#and sometimes a little nausea pops in to say hello recently

[tinyspringtrap]

ough im getting symptoms and problems again why me man why can't I just live my life

#sassy says #this is awful my intestines feel like garbage #there's just this constant dull discomfort and occasional pain #and sometimes a little nausea pops in to say hello recently #i miss having a functional digestive system fucking hell #every time i get some stupid ass intestinal symptoms I have to once again grapple with the fear #that my luck is shit and i have landed that one in a million chance of my digestive tract redeveloping the blockage i had as a kid #im not strong enough to do that again man. im just not. #why cant i just have a functional digestive system fuck my LIFE dude #im not even sure how that would go if i got it again either... like would they be able to be more preemptive about it? #or would it be another year of dancing around a bunch of bullshit if it didnt show up on imaging and tests again #would they have to cut out even MORE of my intestine? #would they have to cut in a different place to get to it on account of the scar tissue thats already there?? #god i hope its just my intestines acting up a little or some minor issue that can be easily treated #if not then... they'd better be willing to yeet my uterus if they gotta go in again im tired of this stupid thing #it causes me nothing but pain and i am tired of it #however the doctor i talked to about removing it brought up an actual valid point that wasnt just 'but BABIES????????????' #and that point was that the scar tissue from my surgery as a kid #due to the placement of it #could cause problems during such a procedure that might not be optimal #which i never thought about before but she is right and i can accept that reasoning!! because it is an actual genuine concern!! #and not just 'but what if you want to pop out children????' #so yeah if they gotta go in again anyways at any point they best be yeeting this bitch but hopefully it doesnt come to that #because recovering from intestinal surgery sucks for one #and also because i am NOT keen on having another tube down the back of my nose and throat. that was so fucking miserable my god. #personal shit #personal bullshit #i ranted more than i meant to if you actually read the tags have a cookie and an apology #i just need to vent it out sometimes u can ignore it if u want

[inkrabbit]

New Family

I don't wanna talk about it. I had talked about this subject in my group chat, and I decided I wanted to make it. It's shit but it's here.

Summary: After being released from his little holding cell, Richard receives a call from his mother, and it's not a welcomed one.

Word count: 1,612

“Brought down by a group of terrorists, hm? Well, I supposed I never expected much from you.”

Richard feels his stomach churn, nausea washing over him like a tidal wave. DedSec had released him from his little prison a couple weeks ago, and the first call he had gotten since his incarceration was from his mother, Victoria. He had been hesitant at first when the caller ID popped up, but had answered nonetheless. A part of him had been almost excited. Though he and his mother hadn't been on the best of terms, he had deep down wanted to reconnect with the woman, desperate to hold on to the last bit of family he had.

And yet, he had been met with this. No “hello” or even “how are you?” had come from the woman's lips, only the insult that cut him deep. Sitting on the sofa in the safehouse, Richard leans forwards to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Hello, mother,” His voice is bitter as he lifts his glasses up, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why hadn't he just ignored the call like he had done the other times? Curse him for having a moment of weakness. Now look at what he was dealing with.

“And blowing up an embassy!” she continues, raising her voice and making him softly groan. Everything he had tried to forget about while in the cell was coming back as Victoria continued ranting. The fact he had killed Emma Child, his higher up and someone he had considered a friend, and for what? In an attempt to bring down Zero-Day? That he couldn't even do himself?

“Why have you decided to call?” There's a scoff on the other side, and he can almost see now; her nose turned up and her brows furrowed. It's a vivid memory that always came to light whenever he thought of his mother. She was a woman with champagne taste on a beer budget, and she always seemed to despise his father. Perhaps a diesel fitter didn't pay enough for the woman's taste, or maybe she always felt Richard was the reason why she couldn't spend as much as she wanted. Still, it always tore him down inside whenever he heard her condescending voice.

“Just wanted to check up on you,” He rolls his eyes as he hears the sneer, but his heart tugs when she continues. “Still a failure, I see. Couldn't even last as Director of Counter-terrorism for more than a day. Is that why you bombed the Canadian embassy? Oh, and thenyou let a bunch of terrorists win! I'm surprised you're still alive, honestly.”

He had to agree with her last statement. He had heard some of the members chatter before, the younger and more fiery ones suggesting they just put a bullet in his skull and call it a day. Still, it felt... odd to hear her continuously refer to DedSec as terrorists.

“You don't know how embarrassed you've made me,” she continues, “You've shamed the Malik name. Your father would be disgusted with you, as am I.”

The breath catches in his throat and he bites his tongue, holding back his snappy response. No, he couldn't lose his cool. He couldn't let her win. Taking a deep breath, he finally opens his mouth to respond, only to have the phone snatched from his hand. Dan's standing before him, a disgusted look in his eyes as he ends the call, tossing it down on the couch beside Richard. He's dumbfounded.

“Ya don't need that cunt in your life if she's gonna treat ya like that,” he grumbles bitterly, “Don't listen to her.”

“You seem to talk from experience,” Richard comments, sitting upright so he can look at the man better. For a moment, he doesn't respond. Dan just grips the edge of his shirt, pulling it to the side and revealing an ugly scar near his shoulder. It looked old and had faded, but it didn't resemble a bullet wound like he would've expected.

“Me da used to do say the same shite to me,” he tells him, slipping his finger out of his shirt and fixing it. “Called me every name in the book, put cigarettes out on me. Ya get numb to all it after a while.”

“Yes, well, it wasn't the hello I was expecting,” Who would've expected to hear that from their own mother after not speaking to each other for so long? He supposed he was foolish for thinking the conversation would've went any other way.

“Stop expecting anythin' from her,” Dan's pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, tapping the bottom against his palm. “Ya don't need her, anyway. She'll just bring you down.”

He takes his leave after that, leaving Richard to go through his thoughts. Had he been right? He always held onto that remaining thread, feeling guilty to ever just cut the woman off completely. He supposed he was desperate to cling to that last bit of family he had. He had no siblings, his father had died when he was a teen, and he never spoke to his aunts or uncles on his mother's side of the family. They had the same snooty air, and it always wore him down. The way they criticized his clothes, how he styled his hair, what profession he was in – was that why he had studied so hard when he was in school? Why he had thrown himself into his books after his father died?

“What's wrong, dear?” The soft and gentle voice of Annika catches his attention, the old woman pushing aside his phone so she could take a seat next to him on the couch. He picks up the device, slipping it into his pocket.

“Nothing. It's nothing,” He tries to brush her off, but she reaches out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You know how loud Danny's voice is,” she hints, a small smile forming. “Now, how about you tell me yourself, love?”

He hesitates. He felt so silly letting the woman's words get to him the more he calmed down, but his heart still felt heavy. Annika waits patiently, and he finally sighs softly as he turns to her. She had always been one of the nicer members of the group, always sneaking him sweets and the like. She hadn't judged him, not too harshly like the others had. With a deep breath, he finally tells her, starting with the most recent phone call that had abruptly ended. The smile finally falls, a look of disgust on her face as she scoffs.

“What a horrible woman!” she exasperates, shaking her head. “No mother should ever speak to her children in such a way.”

“I've grown accustomed to it,” he sighs, “It's how she's always been, ever since I was young. She got worse after my father's... passing.”

“Now, that is no excuse!” She's reaching out to grip his shoulders now, nowhere near tight, but enough to catch his attention. “You are a good man, Richard. Sure, you've done... awful things, but your heart was in the right place.”

“You... really think so?” He nearly chokes on her words, his name almost sounding foreign. All of the operatives had referred to him as his last name, even after being able to finally leave his little prison. And to hear her call him a nice man, and even go as far to say his heart was in the right place. It felt weird, but nice.

“We're your new family now!” she announces, straightening up and holding her head high in pride. “Don't you let anyone tell you otherwise, dear! And if they do, just send them over to me and I'll whoop them into shape.”

“Thank you, Annika,” He forces a small smile onto his face. She seems satisfied with his response, patting his cheek gently before standing up and disappearing into the small train that was inside the safehouse. He's left alone with his thoughts, the old woman's voice ringing out in his head. To think of DedSec as his new family... it was a thought that seemed surreal. The same group he had sought to dismantle and destroy in an attempt to save his county was the same group that had finally seemed to accept him and his flaws. Or, at the very least, the they hadn't thrown the past events in his face and belittled him.

The more he thoughts about it, however, the more he got accustomed to the idea. He had seen how some of the operatives acted around one another. How Lorcan would hang off of Jeremy in an attempt to get his attention, and how Franklin would train the younger operatives with the stun guns, showing them how to aim and use the thing. He had even seen Dan and Lorcan spar with the newer operatives, always accepting their requests to train. He never wanted to admit it out loud, or even to himself, but sometimes he would feel that desire to join in conversation or even some playful fights. Maybe he did truly want a family deep down. People who would accept him and work with him, rather than turn their backs on him.

Yeah, maybe this would be okay. Maybe Annika and Dan were right. He didn't need his mother to call only to berate him. It felt nice to have people who supported him, even if it was just for the moment. Maybe DedSec would eventually become his new family.

#yes there are characters in here I've never talked about #will I ever post their infos or even hcs? #maybe #will it be anytime soon #no #you guys are lucky you got Dan and Jeremy's character sheets #I don't have the attention span to do the others #Lorcan is slowly being worked on tho

[obxhoe]

Anon request//JJ x reader

I accidentally deleted the anon request but it was about Rafe and reader being in an unhealthy relationship and JJ helps/saves her. 

a/n: i tried my best with this and i hope this is okay!!! thank you for requesting! Sorry this is so late and that i have been lacking with content, work has been insane and i’m slowly getting back on track. I have a few things in progress. I tried to make this story as positive as it could be, having been in an abusive relationship myself and I didn’t wanna trigger anyone or anything. Soooo yeah enjoy!

word count: around 2,400

Warnings: drugs, abusive/unhealthy relationship (i tried to leave out graphic content, just a lot of yelling), swearing

He was high. Again. This had become the new normal, Rafe getting high out of his fucking mind almost every night. And it was usually the only time he was somewhat nice to you. It started out when he went from smoking with you or his friends to him smoking alone, multiple times, every day. Then came cocaine. One night at a party you two decided to try it. The rush was too much for you, a whiplash of sensations hitting you all at once and you decided to stick to weed from that moment on. Rafe on the other hand fell in love with it and well, shit hit the fan. Fast. It was exhausting having to deal with his constant mood swings. 

Last night was bad. He says he would never physically hurt you, but he’s gotten close to it before and it terrifies you. He grabbed your arm last night when you were trying to leave and this morning the bruise was already apparent. It was right above your wrist so it was going to be hard to hide, the humidity was insane and long sleeves did not seem like the move. But, you put on a long sleeve shirt anyway in an effort to hide it from your friends.

You arrive at the chateau, lugging your surfboard up the steps and letting out a huff. Beads of sweat were already forming at your hairline. You drop the surfboard on the floor of the porch and head inside. The rest of the pogues were in the back, Kie reading, and the guys playing soccer.

“Why does it always feel like we live in the actual jungle. The humidity is so disgusting my clothes are literally sticking to my skin.” You complain as you plop down into a plastic lawn chair. Your friends turn and smile at you, happy you finally arrived. John B and JJ run over and tackle you to the ground while Pope stands there laughing so hard that there are tears forming in the corners of his eyes. This is where you are the happiest, not with Rafe. It’s a red flag, one of the many you have chosen to ignore.

“Okay okay hello to you too, now get off!” You squeal. They climb off of you and sit in a circle.

“We haven't seen you in like, what? A week? Where have you been?” Kie asks. Your stomach starts to churn, Rafe doesn’t like it when you hang out with the pogues. The past week you’ve been with him or working.

“I was working, a lot, all the time.” You hope they believe your excuse. The boys seemed to believe it but Kie wasn’t having it as she raised an eyebrow and you gave her a look as to say ‘not now, please’. She nods, but you know that the next time you two are alone, she’s going to confront you.

“Okay well I need water or something because I am dying” Kie gets up and you can tell she wants you to follow.

“I’ll come with you, do you guys want anything?” You ask the guys, trying to seem less suspicious. A chorus of ‘beers’ rang out and you nodded, following Kie inside.

“So spill. I know you haven’t been working all the time because I called your mom and she told me you’ve been spending all of your time with Rafe recently. Yes, we hate him but you don’t have to hide that from us.” You can see worry in her eyes. Subconsciously you roll up your long sleeves, obviously overheating and needing some relief.

“Look, I don’t know why I don’t tell you when I see him. I honestly don’t” That was a lie. “He’s just frustrating sometimes and I don’t want to bring anyone into the relationship drama” You reach for the fridge and Kie kicks the door shut and grabs your hand lightly. 

“What’s this?” She asks in regards to the bruise Rafe left last night. Your stomach drops, your mouth goes dry and you don’t know what to say. 

“I was walking Ace and he just pulled a little too tight when another dog walked by that’s all, no big deal” You try to laugh.

“Y/n,” Kie shakes her head, nervousness filling your stomach. “This is not from a dog leash. You and I both know that. This literally looks like a handprint, like someone grabbed you way too hard. And it looks fresh as if it happened within the last day.” She says, releasing your arm and you bring your hands to your head, grabbing at your hair. ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry’ you repeat to yourself silently. But it doesn’t work. You choke out a sob.

“He doesn’t mean it. I know he doesn’t. He just gets really angry sometimes. It was my fault for trying to leave so early” Tears now falling and your breath starting to get falter.

“What is going on? Did I just hear what I thought I heard?” JJ slips in from the hallway, eyes almost all black, fits clenched and face bright red. This was the last thing you needed right now.

“JJ-” you try to calm him down but he just cuts you off.

“No. Do not ‘JJ’ me. Let me see your arm” You shake your head. “Y/n, I said let me see your arm!” He’s shouting now, causing you to cry harder, your body shaking. You stick out your arm and he spins and slams his hand through the wall.

“JJ!” Kie screams. 

“What the fuck” Pope yells as he and John B rush in, obviously hearing the screaming and slamming going on.

“I’m going to kill Rafe. I’m going to fucking kill him” JJ says in the darkest voice you’ve ever heard him use.

“JJ please. She’s been through enough for fucks sake. Look at her” Kie yells pointing in your direction. You’re now crumbled on the kitchen floor. He realizes what he’s done and rushes over and sits down next to you, immediately pulling you into his arms. He rubs your back and apologizes quietly for yelling, you know he just wants to protect you.

“Can someone please explain what is going on” John B runs his hand through his hair, flustered and confused.

Kie shakes her head no but JJ cuts in.

“Y/n has a bruise on her arm and she tried to play it off as if it was some accident her dog caused. It’s literally a handprint. Rafe fucking grabbed her, hard. He’s dead, I swear.” JJ keeps his tone surprisingly calm, remembering he scared you earlier.

“Ok well as much as I would love to kill Rafe,” Pope starts, “We would probably just be putting y/n in more danger.”

“Well we can’t sit and do nothing” JJ says.

“For once I agree with JJ” Kie states, “Not the killing part, obviously. But we can’t just do nothing. She’s obviously unsafe with him.”

“Well what do we do then?” John B asks, walking over as sliding down to sit on the other side of you. 

“I have to talk to him” You state, and everyone starts to tell you how that’s a bad idea and it’s risky etc. etc. “Let me continue. Jesus people, I’m not that dumb. As I was saying. I have to talk to him, but not alone. JJ” you turn and look at the boy “You’re coming with me.”

The group shouts, protesting against your wishes.

“Are you crazy, he’s going to either kill Rafe or get himself killed!” Kie yells.

“I thought you were the other smart one, what kinda plan is this y/n?'' Pope says, shaking his head.

“JJ can’t control his temper when it comes to you, this is not a safe plan” John B says looking over to you.

“Oh since when did you become the expert on safe plans JB? I know this sounds dumb. But Rafe gets scared of JJ when he’s alone, no Topper, no Kelce. I’m going to see him when he’s alone and JJ will be outside waiting in the car. I’ll be on speaker phone the entire time and if shit starts to hit the fan, and I expect it to, JJ will come in and help me.” You say, everyone falling silent. 

“Well” Kie starts, “That’s actually kinda genius. But can the three of us at least sit in my car down the road?”

“Yeah that’s probably best” You state as you stand up and look at your phone going to the “find my friends” app. “Well he’s home now, we should probably get going in case he leaves. I know for a fact he’s alone because Topper and Kelce are off golfing” You show them your phone with the boys’ various locations. 

“I guess having an overprotective, psycho boyfriend has given us an advantage today” Pope mumbles, referencing the fact that Rafe and all of his friends have your location at all times. You nod, the nausea starting to build in your stomach as you get more and more anxious.

You and JJ hop into the van and Kie, Pope and John B get into her car. The plan was to have Kie follow you but pull off the road before the Cameron’s giant driveway. You text Rafe that you’re coming over and get the thumbs up emoji in return causing an eye roll. If you needed any validation that this was the right decision, that was it right there. No enthusiasm or anything. You pull into the driveway and have JJ sit in back so no one sees. It wasn’t weird arriving in John B’s van, you often borrowed it at times because you liked it more than your own car, who wouldn’t? 

“I’ll run in there in a heartbeat if things start getting the tiniest bit heated” JJ says, taking your hand into his and squeezing. You nod at him, forming words right now is too difficult and you don’t want to risk crying beforehand. You rehearse the script you’ve been playing over and over in your head for the last hour. 

You get out of the car and drag your feet to the front door, opening it up and walking in. You spot Wheezie walking down the stairs, running to give you a hug. Rose pops her head out of the kitchen to yell a quick ‘Hi!” and goes back to cooking dinner. Thanking the universe that you were not alone in this house with just Rafe, you head upstairs. You call JJ and put the phone back into your back pocket so he can hear everything. Knocking softly on the door, you hold your breath as he swings the door open.

“Hi” he mutters, going back to the video game he was playing. Your jaw drops. His room is a mess, his eyes glossed over and rose tinted, the smell of weed emanating off of every object scattered across the room. 

“Uh hi.” You mumble back, staying close to the doorway so that this encounter would not happen behind closed doors. “Can we talk please?” your voice cracks, great start. He looks up at you confused but then starts to realize what's going on.

“You’re leaving me aren’t you?” He throws the controller onto the floor and stands up, making his way to you. You tense up.

“Rafe, I-” He cuts you off, face inches away from yours and fist colliding with the wall.

 “You can’t leave me, Y/n. You can’t.” You see sadness more than anger in his eyes and tears start to fall from your own. 

“I have to” you whisper.

“I’m sorry baby. I’m sorry for everything. I’ll do better I promise.” He starts to cry. This is usually when you give into him, but not today.

“I can’t do this anymore, Rafe. I’m exhausted.” You run your hand through your hair and he spots the bruise on your arm. He freezes in place, hand coming up to his mouth.

“Did I, did I do that?” He says reaching for your arm, but you tense and pull away. “Fuck!” He screams. “I don’t remember that. I swear. I never meant to do anything to hurt you.” You hear footsteps coming. You turn. Wheezie. Your heart drops, she just heard everything. She looks hurt and mad and storms over to Rafe.

“You let her leave this house now!” She screams, tears threatening to fall. More footsteps. Rose and JJ. Dear God, this is the last thing you need. You look over to JJ and shake your head and the two of them stop before they make themselves noticeable. 

“Wheezie stay out of this please” He says harshly.

“Rafe,” You break your silence. “I need to go. And I need you to let me go.” You say backing up. Thanking the universe that JJ was right there ready to run with you back to the car. Rafe tries to follow but Wheezie steps in between.

“Y/n please” He whispers and you just shake your head.

“Goodbye Rafe” You turn and walk towards JJ, grabbing his hand and running down the stairs. You want to wait to thank Rose and Wheezie, but you can’t risk staying in the house a minute longer so you remind yourself to text them after.

You get to the car and slide in the passenger seat as JJ hops in on the other side. All of a sudden a sob racks your body. You’re free. You’re finally fucking free. He just stares at you for a second before pulling out of the driveway and stopping next to Kie’s car. He gets out and opens the passenger door, climbing into the seat with you, pulling you on top of him. He holds you while you sob.

“You did it” He whispers into your hair, “I’m so proud of you”. He repeats his words over and over again and the three others step out of the car. He looks up and nods at them, confirming that everything was okay and you were finally free. Kie and Pope go back into her car as John B climbs into his and drives the three of you back to the chateau. 

Once you arrive, you climb out of the car and strip down to your underwear and walk to the water. You submerge yourself for as long as you can and rise to the surface, taking the deepest breath you’ve been able to take in a long time. You can finally breathe, you’re free. The rest of the pogues join you in the water and you go to hug JJ. You hold each other for what feels like two minutes.

“Thank you JJ” You say against his shoulder. 

“Anything for you, y/n” He squeezes you tighter. “Anything.”

#jj #JJ Imagine #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj obx #jj outer banks #rafe #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #pope heyward #kie #kie carrera #john b #john b obx

[the-flowercrown-prince]

Ranboo's stream 'CONFRONTATION. || DreamSMP' (30.01.2021) - A Comprehesive Recap + Transcipt

Hello. I guess this is just what I do these days, so here's everything you need to know from that lore stream! Let me know if I missed anything important. The recap is divided into sections for your convenience, and put under the cut since it's quite long. That being said, enjoy!

Detailed summary:

- He starts stream in the panic room

- He wants to visit Dream to tell him what he did

- On his way to the prison, he remarks of how he could get rid of Dream if he wanted to, but decides against it for the good of everyone

- Once Sam showes up and Ranboo goes through the portal leading to the prison, we can see that the nether on the other side looks different than what we've seen on Tommy's stream

- He insists on bringing his 3rd memory book into the prison, to which Sam eventually agrees

- On the way to the cell Sam is very reassuring towards Ranboo and makes sure that Ranboo knows everything that's happening, which contrasts with how he acted on Tommy's stream

- Once in Dream's cell, Ranboo turns around to face Dream, his cursor shaking

- Dream seems ecstatic that Ranboo visited him and insists that him and Ranboo are best friends

- Ranboo doesn't believe in what Dream is saying and thinks that Dream is manipulating him

- Dream says that Ranboo has been helping him and Ranboo concludes that Dream must've found out about the Dream voice

- Suddenly, Dream seems to switch attitude and starts referring to himself in 3rd person, similiar to how the Dream voice used to talk about Dream

- Dream says that Ranboo doesn't hear the voice anymore because he hasn't talked to Dream in a long time and he doesn't remember Dream's voice

- Dream shows Ranboo books that he's been writing. All of the books in the chest are named 'Do not read' and are a copy of Ranboo's 2nd memory book

- Ranboo starts panicking

- On the first page on his 3rd memory book appears to be a ':)' (the rest of the book is underneath)

- Dream insists that Ranboo needs to face the truth, that he helped Dream, that the 'Dream' he's speaking to right now isn't even Dream

- Ranboo still thinks that Dream is manipulating him

- 'Dream' says that he's Ranboo and reiterates he worked with Dream

- "I'm not even real"

- 'Dream' disappears'

- Ranboo panics as the screen starts swirling with the nausea effect, he frantically opens the chest and looks through one of the books

- Parts of the ceiling start falling, and we can see observers above the obsidian. Ranboo doesn't know what's happening

- The game shows a death screen after a death sound. It doesn't have a death message on it and the score, which should be 0, shows 206810. The death message in chat reads 'Ranboo hit the ground too hard'

- A smiley face appears on screen, without the crown this time

- Distorted Undertale music starts playing

- After a bit, the crown appears again, flashing and then disappearing again. It reads 'NOT FREE YET' in morse code

- Ranboo pops in again and says that "It's not over. It's only just a beginning. Oh well."

Memory book:

We see some of Ranboo's 3rd memory book on stream. We get to see 2 pages, and are aware that there's 4 pages in total, rest of which we haven't seen (I haven't watched all of the streams, so lmk if the rest was showed somewhere else). Here are the two known pages.

':)'

'I haven't heard the voice in a long time! I think i finally got rid of it! However, the blackouts seem to be a little more frequent which is odd. i don't think i do much in them which is alright.'

Transcription:

It starts at when Ranboo starts talking to Dream and ends when the Undertale music starts playing. I'm not a professional so there might be some mistakes. 'Dream' talks like this and Ranboo talks like this.

Begins 00:27:50

"Hello"

"*sigh* Hello"

"You've come to visit me!"

"Yeah. I know it's probably surprising seeing as how we've... barely talked if at all, I think."

"What?! It's not surprising!"

"Uh, I think-"

"Actually I'm surprised you didn't come sooner, actually!"

"Really? But- why m- I- Okay, well- Then you know why I'm here then?"

"But we're like- we're best friends, right?"

"I'm- We've barely- we've barely spoke, we're not best friends!"

"WHAT?! I have prob- I've probably talked to you more than I've talked to anybody on the entire server!"

"That- Okay, now you're just- I know what you're trying- You're trying to scare me! I'm not- I'm not gonna let you- I'm not gonna let you scar- I know you're just trying to scare me into thinking-!"

"What? How am I- how am I trying to scare you?"

"No, we haven't- We've barely interacted if at all, we're not-"

"Why are you acting different?"

"What do you mean, why am I acting different? I'm acting... how I normally act..."

"Ohhh..."

"What is- what is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I'm glad you came to visit me!"

"Yeah. Yeah, I didn't- I don't know why you're glad... Cuz... I'm here to... tell you what you did-"

"Well I'm just- I'm glad to see you! I mean, you've been a good helping hand in everything!"

"No, you- okay, you must, you must know that I- you must know that I somehow hear your boice sometimes and that was just a complete lie the entire- You're trying to make me think that I did those things again, and I'm not gonna let you do that again."

"But you did do those things."

"No, I did none of these things! Because-"

"Well you did them after Dream told you to but you did do them."

"After- No, I- I didn't- no, there was, there was proof, I got- I got rid of the voice! I got... rid of the voice"

"You got rid of the voice because Dream got put in prison and you haven't been talking to him like you usually do, so it's harder for you to- it's harder for you to... y'know, imagine what he sounds like."

"Yeah-"

"Cause you stopped talking to him and you used to talk to him everyday-"

"Why are you referring to yourself in the third person, have you gone insane in prison?"

"... You're right, you're right, yes yes."

"Okay-"

"I mean, there's not really much to do here, I mainly write"

"Yeah, it doesn't- it doesn't really seem like it. You got, one clock the entire time."

"Yes, I do have a clock. I don't really like it though. But..."

"Oh, and you also got... water and everything..."

"Yeah. I have books, you wanna see what I've been writing?"

"Oh yeah, sure, sure. What have you been writing? What hav-"

"If you want you can look at- you can look at everything I've been writing. I've written, probably like, I don't know, a lot of books, so... 26 books. If you wanna look in my chest. But..."

"How do you- no, you must've been... you must've been...No, you must've been- must've been just- you must- No, you must've been just-"

"You need to face the truth."

"No, I am facing the truth! The truth is that you're a- you're a terrible person! And that you've- you've done so much to hurt everyone. Y'know I could-"

"No, the- the truth is that you helped me. And you've helped Dream."

"No, I-"

"I mean, I'm not even Dream! Right?"

"N-no- no, I got- I got- no, you-you have to be, I got rid of the- You know- you some- okay, no- You somehow know what I went through, in the panic room and everything, so you're just- you're doing this as a way to- try to make me think that I'm-"

"I know what I went through because I'm you!"

"No, you- no- nnnno! No! You- y- I don't know how you know what happened in the panic room, but you're- I know-"

"Look, you've been helping Dream! The only reason you haven't been talking to me, recently, is because... you just can't picture what he sounds like. You used to talk to him everyday! You used to help him!"

"No, I didn't I-"

"He would- he would tell you things to do, you were like his little... servant!"

"No, I-I couldn't- no, I couldn't be- I couldn't let myself do that. You know that I couldn't let myself do that. I couldn't work with the person that has... hurt so many people."

"Well you did! You did."

"No, I- "

"Many times."

"But- If it's- if it's so prominent, and if it's so much, as you're saying, then how come I don't remember any of it?"

"You do."

"... What do you mean I do? I- I- I don't, I don't remember-"

"You do, because I'm you."

"No, you just- you just have to-"

"I'm... I'm not even real."

"Wait... No, I got rid of him, I got rid of the- I got rid of the... I got- I got rid of the voice- I got, I got- No, nnnnnno! This has to be- No, there's no way, there's no way! I got rid of the voice! I got- I got rid of it! I got- I got-! What's going on?! I got- no, I got rid of the- I got rid of the voice, it has to have been- it has to have been-! No, it just... I got rid of the voice, I got... I got- I got rid of it... I got rid of the voice... Then how...? ...He's back."

Ends 00:34:06

#dream smp spoilers #dream smp recap #dream smp #mcyt #ranboo

[frangipanidownunder]

Objects in the Mirror: fic

This is for my anon who asked: ‘what happens when Scully sees Mulder kissing someone else during their “separation”. This is set pre-season 10.

Willowy. That’s the first word that pops into Scully’s head. The second thought is that at least the woman isn’t a brunette too. Type, much, Mulder? The third thought is that it’s none of her business what Mulder does these days. None. At all. Unless it’s a health issue, he’s an adult. He’s not her…The mental conversation doesn’t supply a word so her brain leaps to the fourth thought, which is how the fuck could he do that? She stops short of adding ‘to her’, so she pulls herself back to the third thought, repeating like a mantra as she strides out, eyes to the sidewalk, desperate to unsee what she saw.

But now there’s a burning itch in her gut, the kind that used to see her pumping more rounds out at the firing range or sending local law enforcement officers running for cover with her machine-gun observations of their sub-par work. Pity she can’t blow her anger/disappointment/betrayal/jealousy off like that anymore; she’s no longer FBI.

Pity she can’t blow off being Scully.

She takes her writhing anger/disappointment/betrayal/jealousy into the café over the road and orders a large latte and a white chocolate and raspberry muffin. She knows she’ll regret it almost immediately and spend a week denying herself any other treats but she needs the sugar hit. Mulder’s still talking to Willow-Blonde, so while Scully’s waiting, she teases ‘Louis’ the barista with a slow smile, holding the seam of her wallet against her cheek, hugging her waist with the other arm and slowly twisting her torso side to side so that her hair falls over her face, then swings back off it again.

It’s a pointless mating dance. It’s reactive. She’s aware of that, but tries not to fall further down the Mulder-profiling-her rabbit hole. The slow-combustion of what she recognises as a misguided sense of dispossession is still taking place in her veins. She hates herself for this weakness but here she is swaying for a bearded barista. Louis blinks her way, finishing the latte art on her order with a flourish. For him, this ritual is part of his training. Keep the customers happy. Especially the older, professional women. They’re the ones who’ll return to the same café time and again, spending their disposable income on cakes and romantic hopes. She’d fuck him though. He’s pretty enough. She wonders what the male equivalent of willowy is. And then tells her mind to shut the fuck up.

Outside, where people are actually living with purpose, instead of imagining petty sex-revenge scenarios, the street is busy. Through the thrum, she spots Mulder again. His outline, his figure, is imprinted indelibly in her mind’s eye. She believes she could find him anywhere, in a ballgame crowd, in the darkened corner of a jazz club behind drifting dry ice, through the misty rain at the end of the yard, arm raised against the twisted apple tree, raging at the brutal sky above him. There was a time when she so desperately wanted him to return home from her imposed exile that she saw him everywhere: in the parking lot, at the line in the bank, across the street pushing someone else’s baby in a stroller.

“Latte for Day-nah,” Louis sings, and as he hands over the cup his fingers brush hers. They’re thin, girlish, two knuckles decorated with calligraphy tattoos. She doesn’t hold his eye, just whips the coffee and cake bag from his hand and heads outside.

The woman has gone but Mulder’s still there, brown paper cup in hand, sunglasses (those ugly sports ones he got from eBay because they were called SpookMeister, what? they’re so me, Scully) across that familiar, broad nose, hair an inch past unkempt and stubble on his chin that hides that fat bottom lip just a little too much. She dips her face to her own cup and watches a moment longer before a car pulls up and he climbs in.

He calls her later. She doesn’t answer the first time, lets the cell buzz and slide over the table top while his name flashes at her. When she does pick up, she feigns breathlessness and gets the desired response.

“Did I catch you at a bad time, Scully?” There’s disappointment laced through his words.

“No, it’s fine. Just doing a workout.” She wheezes out a cough for extra measure.

“Keeping fit for all those kids, huh? You’re a good doctor, Scully. Always going above and beyond for that place. I hope they know how deep your affections lie. Is there some kind of Olympic Games for paediatricians? The Doctors Games?”

It’s hard not to bite back, but they’ve played this game for so long their dysfunction is beat-perfect. “Keeping fit for one’s own personal health and wellbeing is a key component in living a fulfilling life, Mulder.” If only she could convince herself as easily as the words flow.

There’s a shuffle, a few clicks and bumps. He’s changing channels. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve found a new therapist. One that seems to really get me, you know?”

His tone seems genuine and she softens. “That’s good, Mulder.” Despite their issues, she’s only ever wanted him to be well. “I do want to know these things. As your physician…”

“Not that I didn’t like the other one you recommended, but,” he takes in a sharp breath as if to punctuate his point, “we’d run our course.”

She sinks into the chair, letting her head flop back on the rest. One step forward, two steps back. “How often do you see him?”

“You’re letting your unconscious bias show, Scully. Her.”

The small word stings like a needle. She refrains from asking him if she has blonde hair and legs like a foal.

“Fortnightly. We’re still at the heady getting to know you stage.” There’s a small silence where she imagines he’s assessing if he’s done enough damage yet. “She’s young enough to understand Instagram but mature enough to get Prince.”

She laughs gently. The tension diffuses again and she feels a rush of emotion. She can’t help herself. He drags her down then lifts her up with a simple switch of tone. “I saw you today. In town.”

“I do go out in the wild without my Ghillie suit sometimes, Scully. Why didn’t you say hello? I don’t bite.”

Not literally, she thinks. Well, not for a long time. She crosses her legs at the unexpected surge of arousal but the image of him kissing another woman creeps behind her eyes again. “It felt…” If he were here with her, in the same room, he’d lean in to her, tilt his head, quirk his lips, draw the truth from her. But there’s a distance more than miles between them and she can’t say the words. “I was running late.”

“That’s unlike you, Dr Punctual. Is everything okay?”

The way he switches from teasing to caring leaves her off-balance. She waits for the world to right itself.

“Can you schedule me in for an appointment, Scully? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Not medical. Are you free on the weekend?”

Tightness in her chest makes her breathing hitch. She adjusts the phone in her grip, gives herself time to respond. She’s faced mutants and monsters, her own mortality and his death, the loss of her children. Surely, his confession shouldn’t be elevated to those ranks. Yet her hands tremble and nausea roils in her stomach. Her brain rocks. It’s stupid, dumb to feel like this. She left him. She turned her back one last time and got herself away before the darkness swallowed her whole. The guilt that followed stripped her bare like a never-ending winter but recently she’s begun to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin again.

“Sure. I’ll come over,” she asserts. That way she can simply leave again. Walk the same walk.

“No, let me take you to dinner,” he says, unexpectedly. “That Thai place you like.”

Her sigh is sharp enough to graze her throat. He can’t be that insensitive as to invite her to eat at the same place they celebrated getting the keys to the house or her news about the job at Our Lady of Sorrows.

“Or the Ethiopian restaurant. You loved their shiro wat.”

“We could order pizza and stay home.” Home. She says it without thinking.

He chuckled. “Like the old days?”

“Something like that,” she says, knowing it will be anything but.

In the end, they agreed on a lunch at the vegetarian café and she orders an omelette she knows she won’t eat. He tucks into his feta and pumpkin quiche with salad and tells her he’s trying to eat cleaner. She doesn’t ask what’s brought on the change.

“What was it you wanted to tell me, Mulder? If it’s just to prove you’re finally paying attention to your diet, you’ve demonstrated it adequately. I believe you.” Her fingers clasp around a napkin and she twists it to a sharp point.

His expression is the same one he used for the victims of the most bizarre kind of crimes. She feels panic welling in her throat and crushes the napkin into a tight ball.

“I wanted to tell you that I met someone. I figured I owed you an explanation. Not an explanation, I mean I haven’t done anything wrong…fuck, this is hard,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Jeez. I feel like a teenager. I…I just didn’t want you to find out from someone else.” He pauses and she nods her head at him, encouraging him to finish, not only because he’s clearly still got stuff to get off her chest, but also because she just wants it over. “Not that anyone else knows because I don’t have friends…so, anyway. I…” The noise he makes is a sad laugh. For her or for him? “That’s, that’s my news.”

His fingers have crept across the table and they’re drumming on the surface, disturbing the small jug containing packets of sugar so that it chinks in time with his beat. He adds a low “sorry.”

If she takes a deep breath, what signal will that send? If she speaks too quickly, would that show a callous disinterest? She tries to smile but her lips refuse to co-operate. She’s never been good at hiding negative emotions, despite her tendency to stoicism. “How did you meet her?”

“Online,” he says. “Where else does someone who spends days at a time in his den meet other humans?”

He’s blushing and it’s charming and she hates it. “Is it serious?” The words are dry on her tongue.

He looks away and she tries to interpret the clench of his jaw. A beat. It softens and his mouth changes from grimace to lop-sided grin. “What does it mean if she left a copy of Why Men Don’t Listen and Women Can’t Read Maps on the coffee table?”

“Well,” she starts, trying to hold his eye despite a rush of conflicting emotions churning through her. “I would jump in the car and take it back to her, but I’m not sure how to get to her place.”

There’s a moment of shocked silence, then his head tips back and he laughs. She sips her tea and enjoys the sound. It always pleases her so profoundly to make him laugh. Not many people could claim to draw out true joy from Fox Mulder.

When he’s collected himself, he rubs his chin. “She took me out last week for coffee, took me out to tell me it was over. At least she did that, I suppose. She…she told me I was too insular. Can you believe that, Scully?” He plays for light. “According to her expert opinion of my psyche, that, I might add, she gleaned from two coffee dates and a meal at some over-priced French place where a dessert the size of a pin cost $50, I was still stuck in the past. With you.” He lowers his eyes and she rolls her lips together to stop herself from adding ‘and your demons and truths’. His shoulders move as he chuckles. “She didn’t really leave me that book, Scully. She didn’t come to the house.”

She’s stupidly relieved to hear that.

“It seemed wrong, somehow,” he says. “And it got me thinking, after her Dear John speech, that maybe this is what we’re…I’m destined for. A kind of relationship limbo. Prevented from going forward because I’m still snagged on a Scully branch. Do you think she’s right? If you…if you met someone, Scully, do you think you could give your whole self to that person?” He blinks slowly. “Or will there always be a small part of you left here?” He pats his chest with the side of his fist.

Her own heart speeds up. She’s had a few dates, a few flings. She hadn’t told him because he wasn’t in the headspace to process her attempts at moving on. And she can see now they were just ‘attempts’. There was an emptiness to the experience. And there’s a grain of truth to his question. It’s exposed just how indelibly tied they are because of their past.

She doesn’t answer him and he plays with the lollo rosso on his plate. “I like the weight of you in here.” He looks down to his heart. “It keeps me balanced.” A waiter retrieves their plates and Mulder watches her for the entire time he’s cleaning the table.

Her chest constricts, burns with such intensity that she’s certain her face is aflame. His fingers meet hers, mid-table, and she lets him squeeze them, such tenderness, such affection, so far removed from the angry, impotent man she’d left.

“Have we fucked each other up entirely, Scully?”

“Is that how she put it, your mystery woman?”

He grins. “I told her I liked being fucked up. It’s the only life I’ve ever known. That’s when she threw in the towel.”

“I don’t blame her,” she says, rubbing his knuckles. “Imagine meeting Spooky Mulder all grown up. At least back in the day your paranoia was justified. Government conspiracies and all.”

“If Dr Dana Scully had met me now, she wouldn’t have lasted one date with Ole Spook, would she?”

She lowers her head as she giggles. “You showed me many things, Mulder. Opened my eyes to wonders and closed them to the black and white life I’d known. I’m a better person because of you. I wouldn’t change a day.”

“You told me that once before.”

“And I still mean it.”

Outside, the day is cooling, sun leaching away behind thickening cloud. They walk in amiable silence down the street. There’s a bookshop she loves and he nods as she lingers at the door. Inside, the comforting smell of words on pages wafts over her and she browses the dark-shadowed shelves.

Mulder emerges with an armful of books from Squatchin’ for Novices to Meals for One. She swallows at the sight of that one. She’s picked up a mystery thriller, and couple of romances that he side-eyes. She bats him over the arm with one. Then she spies the main prize. She picks out two copies. A his and her pair. The teller scans them through and she hands one to Mulder.

He’s still laughing as they walk to their cars. He puts the other books on the passenger seat of his car and clasps his copy of The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck to his chest.

“Shit is fucked,” she says, reading from the blurb.

“And we just have to live with it.” He drops a kiss on her head and smiles a full-wattage beam. “You’re still a good date, Scully.”

“You too,” she says. “And I’m glad you told me about…your…”

“Tiffany. That was her name.”

She can’t help the sharp burst of laughter that comes out. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That…was unexpected.”

He snugs a hand in his jeans pocket. “I know. It should have been a warning.”

“Well, unfortunate name aside, it’s good that you’re getting out there.”

“Out there. Where the truth is? I don’t think I’ll be doing it again in a hurry.”

She pulls a sympathetic face, reaches out to touch his arm. “I don’t want to be your snag, Mulder. I thought I was setting you free.”

“We’ll never be free of each other, Scully. And I don’t want to be free in that sense, not if it means never having days like this. I…miss you.” He bounces his toe off the ground and the lump in her throat wedges itself firm.

“I’d better be going,” she whispers. Turns to leave.

“Maybe we can make this a weekly thing,” he says after her. “Just two fuck-ups having lunch, you know?”

She stops, turns back around, smiling through her tears. “Maybe.” And she watches him in the rear-view mirror. Objects in the mirror may appear closer than they are, she thinks as she drives away, and sometimes, they actually are.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #msr pre-season ten angst #objects in the mirror

[lostintranslaation]

history always repeats itself

By @wh0doyouthinkyouareiam for @clover-roseee for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange!

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Ned Leeds, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Pepper Potts

Summary: When Peter gets bitten by a spider at the Stark's lake house, he thinks he's got it all under control. He's gotten through a spider bite once before, right?

(hint: he doesn't quite have it all under control)

Read it on AO3

Peter shrugs his backpack over his shoulder and winces. He’s been busy recently and between trying to finish out his senior year strong and helping with May’s homeless shelter liaison program and spending more time with the Starks, Peter hadn’t had much time to go out on patrol. So yeah, he was out of shape. But was it normal to be this sore?  

“Peter? Can you hear me?” Ned cranes his neck around Peter’s locker. Peter blinks.

“Uh, yeah.” Peter closes his locker. “Sorry, I just zoned out for a minute. What were you saying?” He shoves a knuckle into his eye to counteract the pressure building in his head.

“Have you seen the new Star Wars movies yet, the ones that came out during the blip? I think there’s, like, two, maybe three. They switched the actress for Rey, but I heard they’re pretty good other than that.”

“I haven’t, have you?” Peter pulls his hood over his head as the two of them push open the doors of the school to start their daily walk to the train back to Queens. At least some things never change.

“No. Haven’t gotten the chance yet, y’know? Been a little busy. But,” they stop at the bottom of the stairs, “I got a new Lego set from the latest episode for my birthday last week. I was thinking, if you’re free tonight, we could put it together and binge all the movies that came out while we were gone?”

Peter sighs and leans on the railing. “That sounds like a lot of fun, but I promised Ton- Mister Stark that I would babysit Morgan tonight.”

Ned’s jaw drops. “You call him Tony?” Peter just smiles and looks down. “Are you guys… close? It seems like you’ve been hanging out with the Starks a lot recently. Babysitting tonight, the lake house last weekend…” Peter huffs out a laugh.

“Last weekend was just to help them out. They needed a couple boxes moved in their garage and Pepper called me to help out because Tony’s still… not in moving-boxes condition. But yeah, ever since… you know, he’s been acting different. Nicer, I guess. He’s like, actually wanting to spend time with me, which is a nice change.”

“Well, either way it’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. “Hey, I gotta go. Tony told me to just come to their apartment after school got out.” He starts walking backwards. “But text me about a raincheck for our Star Wars binge, okay?” Ned nods and Peter turns around to start the three-block walk to the Stark’s Manhattan apartment.

It’s chilly out, the kind of cold where fall is fading into winter and the sky is grey and the streets are wet even though it’s been a couple days since it last rained. Peter tries not to focus on the headache building behind his eyes and the stiffness in his neck and hopes that Morgan will be up for a nice, calm movie night or something like that.

Knowing her, she probably won’t be, though. She’ll probably want to play horses or something like that and Peter will have no choice but to trudge around their apartment with her on his back, perfecting her princess wave she’d tried so hard to teach him but couldn’t quite accomplish.

And despite all this, despite the fact that when she gave him the eyes he was physically incapable of telling her ‘no’, he wouldn’t change a thing. He couldn’t change a thing, not even if he wanted to. The first time he’d babysat her, she’d asked for a juice pop and then the next thing he knew it was a couple hours later and they were sitting on the couch watching Sofia the First, three juice pops in. When Pepper and Tony returned, they just offered sympathetic smiles that said that they’d been there before and sent him home with a nice check.

The doorman at the Starks apartment building was nice and Peter sometimes would buy him a coffee if he had a little extra cash when he came over to visit. But today all Peter could do was offer up a weak ‘hi Mister Hudson’ and a tight-lipped smile.

“Hello Mister Parker,” he greets as Peter walks through the doors. “Up to see the Starks?” he asks before pressing the floor number in the elevator. And after not receiving a verbal response, “Rough day at the office?”

Peter sighs and leans back against the cool wall of the elevator as it starts its ascent. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself and tries to suppress a shiver. “I’m just tired. Nothing new,” Peter says. “How are you?”

“I’m doing great. You know, Ava had her baby a coupla days ago.” The man’s wrinkled face splits into a giant smile and Peter can’t help but smile himself.

“Congratulations! How does it feel to be a grandpa?”

“Oh, it’s incredible. She's incredible,” he flips open his creased leather tri-fold wallet to show Peter a photo of a pink squishy baby with giant eyes and a small tuft of dark hair atop her head.

“What’s her name?” The elevator dings and the doors slide open.

“Nina,” the doorman replies, still smiling fondly on the photo in his hands.

Peter claps the man on the back. “She’s beautiful, Mister Hudson. Have a great rest of your day.”

“You too, Peter. Try and get some rest.” The look in the man’s eyes is sincere. Peter smiles and the doors slide shut again.

Peter leans against the wall in the entryway and kicks off his shoes near the door. He closes his eyes and hangs his head, but the moment of solace does not last long before Morgan’s footsteps come pattering down the hallway to greet him.

“Peter!” He kneels down and pulls her into a hug.

“Hi Morgie.”

“Do you wanna have a tea party tonight? Mister Bear is gonna be there.”

“That sounds like a blast.” He straightens back out and immediately doubles back over, an involuntary groan escaping from his lips as his stomach cramps. He sways on his feet and a wave of nausea rises in his throat but he swallows it back down. Clipped footsteps echo down the hall.

“Heya Pete,” Tony rests a hand on the top of Morgan’s head and she squirms out from underneath his touch. “You feeling okay?”

Peter forces his face into a tight smile and straightens back out. “Mmmhmm,” his voice is higher than normal and he clears his throat. “Just peachy.”

“Do you have the keys?” Pepper asks from down the hall and Tony answers back in the affirmative.

“Alright, we gotta get going.” Tony extends an arm to Pepper and she laces hers around. “We shouldn’t be back too late, maybe elevenish. You know the drill. Dinner and bedtime like normal.” Peter nods and tries to ignore the tension building in the back of his neck.

Pepper walks down the hall and slings her purse over her shoulder before kneeling down to give Morgan a peck on the top of her head. “Be good for Peter, okay?”

Morgan nods and beams up at Peter, “We’re having a tea party, right Petey?”

Peter musters up a small smile to return to her. His head is pounding now and he leans against the wall for support. “Yep!”

“Well don’t have too much fun,” Tony shrugs his coat over his shoulders and him and Pepper step into the waiting elevator. They wave as the door closes.

“Bye Mommy! Bye Daddy!” Morgan waves back.

She takes Peter’s hand and looks up at him. “Ready?” Peter nods. The headache is blinding now and he can hardly think straight. The room is spinning and waves of nausea roll over him to the point where he has to rest his hands on his knees until the bout passes.

“You okay?” Morgan rests a hand on Peter’s sleeve and sharp spikes of pain race up his veins towards his neck. He coils away from her touch and ends up on the ground. This can’t be good. He takes a breath and rolls up the sleeve of his sweatshirt. A raised red bump greets him.

The Starks’ garage was a mess. Old bots and other projects that Tony didn’t need anymore littered the floor and boxes of old tools and car parts were stacked up to the windows. At one point, Peter moved a stack of firewood into the house near the hearth. There was a nest of spiders wedged between the logs and Peter swears he saw one bite his arm. But he was sure it was nothing to be worried about. He was Spider-Man, after all. Whatever spider had bitten him, it was sure to be no worry.

But now, as he swallows back the bile rising in his throat and his arm that had been bitten throbbed so deeply he could barely think, he wasn’t so sure.

The skin around the bite was red and swollen but other than that didn’t look too abnormal. Peter rolls down his sleeve and forces his face into a smile. “I’m okay, Morgs.” Her face is unconvinced so he takes her hand with his good arm. “I’m okay.”

“Promise?” She holds out her pinky.

“Promise.” He hooks her pinky around hers and she nods. “Are you hungry? I think we should eat before we have our tea party.”

“Can we have dino nuggets?”

Peter pushes himself up off the floor and takes a moment to catch his breath before responding. “Whatever the princess wants.”

She takes his hand and pulls him towards the kitchen, slower than she normally would, but with all the usual enthusiasm. His feet blunder underneath him and legs float as if disconnected from the rest of his body. A bead of sweat races down his temple and he catches it with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

In the kitchen, he blows out a shaky breath and digs in the freezer for the chicken nuggets. His chest feels full of tissue paper and he can’t suck in a full breath.

Once the nuggets are in the oven and a glass of juice has been poured for Morgan, Peter searches through the cupboards for some tylenol or ibuprofen or anything really. Once he gets his hands on a bottle of ibuprofen, his shaking hands are barely able to twist the cap off, but once he does, he shakes out a handful of the tiny orange pills and swallows them, chasing them down with a glass of apple juice.

Some time passes and Morgan plays her music and Peter is almost able to take his mind off of the warning buzzing in the back of his neck and the increasingly painful stomach cramps that come and go like a wretched tide.

Once they’ve both eaten, (Morgan more than Peter, for once.) Morgan leads Peter down the hall to her room and shows him to a seat at a table set up with her pink-and-white porcelain tea set and stuffed animals resting in their own chairs in front of their own teacups and saucers.

Morgan picks up the teapot and “pours” the tea for herself and Peter and each of the guests at the table. Peter zones out for a moment, but Morgan must have said something to him because she’s staring at him expectantly.

“Petey?”

“Yeah?” Peter blinks. His stomach is full of bricks and it aches like it never has before. He clamps his arms around his middle and breathes as deeply as he is able.

“I said do you want sugar,” Morgan sighs, exasperated.

“I think I’m good.” Peter replies. He can no longer ignore the pain and his sweatshirt is damp with sweat.

Morgan sets the sugar bowl down on the table and rests her forearms on the white tablecloth. “You’re not very fun to play with today.”

Peter looks up and his head pounds. “I’m sorry babe. I just don’t feel very good. Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

Morgan sighs. “I guess. But only if it’s Nemo.”

“Nemo it is. You go get it started and I’ll be right in.”

As Morgan bounces off to the movie room, Peter stumbles into the bathroom, leaving the light off to ease his headache. He rests his head on the cool granite of the bathroom counter and breathes for a moment, working up the courage to fight back the nausea that threatened to cripple him. His heart is racing and so is his mind, trying to match up his symptoms with something, anything that he could remember from his time being a Boy Scout when he was younger and Ben was still around. It almost felt like it might be a black widow bite, but wouldn’t there be fang marks? Or maybe there wouldn’t, Peter doesn’t know.

“Petey? Are you coming?” Morgan’s voice pulls him from his head. He splashes water onto his face and takes small deliberate steps to avoid toppling on his way to the movie room. It’s only a couple rooms down the hall, but still, Peter is sweating and his legs are trembling and he practically collapses down onto the couch when he arrives. Breaths come in labored pulls and his head is swimming in pain.

Morgan orders FRIDAY to start the movie and FRIDAY complies, but Peter has a difficult time focusing on the movie, or anything besides controlling his breathing and not puking all over the rug.

Peter doesn’t know how, but somehow, he was able to make it through the movie and to Morgan’s bedtime. She had fallen asleep on his shoulder and he somehow hadn’t noticed until after the movie had ended.

He moves to wake her and everything hurts. He doesn’t remember feeling this horrible since the first spider bite. Oh no. It couldn’t be happening again, right? No, right. Yeah. It couldn’t happen again. Unless…

“Is it over?” Morgan sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“It’s over, baby. Time for bed. You should go and use the potty and brush your teeth really quick so we can get you to bed. It’s getting late.”

“I would do that all really quick if I could get a juice pop.”

Peter sighs. “Alright. One juice pop. Then bed.”

“Deal.” She hops up from the couch and bounds toward the kitchen.

Peter leans forward, an involuntary groan escaping from his lips as his stomach cramps again. When he stands, his vision blacks out, and he comes crashing down to the floor.

Tony’s watch buzzes on his real arm. Peter’s photo lights up the display. He pulls his phone from his pocket and picks up the call.

“Hey Pete, how’s it going? Everything alright on the home front?”

“Daddy?” Morgan’s voice is shrill, like it only is when she’s scared.

“Morgan? Are you okay?” This grabs Pepper’s attention and she comes closer to Tony and the two of them walk away from the center of the social circle to the outskirts where they can hear better.

“It’s Peter,” she says. “I think he fell down and now he’s sleeping really hard and I can’t wake him up.” Her voice wavers and Tony’s heart speeds up, fluttering and skipping over beats like they’re nonessential.

“It’s okay Morgie. You did great. Can you tell me where he fell?” Pepper’s eyes are wide and Tony fights to keep his demeanor calm when all he wants to do is freak out.

“In the movie room.”

“Did he hit his head when he fell?”

“I…” Morgan whimpers, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay babe. No worries. Everything is all good. Mommy and I are going to be home in just a couple minutes, okay? It’s all going to be okay.”

“Okay…”

“I’m going to give the phone to Mommy, okay? And we’ll be home really soon.”

“Okay.”

He hands the phone to Pepper and they leave the party in a whirlwind of curt goodbyes and squealing tires until they are back at the apartment and running through the lobby, barking inquiries about Peter’s condition at FRIDAY.

When the elevator doors finally open at their penthouse apartment, Tony and Pepper sprint down the hall to the movie room. When they finally get there, Tony’s stomach drops. It’s a sight no parent should ever have to see, one of their kids pale and sweaty and passed out on the floor while the other looks on with tears in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks.

Tony skids across the floor and his knees creak when he droops down close to Peter (he would pay for that later). “Peter? Time to wake up buddy. It’s not bedtime yet.” He cups Peter’s cheek and he can see Pepper ushering Morgan out of the room out of the corner of his eye.

Peter shifts under Tony’s touch and groans. His eyes open, just slightly, and then close again. “Come on buddy. Talk to me. You can do it.”

“T’ny?” Peter breathes. His face is so pale. Way too pale.

“Yep, it’s me buddy. What’s going on?”

“I,” his face scrunches in pain and he lets out a breath, “I dunno.”

“It’s okay bud. No worries. Everything’s gonna be fine. Cho’s on her way, but she’s about 20 minutes out. Be honest, can you wait that long? Or should I take you to the ER?”

“I dunno.”

“Okay, okay. That’s fine. We’re gonna get this all sorted out, no problemo here.”

Peter hums and closes his eyes. “Oh, no siree, we’re gonna want you to keep those peepers open right now, okay? Peter? Open up.”

Peter hums again and opens his eyes back up. He gasps and sits up suddenly, like he just realized what was happening. “Morgan?” Peter whips his head around searching for the girl and Tony manhandles Peter back to the ground.

“Morgan’s fine, kiddo. She’s with Pepper.”

He blows out a breath. “Okay, that’s good. That’s good.”

“How long have you been feeling this miserable bud?” Tony maneuvers himself so that Peter’s head on his thigh and he tangles his fingers in Peter’s sweaty curls.

“Since yesterday. Got bit by a spider.”

“Again bud? You have quite the luck with spiders, huh?”

Peter squints up at Tony. “Could you turn the lights down? Head hurts.”

“FRIDAY, lights down to 15 percent.” She complies.

“Tony, I don’t—“ Peter claps his hand over his mouth and gags.

“Woah, it’s okay. It’s okay. Let’s get you—“ he pushes Peter up into a sitting position and rubs his back. Peter gags again and vomit splashes onto the dark carpet. “There you go. You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sor—“ he doubles over again and groans.

“Hey, it’s all good. No apologies here. I was thinking this rug was getting to be out-of-style anyways.” Peter just whimpers.

“It hurts Tony. Like, really bad.”

“I know bud. I’m so sorry.”

Peter leans into Tony’s chest and Tony rubs his shoulders. “Make it stop,” Peter whines. “Make it stop, Tony, please.”

Tony holds Peter closer. Peter is hot. Like, just-ran-three-miles-in-the-August-heat hot. “FRI, ETA on Cho?”

“Helen Cho will arrive in seven minutes.” Even though she’s just an AI, Tony swears her tone is sympathetic.

“Can you tell me where it hurts bud?”

“My stomach and… my— oh Tony my head too.”

“Cho’s gonna be here any minute bud. Just hang in there.”

“Mmhmm,” Peter nods into Tony’s chest and he can tell that he’s crying. It makes his heart ache.

The next seven minutes pass slowly and painfully, but somehow, they pass. When Cho gets there, she takes the situation by storm and all Tony can do is watch.

“Did he say what kind of spider it was?” She pricks the back of Peter’s hand with a needle and hands Tony the saline bag with instruction to squeeze.

“Uh, no he didn’t.”

“How long has it been since he was bitten?”

“36 hours, max.”

“And what are his symptoms?”

“He said his head hurt, and his stomach. Fever and sweating. Nausea and vomiting too.”

She holds his eyelids up and flashes a penlight into both of his eyes. “Anything you want to add, Peter?”

“Hard to breathe. Can’t really move my legs.”

“Got it. It sounds to me like this might be a black widow bite. Were there two fang marks at the bite site?”

“I don’t… I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay. No worries. I’m going to give you muscle relaxants, painkillers, and something for the nausea.” She digs around in her kit and produces three syringes that she systematically plunges into Peter’s saline line.

“Givit to me straight, doc,” Peter slurs. “How long do I got?”

Cho huffs our a laugh. “You’ll be fine, Peter.”

“Oh goodie.”

“Yes ‘oh goodie’. You’ll still be hurting for a couple more hours, but we just gotta let the venom flush out of your system. So that means lots and lots of water.”

“Hope I don’ drown.”

“Looks like those painkillers are kicking in nicely,” Cho smiles as she packs up her bag. “Call me if anything changes.”

“Thank you.” Tony puts a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s no problem.”

As Peter fades in and out of consciousness, Tony works on getting him cleaned up and changed into a pair of Tony’s old sweats, carefully threading the IV line through the sleeves of his sweat-damp hoodie. The bite is swollen and red and Tony feels sick at the thought of Peter feeling so horrible for so long.

Tony wedges his arm under Peter’s and the two of them wobble over to Peter’s room together. Peter collapses into the bed and Tony helps him get comfortable, pulling up the comforter and brushing his slightly-too-long curls off of his clammy forehead.

“Daddy?” Tony whips his head around.

“Morgan? Aren’t you supposed to be asleep right now?” He sits on the edge of Peter’s bed.

Morgan just shrugs and fists her pajama shirt in her hands. He beckons her over and pats his knee. “C’mere madam secretary.” He pulls her close and bumps heads with her. “Pete’s fine. See?” He points over at Peter, and Peter raises his arm in a pathetic wave.

“Hiii Morgie,” Peter says, a touch too loud. “I’m gettin’ aaalllll better. No problems here, no siree.”

“See babe? He’s fantastic. A little high, but other than that, he’s doing great.”

Morgan looks back up at Tony and sniffles. “Are you sure?”

“Sure? Honey, I’m positive.” Morgan nods and crawls up into the bed with Peter, where he tucks her under his arm.

“Well,” Tony slaps his knees, “I think I’m going to turn in for the night. Holler if you need anything, okay?” Peter mumbles something along the lines of ‘okay’ and Tony switches off the lamp. “Love you guys.”

“Love you too,” Peter mumbles and Tony’s heart melts.

#my fics #friendly-neighborhood-exchange #clover-roseee #i hope you like this!! #while i was writing this i was like. perched on top of my chair with my laptop balanced on my knees bc i kept feeling SPIDERS on my LEGS #peter parker #tony stark #peter parker whump #irondad and spiderson #irondad whump #morgan stark #pepper potts #spider bites #hurt/comfort

[animeniacss]

A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 28 - The Commission Payment

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 4.9k words

Chapter 28 - The Commission Payment 

           I can’t believe this is happening… Taehyung thought to himself. He starred at the email for hours before finally marrying himself to his desk and getting to work. The night following Taehyung’s time at the art show was spent only one way: working. Planning, sketching, scribbling, crumpling and tossing, only to sketch again on another piece of paper. The more paper he wasted, the more frustrated he became! Oh Jihoon, who had contacted Taehyung within 24 hours of the festival’s end, had sent Taehyung specific directions for his desired commission. It’s only a matter of time before I wake up from this –

“Fuck.” Taehyung’s thoughts were cut short as the sound of a snapping pencil tip refocused his eyes on his work. The outline of Mrs. Oh, based off a picture seemingly taken on vacation in Paris, had been carefully sketched. It had to be designed to only look like Mrs. Oh, similar to how he had made his picture resemble only you. Tossing his pencil over his shoulder, he was quick to grab another one from the cup that sat at the corner of his desk, and lean forward to continue his work. His eyes scanned the paper carefully, making sure each spot his pencil graced was done so with the right amount of pressure, the right amount of focus. This would be the best thing he ever made; he knew that.

However, it would have to wait. The sound of his ringing phone alerted his attention from the sketch, and over to where he rested his phone on the arm of the couch. It was vibrating so much, that it shifted slightly, ultimately falling towards the floor. Taehyung leaned forward, catching it in his hand as if he had planned for that to happen. When he lifted the phone to his face, your name flashed brightly into his eyes. Taehyung hummed, turning his head and resting against the back of his chair. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You hummed. “This is the third time I called. You must be busy.”

“…Was it?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow, pulling his phone back to look at the section ‘Missed Calls’, where your name popped up three separate times in between several spam calls. “Oh, sorry. I’m working.”

“No worries. What are you working on?”

“A really important commission.” Taehyung said simply, spinning his pencil in his hand.

“Oh cool.” You hummed. “I wanted to talk to you about some cute art ideas I had for some of my lessons, and get your opinion on how to make them more exciting. But it can wait until I see you tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to pull you from your artistic focus.” Taehyung chuckled a bit.

“Send me pictures of what you had in mind. I’ll text you if I have any ideas.” He offered.

“I told you, it could wait if you’re busy.” You hummed.

“Well, if you called me three times to ask me for help, then it can’t. So, send me the pictures so I have an excuse to take a drawing break before my hand falls right off my wrist.” A chuckle escaped your lips, and Taehyung looked down at his picture. Some drafts of the words and phrases Jihoon sent, which he was practicing on various old scraps before adding to the sketch, had shifted onto the paper, and Taehyung gently pushed them to the side before getting out of his seat.

“Alright, if you don’t mind doing it now.” You hummed. “I’ll text them to you and talk more about it tomorrow.”

“Deal.” Taehyung said. “I want to tell you about my art show stuff too.”

“Yes!” You gasped. “I can’t wait to hear all about it, Tae!” Hearing you cheerfully hum Tae into one of his ears, even if it was over the phone, had Taehyung’s cheeks and ears feel hot, and he chuckled shyly. “I’ll let you go take a break. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Alright then…” Taehyung was second to hang up, the sound of the line going dead ringing through his ears. He sighed to himself, pursing his lips together as he headed towards the kitchen. He was starving. As he tried to decide what he was going to eat, a few vibrations off his phone caused him to scoop it up again. He saw a flood of pictures from you, of art projects that seemed to be photographed off of your desk in the classroom. He chuckled a bit as he looked at the examples, putting a hand in his pocket.

He had some work to do.

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Hoseok looked over at you from his spot by the play area. He was checking over the different centers, making sure all the toys were cleaned and ready for the students to rush in and use them up again. He watched you sitting at your desk, frantically typing away at your computer. He chuckled.

“Why don’t you just tell Mr. Kim you need a little more time to finish this week’s plans?” Hoseok asked.

“I can’t do that.”

“We’re his only class. I don’t think he’ll be upset.”

“I have never done that in all my years teaching here, and I don’t plan to start a new trend now.” Hoseok rolled his eyes, chuckling a bit. “I just need to upload pictures of these crafts and materials and I think I’m all done.” Hoseok, deciding not to push any farther, simply turned back to the various centers.

“…It’s amazing how messy these things get. I the pizza slice and cup that went missing from the kitchen last week at the bottom of the dress-up bin.” Hoseok pointed out. Now, you were the one to chuckle.

“If you give that slice of pizza back to the kitchen, we can’t argue to get a discount for only seven slices anymore. Yuna will start charging us full price again.” Hoseok laughed a bit, placing the plastic kitchen toy into the kitchen where it belonged. When he stood up, he heard the door open, and his eyes turned to see Taehyung step in. His hands were full of what seemed to be completed crafts.

“Morning, Tae~.” Hoseok hummed. “How did your art show go?” Taehyung, who Hoseok was quick to notice was staring in your direction, turned to the older man in the room and smiled.

“It was amazing, Hyung. Such a cool experience!” Hoseok nodded his head, walking past Taehyung towards the closet, and patting his coworker on the shoulder.

“That’s good.” He said happily. Taehyung nodded, before walking over to you. When you saw him place things down on your desk, you rolled your chair closer in order to see.

“I made some examples of those crafts for you.” He smiled. “They were already really cute, so I didn’t need to change much.” You took a moment to marvel at the colorful papers scattered among your desk. “I just figured making them a bit easier for preschoolers was a good idea.”

“Right. These look really good, Taehyung.” You hummed, looking up at him. Taehyung smiled. “I especially like this little barn craft to review the animals.” Taehyung nodded, smiling.

“Well, I had good material to work off. You’re getting more creative every day, and I’d like to think it’s from being around me so much in the workplace.” As Taehyung snickered a bit, you rolled your eyes at his playfulness.

“Sure, let’s say that. Anyway, I appreciate the help. I hope it didn’t take form your commission to much.”

“Nah, I managed to finish the sketch. It’s coming along nicely.” Hoseok, who was set aside the cleaners for the morning, turned in the direction of the both of you. He watched as you looked up at him, chatting about the work he had been doing over the weekend. A sense of nausea filled the core of his stomach, and the longer he stood in that room, the more he felt that nausea fill his stomach like water filling a bucket.

“Hey.” He called, alerting both your attention. “I forgot; I need to talk to Mr. Kim about something. Tae, you have to tell me about the weekend at lunch or something, okay?” Taehyung nodded as he watched his Hyung head to the door. However, before he could give a verbal response, Taehyung was already out the door.

Taehyung had to ask: “Is he okay?”

“I think so.” You assured, not truly sure yourself. “But I wanted to ask you about this commission. Is it a secret?”

“No, not really.” Taehyung’s eyes scanned the room, before he grabbed the chair at Hoseok’s desk and pulled it close, plopping down beside you. “At the art show, I met the CEO of the college that Jimin managed to talk to in order to even get me in.” you nodded your head, continuing to listen. “I made a really nice picture recently that I…kinda revealed there? Anyway, his wife and him came to say hello and she really liked that specific picture.” As you watched Taehyung reminisce about the experience, you felt a small smile creep across your face. “Anyway, long story short, he commissioned for me to create the same piece, but for his wife.”

“Tae, that’s amazing!” you gasped, clasping your hands together. Taehyung grinned, nodding in agreement. “When does it have to be done by?”

“He said by the end of the week, but the original only took me a few days. So, I have it all planned out so it can be sent to him earlier.”

“That’s crazy. Can I see it when it’s done?” Taehyung blinked, pursing his lips together. “The original or the commission, it doesn’t matter. I’m curious.” Taehyung nodded, smiling.

“I’ll show you the original sometime. I think you’d like it.” He assured. You chuckled. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to finishing whatever you were doing before the kids come in this morning.” He stood up. “I need to go set up my room for today, anyway.”

You watched him get up and push the seat back to the desk at the side of the room. “Alright. See you later…” you said, waving him off. “Thanks again for the help.” Taehyung nodded, waving you off as he exited the room. With him rounding the corner, you sat back in your chair, crossing your arms. Sitting alone in your room, you took a moment to embrace the silence around you, while taking a moment to focus on the noise repeating continuously in your mind. It was Hoseok’s high-pitched, sweet voice repeating the same quote over and over in your mind:

It seems you’ve made a decision then, hm?

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By the end of the week, Taehyung had stuck to his word. He had spent each and every night working on that picture, and a little at a time, he watched it grow from the ideas of a loving husband, into a finalized masterpiece. Taehyung finished it three days before it’s agreed upon deadline, Taehyung had managed to complete the picture, spending some time fixing any small portions and ensuring the picture looked as good to Jihoon as the original did to Taehyung.

He knew that it certainly would.

When the picture was complete, Taehyung looked at the final product, and his heart swelled with pride. His first big…big commission was complete. Now, to send it. Taehyung quickly opened his phones contacts, calling the direct number Jihoon had given Taheyung for when the picture was completed. They spoke for a time, Jihoon marveling at the young talents ability to complete it so quickly, and even longer after Taehyung sent him a photo of the finished product.

“The wife is going to love it. I’ll send someone over to pick it up immediately.” Jihoon said. “Thank you again, Mr. Kim. We’ll definitely be in touch.” Taehyung, elated, thanked the man before hanging up the phone. He stared at the final product, and immediately, he heard a voice in his head.

Can I see it when it’s done? The original or the commission, I don’t mind!

“That’s right.” Taehyung hummed to himself. “I promised her.” He quickly pulled up his phone once again, snapping a picture of the finished commission and sending it your way with the text: Finished! They’re coming to pick it up today! :D

While waiting on the reply, Taehyung looked at the original, the one inspired by you, hanging up on his wall. For a moment, he sat back, his eyes darting between the original and the commission. He wanted to show you the painting, because he knew you would enjoy it very much. He already knew your flattery at being his inspiration, he already knew the joy it would give you to see it. Humming, he quickly snapped a photo of it, sending it t you directly behind the first photo, with the text: Here’s the original 😊

Taehyung had to admit, sending that final response was something that made him just a bit anxious. He knew you’d like it, but anytime he sent you something inspired by you, his heart race picked up just slightly. Hoping to calm his nerves, he was quick to phone Jimin. Hopefully, his best friend and his cheery demeanor would help offset some of this weirdly placed anxiety he felt in the pit of his stomach.

Jimin was quick to answer. “Hey.” He hummed. “I’m on a break. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Apparently, Jihoon is sending someone to pick up the painting.”

“You finished? That’s awesome!” Jimin cheered, his grin seen perfectly in Taehyung’s head despite not seeing his friend face to face. “Send me a picture okay? I need to see.”

“Oh yeah, will do.” Taehyung assured. “I sent the final product to her. The original too. I’m waiting to see what she thinks.”

“I’m sure she’ll like them just like everything else.”

“I know. But for some reason, this one makes me nervous. It’s bigger than the sketches and little canvases I’ve used for her before.” Jimin snickered on the other line. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re so cute when you’re nervous.” Taehyung had to roll his eyes at Jimin’s playfully flirtatious comment.

“Thanks for that, my love.” Taehyung cooed playfully, revealing another amused laugh from his friend. “Anyway, I’m gonna rest before this guy comes to get the painting. I’m exhausted.”

“Go ahead. But send me the picture first.” Jimin ordered. Taehyung simply hummed, offering a goodbye before hanging up. As he lifted up his phone, he saw a message flash on the screen. From you. Quickly, he opened it up. You first sent a wave of emojis with star eyes, followed by the text:

I love this! The original is beautiful!

I see a lot of quotes on there. Are those special sayings to you?

I can see why the wife loved this so much. It’s beautiful.

…Did someone inspire that painting?

Taehyung chuckled a bit, glancing back up at the painting one more time, before looking back at his phone and simply typing:

Yes.

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           When Taehyung got his phone call from Jihoon, he was very busy. He was currently sitting at a small table, legs pulled up, as he watched Yeonjun and Beomgyu playing with clay. This was something the kids enjoyed doing so much, that Taehyung decided it was a good idea to give the students a chance to simply play with the clay in anyway they see fit. Lia and Yeji were making clay snacks to feed to Kai, Yuna was using every piece she had in order to create a princess, which was a blob of several circles just piled on top of one another. Chaeryeong and Soobin were using their clay to roll out long, snake-like figures in front of them, cheering each other on in order to make it longer. Then, there were these boys: smashing their clay, and building it back up only to smash it down again. Taehyung couldn’t help but snicker a bit as he watched the children fool around.

           “Don’t you want to make something nice? Like a vase or a picture?”

           “I’m making a flat picture, Mr. Kim.” Beomgyu said simply. Of course, he was. Taehyung smiled, finally lifting himself up and deciding to return to his desk. When he did, his phone flashed, the large white text on the front reading Oh Jihoon: 1 Missed Call.

           “F-.” Quickly, Taehyung grabbed his phone and walked towards the front of the room, shaky hands redialing the phone number that called only a few moments ago. When he stood outside the door, he turned towards the students, all of whom were still eagerly playing with their clays and chatting with one another. The sound of ringing in his ears made him nervous. It had been a few days since Taehyung sent the finished commission away, and all he wanted to know was how Jihoon, and more specifically his wife, thought about the painting. That was the only thing he could be calling about, right?

           “Taehyung!” A cheery old voice hummed on the other side. “I’m so glad you called me back!”

           “I apologize, Sir. I’m working.”

           “Working, hm? What do you do?”

           “I uh…work in a Pre-school as an art teacher. We’re playing with clay so I’m watching them as we speak to make sure nobody eats anything.” A hardy laugh was heard on the other side, and Taehyung had to chuckle in response to the infectious laugh of the man.

           “Well then, I’ll make this brief.” Jihoon said simply. “I took my wife to dinner last night and gave her the gift. She loved it. I am so happy I asked you to do this for me.” Taehyung, in that moment, felt like a huge weight lifted off of his shoulders, and he exhaled so loud that Jihoon might have heard it on the other end, but said nothing about it. “You have a real talent, there.”

           “Oh, thank you.” Taehyung sighed in relief. “I’m honored I got to do it.”

           “Did you go to school for art?”

           “No, Sir. I’m mainly self-taught.” Jihoon sighed on the other end.

           “See, I knew you would say that. It’s a damn shame. There’s something I need to talk over with my colleagues that I would really like to talk to you about. Can you call me as soon as your shift is over?” Taehyung, stunned to silence, simply nodded his head. “…Taehyung?” Jihoon voice brought him back to his body, and he began to speak:

           “Yes! Of course, I’ll call you immediately.” Jihoon laughed a bit, saying his goodbyes. With that, Jihoon was the first to hang up, leaving Taehyung on a dead line looking into the classroom with his students, still happily playing. Just before he could step back in, a voice was heard behind him.

           “Are you okay?” When he spun around, he saw you standing there, hands on your hips as you looked up at the fluffy-haired man. He hummed, nodding his head quickly.

           “Yes.” He assured. “Listen. There’s something important I need to do after school, so I won’t be able to come outside when the kids leave.” You nodded, staying silent as you could tell he was ready to say more. “But, there’s something I need to talk to you about, so come here as soon as they all leave, okay?” Raising an eyebrow, you were curious as to what this exciting thing could be. However, you didn’t pry anymore, knowing you’d already be late to the next subject due to having to still clean up the kids.

           “Okay, fine.” You agreed. Taehyung nodded. Just as he was about to turn back around, you spoke up. “I need to speak with you too.” Taehyung blinked, smiling sweetly.

           “Then it’ll truly be an interesting conversation.” He said. “…I’m not in trouble, am I?” You couldn’t help but laugh, nudging him inside as the two of you gathered up the students quickly in order to get back into the classroom in time.

---------------------------------------------

           As you headed down the hall towards the art room, you thought back to the conversation you had with Hoseok while the students were in art.

           “I’m going to tell him at the end of the day.” You said simply. Hoseok looked up at you, smiling gently. “I don’t want to keep waiting on it anymore. If I do, I’m scared something will happen that will ruin everything.”

           “That’s fair…” Hoseok agreed. “Good for you.” A small smile fell on your lips, the thought of this day being the one that could possibly finalize everything that has been brewing in her stomach for a long time. As the moments ticked away, inching towards not only the end of the day, but to simply going to see Taehyung in order to pick up the kids, you felt like a kid in a candy store.

           As you headed down the hallway, you pressed your fingers together, humming softly. Your mind was racing, unable to stop it from wandering, running a race the rest of your body couldn’t keep up with. As you approached the door, you heard voices coming from the other side. One specific voice; Taehyung’s voice. You stood silently, listening for a good time to enter.

           “Yessir.” Taehyung said. “I’m honored, thank you so much. Yes, yes, I’ll be sure to contact you soon! Goodbye, and thanks again.” You waited a moment, ensuring that Taehyung was no longer on the phone before knocking on the door and stepping inside.

           “Am I interrupting?” you asked curiously. Taehyung turned to you, and all you could see was a set of sparkling eyes, and a wide grin on his face that exposed a set of chubby and adorable cheeks.

           “No! I was just about to come and look for you.” Taehyung said. He hurried up to you and took your hands. “I need to talk to you.”

           “I know, that’s why I came. I need to talk to you, too.” You responded. Looking down at your interlocked hands, you felt your cheeks heat up, but refused to move them away. “Do you want to go first? You look like you’re about to fall out of your skin.”

           Taehyung laughed, squeezing your hands tightly as he looked up at you, directly into your eyes. “Remember when I said that Oh Jihoon wanted me to commission a painting for his wife?” You nodded, and Taehyung grinned. “He just offered me a full scholarship for next semester at his school.”

           You gasped, now being the one to squeeze his hands. “Taehyung! That’s amazing! Congratulations!”

           “I know.” Taehyung grinned. “He said he wanted me to hone my skills, and since I never went to college for art, he thinks it would be the perfect opportunity!” Immediately, you offered Taehyung the biggest hug you could.

           “Taehyung, I’m so proud of you!” you gasped. “That’s just…wow…” Taehyung, who had to admit the sudden hug pulled him momentarily from the excitement flowing through his body. He put a hand on your head, smiling happily. “You must be thrilled.”

           “Actually, to be honest, I’m pretty indifferent.” When Taehyung flashed his boxy grin, the both of you couldn’t help but laugh. “Now, what were you going to say? Let’s share the excitement together.”

           For a moment, time seemed to stop. You smile slowly faded from your lips and you pulled back gently from the hug, until you were completely out of the hug and stepped back. Taehyung must have sensed something off in your demeanor, because slowly, the smile faded away from his face as well. “…What’s wrong?”

           “…Nothing. I just…I got so excited for you that I can’t…I can’t remember what I was going to say.” Taehyung chuckled a bit.

           “You were going to finally say you love me, right?” He teased, nudging you playfully. You had to laugh a long, you had to force it out in fear he would know the truth. Anything that came out of your mouth would throw a wrench in everything he ever worked for, and that was the last thing you ever wanted to do. “I’m just kidding.” He admitted. “If you remember, let me know, okay? I need to go and tell Jimin.” You nodded, watching Taehyung scramble for his belongings. “See you tomorrow!”

           “Bye, Taehyung.” You said, waving to the man as he hurried out the door of the art room, leaving you alone beside the empty art tables and facing the large rainbow still painted on the wall. You had waited too long. If you were to speak up now, it could possibly ruin everything.

           Just like you had feared.

----------------------------------------------------------

           “Are you excited for the company party?” Namjoon asked curiously, fixing his glasses as he looked to Jimin. The younger man looked at his boss and smiled.

           “Oh, yeah! I’m really excited!” He agreed. “I think it’s a great way to celebrate the successful deal with Oh Jihoon.”

           “Agreed.” Namjoon said. The duo entered the elevator, ready to head home early for once, something they got to do very rarely, and enjoyed whenever it occurred. “I’m thinking of bringing a date.” Namjoon said. Jimin was silent, knowing exactly who Namjoon was referring to without even having to say a specific name. “I don’t want to be too pushy, though.”

           “…Yeah.” Namjoon said. “Well, if you do, the more the merrier.” Namjoon smiled, nodding his head as he watched Jimin glance down at his phone. “Speaking of the more the merrier, Taehyung texted me saying he’s coming to my house for dinner because he has some really good news.”

           Namjoon watched as Jimin quickly responded back to his friend, a small smile on his face as he texted. Namjoon had a feeling he knew exactly what Taehyung intended to speak about. Ever since the merger, he was constantly on the phone with Oh Jihoon discussing finalized terms and ideas for their future together, when Oh Jihoon brought up his offer he had given to Taehyung earlier that day. His mind flashed to the conversation quickly:

           You know that kid, Kim Taehyung, I gave him an invite to our school to work on his craft. The kid is incredibly talented, I’m grateful I found him through you and your friend Mr. Park.

           …Yes, of course, Sir. I agree, he is incredibly talented.

           The sound of the elevator alerted Namjoon to face front again, watching as the doors to the elevator open, and people beginning to shuffle in as he and Jimin shuffled out and onto the main floor of the lobby. “Well, let me know what happens, then.”

           “Yes, Sir. You too.” Jimin offered small bow as the duo headed to the door, before heading down the street and maneuvering his way through the crowd of working individuals, and out of Namjoon’s sight.  Namjoon looked down at his phone, vibrating quickly within his pocket. Slipping a hand in his pocket, he pulled out the phone and saw Jungkook’s name flashing. He was the one who picked Kai up from school, and Namjoon had to say a quick prayer to make sure this was a good phone call.

           “Hello?” he hummed, walking down the street towards his parked car.

--------------------------------------------------------

           “Wait-.” Jimin said quickly, setting down his bowl of rice. “So, Mr. Oh Jihoon asked you to come to his school full scholarship next semester?” Taehyung, who was standing behind his chair, his smile wide on his mouth as he nodded his head.

           “I know isn’t it wild?” Taehyung asked. “An art degree some there basically gaurentees you access into any major art show, anything you make selling immediately, and basically shooting you to celebrity status. I could paint art for popular idols, or movies, or anything! The possibilities are endless, Jimin.”

“Oh, I know.” Jimin agreed simply.

Taehyung wasn’t finished. “He said he needs to go over more paperwork and figure somethings out, but everything seems like it’s going to fall into place.”

           “Congratulations, that’s amazing.” Jimin said. “Did you call your mom?”

           “…No, not yet.” He admitted. “I didn’t know if I wanted to hear what she has to say.”

           “I’m sure she’ll only have positive things to say.”

           “Yeah, but they’ll be laced into tons of comments about how I would do so well in medical school or in a trade like my father. Something like that.” Jimin sighed as Taehyung paced the table, hands running through his hair. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

           “Maybe you are. Want me to toss this hot rice in your face and see if that wakes you up?” Jimin asked. Taehyung laughed a bit, seeing Jimin motion towards the plate of food that was getting colder with each passing second. “Or maybe you can finish your food I worked so hard to make.”

           “Fine…” Taehyung sighed, sinking down in his chair and lifting his chopsticks with some rice into his mouth. Jimin smiled as he watched Taehyung eat quietly, and leaned back in his seat.

           “Have you said anything to the people at the daycare?” he asked. Taehyung glanced back up, swallowing a mouthful of rice before speaking.

           “I haven’t told Hoseok-Hyung or Mr. Kim, but-.” Suddenly, Taehyung set his chopsticks down, causing Jimin to raise a confused eyebrow.

           “But…but what?” he asked curiously. Taehyung was silent, looking down at his hands as he thought about Jimin’s question fully before providing an answer.

           “Now that I think about it…if I take this scholarship next year, I’ll have to move out of town…” Jimin nodded, and Taehyung continued. “I won’t be able to work there anymore…”

           “Well yeah, but when I originally told you to apply, didn’t you say you planned to leave once you hit your ‘big break’?”

           Jimin waited a full two minutes f or a response from Taehyung. Unfortunately, Taehyung didn’t give one, simply leaning forward and taking another bite of rice into his mouth. Jimin frowned, but simply continued eating as well.

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#bts #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #kim namjoon #namjoon #rm #kim seokjin #seokjin #jin #min yoongi #yoongi #suga #jung hoseok #hoseok #jhope #park jimin #jimin #kim taehyung #taehyung #v #jeon jungkook #jungkook #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #v x reader #reader insert #a palette of emotions ff

[radioactivedelorean]

Voices

So this is long overdue because Aug 3rd was a full week ago (just about) and all of the Anti stuff has died down now, but better late than never, right?

I’ve been a fan of @therealjacksepticeye for at least two years now and when the whole ‘Anti’ thing exploded in October, I started writing something. Unfortunately, that piece is outdated and old and will never see the light of day, but I’m wayyy more proud of this.

----

There’s that voice again. It keeps popping up from time to time, usually only a faint whisper in the back of the Irishman’s head, something that can easily be ignored with a bit of music. He can barely understand it, anyway. The whispering is too quiet and too raspy to understand, so Jack simply ignores it. It isn’t hurting anyone and it isn’t affecting his sleep, so it shouldn’t matter, right? Before Jack knows it, it’s getting louder. He starts hearing it more often, usually during the night when he’s up late on his computer, or playing games, or simply just relaxing in his apartment. The whisper turns into a murmur, slightly louder than before but still nothing that seems of any concern. It keeps telling him to stop, to let go, to let someone else have control. At least, that’s what it sounds like. The words are just compilations of simple sounds as if a native Polish speaker was trying to learn English for the first time. Jack only has a minor concern about it and a simple round of something like ‘Hello, Neighbor’ or ‘The Escapists’ certainly helps him forget about it. At least, for a little while. 

One day, a week before Halloween, the voice turns into a shout, a scream, a wail from some demon buried deep within Jack’s mind. It’s shrieking in his ears at night when he turns the light off. It’s howling at him when he walks down the street. It’s laughing and jeering at him when he records videos. The words change from simple phonetics to full words. The words are cold and harsh, like pellets of poison in Jack’s ears. It tells him to just give up. To give in. That he’s weak and he won’t last much longer anyway. Again, the voice that speaks them is foreign and unrecognisable, yet leaves Jack with an awful sense of déjà vu. Jack manages to ignore it for a little while. But then the physical symptoms start. Every so often, a chill will run down Jack’s spine that feels like a bolt of lightning. For perhaps a second, he feels as though he has been ripped from his own body. As quickly as it starts, it’s over and Jack can keep going with whatever he was doing. Sometimes he’s asleep, and for a split second can see his own unconscious body lying in his bed. Other times, he’s eating, and will suddenly start to choke on something. More often than not, however, he’s making a video. He goes back, rewatches the footage he had spent almost two hours recording to see if the camera picked up on what happened. Each time, there is nothing. He only sees himself on his computer screen, shivering as if a cold breeze had just blown in through an open window. He shrugs and pushes it to the back of his mind. Vaguely, Jack wonders if any of his friends are having strange symptoms like this, or if these are just caused by Jack’s renowned disregard for any sort of sleep schedule. ‘Sleep is for the weak’, he would so proudly proclaim. Yet recently, Jack has been feeling rather weak. He seems to lack the energy he once had. His videos are shorter and seem a little toned-down compared to his other ones. Granted, none of them involve ‘Happy Wheels’, so that might be the case. One game in particular, a virtual-reality game called ‘The Cubicle’, has him rather worn-out. After filming, he simply lies on the floor. His head is aching and he feels the room around him spin and sway like a leaf on the wind. That’s funny: VR games never leave Jack feeling ill like that. Maybe his addiction to video games is just finally catching up to him. Jack lies on the floor a little while longer until he feels well enough to stand without passing out. He gets himself a glass of water and something to eat. Maybe he’s simply dehydrated? Low blood sugar? Hunger? Lack of sleep? Jack chuckles to himself at that one. He’d pulled all-nighters before and had functioned just fine the next morning. It’s probably just dehydration, he tells himself. He makes sure he drinks plenty over the rest of the day, before having an early night, going to bed just an hour after his second upload of the day. That voice is back again, louder than before. It almost sounds as if someone is talking to him through a corrupted microphone, the voice laced with static and odd sounds missed out entirely. Jack frowns a little as he lies in bed, waiting for sleep to come and take over. He’s definitely hearing things. He checks his ears a hundred times. Maybe there’s a loose bit of wax that’s causing his ears to distort sounds? Jack assures himself that he’s fine and that it’s probably just his imagination taunting him for playing too many video games. He eventually drifts off to sleep, the voice’s jeering lowering to merely a hum in his ears. Jack wakes up on the day of the thirty-first with a pounding headache and a churning stomach. He tries to calm the headache with a couple of painkillers and plenty of water, but as the day progresses, the headache only gets worse. Jack doesn’t eat anything that day, knowing that putting food into his churning stomach will only make everything worse. He keeps the videos for the day rather simple - carving a pumpkin, followed by a round of something easy, like ‘Reading your Comments’ or perhaps ‘Subnautica’, as it’s been a while since had last played that.

As Jack starts the recording and sits down at the table, pumpkin at the ready, he is struck by another wave of nausea and dizziness. He forces that feeling down and gets going. Throughout the video, he keeps hearing sounds in his apartment. Heavy footsteps, giggling, whispering. He gets up once or twice, but there is never anything there. The voice in his ears is louder than ever. It’s laughing at him now and the words are clear as day. Just as Jack tries to carve the extra little details into his pumpkin, he feels his body go stiff. He can’t move. He can’t speak. Heck, he can barely think. He feels himself lift his arm, the small vegetable knife in one hand. He feels his body move of its own accord, taking the knife closer and closer to his throat. His thoughts scream at him to stop, the voice much louder now. Before Jack can stop himself, he drags the blade across his throat, slices his trachea wide open, and collapses on top of the pumpkin. The voice is laughing now and all of a sudden Jack feels himself get thrown out of his body. He hovers perhaps two feet above it, watching as his body slowly raises its head, staring directly into the camera. The laughter is a high-pitched shriek in Jack’s ears and if he had a physical form, hands to move with and a head to feel, he would have slammed his palms over his ears to block out the noise. But he can’t. He’s nothing right now. Nothing more than a spirit, a ghost, a bodiless soul floating in some awful limbo between life and death. He watches as the body, his body, moves and talks all on its own.

Jack knows that there’s no way his body should be able to do that. Its throat is wide open like a predator’s jaws, blood dripping down its neck and soaking steadily into the front of the black top it is wearing. Jack can hear the air whistle in and out of the hole in the windpipe as the body speaks with air it isn’t receiving. The voice taunts the camera, speaking of how Jack was weak, and that it was only a matter of time before he broke free from the prison Jack had him caged up in. It sneers, knowing that the viewers would be confused and possibly even scared by what they’re seeing when the video goes out. The body’s face is twisted into a sadistic smirk, eyes glinting with malice. Once or twice, Jack sees all light and colour fade from them completely, leaving soulless black pits where his blue irises should have been.

The voice snarls, saying that Jack is never going to come back, and just like that, everything goes white. The last thing in Jack’s ears before he fades completely is a menacing snarl.

“Say goodbye…”

0000

Jack sits bolt upright, drenched in cold sweat. He trembles like a leaf. That voice is in his ears again for the first time in months. The last time he heard it was on Halloween, the day he had lost control for the first time. He had felt himself slit his throat open, but had woken up hours later as if nothing had happened. The first thing he had done was rush into the bathroom. There wasn’t a single mark on his neck, nor any blood on his top. There’s nothing wrong with him. Even the voice in his ears is silent.

Shakily, Jack slips out of bed and goes to take a shower, knowing that the hot water will definitely help him to relax. He carries on with his day as normal: have breakfast, record a couple of videos, have lunch, edit and upload the videos with a break for food in between, then spend the rest of his evening on social media before heading back to bed. Things don’t seem too bad that day. At least, not as bad as they were back in October. When nothing else unusual happens for a few days, Jack decides that his nightmare was simply a one-off occasion. The voice in his head hasn’t spoken to him in months, aside from a few days ago. He had no idea what had been happening to him but had decided that it would be best if he simply moved on and forgot about it. So that’s exactly what he does. He continues with his life as normal.

Everything changes when the same symptoms as before show up again. The dizziness, the sickness, the voice in his ear, the bolts of lightning down his spine that forces his soul out of his body. Everything sets Jack on edge again. His gameplay gets worse as fear starts to set in. His recordings become shorter and less confident. He constantly has to edit out moments where he loses focus due to the voice in his head, or where he doubles over, feeling his stomach lurch. As July draws to a close, these moments become more and more frequent until eventually, Jack is deleting entire videos, having to start all over again because he had to rush to the bathroom in the middle of one, swiftly vomiting his guts out.

Jack, the stubborn Irish bastard he is, never tells his friends or his viewers what is going on. Half of him thinks he's just seeing things, that the voices and the blackouts were just due to stress and lack of sleep. The other half knows that something is wrong, but believes that nobody will believe him.  This half thinks that anybody he tells will just think he's gone insane, or that this is some sort of elaborate setup for a future video. He knows damn well that people won't believe him, so he keeps it to himself.

Before Jack knows it, it's the first of August and things are still getting worse. The voice in his head is louder now than it was before and the words are just the same. The voice tells him to stop fighting it, to give in to the force that is already consuming so much of his energy. To let the voice take over. To let all Jack's worries and stress float away. Jack blocks it out of his mind, knowing that if he listens to it, things will only get much worse. He keeps going the best he can, his daily activities helping him to ignore the voice. This only works for two days, however. On the third of August, Jack wakes up with an agonizing headache and a stomach that feels like a cement mixer. It takes him a full hour before he can muster up the strength to even get out of bed. He skips eating breakfast, knowing that if he tries, he will just feel far worse and will likely end up throwing up. At lunch, however, he decides that he has to eat something, so he makes himself a sandwich before going to set up the game for the newest video. He decides that a round of Bio Inc Redemption shouldn’t put too much strain on his aching head.

The game starts out fairly well, Jack explaining to his viewers that the developers had added a ‘Jacksepticeye’ Easter Egg to the game. It gave the patient a rather large replica head of the Irishman, his face contorted into a rather uncomfortable-looking grin. Within a few minutes, however, Jack feels a churning in his stomach and tastes stomach acid in his throat. He clamps a hand over his mouth and untangles himself from his headphones as quickly as he can. He rushes into the bathroom, just about managing to get the toilet lid up before he vomits, his eyes watering. Everything seems to go rather fuzzy and Jack stumbles back, sitting with his back against the bathtub. His head is spinning and he feels dreadful. Before he can manage to find the strength to move, he collapses on the bathroom floor and faints. Something comes into the bathroom, lifts him up and lays him down in his bed.

There’s that voice again.

It’s in his head. It’s louder than it had ever been before, even on Halloween. It’s taunting him, jeering at him, mocking him. Jack feels sick, even though he’s certain there’s nothing more in his stomach that he could possibly lose. His head is pounding agonizingly and he knows that if he tries to even sit up, he’ll black out again. Jack has no other choice but to lie there as the voice taunts him. It calls him weak. Pathetic. Useless. It calls him a coward and a loser. Jack can’t block it out this time. It surrounds him, coming from everywhere in the room around him and from inside his head too for good measure. Jack tries to bury his head under his pillow to block the noise out, but it only gets louder. Before he knows it, Jack is screaming and thrashing, trying to get the voice to stop. And then everything goes quiet. There is no voice. There is no taunting, or jeering, or laughter. There’s nothing but silence, the only noise the sound of Jack’s ragged breathing. Before Jack can move, however, he feels himself being thrown from his body, his spirit hitting the bedroom wall and falling to the floor. As he gets up, he watches as his body moves by itself. He feels dread shoot through him. It’s happening again. All of a sudden, the black top is back and so is the laughter. Only this time, instead of coming from everywhere around him. It comes directly from his own mouth. At least, the mouth on the body. He watches in mute horror as his body leaves the room and goes back to his recording setup, rather forcefully dragging the camera over to stand it up in the middle of the room. Jack tries to complain that his body will damage his recording equipment but knows it’s fruitless. He watches as the body slowly lifts its head. The gash on his neck is back, the blood dried and stuck to the skin. The skin is pale and the body isn’t breathing at all. The eyes are what scares Jack the most. They’re dead, empty. As if the life and light behind them had been snuffed out like a candle in the rain. Every so often, they’ll go completely black and Jack watches as his own face sneers into the camera, a malicious grin stretching his mouth unnaturally wide. The body seems to twitch and shake under the management of this … whatever he could be called. Jack had seen plenty of things online calling him ‘Antisepticeye’, or simply just ‘Anti’. Another one of these reverse versions of the YouTuber themselves. Jack was already more than aware of Darkiplier, something that had been floating around in the depths of Mark’s channel for years now.

The difference here, though, is that Darkiplier was intentional. Anti was never something Jack had planned. He just started having these awful headaches and hearing a voice in his head. His recorded footage for his videos had seemed perfectly normal whenever he’d had these blackouts in the middle of filming, but by the time they were uploaded, they were full of awful glitches and static and for brief moments, a second figure could be seen in the corner, overlapping Jack’s own reactions. Jack doesn’t know how to get rid of these glitches and he sure as hell didn’t put them there himself. He decides that there’s nothing he can do but simply upload the videos as they are.

Anti’s words are so muffled by his own static that Jack can’t understand a single one of them. He almost seems to glitch in front of the camera, like a corrupted video file or something out of a horror movie. It almost reminds Jack of the way the animatronics behave towards the last few nights of the first ‘Five Nights at Freddy’s’ game, their bodies twitching and jerking unnaturally, muffled gurgles and wails escaping their mouths. Except there’s nothing about Anti’s words that describes dead children. Well, there might be, but Jack can’t understand a word of it through the ugly static still pouring out around the words that leave Anti’s mouth. Anti snarls into the camera for a full two minutes before the lights in Jack’s apartment go out, plunging the whole room into darkness. Jack feels something akin to a freight train hit him and his mind goes completely blank, the last sound in his ears before unconsciousness takes hold of him being Anti’s laughter. Jack wakes up on the floor a few minutes later, the voice and the migraine both gone from his head. He slowly gets to his feet, hesitantly putting a hand to his neck. There’s nothing there. There is no cut and his shirt has returned to the one he was wearing before. Breathing a small sigh of relief, Jack returns his camera to the rest of his recording equipment, noticing that the camera had already been switched off and the computers were all shut down. Running a hand through his hair, Jack decides to do something he’s never done willingly on his channel before - break his posting schedule. He gets something to eat, takes a shower and goes straight to bed, feeling too drained to do anything other than sleep at the moment. He wakes up the next morning to hundreds if not thousands of messages from friends, family and fans, asking if he was alright. He replies to as many as he can before he realises that he’s overwhelmed by them completely. He records a quick video, explaining that he is fine and that Anti is gone. By the time he’s uploaded it, word has already got out that Jack is fine. This puts his mind at ease and he resumes his normal schedule. Twice in one year, Jack has had to deal with the fear of having his spirit torn from his body. By all logic, he shouldn’t even be alive right now. Yet he is. He’s breathing and moving and living, despite Anti’s best efforts to take him down. Jack already knows the warning signs by now and he’ll be more than ready if Anti ever shows up again.

#antisepticeye #jacksepticeye #anti #i've been writing this for six hours straight I need to go lie down

[clownn-townn]

Alright, so one of my friends had posted on facebook asking for people’s paranormal experiences and I thought, hey, maybe I should share mine on Tumblr and do something similar. So, here are mine. Feel free to reblog with your paranormal experiences! I’d love to read them. I’ll be keeping up with the notes.

Alright, so I’m going to start with the most recent one and go in no chronological order, just this one happened in my freshman year of college and the rest happened in high school. 

Freshman year of college. I'd already had plenty of experience with the paranormal. Done my own ghost hunts, used oujia boards on a regular basis, lived in haunted houses, avid fan of Ghost Adventures and Ghost Hunters, nothing surprised me. Next to our tiny college town is an even tinier town called Gurdon where there's a tiny deserted cemetary next to some railroad tracks. Down those railroad tracks at night you can see a mysterious light called the Gurdon Light (that had long since been debunked as the train light reflecting off of swamp gas, yet remains a strong part of that towns folklore). Some idiot fellow freshmen decided that they we're going to go see the Gurdon Light on the night of a full moon. No way was I going to let these inexperienced idiots go alone, especially after asking "What are you going to do if you piss off a spirit?" And they answered with "There's a baseball bat in the trunk". Like... Friend... Buddy... Pal... The fuck? So I went with. After watching them freak out over every firefly and rustling leaf, I turned toward the car to get a better look around and off in the clearing just past the cemetary I saw a solid black crouched figure. It didn't seem friendly. I turned back toward the three idiots and saw that one of them, let's call him Justin, was staring straight towards that crouched figure. "You see it too, huh?" I asked him and he just nodded. "Look at it..." He said and I turned back towards and the crouched figure was slowly standing up. It was probably about 6' tall, taller than any of us there. "Car, now." I said and Justin immediately started heading to the car. The other two didn't seem to hear me so I repeated myself louder and we all hauled ass to the car. The other two who hadn't seen it saw it as we were leaving toward the dirt road that lead to the main road. They asked me what it was and honestly I have no idea what it was, whatever it was didn't want us in that graveyard.

There was another time, I had just moved into a new house and my best friend since 7th grade, let's call her Ashley, and I had a tradition every time we moved into a new house. We would draw our own Ouija board and we would figure out exactly what's in that house and what we need to watch out for or what we need to expect ect. Because we've both always been pretty sensitive to paranormal stuff. So as we sat in my room with the door open doing this Ouija board we finally contacted a spirit. It was a young girl, native American if the name and year was anything to go off of, and as we we're being led in circles in the answers to the questions, my bedroom door slowly started to close. We both look up at it. I explain to Ashley that my door doesn't do that. The door was heavy enough to where it didn't close because of gravity or anything and it took more than just the house settling to move it. The air conditioner was also off and no windows were open so it's very unlikely that there would've been any draft strong enough to move the door. So we decide to get up and look around. We were home alone because my siblings were visiting my grandparents and my mother was out doing grocery shopping, so the house was eerily quiet. The first room we go to is my siblings room, right across the hallway from my room. We stand in there and listen for a minute cause we're both getting weird vibes from the room and then suddenly the air conditioner bangs loudly, it never is that loud kicking on, and Ashley screams and shoves past me and runs out of the room and out the front door. I quickly follow after to make sure she's okay. I ask her what happened because I figured the air conditioner scared her and she took a moment to catch her breath before responding with "I saw a girl. She had two long, dark braids and a white dress". Very characteristic of a native American girl from the time era of integration, which was the time era that the spirit we were contacting was from. We go back inside, say goodbye on the Ouija board, and apologize for bothering her.

A rather funny one happened in that same house. This ones pretty short. I was practicing for a choir competition, if you're familiar with a competition called All Region then cool if not then really there's not much to know other than it's an audition for a special choir that can get you all sorts of bragging rights and scholarships. So to practice it, I would sing into my crappy laptop microphone, play it back, and see what parts exactly that I needed to work on and what I was good at ect. After a few rounds of singing a particularly difficult part, playing it back, then repeating, something strange popped up on the audio. I listened to that part a couple of times and determined that it wasn't the TV in the living room (my bedroom was the closest to the living room and it was a trailer so the walls weren't the most sound proof) because, well, after going through all the previous recordings, there was not even a hint of sound from the living room on any of them. So I went back to the strange recording and listened to it to try to determine exactly what it sounded like. Upon closer inspection, it was a male voice saying "You're really bad at that". Thanks, Mr. Ghost.

This one is really sad, and comes with a trigger warning of possible child abuse, the ghost being the victim of it. So, as with the past story involving Ashley, this story begins with her moving into a new house. This new house had a strange layout. The first floor was fairly normal; small kitchen, big open living room, and a hallway with the kids bathroom and the three bedrooms, there being a smaller bathroom in the master bedroom. Though, the height of the living room was two floors because above the kitchen there was a large loft type area, the stairs to it by the front door in the living room. That loft area was made into a video game room and basically the kids room, as much of a kids room as you can have for a 13 year old and a 16 year old. In it was a small closet where we stored the Rockstar guitars and drumset along with a ton of board games, the tiny closet had no door, it was just a tiny closet in a very inconvenient space in the middle of the part of the loft that overlooked the living room. Then on the other side where there was the actual wall, there was another door leading to a small room. Was it intended to be an extra bedroom? Strangely placed for that. It had a window on each of the three walls without the main door, one overlooking the driveway and two overlooking the surrounding woods. There was also a ceiling fan in it. The family used it as a storage room for just a bunch of random junk. Everyone dreaded going into that room, even Ashley's younger brother who was a bit too stupid to fear anything. This kid would rather jump off the loft onto the couch (about a 10-15 foot drop) than go into that room and he actually proved it. So, me and Ashley sat outside that room after taking a few months to gather up the courage and debate whether we should or not and we did the Ouija board. Every time you went into that room or even near the door, there was a heavy sense of dread. Dread, fear, nausea, migraines, all of it came from that room. So, we kind of assumed there was a demon in there. We braced ourselves as we started with the 'hello' and waited before I asked the first question. What we had gathered was that this was a kid from when the house was first built sometime in the mid 1900's, his name was Zach and he had died when he was just 15. He spent most, if not all of his time literally locked in the room. His father, maybe step father, we couldn't get a clear answer on that one, was a very not nice man who seemed to hate the boy, very little about his mother was found out because he was very vague and dodgy about questions about his mother. His father basically locked him in that room and barely let him leave, it was questionable as to whether he even went to school or not. His father beat him, starved him, and eventually he ended up dying due to the abuse and neglect. By then the emotions in that room were becoming too much for me and Ashley to bear and I said goodbye suddenly before going into the room, Ashley going to stop me but being too slow (she was still wary of it possibly being a demon who was lying to trick us because, well, us edgy teenagers thought everything was a demon), and I locked the door from the inside to keep her from getting in to stop me. She sighed and waited patiently outside the room. I sat in the middle of the room, cross legged, and honestly felt like I was going to either burst into tears or puke my guts up. I braved through it. I told the boy about my own abuse and neglect when I was not much younger than him, I told him that I understood and that it was okay to let go because the past couldn't keep you dragged down like this. He didn't have to spend his entire life in that room and that his father was no longer there to keep him in there. I told him that the events were in the past, and even if it still hurt, it was okay, because he wasn't alone. After that talk, it took about 15 minutes at the most, there was a metaphorical sigh of relief from the room. All the heaviness, all the dread, all the fear, it just...disappeared. The room was no longer painful, the room was now genuinely empty. I actually helped a spirit move on... Even Ashley felt it because as soon as he was gone, she asked very quietly if it was over and I unlocked the door and came out of the room and started crying. Even though the lighting hadn't changed at all, the room still seemed to glow a bit brighter from the sunlight. That's probably one of my favorite ghost stories to tell.

There was the time that I had a dream that I was by the school and saw a plane go down in the distance, shortly followed by a giant splash of water from where the plain would've landed in the distance. A few days later I watched the news and found out about Flight 370 going down. A similar premonition I had was less of a dream and more of a Final Destination sort of thing. I was sitting in the back seat, my boyfriend at the time (let's call him Gabe) was in the front passenger seat, and his best friend (let's call him Mark) was driving. Next thing I know my forehead was bloody, half of it mine and half of it not quite mine, and Mark was freaking the hell out. Then, just like in the FD movies, I was standing outside the car and we hadn't even left yet. I begged Gabe to sit in the back with me because I didn't wanna be lonely and he said only if the aux cord reached. Luckily it did. So he sat in the middle and I sat behind the passenger seat. We were going about 10 above the speed limit and a truck suddenly stopped in front of us. Mark slammed on his brakes about 30 feet behind the truck and, unfortunately, due to balding tires we skidding right into the back of the truck, causing the front end of Mark's brand new car to go under the back of the truck, push the engine into the car, and the passenger side airbag to deploy. After realizing what happened, we all exited the car. The only injury was Mark breaking his hand because he got so pissed about his brand new car that he punched a nearby stop sign. After taking the car to the mechanic to get it inspected for insurance purposes, it was revealed that I had saved Gabe's life. In the front passenger seat there was a ton of shrapnel that had shredded the front of that seat that would have definitely been at the right angle and height to shred Gabe's vital and vulnerably placed blood vessels.

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