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ari-stash · 2 months

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Rings

A short thing about my Jameson and Anti, in which Anti gifts Jameson signs of his ownership.

[CW for blood, possessive relationship, abusive husband, mentions of rot and maggots]

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Gentle whirring fills the room, deafening to him, as the machine’s needle traces bee sting lines into Jameson’s throat. He is sitting still. Patient. Still. As Anti told him to. Or else, or else. But he can’t stop the tears pricking his eyes or the slight heaving of his chest as his master works. He has his eyes closed, but he can feel Anti staring at him, eating him up and making him feel like squirming.

“Still,” Anti’s voice comes, a single word command that freezes Jameson into a statue. “We’re almost done, sweetheart. Look at me, hey.”

JJ opens his eyes, allowing a tear to escape and slide down his cheek. Anti’s thumb moves upward and brushes it away, the overgrown nails of his host body dangerously close to his eye. Jameson does not flinch. “What are you drawing?” JJ dares to question. Thankfully, Anti just smiles at him, his eyes fading from black into more human-like green ones as he regards his husband.

“It’s my mark, Bluejay.” His hand rests very lightly on the half-done circle he’s tracing around Jameson’s neck with the tattoo gun. “My blood is in it. It binds you to me.” Anti smiles, his face subtly shapeshifting with his glamor and becoming softer with healthy round cheeks, shining curly hair and a boyish smile. “Forever.”

JJ smiles at him, or tries to anyway. His lip is trembling slightly from the pain. “Thank you, Anti,” he signs, A-husband, A-knife, as his name goes.

“No need to thank me, pet,” he coos, grabbing his chin and wiggling his head back and forth. “Though I do have something for you, once we’re done.”

Jameson perks up with curiosity, but then the tattoo gun is moving back to his skin, right over his jugular, which makes him hiss air through his teeth with pain. It touches down, lifts, touches down, lifts, in a circular pattern. JJ wonders what it will be. Anti had spent quite a bit more time on the back of his neck, but JJ counts his blessings that the front is seemingly quicker.

Eventually, Anti hums with satisfaction and sets down the gun. He wipes the new markings clean, clearing the excess ink and spots of blood. “Want to see, Jay?” Jameson nods, hesitant. His hand flexes in the handcuff Anti attached to the table, just in case – even though JJ would never run. Anti holds a mirror up to him. Jameson observes a dotted line circling his entire neck that leads to a smaller circle wrapping around his adam’s apple.

“This is on the back,” Anti says, drawing a piece of paper into his view, “My symbol. My name.” His voice is soft, distant, as though his thoughts are elsewhere. The symbol is a rather complex seeming sigil that makes no sense to JJ. Anti grins at Jameson with a mouth of dog’s teeth, touching his collarbone. He touches Anti’s hand, shaking minutely. “What do we say?”

“Thank you,” JJ offers him the simple sign shyly.

“That’s a good boy. Would you like your gift now?”

JJ nods, nervousness overridden by curiosity for now. Anti reaches into the back pocket of his black jeans, fishing around with a curse. Pulling out a small black box, he turns back to him, a certain light filling his face. Jameson tries not to so obviously bask in his husband’s rare good mood. “Jameson, lover and light of mine,” he purrs, “Pet and husband. Mine.” He pulls open the box, revealing a small gold ring, a simple band with only a single small sapphire implanted into the band. Jameson feels his mouth fall open faintly, staring at it with widened eyes.

Anti’s fingers come up and tap his mouth shut, laughing. “What, did you think I’d never propose properly? Just because you were given to me already mine doesn’t mean I can’t treat you to something nice.” Anti feels his appearance shit, Henrik’s sharp face, Marvin’s full beard, Chase’s freckles and doe eyes all filled in with black, and Jameson’s own curled hair, dark and highlighted with silver by the sunlight from the window – he is terrifying and beautiful, and he knows it.

JJ takes him in very obviously, his eyes beginning to water as he leans forward against Anti’s chest, overwhelmed. He’s not treated to gifts very often, and it makes him sheepish and distant with embarrassment. “Thank you, A-husband. Thank you.” He signs shakily against Anti’s chest. Anti taps his chin and chest, pulls the hands away softly. “Love, cherish, love,” he promises to him. JJ cannot sign it back because of his cuffed hand, so he simply nuzzles at Anti’s neck in appreciation.

Anti picks up Jamie’s free hand, regarding the thick keloid in the center from when he put a knife through it, and all the minute scars around it. His beautiful handiwork. He kisses the scar, and then slips the wedding band onto his ring finger. “To have and to hold, ‘til death do us part. You are mine to treasure until the day I kill you.”

Jameson nods in agreement, examining the band with wide eyes. It’s so beautiful – a blue stone for Anti’s bluejay. He runs his thumbs over it, loving. But there’s a subtle sickness in his guts at those words, "‘til death." Anti has already promised to him that the day Jameson dies, it will be because Anti decided it – he is not allowed to die on his own. And Jameson had promised in return to stay with him until that time comes. His gaze darkens with bitterness for a moment, like maggots crawling in his stomach. He shivers and he thumbs the ring, his cuffed hand clenching on itself as Anti moves around putting things away.

Jameson can practically already feel the rolling of worms beneath his flesh – he will be a dead thing on Anti’s floor one day. As Anti comes to kiss his forehead and lead him to their bed with promises of consummation, Jameson feels like he might already be that dead, rotten thing, being eaten away on his husbands floor.

#pxppet stuff #fic #man... Anti just so casually saying ''until I kill you'' at the end of the marriage spiel... damn #it really gives off the feeling that in Anti's eyes JJ has an expiration date #till death do us part- till I get bored of you- till I break you to a point of no return #very good writing as always!

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ari-stash · 3 months

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the lore if jack freed anti from his body and let him develop naturally in a healthy loving environment with the other egos where anti calls jackie his big brother and falls in a healthy loving relationship with marvin and becomes best friends with henrik and chase and he's happy and loved and has a deep sense of belonging and gets hugs whenever he needs them

#seagull stuff #wouldnt it be fucked up if somehow Anti was shown this alternate timeline?#to see himself be loved without any fear behind it. To see a version of himself that has a family to call his own #how crazy would it be to catch a glimpse of a world where none of the suffering you went through ever had a chance of happening and then-#-being suddenly thrown back to the shitty reality you love in? Alone and unloved :)c

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ari-stash · 3 months

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anti has a dream almost every night where he is trapped in a windowless box. he screams and bangs on the walls but nobody is coming for him because nobody loves him. nobody wants him. he curls up in a ball and cries and cries until the room gets smaller and smaller and he starts passing out from hunger and then he wakes up, shivering and sometimes still crying. jameson will be next to him. sometimes, he will wake jameson up and grip him by the shoulders and shake him awake, desperately asking if he loves him and making him sign 'i love you, anti' over and over and over. sometimes, he will just wrap his whole body around jameson's as if he were a big stuffed animal and anti was a frightened child, tight enough to leave marks. sometimes he'll do both, hugging him tightly while jameson strokes his hair and kisses his forehead.

jack hated anti. jack denied anti a life with the other egos. friends. family. he never got it. he was alone and in pain for a very long time before his jameson was given to him. he would climb inside henrik and chase and jackie over and over again because that was the only intimacy he knew, the only way he would feel close to someone, until his jameson came to him.

anti hurts jameson because he is angry and doesn't know how to manage all the hate in his body. anti hurts jameson because it feels good. anti hurts jameson and then becomes afraid that jameson will leave him too. so he coddles and kisses and dotes on him until his wounds are better and jameson signs 'i love you, anti' with genuine conviction again. he hurts jameson. it makes him feel like a god.

jack's boys are all frightened of anti. they hide from him when all anti wants is for them to love him. but its okay. its okay because when he kills jack he can torture all of them until their brains are fried and anti can convince them that he loves them, and that they love anti back. chase and jackie and henrik and marvin are not people to him. they are vessels and they are toys and they are parrots who will say 'i love you, anti' when he is angry at jack and when he is feeling alone and in pain.

when a heart is broken it grows back wrong. when anti was small and full of love jack told him that he hated him. when anti was small and full of love he ripped jack's throat and smiled at jackie and spoke as soft and small and kind as he could. jackie was horrified. he didnt want anti. he wanted anti to leave them alone, and anti didn't understand until marvin exorcised him out of jack and he was left out in the cold with no one to turn to and he watched jacks boys breath relief. good, he is gone. good, we dont like him because he frightens us. anti didn't understand. he didn't understand.

being god sounds exhausting. but anti likes to feel like god. when anti has control over what his husband eats and when they have sex and what his husband wears and what he watches on tv he feels like hes flying. when anti plays with the egos, makes their little phones and laptops fuck up, makes them see things, makes them frightened, he feels alive. he feels like he has control. when anti has control, he is god and nothing can hurt god. he is safe and worshipped. nothing can hurt him. he will ensure nothing will ever hurt him again.

anti has a dream, almost every night, where he is trapped in a windowless box. jack is his box. jack kept him locked inside his body and wouldn't let him out. jack is the box. anti needs to kill his box and then he can breathe. then he can be loved. he can love jack's boys. he can be loved. he will be loved. this is going to happen. jack will die, and anti will be loved by his puppets.

anti hates. anti does not know what love means.

#seagull stuff #lore #absolutely LOVE the complicated relationship your Anti has with love #how a being so warped by hatred and fear yearns so so badly for connection and affection and yet all his actions only drive it all away

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ari-stash · 3 months

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concept: anti is prepared for when he has all the egos as his puppet family one day. he's just waiting for jack to die so he can take the 4 for himself. he has the dresses henrik will wear and even has the shade of lipstick picked out for her. he picks up plushies if one catches his eye at the store for chase and will put them on the bed (chase's bed) in one of the spare rooms. he has 3 extra rooms in his house set up for the egos. he has marvin's crate set up in the basement with the shock collar they'll wear hanging from a hook by the door. he collects medications to test out on jackie in his cabinets. he has the shed out back pre-filled with torture devices and already attached shackles to the walls. he has clothes picked out, space ready to be filled into, waiting, ready for his perfect family

#seagull's stuff #i am looking at these thoughts intently 👁👁#I just think the puppet family concept is neat. Fucked up but neat nonetheless!

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ari-stash · 4 months

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Defatigatus

Reflections AU

Words: 2,000 CW: Dark descriptions, disease, perpetual injuries Summary: An introduction into the broken universe of the Reflections – Jackie attempts to give an exhausted Henrik some solace

Cold. It was always cold.

The fact was as sure as the sunrise, or at least it used to be. Before it outlived it.

Rippling glass lapped at his fingers. For others, it was a puddle gazing through into a distant memory. For Jackie, it was warmth held beyond a pane of glass.

He often wondered what he looked like now. Mapping his features with his fingers could only do so much to maintain the echo of his reflection. Each time his fingertips grazed over his face to do so, it further smeared like graphite across the canvas of his memory. By the way Marvin would caress his face within the quiet moments of rest, he imagined he must look a state.

Jackie gathered what he could from those little touches and tended to the codes woven within the concern like braille.

If he incessantly combed at his hair, he needed to bathe or ask someone to trim it. If his thumb traced beneath his eyes, he needed more sleep. If he made a point of keeping him bundled up in their duvet, they needed to find more vitamins on their next supply run.

Such gestures had become their existence, a solemn yet sincere language shared only between them. Jackie would speak into the void, and Marvin's touch would assure him he was there. This way, there was seldom a moment he was not in reach.

This, however, was one such moment.

Jackie exhaled through his nose and let his hand fall limp at his side. That warmth drained from his skin as he rubbed his fingers together to savour the sensation. The mirror remained.

Sometimes, he could hear the edge of a voice on the other side. He could never make out the words, but he recognised the inflexion of Marvin's voice, his laughter.

What he wouldn't give to hear his voice again.

He was unsure how much longer he could bear listening to one of the others speak on his husband's behalf.

After all, they were still blessed with sight. They could read his signing rather than rely on wordless touch. They could see Marvin for themselves and not have to believe the insistences he knew, deep down, were lies.

He knew Marvin was deteriorating. They all were.

Finding food small enough proved more difficult by the day. They had run out of protein shakes three weeks ago, and the void had consumed their only route to the retailer which provided them. The strings sewn through his lips rendered him unable to even chew, so they were left with little choice. Jackie had opted to mash up his meals like baby food until they could fit on a teaspoon.

Even then, it was not enough.

Every time he held him, he could feel every rib and vertebrae jabbing into his arms like he would shatter at the slightest squeeze. His face was sunken, and his hair, once as pure as silk, had become straw-like in texture.

He could only imagine what he could not feel—the agony in his husband's eyes, the exhaustion in his posture, the utter fear.

His heart ached.

The warmth was all but gone.

Jackie followed the study walls until he reached the hallway and discerned the sound of running water—one of this purgatory's many mysteries.

Lights switched on, appliances functioned, and hot and cold water ran as though nothing had happened. The day the sun disappeared, the street lamps replaced it like artificial stars. Empty skyscrapers glowed in golden ghost light. Traffic lights flicked between its colours to manage roads scarce of anything besides a tumbling plastic bag.

Everything operated without fail like a model. A terrarium. A dollhouse. All they could do was live in it like toys. Bugs.

Jackie gripped the kitchen doorway as someone switched the kettle on.

Angus, Chase, and Anti were on a supply run. Marvin was supposed to be asleep.

"Hello?" He called out to no answer.

Henrik.

Jackie approached with caution. Since Robbie's sickness worsened, even the slightest tap gave Henrik a fright. So, with that in mind, he used the countertops like rope to guide him toward the sound, where he gently leaned into the doctor's view.

"Oh!" Yet by his sharpened gasp, it seemed his efforts were still in vain. Then, a sigh of relief. "Jackie..."

Jackie smiled at his voice and listened to him set an empty mug on the counter.

"Coffee?"

Jackie raised his hands to sign a reply, but Henrik took them in and gently squeezed them to reassure him.

Jackie shook his head instead. Coffee was consistently first on their supply lists despite Henrik being its exclusive drinker.

"You sound tired," Jackie spoke clearly so he could lipread and ran his thumbs over his cold knuckles. They trembled violently.

"I am..." Henrik's voice was slower, softer, and his accent had subsequently grown thicker in response. Jackie remembered distant days when his voice, proud and articulated, commanded a room.

"You're freezing," he remarked and wrapped his hands in his own in an attempt to warm them. "You should go get some sleep."

Henrik hummed pensively. "Can't."

"Henrik..."

"He's in ss- so much pain..." his voice wavered as it sounded out each and every vowel, "can't..."

Jackie heard boiling water shudder inside the kettle and the click to indicate its completion, breathing in the smell of hot steam.

Henrik's attention drifted away from him in favour of the kettle, yet Jackie found the handle before he could with a troubled frown.

"I don't think you should have any more," he said, his brow knitted with concern, "have you even eaten anything?"

"Jackie..." Henrik pleaded within a sigh bordering between exhaustion and exasperation.

"C'mon, Henrik..." Jackie matched his tone despite Henrik being utterly unaware of it. His hand pinned the rumbling kettle to its stand as though it might pour by itself. "You haven't slept in days."

A cold hand lay over his.

"Please..."

For a moment, his grip tightened, and his otherworldly strength threatened to crush the handle like an eggshell. Then, it fell loose and rested on the counter in defeat.

Water streamed gently into a mug, and the smell of coffee bloomed in the air.

Henrik's hand resting on his signalled his attention, and Jackie inclined his chin to clarify his question.

"How's he doing?"

Another hum, this time filled with brimming hopelessness.

"I-... I don't know... what to do..." He answered and swallowed thickly. "Nothing I do–" his breath hitched, and he squeezed his hand, "M' running out of op- op- tions..."

Jackie's expression softened from frustration, and he reached out to find his cheek. His fingers knocked his glasses at first and sparked the tiniest chuckle between them before he found his cheek.

Cold.

"You must be exhausted..."

Jackie felt Henrik's sharpened cheek pinch in a forced smile, only to wither in place of a sorrowful nod. His breath hitched again in a stifled sob.

"I can't take it aa- anymore..." A single tear grazed Jackie's thumb, "m' scared, Jackie..."

"I know..." Jackie whispered, barely audible. Not that it mattered anymore. "I'm going to fix this, I promise."

He heard a distant cough from upstairs.

Henrik leaned into his hand, desperate for hope like an animal starved of warmth. He felt him lower his head, so Jackie gently nudged him.

"Hey." He squeezed his bony arm with his other hand to keep him grounded. His voice remained level, each word spoken with meticulous care to ensure his understanding. "I need you to trust me, okay?"

Henrik nodded. Jackie did not have to see to know his lip trembled as he did so.

"I'm gonna get all of us out of here," he vowed as he wiped the stray tear away, "and I won't let anything happen to you."

As if on cue, the sound of coughing grew consistent and stronger, yet Jackie did not dare even acknowledge it with the slightest blink. Thus, Henrik remained unaware.

"I just need you to hold out for a little bit longer," Jackie continued in that slow, deliberate voice as the coughing quickly grew into horrendous hacks. "Rest. Eat. Can you do that for me?"

"Dad..."

"Yes..." Henrik nodded again, and Jackie lowered his hand from his cheek to wrap his arms around him. The doctor, his best friend, his brother, sunk into his hold without hesitation, almost devoid of life itself.

Exhaustion was evident in every bone, and fear laced every shaky breath. Jackie felt his poor hands tremble as they held his back and tightened his grip to anchor him.

Henrik did not deserve this. None of them deserved this.

With every moment he held him, he imagined that pane of glass between them and their future shattering into a thousand pieces.

"Dad...!"

He ran his hand up and down his back as the doctor gave another sigh.

"May- be I could nap nn- now that he- he's settled..." Henrik conceded softly to himself.

Jackie nodded against his shoulder and held him closer, prepared to hold him there for an eternity if it meant he could rest. By the way his weight sunk into him, Henrik likely would have fallen asleep right then and there had the front door not opened.

He must have caught them in the corner of his eye because he drew away. The last thing Jackie felt was Henrik straighten his posture.

Upstairs, he heard Robbie heave desperately for air.

Boots shuffled. A bag was discarded on the table, barely heavy enough to make a thud.

"Hh- how did it go?" Henrik asked in a lighter tone at the scavenger's arrival.

"He's coughing again, sweetheart," Chase's hoarse voice croaked woefully, no doubt signing as he spoke.

In an instant, that lightened tone shrivelled like a withered spark.

"Scheiße..." There was no panic in his voice anymore, simply sorrow. He hurried off just like that, and Jackie listened to the hastened steps as he ascended the stairs.

Jackie leaned against the counter and folded his arms. He could still smell fresh coffee, so even his mug had been abandoned.

"We–" Chase cleared his throat to no avail, "we found more vitamin D tablets n' a couple painkillers."

"Couldn't you have at least answered his question first?" Jackie asked.

A pause.

"I'm not gonna lie to him about that," he rasped breathlessly, "how long was Robbie coughing before we got back?"

"Chase, he hasn't had a moment's peace in weeks."

"You think I don't know that?" He replied sharply and cleared his throat again.

Jackie lowered his head with a frown. "Did you at least find any meal shakes?"

"No..."

"Great." He scowled and stood up straight, then carefully drifted his hand across the counter until he found the coffee mug. With his other hand, he felt for the sink, then promptly tipped its contents down the drain.

"I'll get him to take a nap, don't worry," Chase remarked flatly as he unloaded the items from the bag. By the sounds, or lack thereof, it seemed their supplies had dwindled even further.

Jackie overturned the mug in the sink and replied with a dismissive grunt. Without another word, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and followed the wall back into the corridor.

He had slowly made his way towards the stairs when he felt a gentle hand rest over his arm.

"Marv?"

A squeeze confirmed his assumption, and he sighed as Marv wound his arms around his neck to kiss his cheek. The stitches were cold.

"Hey, baby..." he murmured warmly as he rested his hands over Marvin's frail spine. "You should be sleeping..."

Robbie must have woken him up with his coughing.

The magician drew him closer and rested a hand on his cheek, tracing his thumb beneath his eye no doubt with a face knitted in concern.

"I'm fine, baby," Jackie took his hand and kissed his slender fingers reassuringly. "You should go see what the others brought back, I'm gonna check on Hen and Robbie."

Another squeeze, another kiss on his cheek. All he could feel was the stitches, but he smiled anyway as Marvin's touch drifted away from him like a cloud.

Jackie waited until his plush footsteps faded before he let his smile drop.

Welcome to the shattering world of the Reflections, it has been a while since I've done anything with them! I thought it would be fun to spark the universe back up since almost everything about the original has changed!

This was very fun to write! Please let me know if you'd like to see more of this universe, I'd be happy to write more!

Thank you for reading!

Reblogs appreciated! /np

#geekyfox stuff #fic #reflections au #knowing where this au goes makes me so sad :(#the feeling of hopelessness and exhaustion is sooo palpable in this #really shows what the strain that surviving in a dying and forgotten world is doing to them

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ari-stash · 5 months

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My c!Jack, my c!Jack... What is there to say about him? He woke up one day with voices in his head that shouldn't be there. He worried over schizophrenia for a while, then OSDD, then he didn't know what to think. One of them towered over the others in a terrible way, with a snake like hiss of electricity on his voice. Jack tried suppressing that one as hard as he could fight, sobbing over the things it threatened to do to him. One smaller voice, somehow faint despite its booming tone, was fighting as well. It promised him protection, no matter what.

One day, he got severe pain in his chest while all alone in a cabin in the woods. He thought this was it. He was dying, and it's all culminated to this. But instead something bizarre happened. His chest panged and he fell to the floor. He stood up. There was another him still on the floor. It felt floaty, exhausting for a moment to even keep standing. Then, the other him moved.

He nicknamed the clone Jack 2 at first, but it quickly became Jackie. The clone insisted he would always protect him, and now that he's here and out of the darkness, no harm will ever befall his creator.

Jackie's help didn't feel safe enough. He needed someone - something else.

After a year, Sean moved to a better house. He told Jackie to keep the cabin, get a job in town, and become someone great and strong like he knew he could. Jackie did just that - he would always do what Jack asked of him.

The moment Jackie and he were apart, the menacing voice loomed over him again, with even worse poison to spit. Yet there was a sharper, clearer voice snapping back with just as much venom. It never said the words, but Jack knew it meant to protect him, no matter the cost.

He hit his head one day while falling in the bathroom. When he came to, there was another him hovering over him. Something was off though. It... smelled funny, like river water and incense smoke. It had glowing, yellow eyes with off pupils - slitted ones? And there were fangs poking just slightly over its lips.

He made pancakes for them. I mean, it's not the weirdest thing to do when you've seemingly birthed a clone from your head. The creation insisted it was not a man or woman of any kind, chuckling at him. He asked, "do you know what you are?" The thing paused. Marvin, it said simply. The magnificent marvel of Marvin.

Marvin only stayed with him a few months before they realised they could make plants grow instantly from just a seed. That was put to use almost instantly with houseplants, but Marvin wanted more plants, more things to learn and discover. Jack finally helped them forge a birth record to get an ID so they could work somewhere at the incessant pestering request of Marvin. Marvin only lived with him a few months more before the independent thing was in their own apartment and paying for lots of jewelry to coat themselves in. They started to grow out their hair about a year later.

The next one was due to his sickness. He felt worse every day, and no calls from his friends nor his creations could pick him up. He was gaunt, hollow-eyed, exhausted by even sitting up. All the while, the voice mocked him. The time is coming soon, it promised. One day, he entered a coughing fit so bad he thought he would die. He coughed hard into him arm, before stopping as another voice echoed the cough. Sarcastically. He looked up to find another clone, a voice that had never said anything to him. Hello, he offered. Guten tag, it chuckled back. It wanted to know where it was, first off, and second off, go get him a whiskey. No ice please and fucking thank you.

Jack drank whiskey with him all night, confiding in him all his fears and his sickness. The clone, tipsily, set a hand on his shoulder and made a promise. "I am Henrik, and I will do anything I can to fix this."

He wanted to be a doctor. He picked the ham out of his food. He likes painting. He can bite and snap just as hard as Marvin if you get him mad enough. These small facts collected over the months as Henrik also forged an ID and tried applying to medical schools. In Germany, he said. Your newfound YouTube money can help pay for it, no? What kind of creator would deny such an earnest and clever creation? He was shipped off within the year to become someone who helps. Someone who fixes.

Jack was alone, then. He had Jackie and Marvin to call upon, but they were... creations, not friends. He needed a friend.

So he made one.

This was his first try at doing it intentionally. What makes a good friend? Well, he'd be a goofball. Probably a real lad's lad with way too much pep. He'd dress pretty much the same so they look like a pair. They should look like a pair, yeah. And that way he always has someone to talk to. Someone who understands. Someone who is... just as miserable as him. Someone who is also sick and depressed. Someone who's also a sorry excuse for a human being.

He tried not to, but his self hate leaked into every single crevice of his new creation. He felt a pain in his temple, the whole time. Like he was able to instantly begin making someone on his own will. The energy and voice of his new best friend moves closer and closer to him as the days go on, calling out 'hello's and 'is anyone there's to the darkness of his skull.

"Jack?" it says one day. It echoes, reverberates in his skull. He grabs his head, stumbling. "Can you hear me?" Jack answers in the affirmative, and then his head, oh fuck his head, he is bleeding but then it is not him bleeding, and he steps back a foot from another himself, and the boy is bleeding from his eyes and nose and a hole in his temple.

The hospital is confused about the origins of Jack's 'twin' seeing as he has no records in any system. He's just into holistic medicine, Jackie lies. What is important is did he make it. And he did. Blood loss and stitches and some odd brain activity. Follow up in two weeks just in case.

The boy is soft, confused, seeming meek all wrapped up in bandages around his head. Jack cooks for him, helps him with everything, anything to make it up to him. Jack tells him a few ideas for names he had thought about a week later, playing video games together.

Luke? No. Tyler? Nah. Gunner? Eh. Chase?

The creation perks up, dying in the video game the moment he stops paying attention. He likes it, that name. It sounds like a best friend sidekick from an early 2000s movie. He doesn't know how he even knows that. He smiles, very softly. "Chase is good."

A month later it all falls apart.

There is a presence again, like someone might pop out soon, but there is only silence. Up until the very first voice comes back and begins haunting him once more.

The looming, threatening voice is so strong now, he can barely make himself get out of bed, just laying there and sobbing into Chase's arms. Chase is afraid. Jack is afraid. Jackie and Marvin are visiting every moment they can get off of work. Halloween is coming up, and he hasn't been uploading much. Everything he does record has technical errors like mad. He and Chase plan a silly stream for Halloween, to lighten his mood and have some fun. While Chase goes shopping for groceries, Jack carves a pumpkin for the millions of eyes of a camera.

Chase comes home to blood, and Jack on the floor. He dials 999 with sobs hitched in his throat, save him, he begs, save my best friend.

Henrik flies in, Jackie only needs one phone call to drop everything, and Marvin takes a week off of work. It's all useless. Fruitless. Jack does not wake up from the coma drowning in his own blood put him in. None of them want an open casket, with his shaved off hair and mangled neck. They all go back to Jack's apartment. Chase uses his card to buy pizza. Chase realizes on his third slice and with the calming help of three joints that he will have to break the news to his audience. Chase cries.

They all end up crying, in some way or another. Marvin and Jackie cling to each other. Henrik and Chase can't stop talking about how much he meant to them through tears. It's painful. It's ugly. And it's cathartic. They were set in stone as a found family that night, no exceptions.

Already miles away, an escapee flees on dress shoes with a knife in its hand. Born from a half-dead creator, ripped into the world with blood and terror - there is more than one soul in this body.

#pxppet stuff #lore #aaagh #this is making ne teary-eyed :'(

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ari-stash · 7 months

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a set of commissions for @ari-trash of their versions of anti :)

#art #my ego stuff #anti (the coward)#anti (the beast)#anti (the fae)#MY BOOOOOYYYS #once again- I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR RENDITIONS OF MY FUCKED UP TRIO #they look so gooood in your style. Just WOW!!!

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ari-stash · 8 months

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Burial Grounds

Chase has never laid with the bodies before.

Normally, once his work was complete, His King would rake His fingers through Chase’s hair, praising him for a job well done. Normally, the bodies would be less than an afterthought—something for the crows or hounds to feast on while he worshipped His King and relished in the reward for his good service. What happened to them never mattered; who they were never mattered. It was a slim detail in His network that Chase was always able to overlook.

But looking at His King now, scattered and unspeaking, glassy-eyed and stiff-limbed, just like the other corpses littered around Chase, he wonders. There isn’t much time left before they are destroyed, before the flesh rips away and leaves ivory-white bones behind, but would that include His King? Would that include himself if he threw himself in front of the hounds and bore their gnashing teeth tearing into his skin?

Maybe if it did, he would have the mercy to join His King once again.

For now, he soaks his hair in the growing puddles of blood under his victims and lover, closes his eyes to the world, steals the fading warmth and faint, buzzing static from His King’s hand, and waits for the inevitable to reach him, whether by wasting away like a wraith or a quicker route through the hounds’ dinner.

As long as he dies with His Master by his side, that would be enough.

#shippy stuff #antiaverage #👀 oh this is Good #always love to see Chase being so far gone in his obedience/servitude for Anti >:)c

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ari-stash · 8 months

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Doing some old prompts! They're from the second blog back when this one was deleted. You can see a drawing of Anti's mark here.

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

Jameson shifts uncomfortably. He feels like the scrubs and latex gloves might have been just for show with how filthy the basement is. Anti is dressed in them as well, looming over Chase, who is tossed haphazardly onto a gurney that JJ doesn't know the origin of. He tugs at the sleeves and shuffles as Anti readies a syringe with a sedative.

He claps softly for attention, and Anti whirls, teeth bared behind his medical mask. Jameson blinks at the completely full needle. "Is that the right dose? Anti, he's already unconscious from you hitting him. How much are you giving him?"

"Enough. It won't kill him."

Jameson blanches at him, but Anti doesn't acknowledge it, turning back to Chase and injecting him with the clear liquid inside. JJ fidgets with his fingers, touching each one to his thumb in a pattern. Giving himself anything else to focus on. Anti shuffles in a cabinet behind him, and he tries not to let goosebumps rise at his master being behind him.

A light whirring starts up, and Jameson looks up to see an older looking tattoo gun. Anti meets his eyes, and he can see the grin in his eyes even with his mouth obscured. Anti moves to Chase, sighing through his mask as he strokes a hand over Chase's limp hair. "Little pet," he murmurs. "You'll look so beautiful with my mark on you."

Jameson's fingers trace the tattoo on his neck without his permission; an endless circle and a dotted line wrapping around his throat to Anti's demonic sigil tattooed neatly on the back of his neck, where Anti loves to grab him.

The tattoo gun pierces along Chase's skin, and Jameson feels something cold in his stomach. Is it pity? Hate? Ah. No, his brain says, it is jealousy. He's been the sole bearer of Anti's mark for so long. What makes this new pet so deserving? He glances over Anti's shoulder, and a breath escapes him. Anti isn't marking his neck. Rather, the tattoo is on his wrist, tracing a circle around the boney flesh. He can't help the smugness that crosses his mind at the sight.

"Pass me some tissues, he's bleeding." Anti holds out a hand expectantly, and Jameson responds promptly like any good pet. Anti wipes away the redness, huffing. "He'll be bound to me, isn't that wonderful? Just like you, dear." Anti spares a rare petname, turning to smile at Jameson. JJ smiles back, despite the mask, calmed by Anti's current pleasant demeanor. He always gets so oddly calm when things go his way, shoulders relaxing from their taut drawn hold and usually angry face softening. Jameson takes these moments and keeps them in mental photographs. His master, looking happy and kind...

While he's distracted in his mind, Anti finishes the tattoo, pulling off his mask to reveal his toothy grin, mismatched eyes wild. "Isn't it beautiful?" Anti holds up Chase's limp wrist, sparse blood blending in with the deep black ink. The circle seems to make the air around it pulse slightly, especially when it meets Anti's skin. The ink is lightly infused with his blood, tying his puppets to him forever, though how figurative that is is unknown to all but Anti.

Anti cocks his head, his eyes blacking over. He gestures to Jameson, who immediately comes to him. He places a hand lightly around the man's throat. Jamesons lip part, and he shudders as he feels Anti's magic coursing through all three of them, like electricity being conducted.

"Doesn't it feel amazing?"

Jameson would rather use a word like 'terrifying', but all he does is nod in agreement.

Chase wakes to a pounding headache. His body jolts and he clutches at his chest, closed eyes flying open. He lets out a groan, but he's too beaten to rise, slumping against his pillow. Ah- a pillow? He's on a bed? A proper one, too, not just a dog bed or foam mattress on the ground. Is he even chained up? He lifts his wrists to check and stops short. He isn't bound, but there's cellophane wrap and tape around his left wrist. He itches at it, fighting the temptation to take it off immediately. It's definitely covering a tattoo, what else could it be. Fuck. He lays down again and pinches his eyes shut. Scars and bruises are one thing, but a tattoo is permanent. He tries to breathe slowly, attempting to calm himself.

The lock on the outside of the door slides open, and Chase scurries underneath his blanket, feebly attempting to hide. But no harsh words or sharp blows come down. A pale hand removes the blanket gingerly, and Jameson's slightly annoyed face appears to him.

"F-... food," Jameson croaks out, his throat straining so hard he coughs slightly, massaging at his throat. The action draws Chase's eyes to his tattoo. Funny, he never thought to question it, despite it not being one of Jack's tattoos at the time of the puppet's creation.

"Where did the tattoo come from, on your neck? Is it- did he-?" Chase gestures at his own wrist as JJ sets out a tray with two ham sandwiches and two bowls of plain rice. Chase blinks at it, distracted. "You're eating with me?"

Jameson sits on the bed and just goes about eating his sandwich. Chase can't understand his sign, and asking so many questions like that, he's just talking at him, not to him at this point. Chase quiets as well, scooting over and eating his food, scooping up rice with his fingers.

"Anti did do the tattoo, didn't he? And- and now he's tattooed me. What does- d-does it mean?'

Jameson sets down his sandwich, massaging his throat again, clearing it. "O-ownership."

Chase stares at him, chewing his lip. "We don't belong to him. We're our own people-"

Jameson places a hand over Chase's mouth, glaring at him in warning. Chase swallows hard and nods, going quiet. He turns to his food, eating cautiously. "So much for getting our of here, huh," Chase mutters.

Jameson sighs, tearing off a tiny bite of turkey. Yeah, getting out. He nearly laughs at Chase's naivety. No one gets out when it comes to Anti.

#pxppet stuff #NOOO I MISSED THIS WHEN IT WAS POSTED #AAAAAHHGHG #IT'S WONDERFUL PXPPET!! YOU TOOK THOSE PROMPT AND RAN WITH THEM #AND MAN I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT ALL #your writing is just *mwah* 👌

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ari-stash · 8 months

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Haunting

Whumptober Day 10: "Can't you see that you're lost without me?"

No matter where Chase goes, the shadow follows.

He's ditched his car and three others in the last day, driving the gas tanks down to their last dregs in his haste to get away. He doesn't have a destination in mind other than away, yet with each mile down the unforgiving highway, the chill down his spine rankles him even more.

He slaps his hand over the back of his neck, like the sting would make the crawling fade away.

"There aren't any more cameras," he mutters under his breath. "I'm safe now. It's fine."

But how can he be so sure? Ever since those freaky scientists guys were murdered, he's had to hop between towns, losing the trail of whatever people or things want to find him. He hasn't heard from Echo since he escaped IRIS. He has no idea what the public knows about him. (Would IRIS send out a manhunt? Do people think he's a criminal?) He has no sense of where to go or what to do but survive.

Why couldn't this have been a misunderstanding? Why didn't they let him go home?

What does Anti want from him?

The ghost of a breath sends a shiver down his spine, and he cranks the heat in the current old beater to the max. It sputters out a smog of hot diesel from the exhaust; his face screws up at the stench.

He's been in this rustbucket truck for too long. Hopefully the more inland he goes, the easier it'll be to find a rural town to swap cars. The sooner he can find a gas station without CCTV, let alone a WATCHR, the better.

Except the beater doesn't get him that far.

Something rattles under the hood, and a plume of smoke sparks and slithers out through the cracks. Chase curses and slams the steering wheel and pulls over three miles before the next exit, then grabs his meager belongings and sprints away as he hears a resounding boom and a rush of heat scorches his back.

It exploded. The truck fucking exploded.

With his heart in his throat, Chase reaches for his back pocket and nearly falls over in relief. The picture is still there. Even after everything, he hasn't lost it. He can't.

"For someone trying to avoid me, you put on quite the show."

Chase lurches and goes for the gun in his waistband, only to jolt when he comes up empty. It must still be in the center console, melting into a mangled mess with the rest of the scorching hot metal in front of them.

His hands flex and curl into fists. He doesn't want to turn around, to face the nightmare ruining his life, but if he doesn't, it would give it all the opportunities to stab him or snap his neck, like it had with the bodies it dropped right before they started this race.

"How are you here?" Chase asks. "How do you keep finding me?"

Anti's eyes light up with an eerie white glow. "Do you think it's hard?" it says. "I've followed you from the first time you called my name, the first time you saw this face. You've only been able to run because I wanted to chase."

Chase's breath sharpens. There truly is no getting away, is there? He's crossed half the country in the past few days, and yet no matter where he goes, Anti or IRIS will always find him.

"Why me?" He hates the pleading strain in his voice, but it never seems to fall away. "Why do you want me?"

Anti grins. "You still know nothing, don't you? Those people wanted to use you, but they didn't put in the effort to teach you."

Flames spark in Chase's chest, and despite the autumnal chill, the heat from the truck fire drips sweat down his back.

"Teach me what? I want some fucking answers."

"What will you pay to get them?"

Chase balks. "Huh?"

"You heard me," Anti says. "There's a price for answers, Chase--a price for every choice you made. What will you pay to earn the answers you want?"

He bites his cheek. His wallet got confiscated the second IRIS got their hands on him. The now-unusable gun had been picked off the corpse of an agent that Anti killed on its rampage through the facility. His phone and whiskey were lost before IRIS nabbed him. He has nothing of any value to give.

Anti's smile cools. Those dark, dead eyes bore into Chase's skull.

"Stubbornness won't save you, Chase. Refuse, and you'll stay on the run, forever looking over your shoulder until the maggots put you down. You're a danger, and if you're no use to them, you won't survive. I won't save you a third time."

Chase chokes. "A third?"

Anti's voice lowers, regaining some of the rasp it once had, before the gaping wound on his neck disappeared without a sign of its existence. "Make your choice."

The picture burns a hole in Chase's pocket. Other than the tattered, filthy clothes streaked with blood, dirt, and sweat, it's the only thing he has left to his name. The only tie he has to the person he once was. The only sign that before IRIS, before Anti, Chase had a life. He had something to return to, to live for.

What use is a memento of the last light of his life when it's flickered out?

He pulls out the polaroid and burns the image into his retinas, searing into his memory the bright, joyful, loving faces of his family. He kisses the image as a final goodbye, then offers it like a lifeline.

"It's all I have."

Anti studies the picture, studies every inch of Chase's face, and studies the hand reaching out to him. He slips the picture away and clamps a hand over Chase's.

"You made the right choice, Chase. Welcome home."

@seaswalllow @asteriuszenith @pixie-in-trebleland

#mmmh good

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ari-stash · 10 months

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Just wondering, how much groaning and eye rolling would there be with the werewolf boys when the alpha/beta/sigma male idea starts to become popular? How would it even look like in this universe? I’m seeing Sean shaking his head disappointedly in his hands and Anti groaning so loud and Marv’s eyes getting tired from the amount he’s rolling them and Jamie sighing before trying to sink into the couch from the suffering of having to listening to an alpha male influencer during class or something lmao

hey Leo!! I have been away for a few days but I love this question

Wolf Bite has an alpha concept but not defined concepts of betas, sigmas, omegas, etc partly because they're human enough to not need to divide like that, but also because some of that stuff about real wolf packs is not accurate anyway. which I think totally contributes to their annoyance when ideas like that start to get popular! they would be totally annoyed. Jackie probably doesn't have much of a reaction to some macho guy at the gym who thinks he can mess with him, because if people are wrong then people are wrong, can't change their minds. but the others think it's cringe lol. they would definitely all be groaning and rolling their eyes.

and Anti likes it when 'alpha males' get in his face so he can trash them.

it can have some dangerous consequences however, especially in this universe, because some humans do perceive Alpha wolves to be very dangerous. that can lead to real Alphas and real packs being treated poorly. if 'alpha males' try to use the term to mean misogynistic, domineering, and arrogant, it could be a problem for actual Alphas who are just trying to be good leaders, and who can be any gender. plus young or new wolves could get the wrong idea about what to do as an Alpha or about how their Alpha should treat them!

that kind of talk about Alpha wolves does make some of them kind of nervous, even if they know Jackie wouldn't ever be aggressive with them. every now and then Anti will flip his shit on Jackie and Jackie has to just not react, because Anti's still got Alpha issues leftover from Iris. he doesn't do it consciously, but he tests Jackie to see if he'll ever hurt him if Anti goads him. JJ watches this closely - he's still forming his idea of what an Alpha is. and Chase has some masculinity issues and needs to be reassured sometimes that Jackie isn't trying to be the man of the house, just a leader who respects him

but don't get Sean and Marvin started on this topic!! they will RANT

#bee stuff #au

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ari-stash · 10 months

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Hi hi! I just rediscovered your writing tag; I know I binged the whole fae au ages ago but good grief have I caught the brain rot again. If you feel like taking a request, could I ask for fae au Chase having to deal with one of his eldritch housemates losing their temper, potentially with some protective Anti if that’s a vibe? No worries if not, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask :)

Pfft, you and me both. I've been thinking about them quite a bit. You can absolutely ask for it; I hope you enjoy!

Warnings for... not much, really. Nobody gets grievously injured or manipulated.

Chase is only aware that something is wrong because when he walks into the kitchen, Jackie has cornered himself by the cabinet, five feet and three hundred and twenty pounds of pure wolfish muscle.

He snarls at Henrik, which is the other sign that something is wrong- Jackie would cut off his own godsdamned hand before ever threatening Henrik.

Henrik, for his part, is frozen; unsure of whether to run, or approach, Chase would assume.

Circling around, Chase keeps his steps audible, his voice low.

"Jackie?"

The wolf crouched by the cabinets snarls at him, muzzle wrinkled with fury. There's no hint of recognition in those brilliant amber eyes, and Chase casts his mind back, casts his thoughts to the calendar-

He edges around the corner to the window, just enough to see the moon hang, swollen and bloody, in the sky.

Ah, shit.

He needs Henrik out of here. Then he can- he doesn't know, open a door, lure Jackie out-

"Henrik," he hisses softly. "Henrik."

He sees Henrik's eyes flick in his direction, but no other movement. Jackie picks up his head, muzzle wrinkling, and growls in Chase's direction; Chase keeps his hands out and open, movements slow.

"Easy, Jacks," he soothes, voice low, in the same tone he uses to calm a spooked Henrik, to talk down Marvin and Anti from yet another spat, to soothe the snag-toothed magic under their skin. "It's just me, yeah? It's just Chase. Bet you're feeling all sorts of trapped in this tiny apartment, I've been telling Marv for ages we needed to move, but what can you do with rent."

It's all nonsense, soothing nonsense, and it doesn't make Jackie's hackles come down, but he can see Henrik's shoulders loosen. He'll take one out of two.

He gestures, a tiny motion, with his head; Henrik begins to edge back his way, eyes back on Jackie. The wolf snarls at them, fur rising along the ruff of his neck. Really, he's a gorgeous wolf, Chase thinks idly, all rich brown fur, a pelt thick enough to sink into.

Right now, he's fucking menacing.

"We'll leave you be," Chase soothes, watching as Jackie pulls himself to his feet with more than a little concern. It's a wonder his voice doesn't shake; he's gotten good at managing the adrenaline. He has to be, when ninety percent of their household can smell if his heartrate jumps a beat because he got startled by oil popping too furiously. "Nothing to worry about here, Jacks."

Henrik gets to within inches of Chase; Chase shifts aside to let him reach the doorway.

Later, he'll wonder if one of them moved too quickly; or if Jackie had simply reached the end of his limited patience.

In the moment, Jackie uncoils, and lunges.

Henrik shouts- Chase doesn't think before pulling Henrik back. Unfortunately, this means taking a solid three hundred pounds of muscle head on- he hits the floor hard enough that he hears something crack, and his vision fuzzes out. He can't seem to catch his breath, though that could also be the fact that there's an entire direwolf on top of him.

Someone's shouting. He doesn't have the voice for it, so he's assuming Henrik's shouting something- he can't quite make out what, wheezing for breath.

Above him, Jackie snarls, and Chase can count each claw digging into his shoulders. He drags in another breath, trying to force his lungs to expand past the weight on his chest. Don't panic, don't panic, he chants in the back of his head, through the haze of fear that thickens.

This is Jackie. He won't hurt you.

This is Jackie. He doesn't recognize you.

"Jackie, Jackie, it's me," he wheezes out, forcing his arms up between him and the snarling wolf's muzzle. Jackie snaps at him; Chase can only wedge his hands between them like a prayer to a god he's long stopped believing in. He's a journalist, not built for wrestling werewolves twice his size off of himself. He'll be lucky to make it out unbitten, be lucky to make it out--

"Be still."

The corners of his vision sharpen into almost painful detail. Jackie freezes, ears swiveling straight forward before they pin flat to his skull. A wolf recognizing the bear lumbering by.

Anti stalks through the door, all liquid grace and barely restrained fury.

These last few months, he's gotten good at... not tamping his otherness, but not smothering them. Most days, the hair on the back of Chase's neck doesn't do more than prickle, a lurch in his gut that he leans into.

Right now, Anti does not give a single shit about restraining even a sliver of his thunderous nature. Chase doesn't dare to move, doesn't dare to remind Jackie that he has a very vulnerable chewtoy beneath his paws, but he thinks he could've started dancing the cancan and Jackie wouldn't have looked.

"Up."

Anti isn't even looking at him; Chase can still feel the itch in his bones to obey, as Jackie staggers to his feet, a puppet unsteady on its strings. His tail tucks between his legs, an uncertain snarl wrinkling his massive muzzle.

Anti does- Chase doesn't know how to describe the sound he makes in response. It's too guttural to be a snarl, too harsh. Chase reels back against it, and Jackie takes a step back, and then another.

Towards the open door.

If Anti commands him to leave, Chase knows that he will not return. That they'll be lucky if he doesn't run himself into a bloody grave.

Pushing himself to his feet, he watches Anti's eyes flick his way. There's flecks of silver, brilliant shards of starlight reflecting back at him; the low light of the kitchen makes it downright eerie. He is very, very keenly aware that he's the only human here.

In any other case, he would consider himself outmatched- and on some level, he knows he is.

But he exhales, and then carefully, steps away from Jackie, grimacing a little as the world spins around him. He doesn't have a chance to waver- an arm, cool and steady, wraps around his waist.

"I'm alright," Chase murmurs, half a warning, half a reassurance. Anti's lip curls at that, eyes cutting back to the frozen werewolf crouched before them. Chase swears that he can feel the walls press in around them that inch more in response, and he squeezes what he can reach of Anti's arm. "I'm fine," he repeats, knowing that Anti can taste the half-truth.

"You know Jackie wouldn't in his right mind. We were surprised." Full truth.

After a long moment, Anti only shakes his head, and with the same finality as the sun setting, tells Jackie, "sleep."

The werewolf doesn't so much curl up as he drops; Chase starts, but Anti's already steering him away, and Chase knows full well that the fae is going to be hovering.

"He will wake up," Anti says with that odd finality, before giving Chase a familiar side-eye. "You would not have if we didn't hear you. Henrik."

Chase waves a hand, and immediately regrets it; his shoulder fucking burns. He's going to have to wrap it, probably. "I knew you would. And Jackie-"

...Well. Jackie like this would have easily ripped his throat out. A full moon already heightened his irritation; an eclipse like this would only make it worse. He wisely keeps his mouth shut.

Anti must read the way his expression tightens, because the tips of his fingers prickle, the taste of winter ice seeping into his mouth. The aching eases, and Chase lists further against Anti, who all but pours him onto the couch, and curls around him. Distantly, they can hear a pair of footsteps- Henrik, then, and possibly Jameson, likely at the feeling of magic as wild as Anti's flaring within their threshold.

"Every day," Anti mutters under his breath, shifting to allow Chase to pillow his head on Anti's lap. "Every day you find new ways to flirt with death. They are not that compelling, you know."

Chase huffs a soft laugh, and shuts his eyes, floating on the dizzying feeling of Anti's magic throbbing under his skin. A nap would probably do him good.

"I thought you liked it interesting."

"I like it when you are here," Anti snips back, and tugs a little at a lock of hair. "And death will like not having to gamble against me again."

He's going to shelve that for later, instead humming, and nuzzling into Anti's touch.

"Bet you'd cheat."

"They have no proof," Anti returns archly, but Chase can read into his words well enough. He'd rob death and all of their cousins blind if he had to, and something about that warms him all the way to his bones.

He only laughs, and curls closer to Anti, who's pressed close enough that you couldn't slide a sheet of paper between them. A nap really is looking heavenly, now, and Anti seems faintly smug about that; he's safe, here.

"Wake me up when Jackie's up," he says, quietly, and Anti grumbles indistinctly; when Chase opens an eye, he finally huffs.

"Sleep," Anti says, instead, and tangles slender fingers through his hair. "I will wake you."

There's no command in his words, but he's never needed it; Chase closes his eyes, and falls.

#suggar stuff #YEAAAH BABEYYY THE GOOD STUFF #its a relief to see a new post on your blog. I was worried that you had disappeared

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ari-stash · 1 year

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Got tagged by @florenceisfalling to share the last line of my most recent wip, so here it is!

"Following Dr. Decarts' death, all further interrogation of ALTR [Aiden] must be conducted by, or in the presence of, a trained negotiator."

I know this isn't the actual blog you tagged but it's really been a Long while since I've written anything for chocoships "^^

#ari talk #thanks for tagging me btw

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ari-stash · 1 year

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Hello! If you've been wondering where I have been for the last two months, this... would be the answer. Please enjoy 10k of past heroaverage, pre-antiaverage, and lots of bittersweet reminiscing all around. Many, many thanks to Ari for coming up with such a delightful idea; this was a delight to be commissioned for!

#sugarr stuff #shippy stuff #fic #commission #LETS GO BABEY YEEAAAAAAH

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ari-stash · 1 year

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I kinda wanna see more Graceling AU or Bastard Cat AU 👀

oh my gosh someone cares about the graceling au!! I have snippets written of Anti's backstory but never bothered to post them.. and the main story of course is JJ finding Marvin being held prisoner in the keep near to their own. let me see what I can do my dude!

also here, have a snippet from the bastard cats au I never posted!! fair warning it's a little sad, but it is also full of kitties.

Bastard Cats AU: my fluffiest au. Chase has five cats named Anti, Marvin, Jackie, JJ, and Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein, Ph.D, MD. (One - Chase is having a bad night when he finds a very sick kitten in the gutter.)

Hakim's hands rest on his hip, his lip sticking out slightly and his eyebrows furrowed like two brown cat tails turned away from each other. He pauses as though to speak, but only ends up readjusting and shoving his hands cautiously in his pockets instead. He's looking around the apartment like it was flooded and then shot up and then taken over by the raccoons from the backyard, lounging on the couch with cheese whiz and ham sandwiches.

“Dude,” sighs Chase, feeling the air from his mouth make the end of his overgrown fringe flutter. “Just... it's fine, okay?”

Hakim blinks and, apparently reminded of where he is (or at least who's watching him), he fixes a slightly patronizing veneer of loving warmth back over his face.

“Right,” he says cheerfully. “All good! But uh... some of these are foster cats, right, C?”

“Yes,” answers Chase, a little more sharply than he intended. He crashes onto the couch, rubbing at his face, and instantly Jackie, Marvin, and two of the foster kittens are all stepping into his lap or clawing their way up his pant leg. Jackie sits down on Marvin and Marvin yowls in pure rage.

“Drama queen,” Chase scolds him, nevertheless scratching at his head. “You're fine.”

Hakim steps over and rubs his knuckles against Jackie's head. “Hey, pal. He's getting old now, isn't he?”

“No, Jack got him for me as a kitten,” replies Chase distantly. “He's just fat.”

Jackie sniffs at Hakim's fingers and licks his thumb.

“And the foster kittens?”

Chase points around the room. “There's mama, Texas.”

“Texas?”

“And the kittens are Houston, Austin, San Antonio, and Dallas.”

Hakim snorts. “Okay, fine. And the little grey one?”

Chase chews on his tongue for a second, trying to pick his words carefully.

“It's smaller than the other ones,” Hakim insists, and those hands come back out to rest on his hips again. Suddenly Chase feels like his foster mom has walked into the house to scold him for getting in a fight or leaving his skateboard in the rain.

“That,” says Chase carefully. “Is Jameson.”

Jameson waddles towards him on his kitten paws, letting out those faint, mangled mewls he does that make the other cats look at him like he just announced he was actually a corgi. Chase grins despite himself, letting his hand down for Jameson to smell. His kitten bites his finger gently and Chase can feel his tiny teeth coming in.

“Chase,” says Hakim.

“Look, man,” snaps Chase. “They're just cats, okay? I have the room for them, I have the money – ”

“Fuck, dude, ever since Jack got hit you have a new one every time I stop by!”

“Well, I didn't try to adopt him, okay? He came to me!”

“Came to you.”

“I found him dying and saved him! He's not right, Hakim. Do you know how hard it is to find good homes for disabled cats? He could be put down!”

“I'm so done. I'm so – ”

Hakim cuts himself off, throwing his hands in the air and turning away. Chase scowls after him, not sure why his eyes are suddenly burning. He picks Jameson up and kisses the side of him, stroking his whole body with one hand.

“Next thing you'll be telling me you're keeping all five of these foster cats too.”

“I have all the cats I need and I know that. I'm not fucking crazy.”

“I didn't say you were! I just – C, does it make sense that I'm worried about you?”

“It's not your job to worry about me,” Chase snarls back.

“Well, whose is it?” shouts Hakim. “Huh? I've talked to the others, okay, you never even text anybody, you haven't seen the kids, you shut yourself away in here with the cats and visit Jack three times a fucking week – ”

“Don't you think I would have seen the kids if I could?” Chase demands, and his voice snaps in half like shards of a peppermint between his teeth.

The cats are watching all this like a really good rendition of Hamlet. Jackie's eyes are huge. In the hallway, both Anti and Henrik slink out of the bedroom, looking at him as if to ask: “What's going on that's so worth waking us up for?”

Hakim sits down heavily beside Chase, pushing San Antonio gently out of the way.

“Everybody cares about you, dude,” he says. “Everybody wants to help, everybody wants – ”

“Fuck's sake, can we please for the love of God not have another speech like this?” Chase bites.

Hakim goes quiet again. Chase wishes he felt bad about it, but he doesn't. He's cold even with all the cats curled up close at night. He's cold now with a blanket wrapped around him.

“I brought you some food,” says Hakim roughly.

Chase looks up to see his friend returning to the doorway and picking up a paper bag, coming back to him to show off tupperware full of leftovers and snacks in ziploc bags. “Sarah cooked a ham for Thanksgiving and said since you're American too, I should bring you some. There's some pie and, like, this sweet potato shit with brown sugar. I invited you over, but you never texted me back.”

“Sorry,” whispers Chase, staring down at the bag.

A warm, heavy arm wraps around his shoulders and pulls him closer to Hakim's chest.

“What's wrong, C?” he asks, squeezing Chase against him.

“I don't know, man,” Chase answers, and he wishes his voice didn't shake. “I don't know. I wish Jack would...”

He trails off. They both know.

“Jack couldn't fix all this though, mate. You know that.”

“I know that. But he would make things better.”

“Yeah. He would.” Hakim squeezes him once more and releases. “In the meantime, the rest of us will do our best, okay?”

Chase smiles weakly at him.

He's just everybody's burden to carry.

Except the cats. To the cats, he's food and shelter and warmth and scratches and safety. He loves when there are storms rattling the windows and they all come mewling and calling for him and he can say: “You don't have to worry, goofs, cause I brought you inside, and now you don't ever have to worry about the rain or the cold again.”

“Come over on Saturday for game night,” says Hakim. “Guys will all be there.”

“I'll try.”

“I'm going to come pick you up, how about that? Six. We'll have dinner.”

“Sure... sure, yeah.”

Hakim gets up from the couch. “I'll leave you alone, alright? Well... not alone.”

Chase grins for real at that, chuckling. Marvin rumbles against his thigh. “Never alone, man.”

“Course not. How many is it now, then?”

Chase swallows. “Um... Jameson is number five.”

Hakim's attempt at non-judgement breaks again, just for a moment.

“Fuck, Chase.”

“Yeah... well. Yeah.”

“But yeah, they got everything they need, I guess. Cute, too.”

“Cute as fuck.”

“Okay. Hey, uh. I love you, man.”

Chase grins at his discomfort, watching him shuffle towards the door.

“Pro homo, dude.”

Hakim snorts. “Yeah, dumbass. Pro homo.”

“I love you too, Hakim.”

“Kay. Yeah, you too. Bye. If you need me...”

“I know where you are.”

“Yeah.”

He's gone, disappearing out the door with an uncertain smile.

Chase slumps back on the couch, closing his eyes.

Someone baps at his nose, clicking curiously.

Chase smiles at Jackie, sinking his fingers into his hot red fur.

“Yeah, you're right, big man,” says Chase, scooping him up and disengaging everybody else scattered across his lap. “We got things to do, huh? Medicine, entertaining the kittens, looking for forever homes, making sure Anti hasn't torn the laundry into shreds again... we got lots to do. And we got everything right here, don't we? Yeah. We don't ever gotta worry about the rain or the cold again.”

Anti sits on the floor of the kitchen, purring loudly, his eyes squinted in the sort of way that can only be described as smug whether you're a cat or a human.

“Anti! Where is he?”

He can hear Jameson's little broken mewls coming from somewhere, he just doesn't know where.

“I've seen you trying to pick him up by the scruff and shove him through the window. If you touched him, Anti, I will stick you in the laundry room so fast!”

Anti flops against the floor with great self-satisfaction, rumbling.

The cats have gotten into a lot of places and Chase knows the usual hiding spots (and the getting-stuck spots), but he's checked everywhere he can think of and he still doesn't see the kitten. Maybe it's louder over here? He pauses in the silence and listens.

There's a faint rustling noise from the cabinets of the island counter. But he checked inside the cupboards and behind the roll-out trash can.

Wait a second.

Chase yanks out the trash can and looks inside, shoving aside an empty bag of Doritos and a carton of spoiled milk.

“Meh,” rasps Jameson.

“Anti!”

The sound of Chase shouting and Anti's nails scraping against the kitchen as he sprints away at top speed almost blocks out the noise of Chase's phone buzzing on the counter. He's washing nacho cheese and garbage off a bewildered Jameson when he realizes it's going off.

In the midst of the chaos, he answers it without thinking.

“Hi,” she says.

He almost drops the phone. “Ah, yeah, hi,” he answers. Yep, completely intentional, answering this. Totally ready to talk. Jameson sneezes against his other hand. Yuck. But cute too.

“I was just... checking in.”

“Yeah, well, the ball's in your court, Stace, isn't it? So not a lot of point to checking in unless you got something new to say.”

She sighs through her nose. He hates that noise. It always meant trouble, even when they were together.

“Have you been drug testing?”

He scowls, shoving the phone between his head and his shoulder as he places Jameson under the warm water flowing from the tap.

“No.”

She's quiet for a second. “Going to therapy?”

“No,” he replies, nastier.

“Okay, well, that's checking in,” she says bitterly.

“You can check my drug tests anytime on the website,” he returns.

“Wondered if you'd try to lie to me.”

He hangs the phone up bitterly and, in doing so, accidentally drops it on the floor. A hissing, irritated breath escapes from between his teeth.

About two seconds later, Anti is sprinting into the room to steal it, his teeth gripping the plastic phone cover, and he leaps away again, yowling with delight as he disappears into his closet in the back of the house and adds his new toy to the pile of stolen things.

“Yeah, keep it!” yells Chase. “Little punk.”

Marvin wafts up to his legs in an angelic counterimage of his brother, letting his fluffy tail stroke against Chase's thighs, blinking huge blue eyes up at him.

“I don't have food, Marv,” grumbles Chase, showing him the kitten. “It's just Jameson.”

Marvin scrunches up his nose in disgust and wafts away again.

Chase rubs at his head. “I'm a fucking waste of a human being, aren't I?”

Nobody's there to answer him aloud. But Jameson shifts forward in his palm and begins gently licking at his wrist with a tiny, rasping tongue.

“He's just... not quite right, you know?”

Dr. Henrik – the human one – examines Jameson's milk-fat belly and batting paws, turning him about in his hands. “Looks like you're taking good care of him.”

“Yeah, course. He's a sweetie. Like Jackie when I first adopted him, just wants to be with me all the time. But look, that – ”

Jameson opens his mouth as if to mewl, but all he really does is rasp and click his teeth at the vet.

“And he doesn't walk quite right.”

Dr. Henrik sets Jameson down. The kitten toddles towards Chase, dragging his back legs a little.

“Well, his x-rays are normal. When he gets a little older, we can do some genetic testing and that sort of thing, if you'd like. He might have some muscle problems or something. But maybe he's just... a little unusual.”

Chase regards Jameson unhappily, petting his tiny back.

“He won't get very big,” adds the vet.

“No?”

“No. I think he's a small breed. Maybe even a munchkin. Maybe that is why he walks like this.”

Chase chuckles. “Really?”

“Yeah. Cute.”

“The others will pick on him...”

“Psh. He is strong enough to survive a chilly night in the gutter, he is strong enough to put up with the rest of the little brats.”

Chase laughs, picking his kitten up and placing him in his lap. “Yeah. My tough guy.”

Dr. Henrik smiles at him, brown eyes warm. It's that same warmth that made Chase trust in him when he first met him with that sick, injured white cat who became his Henrik. It's never faded.

“Chase,” he says, taking off his reading glasses and sitting down. “There are adopters who might want him, you know. You could send him with the foster kittens you have now. Someone would love him.”

Chase looks up in surprise, already shaking his head before Dr. Henrik is done talking. “This is my cat, doc! My Jameson! And look how attached he is.”

Jameson is kneading holes in Chase's sleeve, purring sleepily against his stomach.

“It's just.” Henrik pauses, thinks, restarts. “It's just that I don't want you to feel as though you must keep him simply because you are the only one who can care for him. There are others who would care for him just as well as you do.”

“I was the only one who could save him,” Chase challenges. “And what if he turns out to be a special needs cat, you know? Who's going to love him then?”

“Chase, people take care of all kinds of cats. You are not the only one with a soft spot for a kitten who's a little out of the ordinary. You get very attached, Chase. And that's wonderful, and very sweet! But... don't take on too much.”

“We're fine,” murmurs Chase, scratching Jamie's ears. “I won't get anymore. I just want him. And there's only really four, because Anti is Jack's. So when he wakes up, he'll want him back, and there will only be four.”

Dr. Henrik just looks at him, pushing his glasses up on his nose. He turns back to his clipboard a moment later.

Something burns in the back of Chase's throat.

“How long has your friend been asleep for?” asks the vet, not looking at him.

Chase swallows and clenches his hands together, then lets them go again. He closes his eyes.

“Chase?”

“When he wakes up, he'll want Anti back,” he says. “So... it's just four cats.”

Dr. Henrik nods at him. JJ meanders into his hoodie pocket and Chase puts his hands around his little hot-water-bottle body, and keeps him safe right there, right there, right there.

“Take care of yourself, Chase,” says Dr. Henrik.

“Yeah,” croaks Chase. “Yeah, I'm trying.”

“Sometimes it's easier to take care of someone else than yourself,” Henrik tells him.

Chase nods tersely and leaves the room, picking up JJ's carrier. “Thanks for everything. We're fine. I'll come back for a follow up.”

At home, he slides to the ground, almost overwhelmed for a moment, but he isn't alone. All his cats – and Jack's – run up to him, asking for something or another, rubbing up against his body. Chase grabs Anti, ignoring an indignant yowl, and pulls him to his stomach, leaning over him to kiss his grimy head. Anti grumbles and bites at his fingers.

“Yeah, there's my trouble-maker,” Chase mumbles, petting his back. “But you don't have to worry, little man, because once Jack wakes up...”

Once Jack wakes up. Once Jack wakes up. Chase's phone is buzzing. He doesn't answer it. Anti licks the places on his fingers where blood is welling up.

#bee stuff #how HOW did you successfully rip out my heart with your fluffiest au???#(well I know how... seeing the cracks in Chase's life is heartwrenching. And not even the cats can fix it)

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ari-stash · 1 year

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Maybe Pseudo taking Chase to the store but he isn't fully Pink yet, so he tries to go get help but just kinda stops in his tracks and gets really upset??

I love the fics you've been writing btw :D

thank u so much!!

tws: implied stockholm syndrome, captivity, panic attack, general distress

. . .

A tight grip on his hand keeps him close. Chase isn't allowed to leave Pseudo's sight, not for a moment.

Which is why he's so, so terrified.

Darting through the aisles, Chase is nearly tripping over his own feet. Pure terror keeps his legs moving, but it also threatens his lungs with a tight force. He can't help but reach to his shirt, gripping at his chest with every heaving breath.

He can't quite understand how he slipped away. Pseudo notices everything, doesn't he? He only let go for a second, only a second, before Chase started stepping back. He had to have done that on purpose. This is part of his plan, isn't it?

He's already gone this far.

Chase peeks around the corner of the candy aisle, expecting to see that sugar craving thing picking out a candy for the day. Lucky for him, it's not there.

He continues forward, hands going numb from the panic.

There's too many people around him. He needs to get help. He needs to get help or he'll never get out of here.

...But, does he really want to?

Pseudo takes good care of him. If he's good, really good, there's no problems. He doesn't have to make decisions or worry about anybody else. He doesn't have to think, everything is taken care of. Pre- planned. Decided.

Slower steps, tighter grip on his shirt.

"No, nono no," he whispers, bringing his hands to his face. He needs to get out. He needs to. Doesn't he? That's why he left.

He can't breathe. He can't see. It's too loud, it's too bright, there's too many people and not enough space. He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe!!

Chase slinks into another aisle, shoving himself into the corner. It's dusty, and cold, but nobody's around.

Shaking hands come back to his face. He takes shelter in the darkness behind his eyes, sobbing as quiet as he can. It hurts to move, it hurts to think, it hurts to breathe, he wants Pseudo. Why does he want Pseudo?

The thought makes him cry harder.

#leo stuff #puppet pink #fic #seeing the notification for this exactly as im out of work for the day was a nice little treat for me :3c #I wholeheartedly share the sentiment for halfway Pink! Love seeing his contradicting thoughts and feelings >:)

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ari-stash · 1 year

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REQUESTS YOU SAY.

Hmmmm... Maybe another one of those where Chase is like not exactly fully Pink yet but he knows it's sort of useless to fight against Pseudo when he wants to dress him up and everything. Maybe being on that border of actually liking the fact that he doesn't have to think but also HATING that he feels himself liking it :3c

ur brain: LARGE!! i hope i captured this the way you pictured, if not feel free to send it again and i'll make another attempt!

tws: dehumanization, brainwashing, platonic undressing, scars, complete loss of independence, talk of depressive and apathetic feelings, implied past noncon platonic undressing (sorry that's a mouthful), noncon platonic use of a camera

. . .

There are many things Chase doesn't like seeing here in Denmark. Obvious things like knives and tools to burn, chains or the doors to the cellar in the back yard. Things that make him shiver and want to turn away.

Some things aren't as obvious. He never thought seeing something as simple as a camera would make him cringe. Even more so, the color pink. Today he has both combined.

Pseudo has the living room moved around to take pictures. There are props: teddy bears and coloring books, a juice box, a shock collar, a white beret hat. Blankets and other miscellaneous objects placed about, things Chase doesn't care enough to look into. What's the point? If Pseudo wants to use it, he will.

"Are you excited?" Pseudo asks the doll, watching his gaze lazily make its way around the room.

"Ecstatic," Chase replies.

"Come now. Someday you'll mean it."

And though the words may be true, Chase doesn't have the energy to care.

The monster approaches with his outfit of choice. A soft pink cardigan with pretty buttons and light red strawberries making their ways in rows down the fabric. A white button down. A pair of light blue jeans, slightly worn. White tennis shoes and frilly socks to poke out.

Carefully he sets the items down, and begins undressing the doll.

Chase doesn't protest. He stopped being embarrassed of showing his body to Pseudo a long time ago, as this is a regular practice for the two now. He's not allowed to get dressed or undressed on his own. Not allowed to eat on his own, drink on his own, bathe on his own, think on his own. He even has to ask to use the bathroom.

Pink isn't sure if he's just depressed, or completely apathetic. He doesn't care, fighting is useless. What difference does it make?

What irks him now is the last few times their routine has been done, Chase finds himself enjoying it.

He doesn't have to make any decisions anymore. In the mornings and evenings, he barely lifts a finger, completely dependent on Pseudo to do everything. No more stress on what to wear or if it looks nice. No more stress on what to eat or cook. No more worrying about waking up on time to get to work, or waking up late and realizing he's worn the wrong shoes. No more of anything he has to put any effort into.

The thought of it makes him sick. The fact that he likes it now? He likes it? That can't be right. It cant be right.

"I told you so," Pseudo says, slipping the button up over Pink's bare shoulders. Scars litter his body, torn up like a chew toy.

"T- told... told me so what?"

Pseudo smiles, pulling down Chase's pants next.

"That you'd like this someday."

Jeans slip on. Zip, button.

Chase frowns, growing red in his cheeks. "I don't like taking pictures.."

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I---N- s- stop.. stop listening to my thoughts!"

Pseudo slaps him on the mouth, be polite.

Chase huffs, growing more and more embarrassed. It takes him a few seconds to talk again, trying to correct himself after discipline.

"Why do you have to listen to my head all the time..."

"You're mine, Pinky Pie. I want to know what's going on up there. Lift your foot."

Chase does as he's told, feeling the socks from this morning come off and the frilly ones come on. Shoes are next.

The puppet is silent for a few moments. Then, he decides to ask inside his mind: "Do you hear everything?"

"Only when I want to."

"So you're not listening.... all the time, then?"

Pseudo comes up once the laces are tied, beginning to button up Chase's shirt.

"Only when I want to."

Another few silent moments, and the cardigan is over the dolls body. A pink comb straightens out pink hair, and a finishing touch of light makeup on his pretty face. Now, Chase is ready for pictures.

"Sit in the middle of the blanket," Pseudo commands, grabbing the polaroid and flicking the power switch. "Oh, eh, grab a teddy bear."

"...... Which one?"

He hates himself for asking that question. He hates himself for not wanting to make the decision. It's just proof that Pseudo's methods work.

The monster peeks through the camera to make sure the angle is just right.

"The one with buttons for eyes."

Chase obeys, and poses as he's told.

#fic #oh I really like this :)c #I certainly do love seeing Chase when he's been pushed so far down into his role as Pseudo's doll. But this is also a fascinating period #not quite fully Pink. Not quite filled with love and adoration for the one treating him like a toy or child #But still brought far/down enough to no longer fight. To start seeing the ''silver lining'' of his current situation #I really like this!!

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