#i can tolerate all kinds of abuse but I draw the line at pretending to be a loving parent
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Okay, problem: how do I say to my abuser that she does not control me in any way and I do not want her interfering with my life without getting chucked out of a fucking window
#okay but that sounded sooooo angsty teenager#but like yeah#her attempts to control my life make my skin crawl so I want her to just stop pretending that she cares about being a parent#want to drink and whine about your life as you bully your child to the point of contemplating suicide? do me a favor and stay the fuck away#i can tolerate all kinds of abuse but I draw the line at pretending to be a loving parent#toxic family#toxic household#dysfunctional family#toxic mother#toxic parents#dysfunctional parents
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(Hey if you don’t want to have this discussion then it’s perfectly ok! :))
So personally as a leftist and a feminist I find it very hard to navigate online spaces that are left-leaning and also involved in media of any kind, because these types of people/communities often demonize and denounce things as "morally wrong" that I don’t necessarily agree with. A lot of this includes what would be considered "proship" fiction (as in themes of incest, abuse, pedophilia, necrophilia, etc) but also real life things like CNC, DDLG or age gaps.
My dilemma is I’m kind of torn between the two, because on one hand I’m a very big believer that adults should be able to do whatever they want with each other as long as it’s consensual & sane, and obviously fiction is not reality so you can’t apply real life morals and values to it, but on the other hand I know this often makes you look or sound like an abuser/pedophile apologist, and in the worst case, makes you seem unsafe to certain individuals.
Admittedly, I’m a little guilty of being prejudiced myself still, because for me it’s way more uncomfortable to talk about being anti-censorship when it comes to content like pedophilia, as opposed to graphic violence or even incest, even though all are fictional. This bias also extends to me disliking having to defend media that basically just portrays incest or pedophilia as "porn without plot", because it’s way easier to justify nuanced and complex fiction utilizing these topics having the right to exist, even though both portrayals are valid just the same and you can’t pick and choose.
I just wanted to know if you have any in-depth thoughts & views on this, or opinions about where (or whether or not in the first place) there should be lines drawn when it comes to fiction or tolerable/defendable relationship dynamics in real life. Hope this doesn’t bother you, if so just ignore!!
Apologies. This is going to get long. You brought up a lot I'd like to discuss.
First, I do want to tell you that it's okay to be uncomfortable. You're not somehow doing anti-censorship wrong just because you don't like certain pieces of media. No one is, or should be, telling you that you have to open up to reading or seeing stuff, just because you also don't think it should be scorched off the face of the Earth. These are uncomfortable topics. They are not for everyone. That's okay.
So, what we're going to do for the sake of this discussion is pretend that the internet isn't the way it usually is and instead that when we're discussing what to do about these topics, we are discussing actual portrayals of them and not say, 'this is a media/ship i don't like and therefore will accuse of being the worst thing i can think of.'
The most basic way to look at it, especially since you brought up real life relationship dynamics, is "Who is being harmed by this?" Incestuous abuse in real life is going to hurt the person being abused. Pedophilia is going to hurt the child being preyed on. Writing about these things, on the other hand, does not hurt anyone. If I post a fic about one character getting another drunk in order to rape them, when I'm finished with that fic, there will be no one waking up the next morning realizing they've been assaulted. They're only words on a page.
(You also brought up age gaps and BDSM dynamics such as CNC or DDLG, and these would follow the same logic. Who is being hurt? You may disagree with an age gap from the outside, but if the younger person is an adult, they have a right to their autonomy. (If they are a minor, I think the problem there is obvious. There is no consent there.) I'm making an assumption here that the kind of age gaps you mean are say, 18-25 year olds with people who are much older than them, and not 60 year olds shaking up with 80 year olds. If we say that someone who is 18-25 does not have the ability to choose the kind of relationship they want to be in, we risk drawing into question what else they have the ability to choose. For me, as a trans person, staring down the barrel of a gun that says 'you shouldn't be allowed to transition until you're 25', that is a horrifying prospect. Autonomy is a human right. The ability to make decisions, even poor ones, is a human right. The focus should be on creating support systems that allow for recovery for poor decision making, not taking away the ability to make any decision altogether. As for BDSM dynamics, if someone is getting hurt, that's not the fault of the dynamic. CNC has Consensual in the name for a reason; the whole point of proper BDSM is that both individuals want to participate in this roleplay. No one is harmed by consensual play.)
When I think about where the lines should be drawn in fiction, I think a lot about my own work. I write about the things you brought up, and I post them, and I go seek out similar works to read when I'm too tired or don't have the ideas to make it myself. I will defend the right for these things to exist until my dying breath. They are not pretty, they are not always written perfectly or in a respectful way nor were they intended to be in the first place, and sometimes, yeah, they are just weird porn. As a weird porn maker myself, you'd be surprised the level of thought that goes into what appears from the outside to be thoughtless horny writing. Somewhere, someone decided to create these things. That person is real. The things they are writing about are not. In drawing a line, any line, in what can be made, the only person that gets hurt is the writer who wanted to make it.
I see it get brought up a lot that everything should be allowed to be written except for "illegal things". Oftentimes, what this actually means is specifically just fiction including incest or minor/adult relationships (note: personally, I think it is reductive to call fiction about minors in sexual situations 'pedophilia'. I think this dilutes the term and is disrespectful to people who have actually been victims of sexual abuse as children.) which, yes, would be illegal in real life. But so would murder. We do not (or, god, I hope that isn't discourse going on under some rock I haven't uncovered yet) claim that it makes you someone who secretly wants to kill people if you write a murder mystery. Marvel movies aren't snuff films. Legality is a poor choice for how to determine what should be written about, and that's not even bringing up how being queer is still illegal most places in the world. (Note: Most discussions involving 'legality' will also default to American laws, due to the internet being highly Americanized. This is very frustrating for many reasons, but mostly because I think people's anger about potential fictional minors being harmed would be better spent against the actual real life laws that allow child marriage in the USA. You know. The real people being hurt in the real world.)
When I write or read dark fiction, (I speak only for myself since that's the only perspective I can offer. I can't claim to know why other people write what they do or even why they read what I write. No one can.) I use it as a way to engage with these things safely. I enter, let's call it The Box (or the Cage lmao), where I can write or read about whatever I want for as long as I'm comfortable. I can do as much fucked up shit as I desire to characters. And the minute I am no longer comfortable, I can exit The Box, and leave all of that shit in there. There's no need to keep engaging with it beyond my comfort zone. There's no need to even enter The Box if I don't want to. It's important to me to have this space that is free to enter and leave when I choose, because many times in my life, I have not had the choice to leave a bad situation. It's empowering to have control over how far I go. And I do play with fucked up shit in there, I have since I started writing as a kid. (Erase the myth that children are pure innocence unable to conceptualize of dark things without being corrupted by outside influences. it does not help them. it did not help me. people of all ages explore dark themes. they deserve space to do so, especially space where they will not be taken advantage of by bad actors, which is what will happen if they are forbidden from doing so in other spaces, they will go to less regulated ones and be hurt.)
(Note: a lot of the time when justifying dark fiction, people will say that it should be allowed because of those who are using it to cope with trauma, through writing or reading it. I'm not saying this isn't true and important. I'd just also add that that sets a precedent I don't enjoy, gating off these topics to those harmed by them and requiring those people to present proof of their trauma in order to write about them. I just don't think I should have to justify to online strangers through trauma receipts when I want to use Sam Winchester as my own personal stress ball. Anyone should be allowed to write about dark stuff, and their reason can be, "felt like it.")
You said about defending these topics, "on the other hand I know this often makes you look or sound like an abuser/pedophile apologist, and in the worst case, makes you seem unsafe to certain individuals." And for that, I can only say that you can't control people's perceptions of you. Especially people who are not willing to do any deeper reflection on why they want to lash out on the internet at other people who are not hurting anyone rather than focusing their energy on people in power who are. (What's that old refrain, "What we do in fandom is not activism".) These terms are so watered down that they as easily can be wielded to say 'you are supporting real life harm' as they are to say 'you enjoyed reading Twilight.' You clearly know that you are not these things, you are not dangerous, the same way that I know writing wincest doesn't make me a danger to my very real siblings that I love.
So, all that to say, I don't think that drawing a line on what people are allowed to write and post will help anyone. (Or even work. People will continue to make this stuff and they will just post it untagged or in other places.) Making sure we have things properly marked so that dark themes can be avoided by people who want to is a better approach. Focusing energy that's being spent on nonsense online on providing support for people actually being harmed in the real world is a much better approach.
uh. hopefully that all made sense and helped a little? thank you for coming over, anon.
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10 reasons why a poorly adjusted adult Dib is a Valid headcanon
1. Dib is/was a neglected child
Dib doesn’t have a parent that he can lean on and go talk to for advice, his father is frequently out of the picture and doesn’t give a shit about the thing that Dib cares about. Dib is actively encouraged by his neglectful father to give up on it, actually. I believe this would make Dibs stubborn streak really bitter and spiteful. Most people reading this are LGBTQ+, I assume I don’t need to explain how a fucked up an isolated upbringing, or being unable to be yourself around a parent, hurts you in the long run.
2. Dib is bullied for the things he is passionate about, and being bullied heavily colours your perception of other people
The world of Invader Zim is not kind, Dib is frequently harassed by his classmates/superiors/family for his outbursts/lectures/overall investigator shtick.
Now you might say “but, Screaming, wouldn’t Dib learn to tone it down as he got older?” and YEAH. Probably! But does that mean that he would just forgive all the people that made his life horrible before that point? Or who socially ostracized him for the things he’d done in the past? No. No one is under any obligation to forgive anyone who hurt them, and I think Dib wouldn’t even try to forgive someone he saw as intellectually inferior
3. Dib is a selfish rich kid
Dib is selfish. He wants to be the protector of earth- but he doesn’t do it for earths sake. He’s clearly doing it as a cry for attention/ a reason to eventually be vindicated for being spit on by his own kind. I don’t think he would have genuine empathy for other people. If he did have it, it’d have to be something he had to work really hard at. However, I don’t see Dib putting much effort into understanding other humans.
Dib is rich (probably). This one being more of a headcanon- in the series Dib wants for no material object, he wastes technology on his explorations like it’s something he can just pick up from the dollar store, his father is a world renowned scientist with access to crazy technology and the ears of world leaders. I think he’d feel entitled to one or two things
4. Gaz is not her brothers keeper.
She’s not responsible for his mental health, she’s not responsible for keeping him in line and “normal”. Most of the time she doesn’t want a damn thing to do with him. If we’re going by the standards of the IZ tv show, the only times that Gaz interfered with Dibs paranormal investigations were when Professor M. Was also involved. Either she wanted to see her dad and Dibs antics were getting in the way (forcing her to intervene), or she was directly ordered by their dad to keep Dib out of trouble.
Sure, you could argue that she would beat the shit out of Dib for doing something she didn’t like- but that wouldn’t “fix” the mind of a very stubborn person. It might even make them dig their heels in even deeper out of spite and bitterness as a “fuck you I’m right you’re wrong”
Furthermore, as Gaz gets older she’s going to have her own life to worry about and might stop tolerating the way Prof. M uses her as a middle man to deal with his “poor insane son”. She’s under no obligation to fix any of the phases Dibs life might go through. If Dib was unpleasant enough, and Gaz had the resources to leave, I think she might just bail on him.
5. Dib is arrogant
He's gonna do what he thinks is the best course of action unless you physically stop him from doing so. He comes from a place of thinking that he is right, the opinion of anyone else is secondary. Dib will do “what needs to be done” for “the greater good”. Whatever he thinks that “good” is. He wants to play the white knight at any cost. He cannot be in the wrong, or that bravado towards being righteous in the end crumbles. I think Dib would subscribe to a “the ends justify the means” mentality
6. Dib would harm another person to get what he wanted
In a room with a moose, Dib debates letting himself die just to take his entire class down with him. In the unaired episode “return of Keef”, he co-operates with Zim in an attempt to make Keef explode, because he thinks Keef is irritating. Dib used Gaz to test out an ancient spell book, cursed Gaz to only taste pork, and then only helped fix the problem when threatened with physical violence.
This could be the kind of thinking that gets worse over time as more people mock his attempts to save and protect them. Why care about people that don’t even give a shit if they live or die? Dib is a smart fringe personality in his world, and the otherness that he feels for that could lead to a sociopathic way of thinking if things went bad enough
7. Dib does not care about other peoples personal space
Dib hides cameras in Zims house. Dib ran right past the front gate at NASA Place, Dib chased a baby big foot up a radio tower. Dib bullied Zim physically on the playground using his known weaknesses against him. Dib would do anything to get the evidence he needed to prove what he wanted to prove, and that would get him in trouble. Repeatedly
8. Antisocial tendencies (like spending countless hours fused to a chair, or most of your young adult life spent hunched over a desk at a computer screen) make it difficult to smoothly socially integrate, and the world of Invader Zim is fuckin' mean
You know the world he comes from is mean. However, assuming Dib did find community somewhere, who’s to say they would agree with him? Or like him? Maybe one of them would cause problems for him that were bad enough he’d have to leave. I’ve always found that the IZ portrayal of earth to be like this funny cynical parody of a dystopian police state america. If we’re going by “what can go wrong will go wrong”, Dibs social integration wouldn’t get easier without a bunch of effort on Dibs part. Maybe Dib would have to pretend to be somebody unlike himself just to get by in his day to day adult life. If we see Dibs country of residence as a police state, the world Dib grows up in would encroach heavily on his personal privacy, and that might make him even stranger via paranoia
9. Sadistic tendencies towards anything paranormal (obsessed with the act of dominating and exposing the unknown)
Dib is a fucking jerk to Zim (rightfully so), but Dib is a dick to pretty much every supernatural thing he comes across. Either out of an excess of enthusiasm, or using a supernatural being to further his own plans, or from an invasion of privacy, or being an irritant to the entity he’s dealing with. He LIKES to be mean to them. He wishes to have mastery over knowing how they work. (maybe it’s more fair to say Dib is a voyeur?)
This is more headcanon than anything, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to say he might also want to control the paranormal for his own purposes. If Dib could say- catch a ghost in a jar so he could show it to everyone, he’d do it. If he could trick a werewolf into transforming on stage in front of a large audience? He’d do that.
10. Dib is created to be Zims equal
Dib is as “evil” as Zim is and vice versa. Neither of them is good, or pure, or morally justified. It’s a nice little grey dynamic. Both characters think they’re entirely in the right when they act. That they often aren’t in the right is fun because then you get to write/draw/ think about how they’d react to the consequences. Dib could still totally be a hero in his own mind, despite setting an apartment block on fire to flush out a coven of litches.
The reverse of this is also true, Zim can do nice things, and occasionally be good as Dib can be good. I figure the Zim/Dib dynamic changes for everyones interpretations at least somewhat. Having Zims terrible actions rub off on Dib as their battles escalate is a really fun way to go about exploring their relationship
11. I like the it
There is no right or wrong way to enjoy a cartoon character! Live to make yourself happy in fandom! If you ever thought you needed permission to create rancid content, I’m sorry you felt pressured not to do it.
You want to make a serial killer Dib?? You want to make a basement dwelling depressed zit covered Dib?? You want to make a Dib who struggles with his trauma through substance abuse?? Go HAM!!
#screaming//#this has been an announcement from one of many Nasty Dib supporters#Please feel free to comment#This is all theory#and none of it is intended as malicious
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(You don't have to respond to this) I just wanted to say I agree 100% with you. I think fans of any sport, fans of tv/movie actors & actresses, and any other celebrity fall into this trap of believing that every famous person is our friend. Like they tend not to care about unless it for publicity and even if they do actually care about important issues, they cant or wont speak up due to the chance of being outcasted. And on the fans side we do get way to invasive into celebrity private lives
I think there are plenty of famous people who do a lot of good work for marginalized communities and do show up as allies in meaningful, genuine ways, and we shouldn’t assume that all shows of activism are purely performative! But in general I agree with you here.
We need to remember that the NHL in particular is a notably conservative-cultured sports league in just about all aspects (including conservative as in “unwilling to try new things” lol). Just as importantly we need to remember that, as with any celebrity, the versions of these players we are talking about and being fans about are not real. They are by and large characters that are crafted (with varying degrees of finesse lol) by PR teams and managers and media, and beneath all that is a flawed human person who is capable of all the same mistakes and harms as any of us. They are fallible.
In engaging with them as characters, we are going to project a lot of our own values and beliefs into the blank spots of what we don’t know about them, which is a natural human thing to do. And that isn’t inherently harmful. I think we all want to believe that most people hold the same moral codes as we do until proven otherwise. But especially in a league where many players lean conservative, it’s important not to conflate that projection with somehow “knowing” that they’re “one of the good ones” without them every actually making that clear. You are setting yourself up for heartbreak that way.
I think it’s okay to be an enthusiastic fan of players as long as you on some level recognize the difference between the persona and the person. It’s similar to how a lot of RPF fandom operates on the premise of like, discussing a slightly alternate universe where we politely remove the players wives and families (who are typically not celebrities or public figures and thus did not consent to be involved in these narratives) from the picture in order to write about romances between the public characters of the players, with the implicit understanding that most of do not us believe what we’re writing is real in a conspiracy theory sense. The particular type of fandom we do here is a peculiar kind of multi-layered thing, where we both focus primarily in our works and discussions on those fictionalized personas, while also trying to hold the real people behind them to account to improve the fucked-up culture of this sport. Those two things have to be held in tension, with nuance and a constant need to make judgement calls.
Like, a good example of this two-layers fandom approach is how when I talk about/cheer on Ovi, I’m talking about the character that he is in hockey culture and the hockey narrative and in fanon, not the actual man who is married with children and gets chummy with dictators. I don’t actually think that Ovechkin and Bäckström are in love or that he’s even a person I would get along with or find tolerable in real life. I’m engaging with a character. I engage with pretty much all other NHL-ers the same.
With Ovi and the whole Putin+Trump thing, I don’t find it as necessary for me to personally address or consider as, say, Jamie Benn’s transphobia, because I don’t think the fact of whether I personally (via absolutely no financial support at all) enjoy the persona of a famous Russian hockey player is anywhere NEAR an influential factor in the power those dictators hold. We’re at like six degrees of separation at that point. My five posts a week from watching a pirated Caps stream are such a drop in the bucket in Ovi’s influence and Putin’s that it doesn’t even matter at all whether I do it or not. Putin will continue to be a dictator regardless of whether or not I post gifsets of this hockey player.
But I also recognize that there are times and situations when dealing just with the fictionalization of a player isn’t enough, when it is necessary to step back and make commentary and critique about the flawed human person underneath because they are in a position of visibility and power, and their actions have great influence.
Setting that Ovi example aside, I think there’s an important, nuanced difference when it comes to players who are unapologetically and unreformedly racist, homophobic, transphobic, violent, etc. Because those players are harming people, directly. I’m not talking about players who just support awful politicians, I’m talking about those who explicitly express harmful, bigoted personal opinions from their own platforms or enact direct harm on others personally. When they do this, they are making people less safe, they are making this sport less safe for fans and for other athletes. This cannot be separated from the fame and praise given to their fictionalized personas, because continuing to laud and support and cheer for them directly enables their ability to be in a position of power and influence where they can personally harm people, with actions or with words.
So again, it is important to understand that the version of your favourite player you engage with in the act of most fandom is not a real person, but a character. It is also important to make principled judgement calls, based on your own moral code, as to when is the point at which you can no longer justify promoting and/or financially supporting that character because it means feeding into the influence and ability to commit harms of the real person behind it all. You need to know where the lines between it all are, and where you personally draw a line in the sand you won’t cross. Making the hockey community safer and more welcoming should always be your first priority, because getting to not prioritize that and instead “focus on just having fun” is a privilege only afforded to those who are already safe here.
Support those figures in the league and the sport who choose to use their massively influential platform in this league to go to bat for marginalized people, because you’re right, there is a risk of backlash that comes with that choice, and we (as in the broader many-faceted community of hockey fans) should try to positively reward and reinforce them taking that risk if we want to see more of it! It’s an important part of making this sport something that everyone (except bigots and abusers) can be a part of.
But yeah, it isn’t healthy to pretend that you have a knowing personal relationship with these famous people, or to put responsibility/trust for your emotional well-being into their hands when they don’t even know they’ve been given it. Parasocial relationships like that can really fuck you up if you get sucked too deep into them. Understand that you don’t know these people, and be prepared in advance to make some difficult choices if you don’t like it when they show you who they really are.
(And feel free to grieve privately about the outlet or fun thing or favourite character you lose if you decide you cannot support them anymore. That feeling of betrayal is real for you, and it is okay to feel it and work through it as long as you understand that it might not always be appropriate to focus on doing so publicly (an example of it being inappropriate to focus publicly on your feelings would be a white fan lamenting how sad it is for you personally that your fav turned out to be racist).)
Take care, anon. 💜
#ok to reblog#long post#asks#anon#change hockey culture#I hope this makes sense it’s a little bit rambly and deals with some complex ideas
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Handle with Care
Pairing: Rowena x reader
Summary: A sexual role-play leads to guilt and tears.
Editor: @miss-moon-guardian
*****
It was a game no different than the countless others you'd played.
It started with a kiss that made you tingle all over, nerves on fire, going off like fireworks on the Fourth of July. A push — a shove, really, for you intended to make the most of the night — and Rowena was on her back, naked as the day she'd been born, arms spread, skin glistening like a milky sky dusted with a constellation of freckles, hair spilled around her head like a fiery halo.
Lying so still, her eyes observing your every move, taking it in like prey preparing for an attack, heart pounding softly in her chest, she resembled an angel. She was beautiful as one, charming, magnificent, supernatural not just in species but in presence itself. A force of nature you never tired of claiming, of making it clear to everyone that asked — and those that didn't — that she was yours.
She didn't get like this for just everyone. She didn't bare herself — body, mind, and soul — to any stranger. It took years of love, of devotion, of endless patience and support and kindness for you to earn her trust to be allowed to play this game.
As much as she wanted to pretend otherwise, Rowena was a delicate thing. Gentle. Fragile. She needed to be handled with care, even when she relinquished all control and told you, in no certain terms, to go at it. To roam free. She had her limits, and she trusted you to respect them.
Straddling her, you pressed your mouth to hers in another kiss. Tonight was your night. As much as she loved being in control, there were times when she relished being a powerless, naughty girl in need of punishment. A few days ago, that was your role. Tonight, it was hers. Your hands roamed everywhere, tugging, squeezing, feeling her warmth underneath your fingertips, as delicious as her mouth on yours.
Rowena's eyes fell closed, a moan escaping her lips — her swollen, cherry-red lips, hungry for kisses, begging for more. Your teeth grazed the lower one as you parted, drawing blood. She hissed, startled, and you smirked. Rowena pouted, and you clicked your tongue, shaking your head. She was at your mercy tonight. Nobody said anything about playing fair.
You kissed down her neck, every now and then capturing a bit of skin between your lips and leaving behind a butterfly bruise. They were violet and beautiful, marks of ownership she would wear for days, alike those she'd left on you earlier. It was one of your favorite parts of the game. Being allowed to hurt her, ruin her, and make it feel so good — not just for you, but for her as well.
Rowena accompanied every nip with a moan, pain and pleasure mixed into one, a sound that was magic to your ears. Her body was a canvas, blank and perfect, waiting for you to fill it, to make it yours. And, the artist you were, you were happy to oblige.
Your cupped her breasts. Small, supple, they fit perfectly into your palms. You kissed each one, suckling on rock-hard nipples. Biting on each before releasing them with a plop. Rowena looked at you with wounded, desperate eyes. Sad as a kicked puppy. You used to have a hard time resisting them, but over the years you'd built a tolerance for petty manipulations in the bedroom. You had, after all, learned from the best.
"Aw, what is it, baby?" you cooed, sarcasm thick in your voice.
"Y/N, please," she whined. A perfect, delicious little melody.
You raised an eyebrow. "Please what?"
"Touch me."
"I am touching you." You emphasized it by pinching one of her nipples, eliciting a yelp. "Is this not good enough for you?"
"It is, but…"
"But what?"
Rowena pouted. Realizing you weren't going to fall for that, either, she said, "Please, Y/N."
Her hand slithered between her legs. You slapped it away. "Patience, sweetie."
"But—"
"No buts." Your fingers slid over her thigh in a gentle caress. A teasing. A promise of what was to come. "We've only just started. No need to rush things."
"I need you."
You chuckled. And she had the audacity to be offended when you called her a brat. "You're such a baby."
"Am not," she said defiantly, scowling.
"So are. My little baby," you teased, booping the tip of her nose.
She scrunched up her face adorably. "You're mean."
"That's rich, coming from you. Or did you forget last week?" She'd worked you so hard it had hurt to walk for two days straight. You hadn't regretted a thing; every lick of pain, every screaming muscle was worth it.
Rowena smirked. "T'was a lot of fun."
It definitely was. "And so is tonight." You raised a questioning eyebrow. "Unless you're chickening out."
"Please. As if I've anything to fear."
"I can be scary."
A snort, taunting, derisive.
You scowled. "What, you don't think I can?"
"Of course you can, darling." She patted your arm as if you were a dog who'd just performed the simplest trick. Good girl, the gesture said, condescending to its very core. So smart for a dog.
You grit your teeth, smacking her hand off. "You're being a naughty girl."
There it was again, that smirk, infuriating and delicious all at once. Defiant as ever. "What are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to have to punish you." Your pussy quivered at the thought. Pictures already formed in your mind; Rowena on her knees, your hand tangled in her hair, pulling to expose her neck, to show her who was in charge. To make her submit for every failure to do so resulted in a new punishment. Bruises adorning her body, bites and scratches, red lines and purple butterflies. An artwork to be admired.
She quired up an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Mmhm." You licked your lips, imagined your tongue exploring tastier places. All in good time. "Can't reward bad behavior, can I?"
"You most certainly can't," she agreed. Then, with a teasing grin, "If you're competent."
Brat mode on, it seemed. Not that it was ever off, in the sheets or the streets.
"Are you saying I can't punish you?"
"Och, I know you can. If it's any good, though… that is a guessing game, is it not?"
"Is that a challenge?" you asked, knowing full well it was.
"I don't know. Is it?" You scowled. Rowena shrugged, blinked innocently. "You are a more… gentle lover, darling. I just don't know if you have it in you to be tough."
You slapped her in the face with all the strength you could muster. Her cheek instantly swelled an angry red, skin bristled, tingling with raging nerves. If that was how she wanted to play, so be it. You loved a good challenge.
The smug smile never left Rowena's mouth. If anything, it got bigger, bolder. She laughed, and it was hearty, too nonchalant for her own good. "Is that the best you've got?"
Frustration swelled in your chest. Riling you up was her favorite thing to do whenever you played. She loved to push you to your limits, loved to tease and taunt and mock until you snapped and took all your anger, all your rage out on her. It hurt a lot, and it hurt so good; you knew from your own nights as a "victim," when Rowena's own limits were pushed and you happily paid the price.
Your hands shot up to her neck, fingers wrapping around the sensitive skin. Tentative, gentle, testing the waters before the final countdown. Choking wasn't something you practiced often, but Rowena always welcomed it. She'd never refused a punishment, had never used her safe word and asked that you go slower, lighter. She welcomed pain for as much as it hurt, it felt so good, so empowering.
She knew you would never do anything she wasn't comfortable with. Knew one word of hers would be the end of everything, and your arms would be open for her to snuggle into as you murmured apologies. She felt safe with you, just as you had with her. There was no danger, no fear. Nothing either of you hadn't consented to.
Nothing but endless trust.
Rowena snorted. "Seriously?"
If that's how you wanna play it, fine. Eyes locked in an intense stare, your fingers tightened around her neck. Such a delicate thing she was. So small, so frail. You could crush her throat if you wanted to. It was a scary amount of power to have, but you knew how to wield it. You knew not to let it get to you, not to abuse it.
"How about this, Red?" The words rolled off your tongue in a purr, delicate, provocative. The way you knew made her quiver in all the right places. "Hm? You like this?"
Your nails dug into her skin as you squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, grazing it, almost drawing blood. Marking it. She was yours; your property, your little doll to play with, to do whatever you wanted to. And, gods, there were so many things you wanted to do. So many punishments you wanted to inflict, different ways to make her scream and beg and whimper underneath you. To make her curse your name just as you had hers last week as she'd worked you to your very last limit.
Rowena smacked your arm. Again. And again. She kept hitting you, kept fighting you, tiny fingers clawing. Desperate as a trapped kitten, and just as harmless.
Your mouth curled into a smirk. "What do you think you're doing? Hm, Red?" Then, teasing, "My Little Red Riding Hood."
She still fought you, desperate to get free. Strange as it was given the situation, she was pale as a ghost. Her eyes, you noticed far too late, were wide, filled with panic like a sky painted grey with storm clouds. Filled with fear; pure, unadulterated. Terror much alike the one you knew well for, three years ago, it had been a constant. A nightmare she couldn't seem to wake up from, that followed her everywhere she went and made her fear every shadow she came across.
You instantly released her. Guilt ate at you as she doubled over and gasped for breath. You hadn't squeezed her that hard, had you? Surely, you were careful.
No. Your heart knew it before the reality of the situation reached your brain. You were too rough. You frightened her. You hurt her.
"Rowena, I'm so sorry," you said. "I didn't—"
Were those tears dripping on the bed? Was she crying?
You had crossed her limits, but surely it wasn't that bad. She couldn't be that scared, like bad then, in that hotel room, with the Devil crushing her skull and setting her alight — all the while she was still alive.
Could she?
Surely she was exaggerating.
Right?
"Hey, are you okay?" You reached for her shoulder. She stiffened under your touch. Went still as a statue. "Sweetheart?"
Her eyes, wounded, broken, found yours for a brief moment before falling downwards in shame. A whimper tore from her mouth. More tears fell, and with them came sobs that shattered your heart into a thousand pieces. She was shaking, heart pounding so hard you could hear it, could feel the vibrations under your fingertips.
"Rowena—"
"Don't." She gathered the last remnants of her strength to say it, to make it curt, straight to the point. As close to regular one could get when they were crying.
"What is it?"
She shook her head. Whined. Cried like she hadn't in months, not since the last nightmare. They'd lessened in frequency, reappearing every now and then as opposed to every night like they used to. She'd managed to get them under control over the years, just as she had flashbacks; they weren't gone, never would be, but they weren't as frequent. She could sleep without fear now. She could walk the streets without worrying about something random sending her down a memory lane she wished she could erase from her head.
Was that what you'd done? Had you sent her back to that hotel room, straight into Lucifer's arms?
"Hey," you said softly, in that tone that always calmed her, that always put her at ease. You rubbed her shoulder, caressed it with utmost tenderness. "It's okay. You're okay."
Only she wasn't, was she? Because of you. Because you went too far. The accusations stung. It was an accident; you would never harm her on purpose, would never make her relive the worst day of her life. Would never cause her any kind of pain she didn't want you to.
Yet, you did exactly that.
Your intentions didn't matter. The fact remained that you did it. You swore you never would, and you did it, all over a stupid sexual game.
Tears pricked at your eyes, sharp as knives. Accusatory. Unforgiving. You were a bad person. A bad girlfriend. If Rowena decided it wasn't worth it, that she wanted nothing to do with you, she would be well within her rights.
"Come here." You didn't feel like you deserved it, but you wanted to make it up to her. Wanted to, at the very least, try to fix the damage you'd caused. Wanted to — selfishly so, and you hated yourself for it — feel her against you and, for a short moment, feel like you were doing something good, like you were helping her.
Just like countless times before, she dove into your arms, buried her head in your chest, and crumbled. She wept and sobbed and whined, sad to her core, broken, shattered. Unconsolable.
All because of you.
Guilty tears falling, you wrapped your arms around her. Tight as if your life depended on it. "It's okay," you whispered. "It's okay, baby. You're safe."
And she was. You were the only person she allowed to see this side of her; this frail, broken creature, all defenses down, protective walls torn apart. She knew you wouldn't judge her, wouldn't take advantage. She trusted you.
That only made the guilt that ripped at you worse.
She trusted you, and you did this to her.
She trusted you despite it.
You hurt her, and she still trusted you, still felt safe in your arms. Still sought comfort in you. Still let you see her at her worst, weakest, most vulnerable.
"I'm sorry," you said once again, and wanted to say it many more times, for as long as guilt ate away at you. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."
You rocked her writhing form, gently, as if she were a child. Rubbed soft circles across her bare, sweat-soaked back. Nuzzled her hair and kissed her scalp.
"I'm so sorry."
Moment by moment, whisper by whisper, Rowena quieted down. Pulling away, she rubbed at her swollen, scarlet-rimmed eyes.
"You okay?" you asked.
She gave a small nod and, in a raspy voice, said, "Aye."
"Need anything? A glass of water?"
"I'm fine."
She wasn't, but, like always, she put on a front. Her way of regaining some control, some dignity after falling apart.
"Was…" You swallowed a lump in your throat. Licked your lips. Cleared your throat. "Was it a flashback?"
Rowena nodded.
The confirmation shattered you, tore you apart like a knife deep in your gut. You should have known this would happen. You'd choked her before, but never like that. Never that hard. It was your fault she was hurting. Your fault she would spend the night tossing and turning in bed, the memories burning in her mind, fresh as if not a day had gone by since the incident. Your fault she she was back in that hotel room, completely and utterly helpless, terrified to the bone..
It was all your fault.
"I'm sorry," you said for the upteenth time. As if that could change anything. As if an apology would erase the agony she was in — the agony you'd put her in. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Not in a way she didn't like. You'd planned to hurt her plenty tonight. Only, she was supposed to enjoy it. Not curl up in a ball and weep.
"I know," Rowena said, and meant it. She could hold a mean grudge. If there were any ill feelings, she would have let you know.
That only made you feel worse.
She should have been angry. She should have screamed her lungs out, arms flailing wildly, eyes flashing purple. She should have hurt you, or wanted to at the very least.
She should not be this calm about it after what you'd put her through.
It wasn't right.
Noticing your turmoil, Rowena reached for your hand. She was warm to the touch, soft, gentle. Her fingers twined with yours, squeezed tight. A comfort you didn't know you needed. Your nerves instantly calmed, tense muscles relaxed. The woman was magic, and she didn't even have to utter a single spell. All she had to do was touch you, and you were hers, your body, soul, and mind under her command.
Sometimes you hated it.
In times like this, you welcomed it.
"It was an accident," she said, looking straight into your eyes. Making sure you heard her loud and clear. "I'm fine. Don't beat yourself up."
"I shouldn't have choked you."
"You didn't know."
You didn't. But still… "We did it before, so I thought it was fine." You couldn't change what happened, but you could explain. You could make her understand. "I didn't mean to go that far. It just happened. I—"
"I know," Rowena said. "It was an accident, darling."
"I suck."
"You don't."
"I'm a bad girlfriend."
"You're not."
"I'm just like him."
"Don't you dare say that!" The sharpness of her tone startled you. Her eyes, still red and puffy, were fuming, anger coiling in them like a storm about to devastate a town. "You are nothing like Lucifer." She spat the name like the filth it was. "I never want to hear you say things like that again. Have I made myself clear?"
You gave a nod. "I'm sorry."
A smile broke out on her mouth, small but encouraging. "Like I said, it's okay. I'm okay.."
"Are you sure?"
"Aye." You stared. She sighed. "For the most part. Don't worry. The worst has passed."
"I'm—"
Raising a forefinger in warning, she said, "If you say sorry one more time, you are sleeping on the couch."
You threw your arms up in defeat. "Sorry." She raised an eyebrow. You cringed. Nice going, Y/N. "I'll just stop talking."
"That would be greatly appreciated," Rowena deadpanned.
A moment passed in silence. Then you said, "I guess I shouldn't choke you anymore."
"That would be for the best," she agreed. "I can handle it for the most part, but it would be best to prevent future accidents. Some things..."
"I know," you said, reclaiming her hand, squeezing it in emphasis. She didn't have to explain. If she couldn't handle it, that was enough for you to cease doing it. After all, you played these games for mutual pleasure. There was no satisfaction in suffering if it wasn't wanted. "Is there anything else you don't want me to do?"
"Just choking."
"Okay."
"Och, and…" You raised a questioning eyebrow. She bit her lip. "Maybe don't call me Red."
"Of course!" His favorite nickname for her. A bad choice of words on your part, especially when coupled with choking. "It completely slipped my mind."
"It's alright, darling."
Laying down, you waved for Rowena to join you. She was beside you in an instant, nestled in your embrace, curled up against you like a kitten.
"I love you," you said as you played with the locks of her hair, threaded your fingers through them.
"Me, too," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone.
You laid like that for what felt like hours. It took a while, but, to your surprise, Rowena, feeling safe, protected, drifted off to sleep. Smiling, you kissed the top of her head and allowed your eyes to fall closed. Allowed much needed sleep to claim you.
Tomorrow was a new day. Hopefully, a brighter one.
After all, you had a game to finish.
*****
Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @evil-regal-vampiress @hellbentredhead @angel-e-v-a @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock @fangirlxwritesx67 @rowenaslilwitch @midnight-lestrange
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My Brothers, Corrupted
Chapter 2 : Section 3 : The Chains that Bind Us
Dapper, overwhelmed by months of abuse, finally struck back - literally. Anti needs to put him and the rest of his family back in line and hide the magical signal Blue won’t stop radiating, as well as trying to care for Trick through a depressive episode, and in his stress he’s violent and distressed and out-of-control. Dok is trying to survive the punishment for Anti’s failure and Red works to hide Blue’s magic constantly, determined to keep his family safe, even from the threats within it.
Trigger warnings for torture (character hanging by throat, non-fatal), major abuse, mind control, dehumanization, and ableism, including infantilization of a disabled character and taking away ability to communicate. Remember that sexualizing the abuse in this fic is the surest way to get yourself blocked.
Find Chapter One here.
Find Chapter Two here.
Section Two of Chapter Two: The Chains that Bind Us
Anonymous asked: yo is it just me that has No Clue what just happened to anti or do any of you guys know what's going on
Red and Blue peer out from beneath their hiding spots. Blue’s neck is a vivid purple.
“Is he gone?” he mumbles, glancing around.
Red gets to his feet and dares to open the door, peering around the hallway, gone quiet now, with medicine rolling around the clinic floor.
“He’s never really gone,” he says, maybe for his twin, maybe for himself, maybe for you. “But sometimes he goes off on his own. It’s not my place to question him.”
He scratches at his beard, worried. “Wish he’d brought me with him, though. I could protect him - I could hold him and he might even let me. Might even lay his head down on my chest, and tell me he feels safer when I’m with him.”
Red’s eyes shine.
spicydanhowell asked: is he gone? wow. i think he just... had emotions. i think he remembered trick's OD and.... was upset. i love that for him.
“Oh, don’t tease him,” chides Red, sighing and retreating into his room.
“That attempt really upset him,” mumbles Blue. “We have to get this figured out. It’s not good for anyone to be living like this.”
He keeps glancing out the window. Red comes to sit beside him and throws an arm over his shoulder, and the two of them relax back against the wall as best they can.
Anonymous asked: hey red, blue, are you guys ok?
Red and Blue sigh in sync and Red glances over at the little brother beneath his arm.
“Wish he hadn’t done that to Dok,” Blue mumbles.
“Don’t think about that,” answers Red, putting his head down on his shoulder. “We’ll go get him tomorrow morning. He’ll be okay. We’re fine, right? We got each other, huh, buddy?”
Blue chuckles, and then coughs, rubbing at his throat.
“Yeah,” he rasps. “We do.”
spicydanhowell asked: hey if he's gone maybe... y'all could give dok a little relief? did he just leave trick and dap alone, like???
“Well, I’m sure he’s watching through the cameras. Or maybe he sedated them or something so they’re safe.” Blue pulls himself up to glance out his window, where he can see the corner of his shed. “I don’t know what he did to Dok, but the door is all locked up again.”
Anonymous asked: wow wow wow the great antisepticeye feeling Emotions?? imagine
Blue giggles, only to earn himself a pinch on the arm from Red. “Hey,” he protests, brightening a little and pouncing on his twin, tackling him to the ground and grabbing at his ear in revenge.
“Ow, ow,” Red pretends to whine, only to flip him over onto his back a second later, and then they’re wrestling, laughing softly as they try to forget what’s going on around them all the time. Red lets Blue have the attack, minding his twin’s injured throat, and soon he is pinned down to the ground, rolling his eyes as his twin laughs and laughs above him, warm and cheerful and safe, safe for now. There is little else that matters, because there is little else he can control.
spicydanhowell asked: dok won't last more than a few hours before he's strangled to death, guys. if theres anything you can do to help him... please do. he's kind of in horrible pain atm, even if he's not "dying" persay
Blue sighs and draws away from Red again. “I don’t know if there’s anything we can do without bringing punishment down on our heads too. Tomorrow, I’ll take care of Dok all day if he wants. But this is master’s decision and it would be bad to interfere.”
He stares out the window again, his mouth slightly open, like there is more he could say, but he does not speak.
Anonymous asked: Hey Dok! Kann ein Känguru höher als ein Haus springen? Ja! Weil ein Haus nicht springen kann! (Eng: Can a kangaroo jump higher than a house? Yes! Because a house can't jump!)
Dok’s eyes blink at you for a moment, confused. Then he lets out one short, rasping bark of a laugh.
“That sounds like something Trick would say, back when he was happier.”
cest-mellow asked: dok, is there anything we can do for you? tell something to trick, maybe send his message back?
“No, no, please don’t tell him I’m in trouble like this, I don’t want him to worry. Anyway, let him rest, it’s getting late. Is he resting? Will you tell me if he’s alright for tonight? Does he look very pale? Very thin? I hope he is eating and maybe taking his medicine and maybe not so sad so much? I hope Dap is with him, I hope - I…”
Doktor groans and struggles on his chain, sighing.
Anonymous asked: How are you holding up, Dok?
“Oh, I’m okay, I’m okay. Honestly he could have done much worse. He didn’t even get the dog out or make me eat the mice or anything.”
He glances down at the squirming pests near to his feet and flinches, closing his eyes.
“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” he murmurs to himself. His face is still calm. There is little he cannot tolerate.
Anonymous asked: Maybe we could keep you company, Dok. I know talking might be kind of hard right now, but do you have a favorite song? Maybe you could hum it. I hum when I'm tired or sad.
He pants slightly, trying to think.
“I… I’m not sure. Long time since I heard any music. We used to have a little music player, Trick and I. Anti gave it to us when he first gave us to each other. He told us we could only listen to it together, so we would lie next to each other as the sun went down with one earbud each. And Anti had picked out the music for us, but some of it was still good. Or Trick liked it, anyway, ha… he likes… he likes that album where all the songs are named after planets. I always thought it was kind of sad, but they gave him some comfort, I think… I miss that music player…”
florenceisfalling reblogged: sLEEPING AT LAST-
“That’s the one,” chuckles Doktor, finding a higher spot of earth and managing to set his feet more firmly on it. Relieved, he closes his eyes, and for a long few minutes, he is quiet.
“I’d give anything to hear you say it one more time,” he whispers, his lips faintly blue. “That the universe was made…”
He trails off, licking at his lips.
“Maybe I will never hear him say anything again. Let alone to see that light in his eyes, when he was happy, at my side, staring up at the universe… but still I have that song.”
reverseblackholeofwords asked: You'll see him again, Dok. It might take time, but you will. Family has a way of sticking together no matter what. You know that better than anyone.
“I really do hope so,” says Doktor softly, weary on his chain. It’s getting hard to speak. It will be a long night. He prays that Red comes to get him first thing in the morning. “Yes, we’ve all stuck with each other, haven’t we? Not going to lose my Trick just yet…”
Anonymous asked: Dok I literally don’t know how else to say this, you are amazing and you’re so so resilient. And you’re right, no matter what Anti says you are not a failure or anything close to that. You are exactly what your brothers need and you shouldn’t need or have to prove that to anyone when you already have by being yourself. We love you so much and we’ll do whatever we can to help you.
Deutsch hums lowly, his eyes flickering shut. He’s found a high enough spot he might even be able to get some rest, as much as this can be called rest.
“I am resilient,” he mumbles. “Everything my master gives me, I survive, and continue to do what I can. I am… nothing to prove…”
He gives a deep, shuddering sigh, growing faint as the light fades around him, dipping under the tall peak of the mountain that has become his home.
“Thank you.”
Anonymous asked: maybe someone should go check on trick, now that he's alone. he might do something to himself if there's no one there for him
“Yeah, we should see how he is.” Red sits up, glancing at the door. Blue steps over to open it and -
“Goddamn!” he hisses, rubbing at his throat and backing away. “He locked us in again! What did we even do?”
Red sighs, staring at the door, where an electronic lock blinks irritably back at him.
“He has his reasons.”
Red is calm, but Blue looks betrayed, slinking back to his mattress.
“Let’s go to bed,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes, coughing a little.
There is no bedtime routine. Their toothbrushes are outside the locked door and they’re out of toothpaste anyway. There’s no such thing as pajamas in this house. It is hot even at night here, so Anti has given them no blankets, and no pillows, and no light when the sun goes down.
Their mattress are disarrayed from hiding and tussling. Red gives his twin a few minutes to sulk in the corner before picking up his own mattress and pushing it over to sit right beside Blue’s. Eventually, in the night, Blue will turn towards him, and when they wake up their legs and arms will be tangled and their heads close together.
“Good night, Azul,” whispers Red, adjusting on his mattress. “I love you.”
And for all his irritation, Blue always answers with warmth, like he can’t even help it, cause maybe nothing is stronger than that promise they make each other every night.
“Night, Roser. Love you too.”
Anonymous asked: yo trick you doing ok buddy?
Trick, to his irritation, wakes up with the sun. Groaning, he flops over on to his side and curls up closer to the body sleeping next to his own. You can see him from a lop-sided angle on the drawer by the door, where Anti apparently left you to make sure he could keep an eye on his boys during the night.
Eventually, Trick stirs again, and begins gripping needily at the shirt of his companion, looking for some early-morning attention from Anti, only to pause at the feeling of a scratchy dress shirt underneath his fingers.
A moment later he jerks back so hard he halfway tumbles off his bed, clutching at his chest and laughing nervously.
“Holy shit,” you hear him laugh, getting up to peer over his brother. He turns to you and hurries over to show you too, giggling.
“I thought that was Anti, hahaha. It’s Dap! Why’s he sleeping next to me?”
Trick sits down next to him again, playing with a strand of Dapper’s slightly curly hair. Most of his concept of personal boundaries has washed away in the last couple weeks and he doesn’t seem worried about waking up his little brother. Dapper’s face is chalk-white, with dark circles beneath his eyes, his mouth slightly open as his raspy breaths break the morning silence.
“Maybe he can stay with me a while,” wonders Trick, sounding excited. “Then someone can be here with me all day and it won’t be so lonely and boring, haha.”
He rubs his thumb up and down Dapper’s cheek, invigorated by a visitor.
pixie-in-trebleland asked: Hey Dap...? You making out okay, buddy?
Dap stirs with Trick’s petting and Trick decides to let him come awake slowly, lying back down at his side, setting you on his stomach, and relaxing again. He pulls his crinkle paper out from beneath his pillow and runs it steadily through his fingers while Dapper blinks blearily awake.
Dapper breathes thickly, staring between Trick and the camera, his eyes a little glassy. Trick murmurs something that sounds like a mix between a greeting and a checking-in, an old sound from the days when they had no one but each other, and knew better how to look after each other as they changed into people they eventually stopped recognizing.
Dapper gives him no answer, so weak he can barely pull his head off his pillow. Alarmed by his frailty, Trick sits back up and leans over him again, setting a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
“Did you take something?” murmurs Trick, pulling gently at his eyelid to look into his pupil and checking his heart-rate. “A tranq or something to keep you down? Why did Anti need to sedate you, bro?”
Dapper licks his dry lips and stares up at him wearily. For a second, he reaches up his hands to try and give him an answer -
Oh, oh. His hands are bound up in thick, cord-like strings. His fingers, white with struggling blood, can barely move.
Shocked, he stares down at his poor bound wrists, and Trick does his best to soothe him, trying to massage some feeling back into his fingers while his eyes follow the strings back to their origin. Tied to the headpiece of the bed, they will keep Dapper from moving more than a few feet from the corner of the room.
White-faced, Dapper puts his head back down on his pillow, and wishes he could wake up anywhere else.
Anonymous asked: Dapper, Trick, are you two alright?
“I’m not sure,” mumbles Trick, helping prop Dapper gently up against the board of the bed. Dapper purses his lips in his best attempt at an appreciative smile, one of his stiff hands coming to rest on Trick’s thigh, perhaps to steady himself, perhaps asking for comfort. Trick’s replies as best he can, sitting himself up beside his little brother and letting Carver sink down against his shoulder, panting softly in the early morning light.
“He must still be hurting from that time Anti had to stab him.” Trick carefully lifts up the hem of Dapper’s shirt, checking to make sure his bandages are clean. For a moment, he smiles at the sight of his brother’s careful, steady, loving wrapping. He rubs gently at Dapper’s shoulder and tries to keep him sitting up and breathing clear.
“So Anti decided he needed to keep an eye on you, huh?” grins Trick. Dapper manages a rueful grin in return, his eyes hurting. “Or - maybe he just wanted some company for me? Yeah? We’ll be okay back here while you heal, okay? I can look after you if you need anything. I can do anything you need.”
He smiles bright. Anti’s poured a great deal of affection out on him, but in more than three weeks Trick has not had a single chance to give any affection back.
Anonymous asked: dap, can you not sign at all? do you have any other way of communicating?
Dap licks his mouth and lets out a small sigh. You watch as he does his best to curl his aching fingers, but even when he gets them to respond, you can tell he won’t be able to bring his hands fully together while he’s bound up like this. Perhaps when the sedative wears off a little better, he’ll be able to give you some sign. He offers you a small click of his tongue and falls quiet again, slumping on Trick’s shoulder.
pixie-in-trebleland asked: Hey Trick. You good, buddy? Hanging in, at least? Your twin is in trouble..
“I’m good! Or I’ll be good as long as Dapper’s good.”
He’s strangely buoyed by a visitor, in fact, his fist drumming against his thigh so fast he’s probably bruising himself, his eyes a little bright, talking fast.
“It’s been a long time since I had anything to do but sit here trying to make myself feel better, and I’m pretty shit at that, to be entirely honest, but I’m working on - wait, what?”
Trick straightens up, staring at you.
“Dok’s in trouble?”
His voice shakes hard, his eyes burning. He turns to you and Dap and back again, reaching over to give his little brother a small shake. “Wait, wait, no, no, no - Dap, explain to me, what’s going on, where’s Deutsch? Is he okay? What do you mean he’s in trouble? Is that all you have for me? He’s in trouble? He’s in trouble?”
He pulls away from Dapper and gets to his feet, rushing to the door and falling to his hands and knees to stare through the crack beneath the door.
“Doktor!” he cries. “Deutsch, Allemagne! Anti, where are you? Hey, someone come talk to me, Red, Blue? Where’s my twin, where’s my brother! I want my brother, let me out! I want Dok! Hey!”
His joy is all vanished, his face distraught and turning red as he begins to cry. Dapper clicks his tongue and whistles from the bed, trying to get to his feet, without success, worried for Trick. He’s not used to his big brother showing so much of what he feels like this.
Anonymous asked: "Trick.. I really hate to be the bearer of bad news but Anti kind of beat the shit out of Dapper before he brought him to you. That's why he's sedated and tied up. I don't think you should be this excited, unfortunately." PF!A
“Oh,” whispers Trick, his voice shattering. He gets up from the door and stares back at his little brother, who looks back with aching blue eyes. After a moment, Trick returns to his side and puts an arm back around him, his reddened eyes fixed on the floor.
Dapper sinks back down against his shoulder.
“Sorry that hap - sorry that - sorry that happened,” manages Trick. “I don’t know what you did, but I’ll help make sure it doesn’t happen again, okay?”
Dapper sighs. Trick puts his head down on top of his little brother’s.
“It’s gonna be okay. I got you.”
Anonymous asked: "I-I can take a message and pass them between you two, if it'll help, Trick-? Please calm down.." -PF!H
“I n-need to know that he’s okay! What’s going on? Does he need help? Can you send someone?”
Anonymous asked: hey trick, do you know where anti is? he got really upset about something and left
Trick looks up, surprised. “What, he’s not anywhere in the house? Well, he must have had something to do in the city or the neighborhood if he’s not in his room. That’s where he usually goes to sulk - ah, ah, I mean, uh, think, to think. Sometimes he comes home with blood on his hands or supplies. Maybe he’s fetching something? I would think he would have come home by now, though. It’s weird for him not to even lie down with me for a couple hours.”
Anonymous asked: "He's in the shed for defending Dapper after what happened. ..Anti decided to punish him because he thought he 'wasn't good enough' to look after his brothers.. He's been tied to the roof but he can breathe. Then.. Red and Blue are locked in a room. I can give all I can to help you at least feel a little better or know what's going on, but this is a really isolating problem. I'd help if I could.." -PF!H
Trick chews on his lip, his eyes lighting up with something you haven’t seen for some time as he thinks. He glances between the window and the door.
“Red and Blue are locked in their rooms most nights, but the locks are electronic, and usually set to let them out around seven.”
He glances out at the sun.
“That should be soon enough. You can usually hear roosters crying around the same time. If it’s an emergency, there is a window in their room. It’s locked, but I know they can sneak out of it.” He grins conspiratorially. “Because one time I saw Red leap out to get Blue cough medicine in the middle of the night. I didn’t tell Anti but I could. Anyway, if their doors don’t unlock and Anti isn’t back by the time the roosters are calling, they can go help him. They’ll get in trouble for it, but that’s their job cause they’re bigger than me, so it doesn’t really matter.”
Trick sighs, leaning slightly back. “I wish anybody outside of the room was allowed to talk to me. Even poor Dap can’t talk to me like this.”
He picks uselessly at his brother’s strings.
“I hope Dok’s doing okay.”
Anonymous asked: dap, do you know morse? you could try tapping using that to communicate!
“I’ve never seen him use that,” frowns Trick. “I don’t know it. It’s kind of a hassle, but if he knows that maybe he could use it in an emergency. Do you?”
Dap kind of nods, kind of shrugs. Been a long time since he used that.
Anonymous asked: doktor's being punished by anti, unfortunately. but he should be fine, trick. anti wants to keep you away from him. he thinks he's a bad twin, even though we know that's not true
Trick’s expression slackens. He stares at the floor, playing with his crinkle paper.
“Miss him,” he mumbles.
spicydanhowell asked: anti where the fuck are you. you locked everyone up with no water or food or toilet and several of them are injured or tied up are you Stupid???
“Hey, don’t snap at master,” snarls Trick, something venomous filling up his face. “First of all, we all have bathrooms here. This place was designed to be a medical facility - I know because I saw the medicine cabinet and the sinks and everything in every room, and the doors are really wide so wheelchairs can fit through. See? So, look, each room has a little space for sleeping and a little bathroom. It’s meant to be used for people who are injured to come stay here as long as they need to while somebody takes care of them. But that never happened, because this side of the mountain is so poor. They built the building and left again.
“Secondly, Anti’s always watching.”
Trick glances right at the camera and straightens up proudly, simpering for his master’s attention. Dapper has closed his eyes, turned slightly away.
“He’ll be back when he needs to get back. He wouldn’t - ”
There is a loud click as the electronic locks change for the day.
Trick turns to you with a self-satisfied little smirk on his face, playing innocently with his hair.
“See? Master wouldn’t let anyone get hurt. That’s my big brother. I’m his little pet. He looks after me at least. If he’s gone, it’s because he has to be.”
Trick rubs at his eyes, trying to keep up his enthusiasm. He has to prove that Anti is good, after all, and not only to you.
“Maybe he’s getting stuff for Christmas. He said we could celebrate.”
He sits up for a while longer, staring at the door, waiting for his brother to appear.
But Anti doesn’t.
Tired, Trick eventually leans back, the light in his eyes fading, Dapper pressed against his heart.
Anonymous asked: Red, are you scared?
Red jolts awake to the unlocking of his door, sneezing.
“Hngh, what? Scared? Of what?”
He glances around the room and finds his twin standing at the window, staring out at the shed.
“No, no, we’re fine,” mumbles Red, as Blue rushes past him to open the door and head out towards Dok. “What’s there to be afraid of? Not that weird for Anti to be gone, you know, sometimes he leaves us for days.”
He yawns, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. “It’s okay to leave me in charge, you know.”
Anonymous asked: do you have anything to do in here, trick? like any entertainment at all?
Trick’s mood has soured. He stares blandly at the ceiling and shrugs, proffering his crinkle paper just a little. Dapper glances up at him and then at you, more concerned the more he wakes up.
Anonymous asked: so trick, are you feeling better? after, you know, everything that happened?
Trick groans a little, closing his eyes.
“I… yeah. Of course. I mean, I should be, right? I have everything I need and all of Anti’s attention and I’m okay and I’m… I survived it and…”
He stares out the window, tears welling in his eyes.
“Shouldn’t still want to die,” he rasps, fatigue flooding down his face.
And Dapper, with aching, stiff white fingers, reaches gently out to squeeze his hand.
There’s something bigger than gratitude in Trick’s eyes when he turns to meet his gaze. They set their foreheads together, warm in their little bed, and they hold each other close.
Anonymous asked: "...Your Master isn't a good person, Trick. He really isn't. But.. Sure, I guess. ...Maybe you should lay down?" -PF!H
“Nothing else to do,” mumbles Trick, staring at the ceiling. He reaches out to help Dapper lie back down, but he shakes his head, pulling away, still trying to get to his feet. Trick watches him struggle for a moment before lying back down, drawing the blankets around his shoulders and burying his face in his pillow.
spicydanhowell asked: trick, you know you have depression, right? and you know that's a chronic illness that even anti can't cure. you need actual therapy and several months of daily medication and sunlight and exercise to get better. what anti is doing for you is not a solution.
“Not Anti’s fault,” answers Trick through the pillow. “Stupid fucking shitty-ass brain. Nobody else is fucked up like this. Everybody else can take it.”
nikkilbook asked: “Shouldn’t” is a tricky word. Of course you’re not the kind of person who *wants* to leave your brothers and never come back, to stop existing forever. But it’s a trick your brain is playing on you, a heavy filter that’s been slid over everything while it tries to cope with chemicals that are out of whack and overwhelming situations. The chemicals and the situation haven’t been successfully addressed, so of course your brain is still confused. This isn’t your fault, Chase.
“Actually I think I like that ‘stop existing forever’ option just fine.”
He sighs deeply, running his fingers through his greasy hair.
“But Anti and Doktor would be so upset, so I guess my ghost would be even more of a problem than I am now.”
Anonymous asked: Dok? Are you okay? Blue is coming to let you out.
The beeping of the camera draws blank eyes back into focus. Dok’s aching arms let his weight onto his calves again as he stares at you, his mouth open, thin breaths passing in and out. He manages something that might be a nod.
spicydanhowell asked: trick, your brain is not healthy, but that's not a personal failure. hell, dap and red have "different" brains too, and they struggle, and it's not their fault either. it's nobody's fault that you have depression, but you say you have everything you need when you really don't. you need treatment and time to heal
Trick watches Dapper make his way to his feet and stand panting beside the bed.
“Maybe,” he grumbles, closing his eyes like he’s in pain. “But I hate hospitals and even if I would go, I can’t. Someone would be able to track us through the hospital system, or even a therapist, Anti says. Besides, doubt we can afford it. Anti has to feed the others before anything, you know? And sometimes we even struggle there, so…”
He rubs at his face, watching Dapper move despite his hurt. Maybe he should get up too.
“I don’t think Anti knows what to do with me,” he admits frailly. “I don’t think anyone would.”
Anonymous asked: Has Dok been in the shed before?
Blue races out the door to his own room, and then the backdoor of the house, setting his bare feet on the craggy earth, barely avoiding splinters of glass and sharp stone in his haste to help his little brother.
He finds the shed door chained.
“Goddamn!” he hisses, slamming his hand against the door, hard. Gritting his teeth, you watch him pace round the shed looking for a hole to enter through, but it’s a sturdy structure, and as the sun rises, it grows hot to the touch.
“He’s going to fucking boil in there!” snarls Blue, stalking back to the door and yanking on the chains. You hear the door creak as Red steps out of the house behind him, wearing his own shoes and carrying his brother’s.
“Blue, take it easy, I can go find Anti if we need to.”
“Yeah? How’re you going to do that? For all we know he’s in the middle of something dangerous.”
“He would have told me if he were going to do something dangerous. Or taken me with him.”
“Sure,” spits Blue, trying to twist the chains with his bare hands. “Sure, I’m sure he would, Red.”
cest-mellow asked: blue? have you gotten dok yet?
“We’re working on it,” Red answers calmly, watching Blue scurry around the shed a second time. He’s beginning to look at the roof in a way Red doubts will lead to good things. “Blue, we might have something under the sink that can get him out.”
“Go check! Please!”
“Okay, but put your goddamn shoes on before you cut yourself. Hey, Dok? We’re out here, bud, we’re coming. Hold on.”
spicydanhowell asked: blue, do you have any tools or do any neighbors have some? you might have to cut the chain
“Red, did you find anything?”
“Give me two seconds! We’ll get him down, okay?”
“He’s in pain, can’t you hurry?”
“Getting freaked out won’t help, Blue. Hell, I don’t know… there’s not really anything down here anymore. I thought we used to have a bolt-cutter. Hey, maybe it’s one of the keys Anti has us look after? I’ll go check.”
Blue hisses impatiently. For a second, the sun makes his eyes flash a very vivid blue.
immabethehero asked: Find a treestump and bash the door down!
“Fuck, I don’t know if Anti would like that much. Maybe I can find something. There aren’t many trees up here, though, I’ll tell you that much.”
Anonymous asked: Blue please hurry and get Dok out of there. He can barely breathe.
“He can barely breathe,” repeats Blue anxiously, as Red heads back towards the house. “He could choke, I don’t know how much strength he has, if Anti beat him or hurt him… And it’s so hot, it’s so hot! He’ll cook, he could get hurt, I bet the chain is so hot on his poor throat.”
Blue squeezes the chains tighter, close to the door, his eyes flickering. He staggers slightly, closing his eyes as the world spins around him. Fuck, maybe Red was right, maybe he does need to calm down a little. But Doktor is in there, his little brother, for all that he acts tough, suspended by his neck, wheezing and gasping as the sun rises hot over his head and he grows frailer and frailer, his muscles aching and his body shaking -
Something is dripping through his fingers.
Startled, Blue frowns at his hands.
And then he yells aloud, jerking backwards as molten metal singes the ground in front of the shed, the chain melted clean through between his fingers.
He stares at the twisted metal, shaking.
“Blue, we’ve got three different keys here, one for the medicine cabinet, and we can try the other two, but - ”
Red stops short behind him.
Trembling, Blue turns to his twin, his hands held out in supplication, in fear, in apology.
Red takes a long look at the situation, his eyes fixed on the faint whisps of blue trailing from his brother’s hands.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, in a voice all too calm.
Blue shakes his head, his pupils blown wide.
Red stares only a moment longer.
“Well,” he says, eventually. “Doktor is. Go get your brother. Go on, now, Blue.”
Blue nods shakily and bursts into the shed, leaving the chain behind.
Red stands there watching for a long time, his mouth calm.
His eyes afraid.
Anonymous asked: Oh, oh, Blue, be careful! Your magic! Anti will be angry again!
Red leans slowly down.
Picks up the chain where it’s cool.
Brushes away the broken or melted pieces from the ends.
And places what remains inside his hoodie pocket, heading back towards the house, where, in his room, you watch him carefully place the chain inside of his backpack.
Anonymous asked: could blue use his magic? i know he's technically not allowed, but anti's not here, and your brother could be hurt really bad if you don't help him! and you needed to find an outlet for your magic anyway, right?
Red pushes his backpack behind his door, trying to plan when next he’ll be allowed out of the house. Maybe today. He’ll have to see.
“Let’s have no more talk of magic,” he says, getting back to his feet. “Let’s have no more talk of this.”
Anonymous asked: blue! is dok ok!! can you get him down!!!
Blue knocks a blood-stained crate towards Doktor and stands up on it, hooking one arm underneath Doktor’s legs and another around his waist. It is the work of a moment to lift him up enough to remove the chain from the hook on the ceiling.
Dok is so stiff it hurts to be held.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” chants Blue, sliding down to the earth with his brother in his arms. “It’s going to be alright, that’s all for now.”
Doktor might scream. He is clutching to Blue’s shirt so tightly he has torn it.
whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: Blue hows doc doing
Blue brushes his brother’s overgrown hair from his eyes, clutching him to his chest. “He’s hurting,” he admits, reaching out to massage one of Doktor’s trembling arms. “It would be awful just to have to stand for that long, let alone to hold throat up to breathe. He’ll be stiff for a long time, I’m sure it hurts terribly.”
It feels like his muscles are doing their best to escape from his bones. Everything inside of him is fucking peeling, splitting, twain. He can’t feel his calves anymore.
Anonymous asked: is dok hurt?
“Did Anti hurt you?”
Doktor’s mouth parts dryly.
“What?” he coughs. “Other than this?”
His throat is fervently black.
“No… No, I’m fine. Let’s go inside, p-please.”
He seems, for a moment, to strain himself to stand, but then his muscles scream out again, and he collapses back into Blue’s arms.
Anonymous asked: Get him some water or something, Blue, please
“Here we are, Dok-Dok, it’s okay.”
Blue heaves him into his arms and carries him back towards the house, where Red is uncapping a bottle of water. He’ll need to go get more from the well soon, but for now they have enough.
“Why don’t you lie him down in his room?” suggests Red. “Nice and quiet in there.”
“Is Dapper still asleep?”
Red heads past him into Doktor’s room, sitting down beside the mattress with the water and grabbing his first aid kit from the corner.
“Dapper’s not in here anymore, Blue.”
“What?”
“Let’s worry about Doktor for now, okay? There we go, bud. Is it easier to lie down or do you need to sit up?”
In response, Doktor slumps down on the mattress.
“Permission to scream, sir?” he rasps up at Red, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“Permission granted, medic,” answers Red, grinning a little despite himself.
Doktor opens his mouth -
“Nein, I don’t have the strength.”
Red leans down and presses their foreheads together for a long time, one hand set solidly on Doktor’s shoulder, a warm, steady pressure.
“You kept Dap safe,” he whispers. “You did good.”
Doktor’s eyes water. Slowly, he nods, biting down hard on his lip.
“I did good,” he whispers. “I did good.”
Blue is massaging his arm again, determined to give him some relief. “We’ll get some water in you and you can have a nice cool shower and some clean clothes and food and anything you need, okay? Poor Dok, hanging up like that all night. We’re going to take it nice and easy.”
“Yeah,” agrees Red. “You can have whatever you want.”
“Does that include the sweet release of death?”
“Doktor,” snap the twins in perfect tandem, and Doktor can’t help but laugh, staring up at his brothers with a mouth that hurts to smile.
“Don’t joke!”
“Yeah, too soon, man.”
“Little pansy, one night in the shed and he gets all sardonic on us.”
“Oh, ‘sardonic,’ aren’t you fancy?”
“Shut up and give Dok his water, can’t you see the man is thirsty!”
And Doktor closes his eyes and lets his brothers look after him.
pixie-in-trebleland asked: Are you guys going to watch Dok all day? Can you check on the others?
“Fuck, give us a minute,” grumbles Blue, blinking back into appearance before you. He’s up and about now, standing over the sink and using water from a bottle to clean their three plastic plates. “We take two seconds to look after our brother who’s been tort - disciplined and you’re impatient?”
He sighs and tries to relax. At his side, Red is chopping up potatoes, his eyes faraway.
“Anyway, what do you want us to do? No, we can’t check on the others. We’re not allowed to talk to Trick in his room, let alone go in there. You know the rules by now. You were here when we had an attic. Besides - ”
He’s cut off by a sudden flicker of the camera that catches his eyes. Blue brightens immediately - though his cheeks also flush slightly - and he turns to see Anti step out of nothingness in the corner.
“Anti,” he cheers, while a relieved smile, only trembling a little, appears on Red’s face. Blue saunters cheerfully over to Anti and -
“Oh,” he breathes, his face falling. “You’re hurt.”
Anti scoffs and takes off the backpack on his shoulders, letting it drop to the ground with a heavy thud. Not only is his neck bandaged as usual, but there is a damp dark stain on his shirt, spreading as Blue watches.
“Anti, let me look at it, please.”
“No, Blue, it’s fine. I’m not hurt.”
“Where were you?”
“Selling drugs,” says Anti.
Red and Blue exchange glances.
“Ha ha?” Red ventures. “You’re, uh. Kidding.”
Anti glances up, frowning. “What? No. We don’t need that much pain medication in the house. Speaking of which, Blue, you keep the key to medicine cabinet for me, okay? So if Dok needs anything out of there, he can explain to you why and you can open it up for him if he’s got a good reason. No sleeping medicine, though, and no pain stuff unless it’s for visitors or you’ve run it by me. You understand me?”
“Oh, yes, Anti, I can do that.”
“Good boy. Here.”
Anti hands over a tiny silver key.
“Anti, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Shut the fuck up, Blue. Listen, make yourselves scarce today, alright? I’ve got work to do and it’s better if you’re not around for it.”
Blue opens his mouth like he might protest, but Red steps up beside him and silences him with a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, Anti,” he says, meeting his master’s eyes calmly. “We’ll fill up all the water after lunch.”
“Mh, good boys.” Anti wipes at his face, slightly sweaty. “Oh, here. If you go into the city, you can do me a favor and pick up some candles for me. I got everything but that.”
“Some candles?”
“Yeah. Like a shit ton of them, actually, I didn’t realize how many. Like fifty, okay? By tomorrow. I’ll pick them up myself if I have to but - ”
“No, no, no,” Red insists, accepting a small wad of cash from his brother. “No, I’ll fetch it for you, Anti, of course. Whatever you need.”
“Good. Good. That’s my Red.” Anti tugs on a lock of his hair. “The next couple days will be happy if everyone is good, okay?”
“Yes, Anti.”
spicydanhowell asked: anti? red is worried about you
Anti pauses on his way back to his room, and low flush creeps over Red’s cheeks at the message.
“Worried about what?” he demands snippily, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders. “You getting paranoid on me too, Red?”
Blue moves to stand slightly in front of Red, but his brother pushes him away and puts the butter knife he was using to cut the potatoes in his hand, shoving him towards the counter. Irritated, Blue nevertheless obeys his older brother’s silent command and begins cutting potatoes.
“Um, Anti.”
Red slinks down the hall towards him. Anti straightens up, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his foot. “What?” he snaps. “What is it now that I have to deal with? Huh?”
Red stares at him for a moment, his mouth slightly open, his eyebrows drawn back.
And then he reaches out and wraps his arms around his little brother’s shoulders.
Anti stiffens like a mannequin beneath his grip, breathing a little faster than he did a moment ago. After a long three seconds has passed, his hands come up to rest, just barely, on Red’s back.
“What is this?” murmurs Anti. “What’s wrong?”
Red shakes his head against his shoulder.
“You’re having a meltdown or something. Go lie down.”
“No, Anti, it’s not that, it’s just - ”
Red draws away and Anti shifts uncomfortably at the look in his eyes. Worried, worried Red. Loving Red. Ah, fuck.
“You don’t have to do this alone, okay?”
Anti sighs through his nose, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
“You’re so stressed all the time lately, I worry you’re getting sick, but you never take a break or come out of the room anymore, and - I just - Anti, I’ll do anything to keep you safe. You know that, right? I’d do anything for you.”
Anti softens, humming warmly, the discomfort slipping away. “Really?”
“Yes, of course.” Red’s eyes shine. He presses in for another hug, clutching at Anti’s shoulders. “I’ll protect you from anything that ever comes after us. I’m never going to let you get hurt. I - I - I love - Anti, I love you so much, I - ”
“Aw, Hoodie, don’t cry, darling, don’t cry.”
Anti is smiling now, stroking at Red’s hair and kissing at the side of his face.
“What a good boy you are. What a good boy.”
“I don’t want you to feel alone!”
“I know, Red. I know. Sh, calm down, love. Everything’s okay. Master’s okay. Little brother’s okay. Listen, I have work to do - ”
“Right, right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stop you, I just… I just love you. Okay? And if you need anything…”
“I know, Red. I know.”
“Okay.” He wipes at his face, embarrassed. “Okay.”
Anti’s eyes are brighter now. He strokes his thumb fondly across Red’s beard, smiling a little too widely up at him. The stain of blood on his shirt is gone.
“Go back to your twin,” he orders in a purr, pushing Red away. “Go on. There’s a good boy.”
Red retreats obediently. Anti turns to open the door to his office, and as soon as he is alone, he looks directly at you.
“’I just love you, Anti,’” he mocks, barely suppressing a giggle. “‘I don’t want you to feel alone!’ What a fucking child he still is!”
He bursts into raucous laughter, clapping his hands together and shaking for joy.
Anonymous asked: How's Doc doing now then? Can't have been a fun night :/ Wish I could hug that poor guy.
“Let’s check on him.” Blue picks up the camera and steps down the hall, popping you and his head into Doktor’s room.
His little brother is deep asleep on Dapper’s mattress, clutching a spare shirt to his chest for comfort. Blue lets out a soft little sigh, looking down at him, and Doktor lets out a quiet hum in his sleep, his peaceful face twisting into something more afraid for just a moment.
“I think he’ll be okay,” murmurs Blue, drawing the door almost closed behind him again. “I’ll leave him with some lunch and water and stuff. Maybe later I’ll make good on that hug offer, too. My tough little brother.”
“Blue,” calls Red, stepping down the hallway past him. “Get your backpack and help me gather up the water jugs. We’ll fill up everything before we go into town.”
Blue heaves out a sigh. They have a lot of water jugs. It’s good - but it’s also heavy when they’re full.
Anonymous asked: That's not very nice, Anti...
“‘That’s not very nice, Anti,’” he repeats, pacing around his office and giggling wildly. He’s making a mess, opening up spare backpacks and shoving through his closet, searching for something. Red’s devotion has re-invigorated him. “Let’s not forget, little ones, between the haze of the world I’ve created - I fucking hate Red. And there is nothing in the world that I like better than seeing him brought so low he doesn’t even have to be asked to try to comfort me.”
pixie-in-trebleland asked: If you hate him that much, Anti, then why keep him so happy? If you hated him, it would have been preeeetty safe to assume that you'd want him to suffer, no?
“Oh, he has,” says Anti. “For my sake. More than you can fucking dream.”
He pauses for a second, staring at you.
Then he brightens again.
“But you have to make puppets happy sometimes, otherwise they’ll catch on to the falsity of it all! And then who runs my errands for me and guards the door at night? He can have a little time of joy, running around with his twin. I don’t mind. It only makes him more devoted. And Red - aha!”
Anti has found what he’s looking for. Delighted, he reaches into a box at the very back of his closest and pulls out a pair of collars, one yellow and one black, and the black muzzle he showed you once before.
Anonymous asked: Hm, you say that like Red wouldn’t do that for anyone. You forget the type of lifestyle he left, he protected and saved people. Sorry to say Anti, but I don’t think you’re very special.
“Red only ever killed men on my command. And kill them he did, with my name, adoring, on his lips. And when he wept, later, to realize what he had done, it was me that he came to, and my chest where he laid his head down.”
Anti stares at you. His eyes are brown.
“Is that special enough for you?”
Anonymous asked: so what do red and blue do during the day when anti's not here?
“Well, most mornings we go for a run on the other side of the mountain.” Blue looks up at the height of the mountain, not far off from their little home. “See, the rain washes down that side instead of this one, so while this side is dry as a desert and barren entirely of plant life, that side blooms green all year round. Want to know the funny part? This side is populated by thousands of people all working their asses off just to put food in their stomachs. The other side is owned entirely by one man, who lives far away and makes no use of it. He’s waiting for the property value to increase to sell it. So of course we slip through a gap we cut in the electric fence and we run around his property for miles. Safer back there, and nicer to look at, and easier on our feet. Right, Red?”
Red heaves his backpack up on his shoulder and turns to smile at the little camera mounted on his twin’s shoulder. He wears his hood up with a pair of cheap sunglasses he stole from the pharmacy truck yesterday. “Right,” he agrees, as they head out of the house and begin making their way down the dusty, rocky trail, dirt sliding dangerously beneath their careful feet. “And then most days we get drinking water.”
“There’s only one place to get it for miles. A truck comes and fills it up everyday. Luckily, there’s plenty for all - it’s just a pain to carry around. What else do we do, Red?”
“Whatever Anti tells us to. Stealing and errands and shit. It’s been nice lately, though, cause he’s letting us have so much freedom now that we can look out for each other. We can go into the city just about whenever we want and we’ve got a card full of bus money. We’ve practically been tourists.”
“Yeah, we even went to the library the other day. Anti said we couldn’t bring anything home, but we hung out and read for the longest time.”
“We do a lot of cooking now that we have a real stove and Blue made a sort of fridge for us.”
“We go to the markets for fresh food because that’s just how people buy things around here. Things are cheaper here so we’ve been eating more.”
“Yeah. So we do that. And we, you know. Talk.”
“Yeah. We talk.”
Red smiles back at his brother.
Anonymous asked: blue, is anti gonna be mad at you for taking dok down?
“Oh, no.”
“Blue has special privileges,” Red calls, his smile teasing now. “He’s a special boy.”
“Lol,” says Blue out loud, looking unamused.
“Haha.”
“I kind of do, though. My job is to look after the others. Obviously I don’t interfere when Anti’s running drills or disciplining or anything, but I know that at some point Anti we’ll let me step in and help. If he had been here this morning, I’m sure he would have taken the chains off for me by the time I went to get Doktor. He would tell me if he wanted me to let someone be disciplined longer than the usual one night or one day. So no, everything this morning was pretty normal. Except for the, uh.”
Blue trails off, staring anxiously up at Red. Red does not even look back at him.
Anonymous asked: oh fucking hell anti whatever you're planning, please don't
“Now you’re just tempting me. This is reverse psychology. You really want me to, don’t you? Some of you are so funny.”
He’s gotten out other things too now - thick cord, and a tie, and… clothes you think you recognize from somewhere, another starchy white dress shirt and a dark vest. Anti runs his hands fondly over it, humming something bouncy to himself.
the-weirdest-fan asked: Anti, do you ever slip up and call them by their old names? Why did you give them those names? I get Red and Doktor and the others, but the name Blue doesn't make much sense to me. Could you explain if it's not too much trouble? Thanks!
“Ah, an interesting question, I do like this intrepid, polite one… Actually, you’re right, I do sometimes come close to slipping up. Especially when I’m angry - they just look so much like those same stupid fucking people they used to be… And Doktor is just a quieter Henrik, and Trickshot a more confused Chase, and Dapper…”
Anti sighs and shakes his head, turning his gaze to look out the window.
“The line between Dapper and Jameson has always been a thin one.
“But as for Blue, well, first of all, by the time I got my hands on that little bitch I meant for him to be Red’s twin, and I like the pairing of the names. But blue’s always been the color that reminded me of him. It’s the color of his power when he casts. He cast it against me so many times - I guess I like the inversion of it. Now Blue belongs to me. Not even to himself. It’s a name I chose for him. Nothing about him is his own anymore. And so he is Blue, because even that which he once used against me is now mine for the keeping.”
Anonymous asked: anti what the hell are you planning just TELL us you overdramatic bitch hdfgjfhdgdfgddh
“Can you give me a damn second to get ready! You ask me all these questions and then don’t want to wait for answers, damn! Anyway, when did I say I was doing anything? It’s just work. You’re the ones hyping it up. Geez.”
And he pulls a line of fairy lights and a box full of finger puppets out of his closet. You can see him trying not to laugh, fixing you with a cold grin.
whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: Finger puppets and fairy lights wherent those in dappers toy box thing
“Very good. My littlest puppies are acting up. There are ways to make them… revert.”
immabethehero asked: Woah, woah, woah, Anti, calm down! No need for collars!!!
“Shut the hell uppppp,” sings Anti, bouncing on his heels as he gets to his feet. “I’ll decide what they need and what they need is - ah, shit, I should get his new medicine figured out too. Something stronger. Just a second. Hey, Dok-Dok!”
A moment later, he is yanking open the first door on the hallway right, and Doktor jerks awake with a cry, both from the pain of his aching muscles and from the alarm.
“Did you decide on Dapper’s new medicine?” demands Anti, crouching down beside him, a little too close.
“His new - his new medicine?”
Anti’s voice sharpens dangerously. “Yes. Like I said yesterday. I want new medicine for him. Something stronger, less generic. Obviously the old shit’s worn off him.”
Doktor’s mouth has gone dry. “W-well, Anti, I was thinking about it and maybe he should actually stay on the Haldol?”
“No.”
“It’s just sometimes people have bad episodes even if they’re on good medication, and he’s very used to his medicine now and handles all the side effects well, it really just fits him well, he likes it, he - ”
There is a hand pressing down hard on Doktor’s bruised throat. The pain makes his vision spark.
“You really want another night in that shed, don’t you, love?”
“N-no, Anti, no, please.”
Anti lets him go.
“So! What new medicine is Dap getting? Or would you like me to keep sedating him til his freaky little brain cells put themselves right again?”
Doktor’s mouth opens dryly. He pushes anxiously at his glasses, trying to think.
“Fanapt might be okay,” he manages finally, licking at his lips. “Kind of a newer medication. But I’d like him to be tapered off the Haldol and then - ”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll handle it.”
“Oh, but, please, don’t start him with too much, it - ”
“Doktor, you know I have the whole fucking internet under my fingertips, right? I’ll read the goddamn research report or whatever. There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You can go back to your fucking nap now.”
Shaking a little, Doktor lies back down, his eyes pricking, though he couldn’t tell you exactly why if he wanted to.
Just feels like a betrayal.
“Oh, yeah!” Anti pauses to look at him one more time from the doorway. “I’m about to do some work with Dap and Trick and you might feel the… how do I put it… ripple effects. So if you start feeling weird, that’s why. Don’t come bother me about it. You’ll be fine.”
He slips off into the hall.
Anonymous asked: trick, dok's ok now! he's out of the shed, he's with red and blue and he's safe!!
Trick and Dapper are playing cards.
Dapper can’t hold them with his fingers tied up like this, but Trick found a solution.
Trick puts a six down.
Trick puts a three down.
Trick puts a six down.
Dapper and Trick slam their hands down on the card at nearly the same time, with Dapper’s hand just barely beating Trick’s, and Trick ending up slapping the top of his little brother’s hand. Chuckling, he makes an exaggerated noise of disappointment and shoves the cards towards Dapper, who pulls them into his pile.
Trick looks worn, but his melancholy face gives Dapper sudden warm smiles every couple minutes. Dapper is doing his best to smile back, grateful for a reason to keep the blood flowing in his hands. There’s a slight twitch in his right eye.
Trick glances up at your message and suddenly the warm smile is for you.
“Oh, he’s okay!” Trick rubs at his chest over his heart, his eyes glazing slightly. “Th-thank God, I was worried. Maybe Anti will let him come see me soon if he let Dapper in!”
The door creaks open.
Dapper and Trick turn towards it as one, the cards fluttering out of Trick’s hands.
“Hi, Anti,” he says softly, trying to smile for him.
“Hi,” Anti answers, reaching down to pet Trick’s hair. “Sorry I was gone last night. Let me make it up to you. Are you two playing games? I have a game we could play too.”
Trick chews on his lip, a little unnerved, plucking at Anti’s sleeve. His eyes flicker to Anti’s backpack. A length of string dangles out of it. Dapper has gone very white, staring down at the floor, silenced in every sense of the word.
Anonymous asked: Who’s the dog muzzle for, Anti? If you put that on Trick we’re going to have a problem.
“Oh, come now, my dear.”
Anti sets his backpack down and pulls out the great dark muzzle.
Trick’s pupils bloom into moons, his gaze fixed on the old muzzle.
“This was one of my best controls, when I was breaking him in,” Anti purrs, running his hands along the small, stiff spikes on the inside of the mask. Trick’s fingers drift mindlessly up to his chin, where the old scars are hidden beneath his beard. “You remember, Trick, I can see it in your eyes. You were never better behaved than that first month after I broke you in, and let you be Dapper’s little bodyguard… his twin, his friend…”
Anti steps forward. Trick does not move. Dapper shrinks back.
“You would be so excited to see me. You trusted me completely - with your face, with your hunger, with your dignity. What little of it you had left, anyway. Maybe you always wanted me to strip it away, so you could justify the person that I’d made you into. There was no thought of suicide, then, because you knew something that you have since forgotten - ”
For a second, Anti’s eyes are black instead of blue.
“Your life belongs to me.”
Blue again.
“Of course, we ran into our little problem later, and I had to take the two of you apart. And Doktor was always so ashamed when he would hear about how his twin had let me put this on him, do you remember?”
Scarlet explodes through Trickshot’s cheeks and he turns his head away, panting.
Anti reaches forward to touch his neck.
“Tell you what,” he says lowly. “I’ll settle for the collar for now. Provided, of course, that you play nice and set a good example for your little brother, so that he can get back to where he needs to be, like when the two of you were twins, and he was my puppy too. How does that sound?”
Dapper has recoiled all the way to the corner, his eyes flickering desperately around the room. Trick, for his part, is frozen stiff, staring at the muzzle.
He can almost see Doktor’s face - the horror in it at seeing his twin letting Anti put that thing on his face. He imagines disgust too. He always imagined disgust, though Doktor never gave him anything but comfort.
“That - that - that - that - ”
He swallows and tries to steady his stammer. Anti strokes at his beard.
“That sounds good.”
Anonymous asked: ANTI DON'T YOU DARE HURT HIM PLEASE HOLY SHIT
“Nobody has to get hurt if we all play nice,” hums Anti, stepping towards Dapper with his hands out-stretched, the black collar clutched in one fist. Trick holds the yellow one in shaking fingers. You watch him fix it around his neck, his face draining entirely of color, as if the collar had sucked it all out.
“I know you have to go gentle with Dapper,” says Anti, though his voice is cold as frost. “Otherwise he goes into his horrible little snaps, and near kills everybody around him. Treacherous little brain you have there, isn’t it? Even when you convinced yourself that I was the enemy, you could never direct your insanity just at me, could you? Do you remember, Dapper? Do you remember Red’s blood beneath your hands, and the dying tick-tock of a clock unwinding?”
Dapper pants fiercely, his nails scrabbling at the wall behind him, his hands bound, muted.
“Stupid little boy. You need a stronger hand to guide you. You’ve always needed a stronger guide than your brothers. Stupid, stupid little boy.”
Anonymous asked: Special doesn't mean valuable. You're a germ, Anti, and a temporary one at that. They won't follow you forever and you know it. And it's killing you. So have fun with that.
“A germ,” Anti hisses, stalking closer to Dapper, who fumbles at his side for a knife that no longer hangs there. Desperate, his stiff right hand manages to draw a circle at the wrist of his left -
“Blue! Blue! Blue!”
The only brother he can call for with his hands like this.
“Mama bluebird isn’t coming, songless lark. It’s just me and you and the other puppy. Isn’t that right, Tricky?”
Trick sits with his back to the bed, his hands suspended around his collar. He nods blankly, shaken.
“Are you a good boy, Trickshot?”
His face is beginning to look a little green. He nods again, weaker.
“Very good?”
“V-very - very - s-sorry, yes, very good.”
“Very good what?”
“Very good, m-master.”
“Trickshot’s going to get lunch,” smiles Anti. “Trickshot’s going to get water and sleep and a blanket to curl up in. You want that too, huh, my little Carver?”‘
Dapper’s eyes are filled with tears and hatred. Shoving himself back against the wall, he kicks out as hard as he can at Anti’s stomach.
The blow never lands. Anti grabs his ankle and then he attacks.
Dapper wheezes as his face, still bruised purple from last night’s beating, is shoved into the floor of Trick’s room and his arms yanked back so hard he fears dislocation. But you know what? He’s taken it before, and he’s taken it more willingly than this, and no matter what, he survived it. He survived it. He can fucking take it. No more shoving him around. If he’s going to die, he’ll do it with his dignity. Not like this fucking coward has the courage to end his life, anyway.
He slams his head back into Anti’s chin, snarling, proud to elicit a sharp, furious cry. And then Anti has grabbed him by the hair, and he disciplines, striking Dapper’s head against the cold linoleum again, and again, and again -
There is a second where Dapper exists outside of time entirely.
His hands could move it if he only had the strength.
But blood trickles swift from the side of his head and he cannot keep his focus. His eyes slip to silver only for a second, and then they are blue again, and he is trapped beneath Anti’s hands, wailing without making a goddamn noise.
Not that anyone would be able to save him if they could hear.
the-weirdest-fan asked: Ooh what's the plot of this puppet show?
“This puppet show,” pants Anti. “Is about a very naughty little child.”
Beneath his hands, a 30-year-old with intelligence more than enough to hate Anti passionately.
“The child was born stupid, and broken, and completely unwanted. Its master took it in one day because the brothers who claimed to love it were not watching over it, and it was helpless.”
Beneath his hands, the most powerful little magician ever to walk the face of the earth, doing his damnedest to flip Anti off with bloodless fingers.
“Everything the child became, it became because of its master. Everything that the child loved, it had because its master had given it.”
Dapper hand flails desperately in front of his chin, trying to get the pointer finger to stick out - “Liar!”
Anti presses down harder on his neck, pinning him to the floor with his knee between his shoulderblades. Somewhere behind him, Trick has staggered to the bathroom to vomit.
“Its master worked very hard for it, and gave it everything it needed. But as soon as the master started giving attention to another one of its puppets, the child began to think that it hated the master. Maybe it thought that because its mind was so broken and strange. Or maybe, just maybe, the stubborn, stupid little puppet had caught on to something that all of its brothers cannot see no matter what I show them, something that changed everything about the plot of the play, changed everything about the child’s life, and purpose, and loyalty…”
Anti leans in, bowed over Dapper’s body, and he places his lips at the very base of his ear, so Dapper could feel the movement of his mouth.
“I hate you so much I would die just to make sure you and your precious fucking brothers spend the rest of your miserable lives suffering hell on Earth.”
Dapper has gone still, his wide eyes staring at you, frozen.
Anti draws away again. Blood drips through the bandages on his neck.
“But whether Jameson had understood this truth or not did not matter to its master. All that mattered was that the child was broken again, and it was up to the master to put it back together.”
The tie is suddenly wrapped around Dapper’s throat and pulled so tight he gags, spasming desperately beneath Anti’s hands, his rapid heartbeat visible in a vein on his throat.
“And the master always knew, no matter what the puppet did,” hisses Anti. “Exactly how to shatter the puppet in exactly the right way to put its broken mind back together again the way that he liked it.”
And Anti summons all the power he has left inside him, and unleashes.
The power makes your camera short out.
End Section Three of Chapter Two.
Find the next section here.
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ohh for the character list thing, can u do todoroki, iida, and/or uraraka?? - c
You both know me inside and out ahhhh
@alartes-draws @midoriyaizukustan
This is under a read more bc it’s so long alfajfalk
Shouto
favorite thing about them
GOD he’s my absolute favorite so like everything is my favorite thing about him. But my #1 thing that I absolutely adore is that he is very willing and open to grow and to like accept criticism. I know for a fact I don’t like receiving criticism. But him? Izuku has yelled at him to like basically get him to see that he had to make the fire quirk he had his own rather than associate it with his father. That’s TOUGH to do. That’s YEARS of self-hatred and abuse and repressing his power and just looking at it as a way to see his father. But he took Izuku’s words to heart, that he could do with his fire quirk what he wanted because it was his. And he grew so much because he accepted his words. I would have been like “You don’t know me! You don’t know what I’ve gone through! You have no right to tell me that!” But not Shouto. Shouto has taken other types of criticism from Aizawa as well, telling him he depends on his quirk and that’s why he went after him first during his final exam. And then he was able to realize “Huh, I really should have given Momo a chance to tell me her plan, she had something to say.” And then he has her tell him her plan. And then during Kamino, (yes, Tenya got on his case, but he was like “we aren’t gonna fight, we’re gonna sneak around, my dude”) when they were against the wall and Izuku is like “I have a plan!!!” He’s like “TELL US YOUR PLAN”. Like he is not the only one who gets to take charge and share his plans. Also when in*sa was being very passive aggressive towards him, Shouto went up to him and asked if he’d’ done something to him and when he told him about their past, Shouto was like ah fuck I fucked up, but I liked that he was willing to confront this very large guy to resolve this issue. He is like very accepting and open to new ideas and he makes mistakes and still goes off on his own (provisional license exam where you at), but he is still able to take these like criticisms and examples and learn from them. He’s a great character and his growth has been so progressive and amazing and I am so thankful to Horikoshi for this character holy shit.
least favorite thing about them
I hate that he calls k*tsuki his friend despite k*tsuki being a God awful character. Shouto, sweetie, you deserve better friends. k*tsuki has been compared to endeav*r, your abusive father. Please please, you have the whole izucrew and class 1A (except m*neta) right there. You can have Momo and Izuku and Tenya and Ochako and Eijirou as your bffs. Please honey, please, I’m begging you. Please stop calling him your friend. He is not a friend, he is bitch ass gremlin.
favorite line
[softly] “Midoriya”
brOTP
OOF I love him with Momo (rich kids bitching about shit), OCHAKO (brother/sister dynamic where they bicker and talk in code, thank you Redd and C), Tenya (such a wholesome friendship), Izuku (they would be super close best friends come on), and of course him with Fuyumi and Natsuo having a nice sibling relationship with a hilarious group chat to boot (have you read make this feel like home by carolinaa? If you haven’t, go read it, it’s so good and the group chat they have, that is what I’m talking about, that’s the good stuff.) I like him with class 1A in general (except k*tsuki and m*neta ew gross).
OTP
TodoDeku!!!! This has got to be my favorite ship I’ve had thus far in my fandom experience. Like I’ve had OTPs where I’m absolutely wild for them (fr//–//uk, haru//–//michi, ever//–//lark, ed//–//win) and I’ve given my 110% like I am giving this ship, but like….this ship……..is so damn SOFT. And it gives me the warm fuzzies and it makes me so incredibly stupidly happy and I want them to be happy and they’re just so precious WOW.
nOTP
Mmmm every other ship BUT SPECIFICALLY todoyikes (aka todonono aka todo//–//momo), todo//–//baku, ina//–//todo. These three ships really give me the Stroke^TM feeling like I need a squeeze toy and happy messages when I come across them. Big No Nos. Never mention them to me unless you want to hate on them with me. I would say every other todo ship is my notp, but I can tolerate them, like I’ve seen ships like iida//–//todo and shou//–//chako (went into the tag bc I’m not a fucking coward *five minutes later* haha lmfao never mind), and they’re okay.
random headcanon
I have so many, but one of my favorites is that as a pro hero, he has so much Dad^TM energy and adopts all of his interns and treats them so kindly. He is supportive of their education and growth and basically just wants to see them succeed in life. He loves his interns. they’re all his children.
Another random headcanon is that Shouto has a beautiful singing voice and he got it from his mother. He sings when he feels particularly sad or when he wants to cheer up (himself and his friends and siblings), and he also writes lyrics at times. He is also good at playing guitar, but is shy about expressing these talents, until the izucrew catches him singing in the kitchen while he was cooking one time.
unpopular opinion
I like that he’s oblivious, but also I believe that once he gets older, he is not as dense anymore and learns to pick up on social cues. BUT he likes to pretend to be dense and fuck with people.
song i associate with them
I listen to the OST more often than not and I really like Nevertheless, Go Beyond. That song comes out when he arrives at the battle vs. HKS. It gets me hyped. As for a song with lyrics, I like the song Weak by AJR. It’s really good. There’s an AMV that I’m just like bruh…yes.
favorite picture of them
I love whenever he is on screen because he is so pretty, so basically all of the series is my favorite picture of him.
BUT ALSO
AND THERE’S MORE
DO IT FOR HIM
Tenya
favorite thing about them
HE’S SO EARNEST AND REALLY INTO THINGS LIKE HE GETS ME TO DO THINGS. HE’S ALSO REALLY PROPER??? I LOVE THIS SQUARE BOY. Also his dedication to everything he does, absolutely everything he has ever done has had so much enthusiasm, he’s so passionate. Also him standing up for the girls when m*neta wants to harass them. We stan an icon.
least favorite thing about them
I don’t like that he punched Izuku in that one episode when k*tsuki gets kidnapped and the kids are like “We’re gonna go save him yeet”. I understand where he was coming from, but I still didn’t like that.
favorite line
[To Izuku, holding him back from leaping into danger against AFO] “I will…protect you!”
brOTP
Izuku, Shouto, Momo, Ochako, Aoyama, everyone in class 1A can be in a bromance with him (except k*tsuki and m*neta bc he deserves better).
OTP
Iichako! I love love love them so much. He really cares about her!!! And she really cares about him!!!! I also like him with Momo!!! And Mei!!! And Aoyama!!!
nOTP
With Izuku and Shouto. I just cannot. I think he sees them as brothers more than anything.
random headcanon
He helps his classmates train to improve on their speed and he gives them tips as well as stretching exercises and routines since he knows what to do with speed.
Also when he’s a pro hero, he owns an agency with his brother and they are both the bosses and he takes care of a lot of administrative things, so he may not get to do a lot of hero work like the heroes that work for them, but he does get to go out into the field often and trains interns.
unpopular opinion
Tenya with long hair and an undercut is good. Give it a chance.
song i associate with them
Runnin’ by Adam Lambert is a great song!!!
favorite picture of them
Look at how precious he is!
Ochako
favorite thing about them
I like that she is figuring out how to be her own kind of hero. She also is into self-improvement and I admire that she went to intern under someone like Gun Head to learn hand-to-hand combat! That’s really rad! She’s here to kick all of our asses!
least favorite thing about them
I hate how everyone tells her she has a crush on Izuku instead of her figuring it out on her own without prompting. Like please let her have her character arc without it including her feelings for a guy. Let her have her character development. Let her shine without this coming up for God’s sake. She is such an amazing character and I love her so much. Please I am begging. She deserves her own background and history. I don’t want it to focus on just her feelings. That’s just ugh. it leaves such a bad taste in my mouth, it’s really personal.
favorite line
I can’t remember the lines exactly, but when she’s talking to her dad, that scene really hits me in the heart. That entire conversation, I really felt that. Thanks for the feels, Horikoshi.
brOTP
MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE IS SHOUTO AND HER AND I THINK WE ALL KNOW THIS, BUT LET ME JUST SCREAM ABOUT IT FOR A LITTLE MORE. I LOVE THESE TWO SO MUCH WHAT THE FUCK. THEY HAVE THAT DYNAMIC I DESCRIBED ON MY SHOUTO BROTPS AND LIKE JUST PICTURE THEM HAVING REALLY FUNNY, AGGRESSIVELY FRIENDLY CONVERSATIONS, PLEASE OPEN YOUR 3RD EYE AND UNDERSTAND WHAT I’M SAYING HERE, THEY ARE A GOOD BROTP, THEY ARE BFFS, THEY WOULD LEGIT TAKE A HIT FOR EACH OTHER. I’M ASCENDING I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.
I also love her with Izuku, Tenya, Eijirou, Tsu, Momo, the rest of the girls, Mei, Aoyama, Tokoyami, pretty much everyone except those two characters I keep mentioning that I don’t like.
OTP
Iichako! But I also like her with Tsu and Momo.
nOTP
Izu//–//Ocha (I have talked about this on my blog and it rings a personal chord with me so I cannot bring myself to like it, plus it feels so forced and I just can’t get into it and I don’t care for it), k*c//–//chako (just no, she deserves so much better than that)
random headcanon
She becomes the combat specialist for the agency she works for in the future. She is very skilled in hand-to-hand combat and trains the heroes and sidekicks. Nobody can beat her. She is the best fighter in the agency. RIP villains and anyone that takes her on. She can even beat Izuku, Shouto, and Tenya, who are arguably super strong and big burly men. She is not smol though. When she’s a pro, she’s ripped, she’s muscular and very agile and quick. Beware of her. Once she enters a fight, she comes out victorious. She will come for your kneecaps.
unpopular opinion
Ochako is fucking feral. Did you see her fight k*tsuki??? She really came for his throat. She should have won. But Horikoshi is a fucking coward. What a shame.
song i associate with them
I like Fight Song by Rachel Platten for her.
favorite picture of them
A PRECIOUS BABY
#shouto todoroki#tenya iida#ochako uraraka#there are ships mentioned here so like yeah be aware of that#bnha#anonymous#alartesdraws#asks#thank you two ohmg alfkajfl#Anonymous
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The Niding Pole/Nidstang
In the Viking age the most spectacular way of cursing an enemy was by the Niding Pole (the Nithstong or Scorn-Post). They were poles about nine feet (2.75 meters) long upon which insults and curses were carved in runes. Ceremonies were performed to activate the destructive magic of the pole. A horse's skull was fixed to the top of the pole, and it was stuck into the ground with the skull facing towards the house of the accursed person. The pole channeled the destructive forces of Hela, goddess of death. These forces were carried up the pole and projected through the horse skull.
The runes carved on the pole defined the character and target of the destructive forces. Among others, triple Thorn [Thurisaz] runes and triple Is [Isa] runes, were used to smite the enemy. When used maliciously, these had the effect of disempowering the accursed's will and delivering him or her to the forces of destruction. Here, the Thorn rune invokes the power of Thurs, the demonic earth-giant sometimes called Moldthurs. An example of this comes from Skírnismál, where the spell used by Skirnir against Freyr's reluctant lover, Gerdhr invokes harm using the Thorn rune. This provides the power for three other runestaves: 'I shall inscribe Thurs for you, and three runestaves: lewdness, and rage and impotence.
Magically, the Niding Pole was intended to disrupt and anger the earth sprites (Landvaettir, Land-Wights or earth spirits) inhabiting the ground where the accursed's house was. These sprites would then vent their anger upon the person, whose livelihood and life would be destroyed. Niding Poles were also used to desecrate areas of ground. This technique is called álfreka, literally the 'driving away of the elves', by which the earth sprites of a place were banished, leaving the ground spiritually dead...
On the Niding Pole, the horse skull invokes the horse rune Ehwaz, using the linking and transmissive power of the rune for the magical working. The horse is sacred to Odin, god of runes and magic..."
During the Viking Age to put a "nid" on someone was to put very powerful verbal curse upon them. The power of words was not taken lightly by these efficient warriors, so to make a curse of this kind was very serious. It was the ultimate insult, and used only in dire circumstances.
In the Saga of Egil Skallagrimsson (an Icelandic/Norwegian story from the 10th century) King Eirik Bloodaxe, wronged Egil and made him an outlaw. The feuding resulted in many dead on both sides. After a battle on the island of Herdla (near Norway), Egil raised a hazelwood pole on the top of this island, and on the top of the pole he placed a severed horse's head, aimed towards Eirik's home. On the pole he carved sacred runes, with a curse upon King Eirik. He also spoke this curse, this "nid":
"Here I place this "Nidstang" ("curse-pole"), and turneth it against King Eirik and Queen Gunnhild - turneth I this against all the gnomes and little people of the land, that they may all be lost, not finding their homes, until they drive King Eirik and Queen Gunnhild out of the country."
According to the legend, the curse soon took effect, and King Eirik and his Queen Gunnhild fled to the British Isles.
This old custom has returned, and is again in use in our modern day. This is a very powerful ancient magic ritual, a curse with a power one should not use lightly and whimsically. These "nidstangs" have been placed to to defend our symbols and traditions from neo-nazis and other crackpots who "borrow" our sacred symbols and make them their own and vile.
We cannot be silent and pretend this is not happening. When wearing a Thor's hammer means taking the risk of being looked upon as a racist, and if carrying a sun-cross, or a rune, such as the Odal-rune, can get one arrested - then it is time to say "Stop!", to draw the line. We can't let these fools steal our heritage and soil it with their abusive and stupid attitude!
This "nid", this curse you can read here, is one in a chain of digital "Nidstangs", put up on websites around the world, and it is turned against everyone who misuses and abuses our ancient sacred symbols, and soils our land with hatred and discord. At the bottom of this page you will find links to the others who put up "nidstangs" around Scandinavia.
This curse is not turned exclusively on a certain easily detected group of young men (with shaven heads and/or carrying swastikas and such), but against everyone who answers to the description in this "nid".
This curse is not unconditional. It is only meant to fall upon those who persist in their destructive behavior. Tolerance and forgiveness are important principles for any spiritually inclined person, and no innocent should indiscriminately suffer from this curse.
It is also important to remember how the three great forces of society come together, making these misled persons much more powerful than they would have been on their own: politicians, in cowardice and opportunism, and businessmen and media, in desire of sensation and profit.
I curse!
I curse all of them
who soil our glorious land
with unworthy actions.
I curse all of them
who borrow sacred symbols
Gungnir, Mjolnir and Sacred Staves -
Odin's spear, Thor's hammer
and runes, given by Odin's hand
and soil them
with unholy deeds.
I curse all of them
who in ugly costumes
and shaven heads
as well as suits
and ties
abuse the wisdom of our ancestors
our ancient ways
and our present faith.
I curse all of them
who want to silence
the mouths of others
for themselves to be heard
with their stupid bellowing.
I curse all of them
who put themselves above others
because of their paleness,
who trample on others
because of the color of their skin,
foreign language,
or a different faith.
Upon the heads of these miscreants
I call all powers!
I call upon the gnomes, and the little people
to scratch their bodies
and disturb their sleep.
I call upon the elf-smiths
to lay an iron ring
around their chests
giving little room for their spirit
little room for breath
to speak of evil.
I call upon the "rimthurses" (frost-giants)
from the depth of Niflheim
That they may freeze to their death
before they get a chance
to freeze others out.
I call Surt and his "fire-thurses"
That they may burn to their death
before others may burn
by their hands.
I call upon Loki
That he may twist their vision
so that they strike each other down
before they strike anyone else down.
I call upon Freya
So that these young men
never may share a woman's bed
and never have sons
or daughters of their own
as long as they want to hinder
others to do just that.
And I call upon Frey
That these young men
have their manhood gelded,
never being able to create anything good
for themselves,
never getting peace
or harvest,
as long as they want to hinder
others to do just that.
I call upon Thor
that he may protect us
from demonic evil
and I call upon his wrath
against the miscreants
who wants to cause pain to others.
I call upon Odin
Allfather.
He who gave spirit
to man and woman.
He who together with his brothers
Hoenir and Lodur
Gave life to man,
Body and Soul,
Ask and Embla,
Man and Woman.
I call upon Odin
and the "Norns".
Goddesses of destiny,
Urdh, Verdhandi and Skuld,
who together judge
everyone after death
that they may judge
these miscreants hard,
so that they
not even after their deaths
may escape their deeds of evil
against other sons and daughters
of Ask and Embla.
I set this "nid"
until these drooling servants
of evil and ignorance
do penance
and let each and one
stay by their land, their people
and their faith
wherever in our world
they may choose to live.
http://www.sunnyway.com/runes/nidstang.html
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So... for some reason I never posted chapter 4 of Medicine on here... honestly don’t know how I managed that one. That being said, if you have not read any of this please go to Chapter 1 and start there. Otherwise, enjoy chapter 4! :)
If you want to read on Wattpad, click here. Otherwise, keep scrolling!
After a couple days of texting back and forth and getting lost in conversation, Grace and Bucky finally found a date that worked for them both. It wouldn’t be for a couple of weeks due to his limited ability from work, but Grace was thankful that it would at least leave her time to mentally prepare, maybe go shopping for a new outfit. Bucky offered to come up with a plan for the evening so at least she wouldn’t have that to worry about.
To her surprise one of her Thursday classes ended up being canceled, leaving her the rest of the day off. She decided to take that opportunity to go shopping, leaving the building of her previous class and heading off to peruse some clothing stores in Soho. It was a rather brisk day and there were less people roaming the streets than usual, luckily for her. When she finally reached the Soho area she began casually window shopping, not entirely expecting to find something right away.
She was intrigued by the fourth store front she peered into and decided to check it out. The interior was bright, with white walls, sand colored wood floors, and indie music playing over the speaker system. Well aware that it was possibly too trendy for her wallet to handle, she scoured over the clothes apprehensively until one of the store clerks approached her.
“Hi ma’am, is there anything I can help you with today?” the girl asked. She appeared to be around the same age as Grace, her vibrant red hair in a bun atop her head and a smattering of freckles on her face bringing attention to her stunning blue eyes. Her wardrobe was similar to the clothes Grace had seen thus far, appropriately so, and she had a septum piercing along with every ear piercing possible.
“No, thank you, I’m just looking around.” Grace replied, cordially but shakily.
“Okay, well if you need any help don’t hesitate to ask.” She said, sympathy in her eyes. She turned around to leave but Grace gave in to her internal war and spoke up.
“Actually… I might need some help. I’m going on a date soon and…” Grace trailed off, the clerk interjecting and finishing her sentence.
“And you need the perfect outfit?” She asked, smiling with sincerity. Grace nodded, letting out a shaky laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. Come with me, I can set you up with a dressing room.” She signaled, walking towards the back of the room. The clerk, whose name she had learned was Marissa, confirmed Grace’s size and set out to gather some items for her to try on. Grace was surprised, and slightly overwhelmed, when she returned with a giant arm-full of options.
“Now, I didn’t know if you were looking for a casual or more dressy outfit so I got you some of both. Once you try each one on, come out and let me see. It’s always helpful to have a second pair of eyes.” she said with a smile before ushering Grace back into the dressing room.
Most of the outfits were a definite no despite Marissa’s excitement at how good they apparently looked on Grace. There was one outfit though that intrigued her and when she put it on and looked at herself in the mirror, her jaw dropped in surprise at how good she felt about her reflection. Marissa had picked a pair of leather pants that fit Grace’s figure surprisingly well, snugly enough to be sexy but not draw too much attention. She had paired those with a wine red, cold shoulder shirt with black, lace trimming around the neckline. When Grace stepped out of the dressing room her feelings were backed up by Marissa’s gasp and subsequent fawning over how it looked on her. In addition she knew she had a relaxed, black blazer at home that would go perfectly over the shirt. She would definitely need it since it was getting so much colder.
Grace changed back into her clothes and gathered her new outfit, not even bothering to try on anything else. On the way to the register a pair of shoes caught her eye, practically taking her breath away. Marissa stopped behind her, noticing what had caught her eye.
“Do you think those would go with my outfit?” Grace asked almost in awe.
“Yes, that’s a definite yes.” Marissa agreed, nodding her head enthusiastically. “We must have just gotten those in and if you don’t buy them, I will.” she said, making Grace laugh.
Grace cringed at the price tag on the shoes and nearly had a heart attack when the total popped up on the register, but she reminded herself it was well worth it. She walked out of the store feeling happier than ever, an amazing new outfit in hand. Now all she had to do was make it through the next few weeks.
Though that happiness didn’t last long much to her chagrin when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, looking at the caller ID. With a scowl she answered her phone, her voice monotone and somewhat emotionless.
“Hello mother.” she said, her previously wonderful mood completely dampened.
“What kind of tone is that?” Cheryl snapped, making Grace roll her eyes. “How is school going?” she asked uninterestedly, always quick to talk business.
“It’s going good I guess” she responded dryly.
“Well. It’s going well, and obviously not if you still don’t understand basic grammar Grace.” Cheryl said snidely, her voice dripping with condescension.
Grace was 2 seconds away from breaking her phone in half and punching the nearest wall, but a gaggle of children was headed in her direction so she restrained herself, for their sake.
“Are you staying busy? You shouldn’t be keeping yourself cooped up in the apartment with Tina-“
“It’s Tori, her name is Tori.” she corrected, getting more frustrated by the second.
“Whatever, I never liked the girl anyway.�� she said in her snarky tone. “Maybe you should consider getting a job, a respectable one of course and-“
“I already have a job… although I’m sure it’s not good enough for your standards.” she spat back, her mother completely oblivious to the fact that she had been working part-time at a book store for the past two years.
“You need to lose the attitude, Grace.” Cheryl said angrily. “How do you expect to find a man with an ugly attitude like that?” she said, Grace suddenly reaching her breaking point.
“I’ll have you know I actually have a date in a few weeks! Not that it would matter to you!” Grace half-screamed, her face reddening in embarrassment seeing some concerned onlookers.
“Mhmm.” Her mother replied, clearly unamused. “What does he do for a living?” she asked, Grace groaning at the question she knew would inevitably come.
“He’s in the military,” she replied shortly. There was a moment of silence on the other end of line, Cheryl undoubtedly forming some bitchy response. Now leaned against the wall of a building in Soho, Grace began tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for the coin to drop and her mother to make some remark about it not being good enough or-
“I suppose that’s acceptable.” Cheryl said in defeat. Grace’s tapping foot came to a halt and she had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Her mother actually approved of something? She must be dreaming, she had to be.
“Sorry, I must be imagining things, did you actually just approve of something in my life?” Grace asked sarcastically.
“Granted, if anything comes of it you’re guaranteed to live a fairly lonely life if he’s away a lot, but at least you could live a stable life.” Cheryl said, ignoring Grace’s question, “Especially if you can’t find a job with your line of work, you don’t want to end up being some starving musician living on the streets. Why didn’t you listen to me and do something useful.”
“Mother, I’m not having this conversation with you again. This is my life and I will do with it what I please.” Grace said through gritted teeth.
“So be it.” She said dryly. “Like I’ve said before, don’t come crawling back to me when you’re poor and homeless.” Grace’s face was red with anger, her emotions getting the better of her. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek with her shirt sleeve. “So will I get to meet him?” Cheryl asked, Grace choking out a laugh.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re actually kidding right?” Grace scoffed. “I know you like to pretend we have a relationship, but we don’t. I haven’t seen you in over four years and every time you call you spend most of the conversation tearing apart everything I say or do. So no, mother, I wouldn’t count on it.” she spat.
“You really should think twice about treating your own mother this way, you know, the one that raised you?” Grace laughed at the irony of Cheryl’s words.
“Yeah, and look how that turned out.” Grace said, now fighting fire with fire. “I’m sure you think I’m being a bitch, but I guess it takes one to know one.” Her mother scoffed, appalled at her daughter’s choice words.
“How dare you.” Cheryl finally spoke. Her mother’s generally passive temper had turned into rage, seething just under the surface of her cold demeanor. Grace thought she was about to say something else but the line suddenly went dead.
Grace shook her head and shoved her phone back into her purse, letting out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Heading in the direction of her apartment she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. For once she had been able to really, truly stand up to her mother. Most of the time she would just tolerate the ridicule, not wanting to aggravate the situation, but she was proud of herself for not backing down and just taking the undeserved abuse.
* * *
Stepping in to her apartment, Grace dropped her keys in the basket by the door and called out, “Tori? You home?”
She heard a loud thump and Tori’s voice call out, “I’ll be there in a second!”
Grace set her purchases down on the kitchen table and decided to put a pot of water on to boil. She was busying herself with the tea bags when she heard the creak of a door from the other end of the apartment followed by the padding of feet down the hallway before Tori’s head poked around the corner, Grace’s back still turned to her.
“Grace, hey… what are you doing home?” Tori asked, something odd in the tone of her voice.
“My last class got canceled and I decided to go shopping for, you know, the date and- oh my God!” Grace had turned around, her eyes finally landing on Tori standing there in nothing but a thin bed sheet, “Did I, uh… interrupt something?” Grace asked, giggling. Tori’s face was flushed and her usually smooth, sheen hair was a mussed and tangled bird’s nest.
“Steve’s here.” She blushed, leaning against the wall.
Grace bit her lip to stifle a laugh, amused at her best friend’s utter infatuation. “I’m assuming he got leave again?” Grace asked, Tori nodding in response.
“Yeah, well, sort of. He had some appointments nearby and decided to drop by. I’m sorry, I figured you would be at class.” She said in slight embarrassment.
“No!” Grace threw her hands up reassuringly. “No it’s totally okay! Really, I’m happy for you.” She said, smiling. “Besides, it’s about time you got laid. Regularly, that is.” She joked, both of them laughing.
They both sighed, Tori tugging the sheets tighter around her body, “So, you were saying?” Tori asked, handing the floor back to Grace.
“Oh! Yeah, I went shopping in Soho and found this amazing outfit!” she said elatedly. The pot on the stove whistled and Grace poured herself a mug, setting it aside to steep. “I was actually really surprised how good I felt.”
“Ooh new clothes!” Tori said, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Are you going to show them to me?”
“Yeah, of course! I want your opinion on something anyway.” She said, leaning back against the kitchen counter.
“Okay just, uh, let me go get dressed.” She nodded towards her room, laughing.
Once Grace had had her fill of tea and figured Tori and Steve were decent she threw the outfit on and knocked on the bedroom door.
“Come in!” Tori shouted. Grace entered the room and was immediately met with a chorus of ‘whoa’ and ‘oh my God, you look hot!’ making her turn almost the color of her shirt. “You. Look. Amazing! Are those leather pants?” Tori asked, in disbelief.
“Yeah… definitely something I never would’ve picked out on my own.” She laughed. “Luckily one of the store clerks was very helpful.”
“Well, go on, give us a spin!” Tori exclaimed, gesturing in the air with her finger. Grace did as requested and slowly spun around for them to see. “I don’t think I’ve ever said this before but I am jealous of your ass. I mean look at that!” She said, smacking Steve’s shoulder with a ‘thwap’.
“Believe me, I’m looking…” Steve said, his face flushing. Tori smacked him again, a little harder that time, all of them bursting out in laughter. Tori hopped off of her bed and began showcasing Grace like Will Smith and his wife on the red carpet, “Okay Steve, for the important question. What will Bucky think of her outfit?” She asked, waggling her eyebrows, making Grace laugh at her ridiculous behavior.
“Oh, this is for Bucky?” Grace nodded. “Well, I can tell you for a fact that seeing you for the first time in this,” Steve gestured up and down Grace’s outfit, “will send him to his grave. Especially those shoes.” He said, pointing at her heels.
“The shoes?”
“Yeah, he’s got a… thing for heels.” He said implicitly.
“Aw, I’ve got a thing for heels, too.” Tori whined, turning to her friend with puppy dog eyes.
“I already know you’re going to ask, and yes you can borrow them… after the date!” Grace added, Tori hopping with glee.
“Good because those heels,” Tori pointed to them, awestruck, “those are the kind of heels you start wars over.” She gushed, making Grace cackle. She wasn’t wrong though in her level of admiration, the shoes were absolutely to die for. The wine red suede perfectly complimented her shirt and the platform pump transformed her from short and sweet to a towering temptress. The shape of the shoe, along with the thick Mary Jane-style strap, deliciously framed her otherwise average feet.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re thinking of Helen of Troy, but… close enough.” Grace said, patting Tori’s shoulder in mockery.
“Well then call me Paris, because I would fight tooth and nail for those beauties!” Tori said, sitting back down on her bed with a humph. Steve leaned over and kissed her shoulder sweetly before pushing off the bed with a sigh.
“Alright ladies, unfortunately I’ve got to go. It’s getting late and I need to get back to the fort before rush hour.” he said defeatedly. Tori pouted her lip for a moment before accepting his departure and headed for the door. She had already made it halfway down the hallway but Steve stopped short next Grace, turning to her.
“If I don’t see you before the big day, good luck. I know he’s excited… hasn’t shut up about you actually.” He said with a laugh, sending a warm flutter through her stomach at the thought. “I can tell you one thing is for sure, he won’t know what’s hit him.” Steve winked, and with that, exited Tori’s room leaving Grace to mull over her now wracked emotions.
* * *
Grace checked the time on her phone for the millionth time that class period. It had only been two minutes since the last time she checked. Her knee was shaking incessantly under the desk as her Charlie Brown voiced teacher droned on and on about whatever topic she couldn’t give a damn about that day. She checked her phone again, internally screaming when only another minute had passed by.
Today was officially the day and her nerves were at full force, absolutely body slamming her to the ground. Every lecture thus far had been a blur for her, only able to pay attention to the announcement of homework assignments. Unless of course they had been mentioned at dismissal, in which case she was already halfway down the hallway to her next class. She was on autopilot, her mind everywhere but the present, especially now with it being her final lecture for the day.
When she finally heard the words ‘class dismissed’ she couldn’t pack up her things quick enough. Her feet carried her down the hallway, out of the building, and all the way to her apartment before her mind was able to switch somewhat back to manual. Ascending the stairs quickly she let herself in the apartment and sped past the kitchen where Tori was cooking, heading straight for her bedroom.
“Hey how was class?” Tori asked, watching Grace stream by her in a blur.
“Good.” she replied in monotone. When Tori heard the slam of a bag hitting the floor, the world’s longest, most weary sigh, and the abrupt creak of a bed, she made a beeline for Grace’s bedroom.
“Alright, what’s wrong, let it out.” Tori asked, plopping into the desk chair opposite Grace’s bed where she lay face first. Grace spoke a string of words but they were muffled by the bed sheets. “Okay, Grace honey, you need to take your face out of the covers so I can understand you.”
Grace lifted her head enough to speak. “I am so fucking nervous about tonight.” She said with a groan, her head promptly falling back to the covers. Tori stifled a chuckle.
“I mean I understand that but, are you excited at all?” Tori asked.
Grace sighed, crossing her arms in front of her and resting her chin on them. “Of course I’m excited! I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited for something, but… I’m also scared shitless.”
“What are you so scared about?” Tori asked, helping Grace to work through her worries.
“Well, for one, he’s amazing and I’m, well… me.” Tori sighed and leaned back in her chair. “And I know we’ve been texting non-stop and obviously I spent time with him on our double date, but those were easy! This time it’s just me and him, no other couple to bounce off of or phone to act as a social barrier.” Tori shook her head, chuckling a bit. “I’m just worried I’ll do or say something grossly awkward and scare him off, okay?” Grace said defensively, “You know me, you know how paranoid I get! I really, really like him so far and I just want to make a good impression…” Grace groaned.
“You two have already met so technically-“
“Whatever! You know what I mean!” Grace cut Tori off, throwing a pillow at her head.
“Alright alright, no need to be violent!” Tori laughed, throwing it back at Grace. “Seriously though, he obviously likes you! I don’t think you have any reason to worry, just take a deep breath. I know you can do this. You deserve this.” Tori said wholeheartedly.
After a moment of silence Tori sat up. “Are you feeling any better about it all?” She asked, trying to gauge her best friend.
Grace exhaled and nodded. “Yeah… yeah I think I am.” She said quietly. “Thanks. I seriously don’t know what I would do without you.” Grace smiled, Tori returning it.
“Oh I don’t know, melt into a puddle of paranoia and existential crises?” She proposed, making them both laugh and lightening the mood. Tori checked the time on her watch. “What time is he going to be here?”
“7:00.”
“Oh you need to get moving!” Tori stood up, ushering Grace towards the bathroom. “Go get in the shower. Let me know once your hair is done and you’re dressed. I’ll help you with your makeup.”
“Alright, I’m going mom!” Grace chided playfully. “Also, how’d you know I was going to ask for help with makeup!”
“I don’t know, I’m omniscient, now go!” Tori exclaimed sarcastically, physically shoving Grace into the bathroom.
An hour and a half later Grace sat patiently at Tori’s vanity, letting her work her magic. Her hair was blown out as perfectly as she could manage and she was sporting her new outfit, including the blazer that ended up matching exquisitely with the rest. Tori put the finishing touches on her face.
“Alright, I’m done.” Tori said, pulling away and capping her products. Grace stood from the chair and checked herself in the mirror, her jaw dropping at the woman in the reflection. It was still her, but there was no mistaking the boost of confidence she got from seeing this version of herself.
“You ready?” Tori asked, smoothing out the blazer and picking a couple stray pieces of lint from the black material.
“Yeah, I think so…” Grace said, taking an intentional deep breath and exhaling slowly. A sudden sharp knock at the door made her breath catch in her throat and all of her nerves came flooding back. She quickly reigned them in, vowing not to let her anxiety get the best of her, not tonight. She looked at Tori, eyes wide and hands slightly trembling.
Tori placed her hands on Grace’s shoulders giving them a firm, friendly squeeze. “It’s time.” She said warmly, pulling her into a hug.
#alternate universe#fanfiction#Bucky Barnes#ptsd#war#marvel#au#fan fiction#creative writing#Bucky fic#romance#Wattpad#Medicine
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In His Eyes (Chapter 8)
School is back in! And yet I somehow managed to write the longest chapter yet!
Genre: Slow build/eventual romance
Word count: 5008
Pairing: Nightcrawler/Angel
Rating: T+
You can also read this chapter (and all the chapters before it) here!
The night is cold. Cold enough that when Kurt exhales, the air billows out in front of him in a small, translucent cloud. His legs are drawn in close to his chest, his tail hugged tightly around him, and after twenty minutes he has only just lifted his head from where it has been buried into his knees. The moon’s light is weak and milky, but with his eyes he can still see the wind meandering through the tall oak and pine trees that pepper the grounds below him. His lips still feel strange: numb, and not just from the cold. It is as though he can still feel Warren on them, warm, desperate, unexpected, and… welcome? Unwelcome? Kurt still cannot decide. During the brief, fleeting moment they had been locked together, Warren’s hands firmly grasping each of Kurt’s arms just below the shoulder, Kurt’s muscles had turned to melted butter, and he had wondered whether everything was fixed, if everything after the kiss would be the fairy tale he had always secretly wanted he and Warren to be.
But the moment the warmth began to fade, the moment the magic was broken, the all-swallowing pit in his stomach had assured him that no, this wasn’t the part of the story where the protagonist and his love interest finally confessed their true feelings to one another and embraced and kissed and laughed about how foolish they’d been trying to hide it. Instead, it was the part of the story where the protagonist, filled to the point of nausea with a sudden embarrassment and terror, fled the scene, and hid on a roof for twenty minutes to avoid confronting his own feelings, and the feelings of the boy he’d been pining over for months. And now, here he is, huddled against the bitter night, feeling the wind turn the tearstains on his face into small streams of concentrated cold and wondering how he is ever meant to look Warren in the eyes again. Is Warren upset with him for running away? Is he hurt? A sick feeling kicks up in the hollow of Kurt’s chest. Is he angry? He tries to picture Warren in his room, surrounded by the things Kurt had left for him, the evidence of a gesture that now seems childish and unwise. Kurt himself feels childish and unwise. Too unequipped to be in this situation at all. Of course it had burned to the ground.
Fix. Warren had asked Kurt if he thought he was going to fix him. The word lingers in Kurt’s mind, unfolding and reshaping into new and unhappy realisations. Warren thinks of himself as broken, as in need of fixing. Warren thinks that Kurt thinks of him as broken. That, above all, is enough to erase the last of Kurt’s anger, and replace it with something even harder to swallow: regret. Deep, dark, horrible regret, the claws of which tease at his insides, pulling strings now and then to make him remember another cutting remark or lamentable retort he had thrown out in the moments his temper had taken control. He should have stayed. He should have talked to Warren, calmed him, and calmed himself. He should have found a way to defuse the situation.
He considers prayer: that is what has always assisted him through these tough situations in the past, steering him towards redemption and reconciliation. But for some reason, he knows that tonight it will be of no help to him. Instead, he lets out a deep sigh, watches the mist of his breath dissolve in front of him, and allows his muscles to relax a little. He will be out here for a while yet, simply because he cannot imagine making himself move from this still, silent reverie. At least here, in the almost ethereal, surreal atmosphere of complete isolation, he can pretend he has only imagined all the events that now plague his thoughts.
You are a fucking idiot.
The voice in Warren’s head has been repeating those words, occasionally with different, more scathing words added in. He lies on his bed, splayed uncomfortably on top of his wings and looking up towards the high, faded ceiling. Now and then, another surge of frustration hits him, and he slams a fist into his forehead or kicks the heel of his foot into the wall in anger. The heat of the moment, and the rush of emotions that had come with them have long since passed, leaving him with nothing but a desolate feeling in his stomach. It is as though there is a hole somewhere inside him, and the more he thinks about what he has done, the more he remembers the look on Kurt’s face in the instant before he vanished, he more empty he feels, and without any way to react, the sensation consumes him until it lights every nerve in his chest and fingertips on fire and leaves him to burn alive. The image of Kurt’s face will not leave his mind. His eyes, frantic and defensive, like a cornered animal. He could almost see Kurt searching through his mind and trying to figure out what angle Warren would take now to continue his side of the fight. The look that assumed that whatever Warren had done had to be some new tactic designed to find crueller and more unusual ways to put him down. Imagining the look alone was enough to defeat Warren, to leech all the anger out of him. The idea that Kurt would see him as an assailant, and would see the kiss as some strange new way to hurt him, seethes within his mind and forces him to confront everything he has said to Kurt over the months, every way he had pushed and pulled and otherwise abused the boy’s kind, forgiving nature. If only he had it in him to be able to tell Kurt the truth: he has captivated Warren for months, aroused feelings in him that have confused him to no end. And the kiss? Well, the kiss was the result of too much repressed emotion bubbling over and taking over his conscious mind. Warren drives the heels of his hands deep into his damp eyes, welcoming the pain that blooms out from beneath the sockets. Once more he hears it: you are a fucking idiot.
That is the last he can remember before falling into a restless, uneasy sleep.
When the next morning comes, both boys dread facing the real world again. The realm of friends, of amicable teasing and complaints about the usual things like breakfast and homework, seems so far away, and the prospect of pretending to be fine in light of the previous night’s events feels hopeless. Even outside of that, both are acutely aware that part of their argument had been heard by two of their friends, neither of who would have had any qualms in sharing the juicy piece of gossip. And yet, they have no choice, and to avoid arousing suspicion, Kurt forces himself to rise from his bed and dress himself in anticipation of a long, hard day. Warren can get away with not leaving his room: it has been a long, long time since anyone but Kurt has stopped trying to rouse him on the days when he decided he would not face the world of the living. But Kurt has a reputation to keep up. Kurt approaches the table where his friends sit a little later than usual, and immediately knows his efforts to seem light and carefree have been for nought: they are speaking rapidly in hushed tones, talk that ceases the moment Jean catches sight of the blue boy drawing near and chokes off her story mid-sentence. His stomach constricts: how much do they know? He cannot ask – or rather, he will not ask. He does not have it in him to start such confrontations. And so, he sits down with his slice of buttered toast and quartered orange, and tries to tolerate the nausea that accompanies his dread of Warren appearing. Mercifully, in a small reprieve, the meal passes without any sign of him, and Kurt is able to finish eating and slip away from the table before anyone can work up the courage to ask him a question.
Scott watches carefully as Kurt leaves the dining hall, tail almost literally between his legs, reminiscent of a hurt puppy in demeanour. He loses himself to thought and speculation, and Peter has to repeat himself twice before he finally gets any attention.
“He didn’t show up in our room until late last night,” he says, gaze shifting from the closing doors back to Scott.
“No?” Scott replies.
“Nope. Had no idea where he was. He was gone when I fell asleep, there by the time I woke up.”
“Hm.”
“Any idea what might’ve happened?”
Scott frowns, eyes still stuck in the middle distance
“No. None.”
It is almost not a lie. While he knows as much as anyone else at the table about what specifically took place between Kurt and Warren the previous night, he is at an advantage being the only one to know about the subtext between the two, at least from Kurt’s side. In his mind, a scene takes form: Warren accusing, insulting, denigrating, and Kurt cowering, meekly defending, wishing he had just stayed quiet. As the conversation at the table turns to wondering just what the pair could have been fighting over, Scott rises from his seat and sets his sights on the door.
Past the crowd, through the doors, up the main stairs as his footsteps echoed through the empty, cavernous foyer, and along the hallway towards Warren’s room Scott takes himself, fuelled by a deep-down desire to protect his friend. The sound of a heavy bass line and screaming guitar grows louder as he approaches: a clear sign that Warren is in no mood to attend classes today. As he goes to reach for Warren’s doorknob, he feels a momentary breeze, and Peter is next to him, leaning back against the wall on the opposite side of the door.
“What are we doing?” he asks casually.
“Get lost, burnout.”
“Whoa. I’m not the one messing with other people’s private affairs. I’m Kurt’s roommate and you don’t see me trying to fight his battles for him.”
“You don’t get it.”
“What’s there not to get?”
Scott drops his arms to his sides in annoyance.
“It’s nothing. Not my place to say.”
“Ah, come on, tight ass. Let me in on it.”
His insistence brings on a sigh. A deep one. He can tell Peter is not about to let up: for someone who can get most things done in a fraction of a second, Peter is relentlessly patient when it comes to gossip.
“Kurt has… a bit of a thing for Warren,” he says carefully. Instantly, Peter’s eyebrows rise with the new revelation, a smile spreading across his face like a child who has just successfully snuck into somewhere they do not belong. In the pause before Peter speaks again, the screeching and wailing of the music stops, leaving a brief moment of silence before the next song begins and the two boys are afforded the cover of noise once more.
“Really? What sort of thing?”
“I don’t know,” Scott says shortly. “Just a thing. He told me about it the day Warren started flying again.”
“So you think this fight they’ve had is about that?” Peter asks, turning to face the doorway as Scott folds his arms and shrugs in response.
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m here to find out.”
“God, please tell me you’re gonna go in there and try to intimidate him into talking to Kurt. I so want to see that.”
“What?” Scott frowns under his glasses, and Peter is already on thin ice. The boy across from him grins, daring Scott to argue the point, and demonstrate himself as not just a “stick-in-the-mud,” but uptight about it as well. Left at a stalemate, Scott gives a heavy sigh and knocks firmly on the door. Predictably, there is no response, and Scott knocks louder. When more time passes and the two boys are still left waiting, Peter decides to take matters into his own hands.
“Warren! Open up, jerkface!”
The music dims, the bed creaks, and heavy footsteps sound as Warren approaches the door, swinging it open with a look that instantly shatters all Scott’s hopes of appearing imposing. He says nothing, instead shifting his eyes from Scott to Peter expectantly. His eyes looks sunken and slightly out of focus. If his visitors didn’t know better, they could swear the redness and puffiness in his eyes suggested tears.
Peter looks from Warren to Scott pointedly, cocking an eyebrow in an attempt to remind Scott of his purpose. Scott shakes himself out of his own thoughts and clears his throat, trying to scrape together the conviction to seem authoritative.
“I want to know what happened with you and Kurt,” he states, emulating his best teacher voice. Warren rolls his eyes and goes to shut the door, but Peter’s foot blocks his path. He makes a mock tutting sound, smirking like the whole situation was a game.
“Come on, Angel,” he jostles. “We just want to help.”
“I don’t want you guys to help. This isn’t your business.”
“You made it our business when you did something to hurt Kurt,” rallies Scott, glad to have found a place to revive his original intention. But the surge of confidence is short-lived when Warren scoffs.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he dismisses in little more than a mumble. The idea that Scott would have the gall to come to him as Ororo had previously, and to talk to him like a concerned school counsellor, ignites a small flame of anger in Warren, and considering the unfamiliar and uncomfortable rollercoaster the past day has been, it is at least a comfort to return to something he is used to.
“So why don’t you tell us what we’re talking about?” Peter cuts in before Scott can reply, and all this suggestion earns him is a harsh glare from Warren, a wordless answer to his question.
“Look, I don’t know what you assholes think you’re doing letting yourself into me and Kurt’s business, but you’re not going to play mediator with us. Stay the fuck out of it.”
Scott’s eyes narrow, and in a movement that comes off as slightly childish and unconvincing, he steps forward towards Warren, lowering his tone to one that he hopes is at least a little threatening.
“Listen, buddy,” he begins, and even Peter has to suppress as smirk at how obviously put together the line sounds. “I don’t give a damn about you or your side of this. I care about Kurt. And since, for reasons I still can’t find, he wants to keep trying to bring out whatever worthwhile thing he sees in you, I’m making it my job to make sure he doesn’t get hurt more than he already has been.”
Silence sets in. None of the three boys seem to know how to continue without breaking the roles they have set for themselves. Eventually, Warren lets out a heavy, tired sigh and closes the door in one sharp, jerky movement. After a beat, the music is turned up once more, and Scott and Peter are left standing outside the door as though they had merely imagined Warren’s entire, brief appearance.
“What a jerk,” Peter finally says, in a tone so casual and blasé that even Scott has to smirk.
“You gotta wonder what Kurt sees in him,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets as he begins down the hall. Peter gives a shrug as he follows.
“Maybe it’s just physical.”
“Can you imagine Kurt liking someone just for their looks?”
“Yeah, you’re right. He’s too goody-goody for that sort of thing.”
In Warren’s room, far from the unfeeling and uncaring brick wall Scott and Peter have just spoken to, Warren is wearing a thoughtful, solemn frown, replaying Scott’s words over and over in his head. The anger at his overconfident and under-practiced demeanour has subsided, or rather has been eclipsed by an intense need to known just what motivated Scott’s words. Kurt wants to keep trying. Kurt sees something worthwhile in him. He dimly wonders whether he should change the words in his mind to wanted and saw, but he does not want to approach the thought directly. In the time since the previous night, he must admit he has spent an amount of time planning words he never truly intended to say to Kurt, scripting apologies and explanations and confessions that were supposed to make things better, or at least earn him a second –no, it had to be fiftieth by now, at least– chance. Now, however? While he still believes he could never say out loud the exact words that had been part of his fantasy conversations, the prospect of speaking to Kurt begins to drift back into the realm of possibility. After all, wasn’t it the persistently happy, forgiving, fluid and flexible nature of Kurt that had fascinated Warren in the first place? And couldn’t he try to replicate that, to try and earn Kurt’s trust back? It still seems optimistic, something that hardly fits into the complex puzzle that forms Warren’s psyche, but maybe that is what he needs right now. An action that defies all the rules set by his previous self, that marks a real change into something better than himself. Into something that maybe, just maybe, could be deserving of Kurt’s time and –dare he say it– his affections.
But, unsurprisingly, these thoughts are soon beaten down by the same dark force that has kept him from deviating from his usual ways for years. Just as always, Warren is left in the purgatory between wanting to act and being too scared of the outcome to make a move. He writhes on his bed in indecision for lengths of time he cannot know, then paces his room back and forth, reaching for the doorknob a thousand times but never going further. The music he had been playing has long since run out as he perches on his desk chair and restlessly bounces his leg, pent up emotions and desires festering and itching under his skin. By the time lunch finally comes around, the build has become too much, and Warren moves quickly, decisively, leaving his room with the door still open behind him and striding down the hallway with long and slightly hasty steps. There is an extremely small window of opportunity here, and if he misses it, he knows his willpower will be doomed to disintegrate altogether. He reaches Kurt’s door, slowing down subconsciously as he nears it. As the inside of Kurt’s room comes into view, the lines in the script he has frantically written in his head suddenly become jumbled and inarticulate. The door is open, and when he takes one more step forward to peer in and sees that he has made it, his heart still clenches anyway. Peter has already been and gone, depositing his books carelessly on his bed and whizzing off down to the dining hall for lunch. Kurt, however, takes his time, setting his books on his desk and sorting through what work he will have to do that afternoon. He does not notice Warren behind him, observing the way he moves, taking in every detail. There is something missing from him today; he moves more reluctantly, without the energy or fluidity that usually drive his gestures. Even his eyes seem to be duller today, and Warren’s heart plunges through his stomach at the realisation that the reason for his expression is Warren’s own actions. As the seconds wear on, and Warren hears the telltale sound of footsteps climbing the stairs, he shakes himself from his thoughts, and takes the plunge, clearing his throat to alert the boy opposite him to his presence.
Kurt jumps, shocked from his thoughts by the realisation that he is not alone, and for a moment he teleports instinctively away, reappearing in his room after spending a split second outside on the lawn. He looks through his own cloud of deep purple smoke, seeing the figure of Warren in his doorway, and feels a dizzying mix of hope and dread. It is plain to see that Warren is agitated, too, and Kurt is unsure how exactly to react to his sudden presence. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, and it takes an eternity for Warren to realise that he will have to offer an explanation himself, since Kurt has no way to request one.
“Wanna talk?” he mumbles, hands balling into fists and shoved into his pockets. As he speaks, his eyes flick repeatedly between Kurt and the floor, between where he wants them to be and where his instincts direct them. Kurt does not know exactly what it is that makes him nod, that makes him point to his neatly-made bed and close the door behind Warren as he slinks into the room and sits down on the edge of the bedspread. His wings shift nervously, settling and resettling against his back, unable to find a position that would relieve his discomfort. Kurt hesitates before he sits down, shifting over to put a little more distance between himself and Warren. Both boys look forward, finding a patch of wall or carpet to stare at in lieu of looking at each other.
“You been okay?” Warren asks presently. Kurt lifts his shoulders in response.
“I’ve been fine.”
“Good.”
There is a certain insincerity to Warren’s tone, and he knows Kurt can hear it, but he does not know how to make it go away. Neither comments on it, lacking the conviction or the willpower, or both.
“So… You want to talk. Let’s talk,” Kurt sighs, breaking the thick silence.
“Where do we start?”
At being given a direct question to answer, and at being spoken to with the manner of a lost schoolchild, Kurt summons the drive to give a direct reply, and to make a solid demand for answers to the many questions he has been agonising over.
“Why did you kiss me?”
Though taken aback at first, Warren is glad to surrender his part in directing the conversation, and sinks a little further forward, forearms on his knees, in preparation to respond. Willing his words past the dam in his throat, he speaks.
“Because I wanted to.”
“Because you wanted to what?”
“Because I wanted to kiss you.”
Kurt makes a soft humming sound.
“Your timing was a little off.”
Surprisingly enough, his remark draws a faint laugh from Warren, a mere sharpened breath of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.
“Yeah… No shit.”
Outside, the sky is above the mansion is dark, heavily overcast with only sparse patches of blue between the cloud cover. When Warren looks up at Kurt and sees him gazing into the sky outside, he turns his head to face the window as well, and with a newfound resolve, scrapes together a few words from the many mental essays he has written for Kurt.
“Look, I’m an idiot. You know that by now, right? You have to.”
An uneasy frown takes over Kurt’s sharp, angular features, but as he opens his mouth to reply, Warren holds up a hand to stop him.
“I’ve treated you like crap. I’ve treated you worse than crap, and you didn’t deserve any of it.” Warren allows himself a private smile, and with his eyes in his lap he is unable to see that Kurt is now staring intently at him. “Hell, you’re probably the one around here who deserves to be treated the best.”
Already, something is different. The light in the room takes on a new quality, polished and crystallised by Warren’s forthright words. No longer is there a haze of uncertainty between the two, intertwining with and distorting their feelings and intentions. Kurt feels as though he is seeing Warren anew, just as he had on the day that he had first seen him take to the sky. Though he wants to speak, Kurt stays silent, sensing that there is still more Warren wants to say. Sure enough, with a deep breath to support his sudden surge of sincerity, the winged boy continues.
“I’m so sorry, Kurt. I should have been upfront with you from the start. I’m just… I’m like poison, I guess.” Warren clenches his fists, and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. Kurt has never before noticed just how striking Warren’s eyes are. A pale, milky blue, with small flecks of darker grey towards the centre. They are pained now, sorrowful, and Kurt’s heart aches as he quickly finds himself getting lost in them and in the mournful sadness in his words. “Any time I get close to people I just end up hurting them. I’ve never been able to make a friend or have a relationship that didn’t go to shit because of me freaking out about them getting too close. Ever since I was a kid, from my asshole father to everyone after.”
It takes a long time for Kurt to find the proper words to reply. He has always known that Warren took the sort of image of himself that belonged in an angsty teen drama, but to hear him say the words out loud is confronting, and it hurts Kurt as deeply as any of Warren’s insults. His instincts tell him to do whatever he can to soothe Warren, to take him into his arms and comfort him, but his conscious mind knows that this is not what Warren needs right now. Coddling will do nothing for him – it is real, genuine talk that stands a chance at helping him. Warren, meanwhile, feels a magnificent weight lift off his chest, leaving him feeling free in the same way he did in the air. Never had he imagined that the one thing he had always detested, always avoided as though it would be his death, would feel so fantastic. The sensation is addictive, and Warren suddenly feels the intense urge to spill out every last word that lies within his still extremely full mind.
“I’ll admit that the way you treated me hurt,” Kurt begins softly, breathily, and Warren returns to reality immediately. “It hurt a lot. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a second chance. You’ve been through a lot. You still need help with some things.”
“Would you still be willing to offer that help?” Warren feels foolish for asking, especially in such a pathetic, sentimental tone. But this shame evaporates when Kurt gives a small, inward smile that sets off an involuntary flutter in Warren’s chest. Gradually, Kurt begins to realise that the space he had put between he and Warren is too much, and quite diffidently, he shifts over the bedspread, stopping with just a little more than an inch between his own leg and Warren’s.
“Would… Would you be willing to accept it?”
Too distracted by the sudden closeness of the boy he’d been all but obsessed with for weeks, Warren cannot reply in words. His throat goes stiff, and all he can think about is the fantastic warmth radiating from the boy, and how badly he wants to feel more of it. He musters a nod, a slow but assured gesture. Moments pass, though to the two boys on perched on the edge of Kurt’s bed, they may as well have been on a different planet, one completely their own.
It is Kurt this time that closes the distance between them and presses his lips to Warren’s. Softly, tentatively, nothing like the unplanned and haphazard kiss of the previous night. Kurt slips his hand into Warren’s, who responds by lacing his five fingers snugly into Kurt’s three, his eyes still closed as he returns the gentle, tender pressure. A shudder ripples down his spine and along his wings as he feels Kurt’s other hand against the back of his neck, grazing against him so lightly before it lands that it sends tingles sprawling across his skin. Feeling the intuitive desire to return the gesture, he lifts his free hand and, with eyes still shut tight, lets it feel its way across the bedspread until it finds Kurt’s side. It moves upwards painfully slowly, caressing Kurt’s arm and bringing out an intensely satisfying shudder from the boy as he softens further into the kiss.
When at last the two part, each one is giddy and smiling, and neither one has any intention of fleeing the scene for any other reason than to run to the nearest rooftop and yell to the world what has just happened. Both too caught up with each other, neither knows how much time passes before one of them finally decides to break the quiet.
“I never thought you’d actually…” Kurt breathes, his fingers still tightly knitted with Warren’s. He does not even need to finish before Warren nods in agreement.
“Me neither.”
The two share an open, breathless smile, cheeks flushed hot, and in Warren’s case, bright red. The skin on the back of his neck is cold now, already missing Kurt’s touch. He is struck by another impulse, and acts on it with a smile, leaning in and pecking Kurt on his temple. Kurt smiles in response, the expression as bright as a star and as warm as the sun. He lays his head on Warren’s shoulder, his tail subconsciously curling around Warren, the spade gliding back and forth over the place where Warren’s hip meets his thigh. Left undisturbed in Kurt’s room, the two of them sit for as long as they can together, savouring the perfection of the moment and hoping that nothing would come to end it before they were good and ready to leave each other’s side.
#yay i finally updated#sorry to keep everyone waiting#in his eyes#nightangel#nightcrawler#angel#archangel#Warren Worthington#warren worthington iii#kurt wagner#x-men#x-men: apocalypse#comics#marvel#fic#drabble#fanfiction#xmen
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WELCOME BACK!
<3 I really missed you, and it’s so great to hear you had fun! (and omg yes so ready to see all those beautiful pics)
Yaaayyyy join me in MCU feels hell. And oooh, you have a ship for the fandom now! Like, Stoki’s still my favorite Steve pairing but Stony’s really cool too…you know I ship almost everything XD (also am I the only person who sorta hated almost everyone by the end of CW? Like, of course they’re still my favs and there are still some cinnamon rolls, but, come on. Why couldn’t you all just get along ;-;)
Speaking of Illumi, do you know that Hisoka/Illumi is an incredibly popular ship in the HxH fandom? Probably because both of them are so horrible that they have like 0 friends other than each other. Nobody else wants to hang out with these losers. (Chrollo tolerates Hisoka and the adults in Illumi’s family seem to spend enough time with him to give him orders, but that’s about it.) It’s a trash ship with two trashy people and tbh I love it XD
So continuing with the eye jokes, imagine. Hisoillu version of Helpless. Hisoillu version of Satisfied.
“Look into his eyes and the sky’s the limit”
“Intelligent eyes in a hunger-pang frame”
(I know you did thise one before but still) “But when I fantasize at night, it’s Illumi’s eyes”
just, I’m imagining animatics for this with the ‘camera’ zooming in on Illumi’s dead fish eyes every time the lyrics mention them. It’s hilarious and also mildly terrifying
(though I guess if we’re actually making a Hamilton AU Hisoka’s way more likely to do something like Say No To This…)
idk if I’d want to be a parent either really LOL. Kids are adorable but I don’t think I’ll ever be responsible enough to raise one…
If Ishida makes a plot twist or something about it being someone else pretending to be Hide I'm actually gonna get mad. Dude. Not only would that bring the Hide feels right back it’d just make absolutely no sense omg
(also you read the new chapter, right? So, let’s talk about Juuzou and that huge death flag)
I’ve heard of Soul Eater and considered reading it but it’s not really the kind of thing I’m into…artwork’s cute, though, and Death the Kid seems like an interesting guy so maybe someday XD
AGH I’M ACTUALLY SORTA JEALOUS BECAUSE WOW I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA HOW TO WATCH THAT LEGALLY HERE IN KOREA. (unless I ask my dad for help but he doesn’t like manga/anime at all, so…) But yes, I’m really happy Lizzy finally got her moment this time! Now anime-only fans can’t complain about her being a ‘shallow’ character so hopefully there’ll be less fighting over Lizzy in the Kuro fandom :D
FINALLY. Fellow Death Note fan <3333 Who’s your fav? Do you have any ships? Are you done with the anime??? :D (also do you know…you picked a really interesting time to join the DN fandom. The American live-action movie just came out and it sucks so freaking bad, like I haven’t even watched it yet and just from the reviews/clips, here’s what I got:
-They turned Misa into this Harley Quinn-type character. Only without any depth.
-Light/Misa is an actual canon ship, like, it’s not abusive or one-sided like it is in the anime/manga, it’s just…a thing. Light loves Misa. Misa loves Light. It’s like every cringey high school romance movie ever, only with more murder
-They freaking bent the Death Note rules just so Light could get away with all sorts of ridiculous stuff
-L cries, L rants, L is overly emotional
-Light tells L where he hid a page from his Death Note. Light doesn’t deny being Kira. Light shows Misa his Death Note when they like barely know each other and she’s still a complete stranger to him. Light acts like an idiot.
-Oh sure, he’s Kira, God of the New World, but he still cares about going to prom with his girlfriend and making stupid faces as they pose for pictures
-So much unnecessary gore. Heart attacks are Kira’s thing, Light isn’t that emotional about his kills, he doesn’t care as long as the 'villains’ are dead, so why???
-Apparently Rem does not exist. Sayu doesn't exist either. Light’s mom is dead (probably so he can angst over her)
-Light Turner. Light TURNER. Out of all the surnames they could have chosen…
-And now, for the most unforgivable sin:
How dare they not include the Potato Chip scene)
And then random things: JJ and Light have the same voice actor. Yurio and Mello (imo…have you met Mello yet?) could be long-lost twins.
Also:
I’ve fallen into Steven Universe hell and now I’m imagining so. Many. Gem AUs. Have you ever heard of SU?
(look:
1- don’t stress about the messages, and come on, I’d never get mad at you over something like this! You’re way too awesome.
2- I don’t really know what to say 'cause I’m bad at comforting people, but ugh, it sucks to hear that school’s tiring you out! Queen Luna’s gonna get through this, though. I mean, you’re great at so many things and you’re freaking smart and…this is awkward but maybe you understand Evans Language by now? XD Guess I’m just trying to say that I’m sure you’ll do great, and if you ever need someone to talk to I’m (almost) always free *hugs*
3- Um. So, other than tumblr, I think the only way I can talk with you right now is if we email each other? The email address I used this time is my real one (or rather, my dad’s, since I don’t have one of my own yet…) so maybe we can talk about this more through email and find a better way to contact each other? If that’s ok with you can you send me a message there?)
P.S:
I’ve started college and have no idea what I’m doing
*slams head against keyboard* guess who managed to get sick. It’s only been a week since school started. Whatever, I’m still going to school, but I woke up breathing like a fish on land, bc asthma. Yay.
I’m definitely gonna upload the pics today!!
Okay, but one thing I’m wondering about, is How? Not in a malicious way or anything, I’m genuinely curious to why you ship Stoki (and where it began). Was it that redemption fic you told me about or did you ship it before?
Tbh, I didn’t hate the characters in CW, I hated the situation. Because there’s so so much pointless conflict that could easily be solved if everyone sat down and talked like normal people. But nooo we have to go around attacking each other.
((ALSO CAP’S LETTER TO TONY, I AM DEAD))
I’ve already learned (and experienced) that shipping is a very weird and unusual thing, so I’ll be honest and say I’m not even surprised that ship exists. At least it has some basis XD
I’m actually tempted to go through the lyrics of the whole musical and find every single eye line there is, only to replace it w Illumi’s eyes.
Not only zooming in on the eyes, the word itself is louder than the rest XD
man if only I could draw…
Tbh I’d say I’m responsible enough (HA, that’s more or less a lie), but I’m honestly way too irritated with the little ones to be able to have one of my own. My cousin recently celebrated her 3rd bday and I was stuck looking after her during the party, bc all the adults were talking among themselves and I swear to god, I haven’t moved that much since I had to run 2km for PE. Where do they get their energy.
Not to mention the adults thought it would be a good idea to leave me w her, because I’d already drunk 3 glasses of wine (i was bored and not allowed to do anything other than stare at emptiness or look after a 3yo). Turns out my tolerance isn’t that bad after all.
Lol let’s be honest, Ishida would totally do that. He knows the fandom would riot and that’s the whole point.
All the death flags. Tbh I don’t know how I feel about it. It’s obvious that either Touka or Juuzou are probably gonna die and I wan’t neither (If I have to choose tho, I’d rather Juuzou survives.)
Also Naki. HNNNNNNGH
I think you’d actually like the manga? It takes a pretty dark turn compared to the anime and deals with lots of mental issues (the whole theme of the later volumes is Madness). Also, lots of death XD
Well, the artwork changes drastically, so which one are you talking about XD
The girl in the coat (left first pic, middle 2nd) is the same person for reference.
Death the Kid was one of my first anime crushes. The guy has OCD and is a total badass.
MUHAHAHAHA
I think someone uploaded the Lizzy fight to youtube so you can probably find it there, but I am in love. The animation is beautiful, so that’s also a huge plus. All in all, it was handled really well.
Death Note
So last I’ve watched is ep 25, aka the one WHERE L DIES.
And i am not okay.
I am nowhere near okay.
Nope.
Not at all.
Oh i’ve heard all about the adaptation. Tbh I find the whitewashing hilarious. Setting the movie in America removes so much of the series’s logic, so why?
L being the way he is is probably my favourite mistake. They took the best character and ruined him completely.
POTATO CHIP SCENE NOOOO
But my question is:
did everything go just according to the keikaku?
Have fun w SU! I’ve watched it for a while, but gave up at some point. I might pick it up again if I have the time ^^
Word of advice, watch out for the fandom, they’re among the most toxic ones I’ve ever encountered. One time, they almost drove an artist to suicide because she didn’t draw Rose ‘thick enough’. So yeah.
What did I do to deserve you as my friend TT^TT Thank you so so much, those words mean more than you can imagine.
Um. Looks like we’ll be staying here, because I never, ever check my mail, despite getting school assignments there, so yeah. If we used mail, you’d probably get a response every leap year.
How does the education system work in Korea? Like, at what age do you start going to which school?
Also, I’ve told you about Mystic Messenger? I think you’d like the newest update, because damn, it’s creeping me out.
Also, it’s in Korean, so +
((My thoughts during the prologue of the new route: Nani the fuck))
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It’s 4 fucking am so I’m not going to do the write up now but it’s my boys, my best boys, my favourite
Now with proper info below the cut
Ameeth (Ah May Eth) is the crown prince of Auratus, an island kingdom composed of 7 major islands of varied sizes off the coast of the continent of Aesse. While not raised in isolation, he had only a passing interest in most of the concerns of his peers, and preferred to spend any time he could in the palace gardens. This refuge of escape eventually turned into a deep interest in botany, a hobby which his mother tolerated so long as he had already finished his studies for the day and didn’t allow anyone of note to see him covered in dirt. He is eventually allowed a short vacation from the castle as the preamble to his pre-coronation tour, and revels in having a personal garden for the duration of it (Note: this coronation is part of a traditional process as the country is composed of long-living elves and the position of Heir Apparent is actually given to the youngest sibling (usually the youngest daughter if possible), to ensure that the monarch lasts as long as possible as there can occasionally be age gaps of centuries between siblings. The Heir is always crowned around their second decade of living, and is transferred as soon as a younger sibling reaches the correct age. As Ameeth is an only child and his mother Aleksandra refuses to remarry lest he possibly be branded a bastard, he is the sole current direct heir and thus is crowned after his 20th birthday).
Ameeth initially views his position with grudging acceptance, though slowly gains a sense of duty about it. His feelings about it are complicated by annual abuse suffered at the hands of the King of the Iron Island, which he is forced into at a young age in order to avoid a threatened war. This abuse comes to a head in a murder plot, conducted in conjunction with the King’s wives and coincidentally lining up with a similar plot set by some of his sons. It’s a mess. Fluorite is there. One of the king’s sons is crowned after the massacre, which solves the war threat but also lands Ameeth in a position of contention as he was present for the murders and ends with him swerve dodging out of what could have been an arranged marriage with one of the King’s daughters by loudly announcing that he’s decided to marry Fluorite.
Fluorite is the God of Death (Mark 2), taking over for Libitina. He is in a unique position as the second generation of Greater Gods are almost fully reassembled souls (in the way most normal gods are made, but so complete that their almost approach total unity). To most of the Greater Gods he is considered a fetus due to his age and immaturity, and they view most of his actions in similarly to an adult looking at an infant clack building blocks together for the first time. Because his selves were originally mortal, he still retains a lot of the drive to have a mortal life, and as a part of his eventual adjustment into godhood he is allowed to roam free on a single timeline to get it out of his system. The timeline chosen for this is linked to an incident near his conception, and he is sent to live with Ameeth due to this. While in Auratus he invents an identity based around a mythological land similar to Atlantis, and uses his connections to turn it into a reality just to add credibility to his story.
While he doesn’t really start out thinking he would be around for too long (Figuring it just needed a short stint to get it out of his system and become a proper god), he ends up hopelessly infatuated with Ameeth and this leads him down the path to making some very selfish decisions and essentially fucking up a timeline so thoroughly that it becomes unable to split and is probably destined to eventually implode.
He doesn’t care.
All he cares about is Ameeth.
Other Important Note: Although no one tells them at initially, everyone assumed they were half brothers. It eventually comes out that they’re not related at all, but due to a universe-wide conspiracy to keep their not-father Skyle so distracted that he doesn’t realize he could easily cause an apocalypse they end up in a weird place emotionally. This plot point is left over from when I originally made them, as I had set out to create a really weird, kind of taboo pairing and ended up having to dial it back a bunch later since I liked them too much and didn’t feel comfortable with the original situation. Unfortunately, a bunch of other stuff got wrapped up in the fact that a good portion of the other characters believe they’re related, so this is my current best solution to the problem.
Design Notes:
I wanted to do a slight age progression with their outfits here, starting with when they originally met (Although they honestly look a little younger than they should oops) and ending with outfits more similar to what they would wear to a formal occasion in their adulthood.
Ameeth’s outfits were mainly designed to look royal, though I tried to incorporate as much subtle flower/plant symbolism into them as I could. This was mostly relegated to the colour and fabric pattern choices, though I got a little more obvious with it when he’s older due to the fact that he eventually gains the moniker of “Flower King”. Braids are symbolic in Auratian culture as a way to show honour to one’s ancestors, and wearing one’s hair in a braid is common for people in traditional positions of power. Auratian monarchs generally grow out their hair to accommodate this, and their clothing also has a tendency to incorporate braids into the designs. Although it isn’t visible in these pictures because he’s facing the wrong way, his actual crown in an earring worn along the underside of the long part of his ear, which requires a double piercing to hold it in place (This piercing is done by the current monarch as part of the coronation, and is allowed to grow over if the position is passed to a younger sibling). Ears are seen as a sacred body part in Auratian culture and both piercings and earrings are an important part of multiple life milestones. I forgot to draw their wedding piercings because you’d only be able to see it on Fluorite and I don’t have a solid design for it yet, but the left lobe is pierced by the SO during the marriage ceremony and matching earrings are worn to commemorate the marriage. Similarly, the parent’s right lobes are pierced after the birth of their first child, and fathers wear a single red stud to signify having offspring while mothers wear a ring or hoop, adding extras in a chain for each additional child.
A final note about Ameeth’s design is his heterochromia; this was originally to show his demigod lineage as Skyle’s sons tend to have blue eyes of varying hues, but Auratian royalty is known for their characteristic purple eyes. Thus, the heterochromia was meant to symbolize his dual heritage. I could change it now, but his granddaughter (Toroka) inherited it and Fluorite mentions it in an off-comment about it making her more credible as the heir in Hat Shop so it stays.
Also, Ameeth’s name is based off of a corruption of Amethyst since Skyle’s sons have a gemstone name theme thing going on, and the purple royal eyes was tied into that.
Fluorite’s design is based on his mother (Osis)’s design, as well as the fact that he’s pretending to be a priest. The shredded cape idea came from an old drawing I did where he had a similar cape and I thought it was damn cool so it stuck around. He isn’t actually an elf, he just puts the ears on when he’s on-world so people don’t look at him weirdly. I mean, people look at him weirdly already, but that’s mostly because he always has an expression on his face that makes him look like he knows exactly when you’re going to die (he does).
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BASIC INFORMATION
♚┋FULL NAME: Rory Lynch
♚┋PRONUNCIATION: ROR-ee
♚┋NICKNAME(S): Roy
♚┋TITLE: The Target
♚┋OCCUPATION: contract killer
♚┋~AGE: 36
♚┋DATE OF BIRTH: 23 August
♚┋GENDER: Cisgender
♚┋PRONOUNS: He/Him/His
♚┋ORIENTATION: Biromantic Bisexual
♚┋NATIONALITY: Irish
♚┋RELIGION: Lapsed Catholic
♚┋SPECIES: Human
♚┋AFFILIATION: Lynch (particularly towards Trish)/Morrison
♚┋GENERATION: Third
♚┋THREAT LEVEL: High (violent and aggressive, though not necessarily malicious)
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
♚┋FACE CLAIM: Boyd Holbrook
♚┋EYE COLOUR: Blue/Green
♚┋HAIR COLOUR: Brown
♚┋DOMINANT HAND: Right
♚┋HEIGHT: 190 centimeters (6′2)
♚┋WEIGHT: 154 lbs
♚┋TATTOOS: various skulls on his body, the most noticeable being on his chest. They’re all in black and white, however. No color whatsoever.
♚┋SCARS: various scars from stab and surgery wounds, a few of which healed woefully bad.
♚┋PIERCINGS: Nah.
♚┋GLASSES: Still nah.
PSYCHOLOGY INFORMATION
♚┋JUNG TYPE: ESTP
♚┋SUBTYPE: Logical
♚┋ENNEATYPE: 8w7
♚┋MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Evil
♚┋TEMPERAMENT: Choleric
♚┋SCHEMA:
♚┋INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Bodily-Kinesthetic, Visual-Spatial, Interpersonal
♚┋~IQ: 125
♚┋NEUROTYPE: Neurotypical
♚┋AT RISK? Given hereditary influences and environmental factors: yes.
BACKGROUND INFORMATION
♚┋HOMETOWN: Darndale, Ireland
♚┋CURRENT: Dublin, Ireland
♚┋LANGUAGE(S): English, some Irish
♚┋SOCIAL CLASS: lower middle class
♚┋DEGREE: none
♚┋SUBJECT(S): none
♚┋PARENT #1: Yannis Romanos Calathes, never met, probably alive
♚┋PARENT #2: Maryanne Thompson, estranged, alive
♚┋SIBLING(S): none
♚┋MAIN SHIP: Trish/Rory
♚┋RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Married
♚┋CHILDREN: none
♚┋PET(S): none
♚┋ADOPTED? Yes.
♚┋RAP SHEET? No.
♚┋PRISON TIME? Not yet.
VICES / HABITS
♚┋SMOKES? Yes.
♚┋DRINKS? No.
♚┋DOES DRUGS? No.
♚┋IS VIOLENT? Yes, oftentimes bordering on Cían’s misanthropic inclinations. As a sadomasochist, Rory indulges in all kinds of violence with such jubilant gusto that he has risked arrest before. Whether emotional, physical, or sexual - there’s no limit.
♚┋HAS AN ADDICTION? Well, I mean, if you can murderous intent an addiction...
♚┋IS SELF-DESTRUCTIVE? No.
♚┋HABITS: always seen with a card deck, plays idly with a coin when extremely bored, just up and leaves mid-conversation when he feels himself his limited capacity to tolerate social interaction, long-ass baths with lavender-scented bathing foam, excels at pretending to listen to what you’ve got to say even though he doesn’t really give a shit, cannot sleep without socks on. Gross.
♚┋HOBBIES: long ass baths, partaking in eating competitions, falconry, binge-watching every movie on Netflix ( and throwing in annoying one-liners during conversations), crowd watching, eating, acrobatics, magic tricks
♚┋TICS: repetition of words
♚┋OBSESSION(S): none
♚┋COMPULSION(S): repeating activities in multiples (three times)
MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION
♚┋HOUSE: Dunno. He doesn’t really fit into any house 100%, but I’d wager Slytherin
♚┋VICE: Greed
♚┋VIRTUE: Patience
♚┋ELEMENT: Fire
♚┋ANGEL: Mephistopheles
♚┋MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE:/
♚┋ANIMAL: Lynx
♚┋MUTATION: something dementor-esque. Sucking all joy out of a person - that sounds like Rory, all right.
♚┋WOULD SURVIVE POST-APOC? For a while.
STATUS INFORMATION
♚┋DEVELOPMENT: Underdeveloped
♚┋SHIPPING: Trish/Rory, Shiplocked. (May possibly get obsessed and possessive of another person, but Trish comes first.)
♚┋VERSE: crime, slice of life
♚┋VERSE TYPE: crime
♚┋CANON: crime
♚┋PLOTTING: Open
♚┋CREATION DATE: November 2017
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Child abuse, suicide
CHARACTER SUMMARY
A life with so much calamity followed by cataclysm promptly incurs sympathy and even pity to empathetic souls. The best advice to give about Rory’s history is to close your heart to such inclinations. You may want to dig deeper and unravel a rational reason for his cruelty; but there are no reasons; no excuses. His childhood, however, hurtled rapidly towards trauma. A father who didn’t want him and pressured his mother to get an abortion. A mother who killed herself in front of her son and a circus director who saw a lucrative opportunity in a nine-year-old orphan. At being a performer, Rory excelled, soon becoming an accomplished fire artist, juggler, knife-thrower, and tightrope walker. After an incident with a trapeze artist, he couch-surfed for a while, earning his keep as a street magician conning naïve pedestrians. When he tried to con a certain Cían Morrison, for the first time, the boy was given a choice – and he made it, consequently being trained to become Cían’s underling. The man’s orders, despite his chaotic being, are like gospel to him and though his usually to himself, Rory is proud to be affiliated with Lynch and Morrison. Here, he’s not judged and here, his perverseness has value.
APPEARANCE DESCRIPTION
Rory’s body has undergone many transformations, from malnourishment to a lanky yet athletic build mirroring his penchant for acrobatics, leaving him with stretch marks to show for it. Naturally, his height is also of interest – at 190 centimeters, he can be considered quite gargantuan. Unware of his size, Rory often doesn’t realize how intimidating he is for tiny people with attitudes. His voice, by contrast, is the usual Dubliner accent with the usually associated infamous intonation, his original roots notwithstanding. On the rare chance that Rory can be bothered to wear clothes, it’s always with some form of skull print to go with the distressed look. As for his eyes, they’re akin to smudged colors, i.e. green and blue. There’s something dull about their expression, something quite unfocused and absent-minded.
PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION
Shockingly enough, the first impression you’ll form is that of a cheerful, fun-loving guy with a jubilant aura about him, always humming upbeat tunes under his breath. If you don’t know anything about the hand he plays in both families, there’s the likelihood you will be inclined to trust him. Even his optimistic streak is quite endearing, whether real or constructed. He’s not one for subtlety or in any way interested in manipulative schemes – those are more his adoptive sister’s domain. Regardless, Rory is an opportunist above everything, comfortably ditching the ridiculous notion that you have to be either realistic or idealistic. In his opportunism, however, he can get lost and messy without Cían’s continued guidance as well as instructions. Having been used by affluent personages of influence, Rory has taught himself not to be affected or fazed by emotions, thus coming across as trustworthy and even rational. It’s simple to get caught up in his cobweb of deviance – because that’s what he is. It’s the adrenaline, the control, the loss of the act which sends shivers down his spine, and you will find that anything humane was really just a game in the scheme of players and pawns. Feral, malicious, impetuous – a dangerous cocktail bound to leave carnage in its wake. If it weren’t for his downright religious reverence towards Cían, Rory would’ve long since lost control entirely and been locked away for good. It is hardly a revelation, then, that this ruthless man resisting any attempts to control him defers to his savior’s authority without question. Lastly, here’s another catch: if you ask him whether or not he has any shred of remorse in him, he’ll gladly tell you that he does; it’s just more selective than for most others.
SKILLS / COMPETENCES
Ostensibly, his training as an acrobat has equipped him with the kind of dexterous athleticism that proves an asset in his line of work. Most notably, however, is his ability to retain his cool-headed demeanor when faced with threats or greater adversary. Indeed, it would be wrong to dismiss Rory as a passionate, disorganized killer of limited intelligence. Despite his lack of a formal education, he knows how to exploit others, though lacks Cían’s patience and resilience to drag on the cat-and-mouse charade for longer than strictly necessary. Under Cían’s tutelage, though, Rory acquired an impressive set of additional skills: a thorough insight into psychology, marksmanship, tactical intelligence, and acute observational abilities. Plus, he can practically smell trouble; a perk picked up during his childhood. Contrary to what one might presume, moreover, Rory is good with children. They’re the ones that stir any resemblance of sentiment in him.
INTERPERSONAL MANNER
Dictatorial, barbaric, base – all accurate assessments of his disposition. Whether he is immoral or amoral is a dispute you’re free to have, he will say, though it is not one he is particularly interested in himself. What he upholds and adheres to is whatever Cían instructs him to, not because Rory has any strong convictions of his own. It can be safely assumed, however, that despite his volatile tendencies, he is undoubtedly loyal towards his savior and would never do anything to sacrifice his new family. It may be easy to conclude that his marriage to Trish is one of domestic violence; but this couldn’t be further from the truth. Trish is the only person who, to this date, has never made any attempts to control him or undermine his importance and although he doesn’t love her in the beauty and the beast soap opera sense, Rory respects Trish – most of all because she is willing to give him what he’s always wanted: a son. Because in the end, even he draws a line in his murderous enjoyment. Rory would never harm children.
INSPIRED BY: the entirety of Kuroshitsuji’s book of circus, various characters from Baccano, Gentlemen & Players (book)
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