketchbooks. 

But even their ears twitched.

The woman stood up, gathering the music back into her satchel and pulling the lid back over the keys. With a gentle smile on her face, she shoved a handful of dollar bills and coins into her pockets and wove through the small mess of coffee tables. Her daughter was waiting outside, arms crossed placidly over a leather jacket.

“That sounded good” she said, flashing a smile and stretching out her arms. “Really good. When’s your concert debut?”

She laughed. “Oh please, I’ve got a long way to go before that happens.”

The two started down the road home, a familiar and gentle tune being hummed along by both mother and daughter alike.

Her daughter knew it as a bedtime lullaby.

---

Low heels clicked on the wooden floor, piercing the nearly silent hall with every step. The audience was hidden behind a curtain of shadow, the occasional face of an old friend or one of the many students she taught over the years just barely illuminated by the stage lights. They stared at a simple white backdrop, at an old woman in her best dress and hair done up nice, at a grand piano set in the middle of the stage.

With every step, the woman saw a new face in the crowd. Her daughter, now grown and setting off on her own path in life, sitting proudly in the front row with a gaggle of grandchildren. Her old colleagues from the school, gathered together and whispering about the after party and if there would be enough cookies and lemonade for everyone. Her folk band, waiting in the wings for their turn to join her on the stage. Students from nearly every class she had ever taught, each presenting her with a new stack of music at the end of the year. The baristas from the coffee shop, collectively deciding that the cafe could afford to take a day off if their Saturday entertainment couldn’t be there. The women from her church group, each having begged for nearly ten years straight before she gave in and took a place in the Sunday band.

The faces went on for what seemed like miles.

Every seat had an expectant face. Watching.

Waiting for something to happen.

She took a seat at the piano, hands gracefully running over black wood almost shining under the lights. Her music was already in place: classical, jazz, folk tunes, renditions of popular songs, a couple of pieces she had crafted over the years.

And before them all, a piece she needed no paper for.

She raised her arms with grace and beauty.

Magic sprung forth.

---

The lights were white. Her dress was black. 

A woman sat at the piano, playing a song that she knew must be played in remembrance of the woman currently resting in the casket. The line of mourners moved with the slowness only the dead can command, winding its way through the pews and far out the door. Besides the ever present swaying and building music, there were only the sounds of choked tears and low confessions.

And still, the woman played on.

“What’s that song?” a boy asked, respectfully taking a seat on the bench. He was one of the grandchildren, old enough to remember the tune from the house but never old enough to learn its name.

“Moonlit Night,” the woman replied, never taking her eyes off the keys. “It’s a song of sorrow, of ages gone by that only exist in memory and will eventually fade away. Your grandmother loved it dearly.”

He nodded slowly, the light in his eyes wise beyond his years. His gaze flickered to the line of mourners, watching them with a curiosity and an understanding only a child could truly make manifest. “She was…really loved, wasn’t she?”

“Your grandmother touched the lives of a lot of people. She was a teacher, a mother, a grandmother, a good friend, a pillar of the community,” she said, the ghost of a smile appearing on her face. “What was she to you?”

The boy glanced over to the casket, heavily obscured with the bodies of the performers, then back to the grand piano before him. For the first time since the doors had opened and the family service had taken place, he seemed to be lost in thoughts that were no longer just sorrow. Minutes stretched between them, and still the song played on, sending out light and darkness, joy and sorrow, magic and the mundane out into the world

“She was a pianist.”

The woman smiled true.

The song began anew.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Star Crossed Rivalry: Part 6

Pairings: Opie x Reader (SOA/TWD MC AU Crossover ) Negan daughter!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Fluff, little bit of Angst

Word Count: 3,593

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn’t think your dad was serious about using your wedding as an excuse to get Jax, Piney, and Chibs to North Carolina until he dragged you and Hunter out of bed at the crack of dawn to go to a bridal shop in Winston-Salem for a dress. As you tried on gown after gown, he sat with his grandson in his arms, and organized the entire wedding on the phone with Maggie, and Michonne, since the pair of them were as close to best friends and family respectfully as they could possibly get. 

“Daddy.” You whispered so you didn’t interrupt his though as you stepped out of the dressing room in what you knew was ‘the dress’. Negan glanced up at you over the tops of his reading glasses from his notepad as he balanced a bottle on a blanket for Hunter, and sat up straighter.

“Fucking fuck.” He breathed as you stepped up on the small podium and spread the lace train out in a circle behind you. You blushed and looked down in embarrassment as he took off his glasses and set them aside so he could stand up. “Oh, baby girl. You look so much like your mother…” You nodded your head in agreement as you turned on the platform to get a look at all of the angles of the very bohemian, A line, chiffon and lace dress with a plunging neckline,  and long, bell sleeves.

“This is the one.” You said as you found his eyes in the mirror with your own tear filled ones and a nod. “This is it.”

“I know it is, princess.” He agreed as he looked up at you as tears welled in his own eyes. “Fuck, you’re so damn beautiful. Your Mom would be so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” You said as you looked back in the mirror and wiped your tears away. “I think like ribbons or like a flower crown instead of a veil. There’s so much lace I think it would be too much…”

“What about the head band your mom wore?” He asked with a smile. “It’s still in the box in the closet. Oh, don’t you start fucking crying.” He said with a small chuckle as he reached out and put his hand on your shoulder. With a tight lipped smile, he moved his hand to cup your jaw. “I know you want her there, sweetheart. But I know she is still here with us even if it’s not in her body.” You nodded your head and put your hand on top of his on your cheek.

“Can we do the wedding at her spot instead of the club?” He nodded his head as he pulled his hand back to finish feeding Hunter.

“Whatever you want, princess. It’s your damn day.”

——

You were somewhat grateful that the the display dress at the store was a nearly perfect fit and that the small shop owner was able to alter it in only two days so that it hid what was left of your bump, contained your swollen breasts, and had a spot to attach nursing pads so the dress wasn’t ruined by breast milk since wearing a bra wasn’t an option with the low cut front. 

You had gone out the day before the wedding, and cleared enough of a path that you and your small hand full of guest would make it though the woods without ruining their clothes but not enough that anyone walking by would notice there was a path leading to anything special. You intended on keeping the ceremony small, a total of eleven people including the officiant, Rick, the photographer, his son, Carl, your baby, and your dog. 

The reception, which was being coordinated by Frankie and the other harlots, was going to be held pot luck, block party style on the street you lived on. You and Opie gave Frankie a list of the foods you would like, and gave her a photo of a wedding cake and topper you found on Goggle that you loved. She promised, with Negan’s help for the decorations, that she would have the street perfect for the party you deserved in the five days that she had.

You were sitting in your bathroom alone, finishing up your simple makeup, while Hunter got as much of a nap in the other room as the exactly one month old could, when your dad knocked softly on the door. You glanced over at him with a smile as you tightened the cap of your waterproof mascara.

“I have something for you.” He nearly whispered as he held up a small, wooden box with an envelop taped to the top of it. You looked up at him, slightly confused, as a few tears slipped from his eyes.

“Daddy?” You said questioningly before the beautifully scrolled handwriting on the outside of the envelope caught your eye. Your hand flew to your mouth and you grabbed onto the sink as your dad nodded his head and carefully pulled the envelope free.

“She… um…” He started as he folded the small piece of tap over and put the envelope under the box for a moment. “She made me fucking promise to give this to you and promise that I’d be the one to do them. You wearing her headband was always her plan.” He said as he popped the small latch on the box open. “It’s your something old.” 

You nodded your head as your tears fell softly onto your robe. Negan stepped up to you, and you helped him make sure it was in its proper place with your half up, half down hair do. Once you were both satisfied, he stepped back and nodded before turning his attention back to the box. “Alright, fuck.” He said as he wiped away his tears almost angrily. “Something new. You can handle this one your damn self.” He chuckled as he pulled out a garter with the tags still on it, and passed it over to you. You laughed and nodded as you took it from him and set it aside to put it on when you put your dress on.

“OK, old, new, borrowed. And I want this shit back. Don’t make me have to hunt your ass for it.” He said as he pulled out your mom’s name bracelet from his vest pocket; a bracelet she loved that you thought she was actually buried with. It was one of three bracelets she wore every single day that had been ‘missing’ since you had every other peace of jewelry from her in your possession.

“You have this?” You said as you held out your arm.

“Yes, and it’s fucking coming back to me.” He said, protectively as he slid the engraved, thin, fitted, bangle bracelet your dad had given her for her first mothers day on your right wrist. It had her name, your name, and his name on the front in that order, and their wedding date, and your birthday on the back. “I love you, princess… but I can’t let it go, yet.” You nodded your head, feeling a bit hurt that he never told you he had it, but completely understanding why he couldn’t pass it on yet.

“It’s fine.” You said with a nod. “You’re a jerk, but I get it.”

“Yea, yea. “ He said as he looked back into the nearly empty box. “This, you can keep, though.” He said as he pulled out a second bracelet that was another one of the three. It was a diamond and sapphire repeating teardrop shaped bracelet that was gift from your dad for their first anniversary.

“You know what…” You laughed as you pushed his shoulder before offering him your wrist. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Fuck you.” He laughed as he added the bracelet to your wrist and spun it in place. “I was under strict instructions by your mother. And who am I to go against her wishes?” You nodded your head as he flipped the box closed and held out the envelope. “Guys are almost ready. So you got about 45 minutes until time to go. I’ll tell Maggie to come up in a few minutes.” You nodded your head as you grabbed the garter and a few tissues and followed him out of the bathroom. He headed out of your room, smiling at your sleeping son on his way, and pulled the door closed behind him as you sat down on your bed. You took a deep breath as you ran your fingertip over your name in your mom’s hand writing. After a moment of mentally preparing for the heartbreak, and with tears already starting to fall, you opened the envelope and pulled out the pages.

My darling, beautiful, sweet baby girl,

You’ve made it to your wedding day! I can’t believe it! I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you have grown up to be a wonderful person. I know I have missed so much, but I’m watching you. I watched you as you got ready today, putting on make up and doing your hair just right. I can’t help but remember how you used to do my hair and make up when we would get ready for a party at the club or for our special mommy daughter date nights. I love you baby girl, but I really hope you have learned how to blend black eye shadow better than you used to. And I pray to everything holy you learned that blue eyeshadow is to be done as minimally as possible. 

I watched you and your father go through my gifts for you, your something old, new, borrowed, and blue. If I know your dad as well as I think I do, you had no idea those bracelets were being kept from you for a reason. I have a reason, baby girl. I know you trust me enough to know that it’s a good one, too. Don’t be mad at your father for that. 

I’ll be watching you as you walk down the isle today, to meet the man you have fallen in love with, and vow to spend the rest of your days with. I know he’s the one for you baby, because you wouldn’t be reading this if he wasn’t. That was another requirement of mine so if this is your second (or multiple after that, which I doubt your father would allow), that’s the reason you haven’t seen my gifts or this note before. But I have faith that your father and I raised you right.

I’ll be watching you as you start your life with this man. I’ll be with you when you have your children, and as you raise them with the same values we instilled in you as a child. I am with you with every breath you take, and step you walk. And, just so you know, I will look away sometimes. No mother wants to see all that.

I know I’m not there to give you a hug today, but I know your Aunt Michonne is there for me to do it for me. I know that you are crying right now as you read the indescribable love I have for you, and see my tears staining the page, but please don’t. I may not be there, physically, but I am all around you. I’m in the sunlight that will shine on your face when you step out of the car, I am in the soft breeze that will rustle your dress. I’m in the flowers in your hand, and the songs that you sing, and hear, and dance too. I am in the love that surrounds you from your friends and family. And most importantly, I am in your heart, from where I can never be removed.

I’m with you, my darling (Y/N). I will always be with you. And I am so, so proud of the woman you’ve become. I love you, princess. I will never stop loving you. Enjoy this beautiful day with your husband. And lastly, congratulations! 

All my love,

Mom

Tears poured down your cheeks, and you held the letter close to your heart as Michonne watched from the door frame. She gave you a weak smile and pushed off the frame as you set the letter aside.

“Come here, hun.” She said as she pulled you to your feet beside the bed. She didn’t say a word and simply held you tight, letting you cry it out for a few moments before pulling back to look at you. “She really did love you, sweetheart. But I know she wouldn’t want you crying today. So we’re gunna buck up, OK? We’re gunna touch up your makeup, and put your dress on. Opie is waiting from you.” You nodded your head as you both wiped at your tears. She nodded her head once as swiped her thumb across your cheek and booped your chin. “Chin up, Buttercup. Makeup while I get Hunter ready.” You nodded your head and pointed to the cute little suit you had laid out on the changing pan on your dresser.

“Aunt Chonne?” You said as she turned to walk away. She hummed at you as she turned back around. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

——

“This was a smart idea.” Maggie said as she helped you hold your lace dress up off the ground so it wouldn’t get snagged. “Lace and twigs.”

“It’s special.” You giggled as you walked carefully in your flip flops since you intended on being barefoot on the smooth, pine covered ground surrounding the hot spring. 

“I know that.” She replied as she ducked under a tree branch. “But you at least could have warned me not to wear heels.”

“She did.” Michonne laughed as she walked in front of you with Hunter in his car seat and Creature in a travel purse over her shoulder, making sure that none of the branches you tried to clear the day before would snag your dress. “You just didn’t listen.”

“It’s here.” You said as you pointed to the peace sign tree. You could hear the guys, who had been waiting for only a few minutes, laughing through the trees, and you nodded your head as Michonne held open your dog’s bag for you. “Alright, go find Daddy.” You said to Creature as you put him down on the ground. He looked around for a moment, trying to find Opie’s voice, before he turned toward the clearing and ran off like he was supposed to.

“Not in the water! No!” Opie roared over Creature’s startled yelp when someone picked him up. “You’re killin’ me, baby!”

“Sorry!” You yelled back with a laugh as Maggie helped you spread out your dress on the aisle runner Jax and Chibs were responsible of and move your shoes off to the side out of the way.

“A’righ’ fuckers. Jus’ like we practiced.” Chibs said before you heard a very off key, acapella version of ‘here comes the bride’ with just the syllable ‘ba’. You laughed, and nodded your head as Michonne walked through the leaves first.

“God, I’m so glad we’re recording this.” Maggie said as Negan dipped back through the tress toward you.

“I’m gunna have Carl make it my ring tone.” You giggled as she turned to leave as well. 

“Last chance to run, princess.” Your father said as he held out his arm for you. You shook your head as you placed your hand int he crook of his elbow.

“Only place I’m running is to my boys.” With a nod, he put his other hand on top of yours, and with a small sigh, he took the first step to walking his pride and joy down the aisle. Your smile grew impossibly larger when you saw Opie standing only a few feet away from the waters edge. You watched him as he struggled for a moment on what to do with his hands; whether that be to fold them, cross them, or put them in his black jeans, before he just stuck his hand out a few steps to early for yours. Once he passed your hand off, Negan turned to look at his soon to be son-in-law.

“Take care of her.” Was all he could say as he pat Opie’s shoulder and turned to take his usual seat on the giant rock.

“Alright. So I’m not going to draw this out because it’s cold.” Rick said as he took a step over so that he was between you and Opie and the water’s edge. “We’re obviously gathered here today to celebrate a love that no one ever imagined would be possible. A love that stretched across the country, and trials none of us could even comprehend. A love…”

“Not a Shakespeare play.” Michonne grumbled at him behind you. 

“Talking here.” Rick said without looking away from you and Opie.

“Talk faster.” Piney sighed as he leaned back against the rock and adjusted the oxygen tube around his ear.

“Fine.” Rick breathed as he signaled to Jax for the rings. He passed them off to Opie, who handed you his with a smile. “Do you, Opie, take (Y/N) to be your wife?”

“Absolutely I do.” Your smile grew even more as Opie slid the other part of your mom’s wedding ring set onto your finger and rubbed the back of your knuckles with his thumb.

“And you, (Y/N). Do you take Opie to be your husband?” You nodded your head with a smile and a single tear of joy fell from your eyes as you pushed his ring into place beside the other ones he wore every day.

“I do.”

“Do you two have vows?” Rick asked, waiting just long enough for you and Opie to nod before he stepped out of the way so Carl could go shutter happy with his camera for the best shot possible. The love of your life let go of your hands with one of his to grab a note card from his vest pocket. You squeezed his hand as he cleared his throat, glanced at what he wrote, and put the card back in his vest.

“(Y/N), I have loved you from the moment I walked into the diner. Your gorgeous smile, bright light, and unconditional love have made my life worth living after it was clouded by so much darkness. You gave me our son and you both give me a reason to get out of bed in the mornings no matter how long you’ve kept me up the night before, talking about everything, and nothing at all. I promise to love you, no matter what life throws at us. I promise to protect you, no matter who tries to come between us. And I promise to be the husband and father you and Hunter deserve.” You nodded your head as a few more tears fell from your eyes.

“Harry…” You started teasingly. He huffed and rolled his eyes as you laced your fingers with his and pulled him a step closer to you. “Love of my life. Where do I even start? With how you can make me laugh no matter how much I try not to? Or how you can make my heart melt in my chest with the way you look at me and Hunter when you think no one’s watching? How you have made me feel free to be who I am, or how you can make me feel like there is nothing we can’t accomplish together? Because none of these things can even start to describe how much I love you, Opie. My life is gotten so much better with you by my side. You’ve given me our son, you’ve given me a love I never knew possible… you have made me a better woman. And I will spend every moment of my life, loving you, thanking you, and showing you just how grateful I am to have you in our lives.” Opie nodded his head and looked down at your hands as a single tear fell down his cheek into his beard.

“Does anyone have a reason these two can’t be married?” Rick asked as you reached up and gently tilted his head back up so you could look into his eyes. He smiled at you and tilted his head to the side, chasing your touch as your family stayed quiet around you. “Well then, by the power vested in me by the internet and the state of North Carolina, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Go ahead and kiss your bride.” You cupped your husband’s cheeks in your hand as he reached up to pull you toward him in a searing kiss. You both tried to keep it tasteful, but since he had spent the night in a hotel room with his brothers, you missed him. So after a little longer than necessary, the guys all started to cough loudly and clear their throats as the girls giggled behind you until you forced yourself to pull back.

“Alright, alright!” Opie said.

“Mr. and Mrs. Opie Winston, everyone!” Rick exclaimed before your small group cheered. You couldn’t help but giggle as you leaned into your husband’s side. 

“Alright, let’s go fucking party!” Negan exclaimed as he got up from his spot and picked up your carseat for you. “Show off the newlyweds to the rest of the family.”

Part 7

[peachhplum]

Let's groove on, 'cause it's time to move on!

I like change. Not too much that it's overwhelming, leaving you feeling slightly out of control. But just enough to mix things up a bit. Enough to make you reconsider routines and to keep you leaping out of bed in the morning excited at what the day will hold. Don't get me wrong, I'm well aware of the comfort of familiarity. It's good for the soul. And come December, after an incredibly busy year, my thoughts rarely revolve around Christmas shopping, nights out and tackling new things, but instead how soon I can find a way to spend a day or two under the comfort of blankets with only a TV remote and a massive bar of chocolate for company.  I really do relish this season of slowing down slightly ... of twinkly lights, family films on repeat, beige buffets and bizarrely large glasses of Baileys. But then I replace our annual calendar and see twelve blank pages ahead of me, and I'm excited again at the potential. So much potential. The first thing that crosses my mind? Yes. You guessed it. What can I change this year?

Because it appears that corporate methodology somehow stays with you many years after you've resigned, I still like to use the good ol' 'stop start continue change' management model to get all of my thoughts down on paper in a cohesive manner. Or type them on here. Which is no bad thing as my handwriting is illegible for the most part. Plus, this way I can trust you guys to hold me accountable in the coming months, right? 

Stop - what am I doing that's not working?

Online: Once upon a time, all bloggers were fed the line that they had to be pushing out content on every available social media channel at all times of day and night in order to have some modicum of success. Admittedly, I was never entirely convinced of this and last year, I ditched a few social media channels that I personally don't spend anytime interacting on or find enjoyable. And did I see a dip in people reading my blog? Nope. Probably because those channels weren't right for me and didn't fit with what I like to write about. The key word there is 'write'. YouTube? Not for me. Really not for me.  This year, my aim is to stop feeling burdened by Instagram. The word on the street is that it's a platform where you've got to have a niche to do well. Last year, I listened to the advice out there and tried to stick solely to sharing interiors-related images. And? It sucked all the joy out of it for me. It bored me to tears. So that niche-business is over for me now. No one puts baby in the corner ... I'm breaking out and going to post what I like when I like. It has to be fun and enjoyable otherwise, why do it? Offline:  Embracing a more relaxed pace of life in December with the boys having chicken pox and having to throw all to-do lists out of the window, made me realise that I don't have to fill every minute of the day. Left with half an hour of free time, I fall in to the trap of thinking that I obviously don't have enough to do and jump on the laptop and book a million different things. Twenty minutes of unfilled time on a Wednesday doesn't mean that I should sign up for a floristry course at the local college. And one quiet evening in a million isn't a nudge to start a monthly supper club. I will stop this. And please feel free to give me a pinch if you hear or spot me doing otherwise.

Start - what can I put in place to improve my life?

Online: The online world never sleeps, which is both a joy and a curse. It means that I can work hours that suit me rather than the traditional 9-5. But it also means that I have a tendency to work ALL the hours way beyond the traditional 9-5. When my youngest son started school in September, it was an opportunity for me to work through the day again, rather than in the evening. But then, under the illusion of having so much extra time, I took on enough work to fill the hours in the day AND the evening. I need to start defining clearer working hours and being more realistic about what I can fit in and when. Offline: I want to start running again. Not so much to lose weight but to be a bit healthier and rid myself of the guilt for the sheer amount of biscuits I eat each day. I need to ignore my to-do list and the urge to tick things off it the moment I wake up, and head outdoors in the morning. When I'm busy, I always want to tackle things as soon as I've dropped the boys off at school but a half hour run/jog/skip/walk/crawl will not eat in to my day and mean that I don't get everything done.

Continue - what's working well that I should carry on with?

Online: The type of posts that I write on here and the photos I take to accompany them really make me happy. I like the mix of family, lifestyle and interiors and I love telling little stories and sharing favourite finds from cool brands. I think I get the balance right between organic content and sponsored posts ... and the fact my sponsored posts receive such a positive reaction tells me that I collaborate with companies that you're genuinely interested in and that really fit both my and your lifestyle. Offline: I had a couple of discussions last year about taking on a similar work role, with a different company, to the one that I had before the boys were born. And I dithered over it. It could have been an amazing opportunity. But, right now, when the the boys are sick, I get to stay at home with them. They have various concerts and sports matches throughout the year, and I get to go to them all. When Paul works away, there's very little juggling needed. And if something crops up unexpectedly during the day, I can catch up with my work during the evening. Working at home works for all of us. I'm exactly where I want and need to be. But yes, I do occasionally miss a frantic corporate environment.

Change - what's working but would work better with a few tweaks?

Online: Late last year, because working in isolation can be hard sometimes ... no feedback, no discussion, no chit chat ... I started having Skype calls every couple of weeks with my friend and fellow blogger, Jess - you can find her amazing blog here. Being able to talk through things and run my ideas past someone who 100 percent gets where I'm coming from and knows what I want to achieve made a massive, positive change for me. It's something that we're going to continue with this year, and hopefully add in a couple of face to face meet ups, too. Offline: I struggle with the concept of 'forever', particularly when it relates to a house or a location to live in. North Wales will always be my home, and the place where I return to, but I'd never say never to another stint abroad. However, we're days away from exchanging contracts on a place that I'd say is a promising 'ten years' home. And that's as good a commitment as you'll get from me about staying in the same four walls for any length of time. It's already an amazing house and garden for the children but with a few tweaks, it will be absolute perfection. I'll share more when the signatures are dry as I don't want to tempt fate. I'm so nervous that it all goes through without a hitch. Argh!

And that's enough about me. How are you? Do you have any goals for the coming year? Anything that you'd like to achieve? Let me know!