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anarchist-puppet-on-strings · 5 years

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“You See Him Too, Right?”

SUMMARY: After his kids ask him to check for monsters under their bed, Chase begins to notice weird things.

Chase thought Stacy had been half kidding when she had warned him that the kids had been more skittish than usual. They’re abnormally quiet and their eyes are often drawn to the opposite sides of the room. It's only when bedtime comes when he realizes the extent of the problem.

Trey’s the one who asks.

“Daddy, can you check under our bed for monsters?”

“Kiddo, this is my room. I sleep here every night.” He shoots him an amused glance. “I can guarantee there's no monsters here.”

“He follows us,” Sam squeaks out.

That earns a raised eyebrow.

“He?”

Trey shrugs self consciously, picking at the threads of a cheap blanket. “We dun know his name.”

He pauses. It's odd Trey is telling him this. Trey is ten now. He's surprisingly mature and clever for his age. He seemed a bit old for the whole “monster under the bed” thing.

“Well, I’ll check anyways if that makes you happy.”

He could feel the two’s eyes on him as he knelt down and looked under the bed. As he expected, there was nothing there.

Chase gave a reassuring thumbs up from below. "Nothing down here, kiddos!"

"Can you check the closet too?"

The closet yielded the same result as underneath the bed. Both of his kids looked more at ease. Sam had latched onto Trey already, using him in lieu of a teddy bear. He had tried to push her away but eventually gave in and allowed it, appearing tired and disgruntled.

After the two had gotten their bedtime forehead kiss and the light had been flipped off was when Chase was able to relax on the couch with tv turned down low as background noise.

At one point, something out of the corner of his eye shifted in the darkness. He couldn't make out an exact shape but it moved quickly and silently. When he turned and looked out where the thing had been, there nothing but a small, dark kitchen.

It's nothing. He's tired and the dark plays tricks on the eyes.

He couldn't help the prickling unease that brought all his hairs on end from washing over him though.

Call Chase paranoid but he's been on edge the past few days after his kids left to return to their mother's house. There's nobody else in his apartment but the feeling of somebody's eyes on him wouldn't go away. It's infuriating!

It left sometimes—disappearing for anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours—but it always came back. It's hard to sleep under the impression you're being watched. He'd get drunk and ignore it but he's wary of getting drunk in case there actually was someone. But hey, that's the anxiety talking.

So instead of turning this into some big kinda thing, he talked to thin air. His hopes to dispel the tense atmosphere worked—kinda. He had to admit it's much funnier dealing with a problem when he didn't take it seriously.

It's easier talking and joking with an unseen presence than going to therapy and going on meds.

As much as he's convinced the anxiety is amping up his paranoia, he had an odd feeling someone else was hearing all the bullshit he talked about to himself.

It's been one of those weeks. The weeks where everything blurs together and his brain is mushy. Chase sleeps way too often because he's constantly tired no matter how much tea or coffee he drinks and how much sleep he gets. It's been the kind of week where he sleeps so much he forgets to eat and drink until he's forced to do it when it becomes unbearable. The one where he's holed up inside his house because he'd been calling in sick for the past few days. The kind where he isn't sure he'd been sleeping or just zoning out.

Basically, he wanted to die.

Chase squinted, eyebrows knit together in confusion as he struggled to remember whether he left the tv on or not. It's on a channel he didn't even have, loud static blaring from the speakers. It's entirely plausible he'd done it while intoxicated or just couldn’t remember it. He shrugged and muted it before switching it off.

When the power cut out with a dying hum, Chase couldn't help but groan.

This is stupid. It's so stupid and it's annoying. He hates it.

His power has been going out sporadically for the past week and apparently it's just his apartment. He's been paying his rent, so his landlord concluded there must be something wrong with the wiring, and they're sending over an electrician in a few days.

He blinked when the power flickered back to life.

Huh... that's faster than usual. Oh well.

The electrician found nothing wrong but the power had gone out while she was over. She's baffled.

He may not have the greatest memory (in fact, his is really shitty) but he's certain he's turning off lights. The whole point of turning off lights is to save power, but either he's sleepwalking or this is a part of the shitty power situation!

Every night it's the same. He flicks off all the lights and heads to bed. In the morning... or whenever he wakes up really, a light—or all of them—are turned on.

It’s confusing. He’s even started writing down that he turns them off before crashing. At this point, he’s given up turning the lights off before going to bed.

Now they’re turning themselves off.

When he hears the whistle, he nearly drops his glass of water. He spun around, met with nothing but the darkness around him. It had been brief and sharp with no tune or melody at all.

"What the fuck?" He breathed to himself.

Chase flips on the lights and walks around the kitchen, trying to find the source of the noise.

He scratched his head with a frown.

Trying to recreate the whistle had no success either. He simply couldn’t match the lack of tune it had. That rules out the possibility of him whistling without realizing it.

Besides… it came from a few feet behind him.

He'd been staring at his water stained ceiling for over two consecutive hours when one of the floorboards creaks out in the hall. Like the kind of creak when he walks down the hall. He stiffens up and his eyes flash over to the closed door. A shadow passes by the crack under his door.

He waits another minute or two, fully expecting whoever was waiting outside to barge in and kill him already. But nothing happened.

He’s not ashamed to say he nearly screamed when something brushed against the back of his neck. It’s featherlight and the touch zapped him like static electricity. Of course, when he whirled around, eyes wild, there’s nothing.

It's totally possible he could be hallucinating or something. His paranoia has been through the roof with every little thing that happens. But it just felt too... real. Like somebody had actually been there and reached out and brushed their fingers against his neck.

Chase can't help but wonder if he's going insane.

Sometimes when he’s teetering on the edge of consciousness and falling asleep, he hears things. Things like low hissing and heavy, wet breathing. Something tapping in an inane rhythm against the hardwood flooring as weight shifts outside in the hall. Scratching—like his ex’s cat used to do when he got bored but louder.

And… and a weird voice? A distorted one warped beyond recognition that jumps high and low. He’s never picked up on any words—it’s all just nearly inaudible whispers that barely reach his ears.

He isn’t sure why his brain chooses to latch onto these bits of information. Your brain makes up weird things when it isn’t fully working properly.

Maybe it’s because he’s staring at deep gouges in the floor out in the hallway. It looks like some angry cat from hell got bored and destroyed his floor in a fit of rage.

Chase gets closure when his kids come back to visit a month after their first visit.

Quiet noises from his room caught his attention and his parental instinct kicked in. He needed to make sure his kids were fast asleep and undisturbed. Cracking the door open to allow the hall light to spill in and then peering in, he’s met with a ghastly sight.

Trey and Samantha are both sitting up, staring at the same spot as their father.

Something that nearly reached the low ceiling of the apartment while hunched over with big teeth, lots of glowing neon eyes, and a second mouth on its neck.

Trey turns to him with wide eyes and whispers, “You see him too, right?”

(A/N) Wow... two in a day huh...

Tag list: @assbutt-of-the-readers, @stuck-in-a-l-o-o-p, @bloodsoakedheretic

#anarchist tries to write #let me help pick up the pieces #angst #antisepticeye #4N71 #chase brody #sunshine #trey brody #samantha brody #stacy brody #cryptic #creepy #demons

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anarchist-puppet-on-strings · 5 years

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Property Gets Branded

SUMMARY: He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so terrified in his entire life—there’s just something different about losing control of his magic and having an anxiety attack compared to staring such a monstrous beast in the eyes and knowing he’s to blame for this. His jaw dropped and found himself unable to make a noise, every muscle frozen up in sheer horror.

Oh, he is so fucked.

Tag list: @assbutt-of-the-readers (let me know if you want to be added)

Dim candlelight danced across the floor, the shadows of the dark warehouse pushing and recoiling. It’s an eerie sight but he supposed that's the energy ill rituals should give off.

Getting over the chain link fence surrounding the abandoned warehouse was difficult—especially in combat boots—but Marvin did it somehow. Here he is, standing inside a circle of lit black candles and jagged, angry looking runes with an ancient tome opened to the last few pages. Inside the circle were more runes drawn in charcoal but this time they were significantly smaller and more numerous than the ones outside the circle. It’s ominous and screamed danger. Not like he particularly cared.

“And now I need a blood sacrifice…” he muttered under his breath, before dogearring the page and setting the book down. He tiptoed around the candles and stood in the middle.

It said a ritual dagger would be preferable but all he had is a boxcutter, so he guessed the ritual had to deal with it. Why'd you even need a specific dagger to draw blood? Blood is blood, right?

Dragging the blade across his forearm hurt more than he thought, and he couldn't help but hiss through his grit teeth. He made sure to angle the cut away from his blue veins. He squeezed the flesh around the cut to milk some more blood out and watched as the red and cyan drops fell onto some of the runes.

He stepped back outside the circle and picked the book back up, ignoring the lingering ebb of pain on his arm.

“Next step: chant the incantation and pour as much magic as you can into the summoning spell. If you're lucky, a nearby demon will be attracted to the blood and magic and come visit you. The process could take anywhere from up to a minute to a few hours, so remain vigilant.” Marvin frowned deeply. So the demon had to choose to come to him based on his magic and blood? That’s… annoying.

The chant wasn't anything particularly difficult—if you counted Latin easy. His magic reacted to the language easily, he could feel it swelling in his veins and intertwining with his words. The atmosphere grew lighter, magic filling the empty warehouse and permeating the air. As soon as the last word fell from his lips, the magic flow halted abruptly and the silence returned heavier than before.

Seconds ticked by… seconds turned into a minute… a minute turned into several…

Every muscle in his body was tense, magic bristling. His breaths had to be forcefully regulated otherwise he might lose control of his magic in his worry. After several minutes, his shoulders slumped forward and he let out a shaky exhale.

He left the summoning ritual, staggering to a nearby wall and slumping against it, hands shoving his mask up and dragging down his face as he groaned loudly.

“This is fucking insane. What am I hoping to accomplish with this?”

Well, obviously he’s trying to find a demon that could remove his shitty curse. And now that he’s thinking about it, this was a very stupid idea. Literally every warning about magic had been ignored to do such a thing. Hell, he even snuck off without Spades and Clubs! Well, it’s a good thing nothing happened, because that meant he could bail before anything decided to show up.

He let a gentle gust of magic blow out the candles before he shoved them back into his bag. Scuffing some the runes off with his battered tennis shoes was harder than he thought but eventually it’s destroyed enough that some poor bastard couldn't recognize what had been going on.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, forcing him to tilt dangerously and squeeze his eyes shut. His stomach gurgled unhappily, a pang of hunger hitting his gut. Wrapping an arm around his middle, he let out a shaky exhale. Okay, next order of business is to get something to get his stomach to shut up. Then he’d… do whatever. He’ll cross that bridge once he gets to it.

Just as he recollected himself enough to begin to head out, the building’s energy shifted. What had been a neutral energy quickly turned into a violent buzzing—it kind of reminded him of angry bees. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and gooseflesh broke out on his arms. His magic curled up, clearly spooked by whatever is coming.

“L̷ȩa͢vi͞n̡g wi͠t̛hoút͏ me?”͏ A distorted, broken voice asked from behind him. Just hearing it was enough to make his magic cringe.

Marvin spun on his heel, eyes wild. Standing there, shrouded in nearly palpable static, is most certainly a demon. It’s definitely taller than him—probably twice as tall—with unproportional stick thin limbs. Its scaly black skin is tight around its bones, unnaturally long claws tapping the concrete inanely. Its mouth is crammed full of pink stained teeth, translucent black saliva dripping from its jaws and splattering on the ground. Neon green eyes littered the creature’s body, masses of the blinking welts smattering its cheeks and neck. It’s hunched over, spine bent like a quadruped animal. Its body glitched violently, pieces scattering into millions of pixels and magnetizing back together in a different order.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so terrified in his entire life—there’s just something different about losing control of his magic and having an anxiety attack compared to staring such a monstrous beast in the eyes and knowing he’s to blame for this. His jaw dropped and found himself unable to make a noise, every muscle frozen up in sheer horror.

Oh, he is so fucked.

“̶S͜ur͘p͟rise̕d ͢I sh͘owe̕d͏ up̀?”̨ It asked, stalking forward, knuckles supporting half its weight. It seemed more like a wolf circling its prey. “Ho͏ẃ c͏o҉u̢ld͏ ̸I ͢no̵t w̵it҉h̴ ̨suc̷h ̷p͟ower̷f̷u̸l ḿa͟gic͠ çàl̡l̷i̵ng t̴o ͢me͏?”҉

Marvin wished he could move—wished he could teleport back into the alleyway he called home—but he’s rooted to the spot.

It cocked its head at an inhuman angle, large eyes blinking owlishly. ”̡Wha̶t’s ͞w̸ro͜ng͞?̸ Ca̢t g̨ot your̨ ͡t͝ong͘ue͘?́”͞ Its grin spread at the joke, rows of jagged fangs exposed in some sick smile. “Oh͘! I͡s i̛t̶ ҉ho͞w ͡I͟ lo̸o͢k҉? Wo҉uld̀ you̕ li͝ke me ̀t̵o s̕híf́t̀ ̡in͜to s̵om̕et̡h̀ìn͟g ͜e̕asi͞e͟r t̕o ́l̷ook ͏a̕t?̵”̡

He swallowed, nearly choking on saliva before nodding hesitantly.

Suddenly its body tensed and froze up, glitched, and then burst into a cloud of pixels. When it reformed it no longer looked like an eldritch being—it’s a human.

Oh, great; it’s kinda hot.

It’s still taller than him—probably half a foot or so—with bones showing through pale skin. It had spiked dark green hair, neon green and black eyes, black plugs, pointed ears, a crooked nose, black claws, sharp teeth, a laceration that went from ear to ear and wept liquid static and code. It wore a black shirt, black ripped skinny jeans, black combat boots.

All in all, the definition of intimidating.

“B҉e͜t̢ter?̵”

Willing the heat in his face to go away, Marvin nodded.

It bared its teeth in another poor smile. “̨Gǫòd.̕ I̛t's͡ ̢ņot ́a̕s̨ f̴u̷ņ ̕ẃhen ͝yo͜u҉ c͝an҉'t str̛ug͘gle.”̛

Well fuck. That wasn't good.

It prowled forward—oh where the fuck did the knife come from—eyes predatory. “I ͝do h̵òp͜e͟ ́yơu̕ ҉s̷tru͢gg͝l҉e; th͢e st̛ronger ̸o͟nȩs̨ p̀ųt̢ u͢p ͢more̡ ͜of ̴a͜ f̧i̸g̨ht̕.͠”

“W-wait! I wanted to… I want to make a deal?” He choked out, backing up, magic flaring to life and resting in the very tips of his fingers. It’s stuck. Of all the fucking times—

It stopped in its tracks, head cocked at that same unnerving angle. “̶Òh rea͘l̸ly̡?̵ W̕h̨a̵t couļd y̶ou͡ ̨possi͝b͞ly g͟ai̷n̴ fr̶om t̛hat?̛”͢ The malicious glitter in its eyes sent shivers down his spine.

His throat is dry and the words were lodged under the lump in his throat. All of a sudden it’s hard to find the words and get them out.

“͝Hów͟ ̡a͘bóu͢t͘ this?” It lunged forward, tackling him and pulling him to the ground. His startled shrieking swear only spurred the other on.

Marvin didn't even stand a chance against the demon.

The heel of its palm crushed his airway, knife pressed to his jugular. His hands came up to grasp at its wrist, clawing desperately at the exposed skin. He could feel skin catching under his nails, some kind of tingly, hot liquid caking the underside of his nails. Within mere seconds, the pressure on his neck had him choking and wheezing. Damn his fucking shitty ass lungs.

“I̷f̶ yo̶u mak͜e ̵a ̨d̢e͝al͢ ͏with ͞me, i͡t’́l̴l ͞be on ̧my ͞t͝e̷rms͢ o̶r̸ I͜’͘l͞l ͠r͠i̶p͞ ỳoúr s͞p͝in̴e̢ ̧out ̴y̡o̸u͠r̴ thr͞oa͝t͢. ͏G̵ot͢ ͏ìt?̶” It snarled, face inches from his own.

All he could do is writhe in panic. He didn't register the static from the demon’s neck wound dripping onto his body. Finally—finally—his magic overcame the block and surged forward, cyan fire sparking to life and clinging to the demon.

It howled, recoiling violently, and Marvin gasped when he felt the blade of the knife nick under his jaw and send warmth spilling down his neck. It wasn't enough to kill him… hopefully. It'd be just his luck it caught and tore an artery.

Seeing the demon trying to put out the fire would've normally made him laugh had he not been gasping. His lungs and throat burned and no amount of air was fixing it. He gently touched his hand to his neck, wincing at the soreness there. That’s definitely going to bruise.

“M͟ày̛b͠e͝ yo͜u ͏a̸re̵n̕'͟t͟ a͘s̸ st̴up̕id a͟s ̨y̡ơu loo͝k҉,̨”͏ it hissed. The burns the fire caused vanished with a single glitch.

Oh… that's quite unfortunate.

"I'l̴l̵ g͡iv̢e͟ ̨yo͢u͡ ̛óne ͡c͝h͟an҉c̴e,́" it snarled, circling around Marvin like a shark. "I'l͝l sp͠ár҉e ͜your l̴ife̕ ҉if̡ ̶ỳou s͡e̴l̡l y͞o͝ursel͟f ̴to͘ m̧e.̡"͏

The magician stiffened up, eyes tracking the demon's movements. He knew he couldn't take the beast on himself based on that recent display of power, but taking this deal could end up being a fate worse than death.

"Why... why should I? I wanted to make a deal with you," Marvin said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"I͜'͝m͞ n͝ot ͠a̕ d̵ȩm̀o̴n ̨wh̶o plays ̵fa͞ir,"͝ it growled, teeth bared. "Yòu táke̶ ̴this̀ ͘déal n̵o͡w or̴ I'l͝l b͞reak ͟y̵ou int̷ǫ p͢i͡e͏c͠es a͞nd ͝m͢ak͝e͝ you a͢cc̴e̡p̵t i̢t.͡"

He paled, heart thumping in his throat. So it’s either certain death or prolonged death? What a shitty situation he's gotten himself into. Why does this always happen to him? He already knew which one he’s going to choose but weighing his options... what’s stopping the demon from killing him when he made the deal? What did the demon want with him anyway?

"How do I know you're not just going to off me once I agree?" He asked warily, eyeing the monster suspiciously.

It scoffed. "Yo̸u͟ r͜eall͟y ̧th̴i̷nk ́I̶'m̧ ̷g̀o͡i͏ng thr͞ou̧g̴h́ a͘ll th̵i̶s͞ trouble t̀o͡ o͞ņly ̕k̷il҉l ҉yo͜u any͞w̧ay͝?̷ No̕,͜ ͢I͞'̷ll be k̡eepin̵g y̛ou ҉alįve ̵f̛or as͏ l͟ơn͡g͡ ͡as̴ ̴y͘óų ̸çoope̡ra͟t̕e͠. ͜Mage̛s ́a̧re rar҉e no͞wad̕ays͡, es҉pe̴c͘ially the ͟str̛on̵ger ̢ones͟." It cocked its head. "T̡hough͞ ͞I̴ ̷a̸m̴ qu̵i̷t̷e̢ c̸uri͢ous ab͏óu͟t̡ ̶tha̸t͏ ̸n͟asty ̧littļè ̡cuŕse͏ y̸ou ͝ha͏ve.̢"̡

His blood ran cold at the knowledge it knew about his curse. Maybe… maybe demons could just sense magic on others, especially since it’s a darker type of magic? He chewed his bottom lip, magic squirming inside him in discomfort. He didn't like the implications of that statement but...

"O-okay..." Marvin muttered, shoulders slumping forward in defeat. He could see its eyes glittering in triumph. It grinned, the teeth seeming to take up half his face.

"͠Very͟ ̧goo͠d.̨"̀

Like everything in his life, this had failed spectacularly. He couldn't even manage to summon a fair demon to make a deal with! All he got was an asshole with a god complex and absolutely nothing to help him remove his curse! And to top it all off, he sold himself to it to save whatever’s left of his shitty life. Fantastic. Absolutely perfect.

His cynical thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

"̢Y͞o͏u͟ stop̶ped͡ ̸pay͞ìn͢g ̸a͏tt̢en̛t̛ión.͢"̸

The demon stalked closer, its arm with the knife in hand swinging at its side. It walked with intent, drawing uncomfortably closer and closer to the vulnerable magician. Its eyes were... its eyes were shifting with static. And not just static either: it’s like those old technical difficulties screen that popped up and nearly blinded the viewer with bright, neon colors. A bar of yellow, cyan, green, magenta, red, and dark blue covered with a thin layer of static. They shifted, colors bouncing from one bar to the next, forcing his brain to try and keep track of the moving colors.

Thoughts started worming their way into his head. Just fleeting ones but they distracted him.

K͢e͟ep w͏atc̴hi͜n̕g the̛ c̡òl̨o͜rś. R̨el̨ax.͟ Y̧ou'͞r̡e̕ s̀a̶fe. N͟o ̷pai͝n.͡ W͢o͝n't hur̵t.

He blinked, struggling to keep his focus on the situation at hand.

Where were the thoughts... coming...

The eyes were... it's pretty. He's never seen anything so beautiful. He wanted to stare at them forever. He didn't know why he was panicking before. Why'd he need to be upset? He’s safe.

S̶ubmi͠t͏..́.̡..̀ ̀r̵e̡l̸ax̀.́..̴.. ̧giv͟e ͜up͞....̸.̢ ̛l͞e̴t ͠g̸o ̶of ͝y͡ou̶r m̢a͜gi̧c̶..... c͢oơp͘e͘ra̢te..̀.̡..̧ s̨ubm̴it͜..͢. rel̛ax̛..͜. ̨g̸i̷v̡e̴ u̵p̴..͝.͝ ́l͏e͞t ͘ģơ of y̸o͡ur̕ magi͞c͘.́.̷.̕ co͠ope҉r͡a͡t͝e..́.͢ su͞b̸m̀it,͏ ͡re̷lax,͏ ģive ̴up, ̶let̢ ͞g̨o of̵ y̶ou̕r ͘m̴agíc̵, ̕coo͠p̴èrate.͠ ̨Su͠bmit r͢e̢l͝a̢x ͟g͜iv̕e̶ u̵p l͝e̶t g̕o ́o͡f̷ yoùr mag̛ic͘ coopér͘at̛e̴ s͟u̕b͡mits҉u̕bmítg͞i̷v̧e͜up̴subm̕i̷t̵s͜u҉b̡mi͢t͟submitgive͏u̕p͜gi͜veup̶g̷i̸v̶e͟up͝—͡

Marvin was stuck standing still when the demon closed the gap between them.

"̛No͞t ̀so͜ ̧śt͠r̛on͘g͠ ̀a͞n͠ym͠oŕè, ͢eh?̛"͟ It asked, examining the magician curiously.

Everything felt... detached. Like he’s there but not mentally. The static curled around his consciousness like a blanket. He’s unable to move but the whispers in his head soothed his worry.

N͠ot͝hi̕n͢g ba͡d̸ ͟w͜i҉l̴l͘ h̕ap̶pen. ̕Yoư’͜re s̴afe. An̵ţį wil̸l p͟rot̕ec̢t͞ ̧ỳo̡u.̛

Weird... he didn't recognize that name but it had to be the demon's.

The creature—Anti—seemed to be satisfied with his work, a smug smile gracing his features. Seeing him smile made Marvin's lips twitch up, eyes wide and unfocused.

A hand came up and fingers ran carefully across his mask before they dipped down and stroked his cheek delicately.

"̸I ͢wońde͡r̛... ̧wha͠t'͜s u̵nd̕érne̵àt͠h͠ th͡a̕t ͠m̀as͏k ͟o̷f̕ ̶y͠our̛s̶? It̡ ͘l̴oo͜ks͜ ̧q̵u҉ite̛ rid͘icul҉oưs͜. I'́m s͢ur̴e you w̴o̧ul̸d̢n'̧t m͏i̶nd̶,̢ r̛i̸ght͡,͘ ki̶t̀t͟en͝?"͘ Anti's voice is sweet—saccharine.

He hummed uncomprehendingly, unfocused eyes staring forward dazedly.

The mask was removed and dropped to the ground, countless pieces shattering across the cement.

"҉I c̨a͏n̡ s͝e͘e͢ ̧w͝h̴y̷ you͠ wear̢ i͞t̕…҉̷ t̴hóse ́sc̶a͜rs ͏a͏r͘e hi͏deous̛.̧"͞ He remarked, eyes glittering with glee as he looked upon what Marvin tried so hard to hide from the world—and himself.

The voices couldn't calm him down now. Panic spread through his body like wildfire and he thrashed in whatever trance had him pinned down.

His mask is gone, his talisman is broken, he’s exposed, it’s staring at his face—

Anti dragged his claws over the scars with featherlight touches, tracing the edges and watching how the magician twitched and shuddered. The moment he let his claws sink in too deep and rip open skin, Marvin used the last of his mental power to surge through the now screaming voices and regain control.

A burst of magic and the demon was gone in a flurry of glitches. The sound of static appeared behind him and then something yanked on the hood of his cloak, sending him stumbling back into a body. An arm coiled around his waist and held him in place.

“́No̴ẃ t́h̶at̸ ̛y̵ou’r͠ȩ m̸y̶ ͞p̀r͝o̶per͏ty͡–”̧ Anti drawled nonchalantly—as if the previous hadn’t happened—trailing the knife down Marvin’s jawbone–“I͘’͘ve͢ ̀g͏òt͝ ҉to ̡b̀r͠a͞nd͝ you.”

His eyes went wide, heart stuttering to a stop. His magic instinctively swelled, prepared to prevent such a thing from happening only for the static in the air to grow denser, smothering it.

“A̶h̸ ah ah,̸ noǹe͜ ̡of͞ ͟t̢hat̢,̕” Anti chided. “̕Now̧…͟ wh͘ere to ͘p͘ut́ it͝…”̶ Marvin tensed at the hand that reached up and carresed his jawbone reverently. “Ḿaybe̸ yo̢úr ̸che̡e̸k?͠ O͢r...”̧ the hand trailed down, claws digging into the side of his neck, pricking skin. He couldn’t help the pitiful whimper that escaped him. “Yo̵ųr neck? ͢H͘m̵mm...”

The magic inside screamed, boiling to uncomfortable temperatures. His face was flushed so hot he’s worried he’d pass out before whatever the hell happened next.

“A̶ctu͏al̸ļy... I t͟h͢ink̵ ̀I’l̶l͜ m͏ake̴ i̡t̡ b̢i͝gg̛e̕r ̨t̨his̛ t̷i҉me̷. D͢o͜n’̵t̢ ̕w̛ant ̛a͏n͏y͡ ̧o̧th͞e͏r f̕u̕çks ̸to͏ưch̡i͢ng ẃhat̸’̨s͢ m̡i̶n͝e̷.”̸

His heart sank into his stomach.

It released him. “T͟ur͘n ̸a̛round̢. Ag̵a͞in͟s̢t the͝ w҉a͟ll͞.͝”

The magician obeyed, fearing what would happen if he didn’t obey. The stone wall is cool against his forehead. When he felt his cloak and shirt being shoved up, he reacted immediately, thrashing only to feel the knife being dug into his back. He stilled after that.

“̶Stay. ̨F̕uck̸i̕n̕g. ̛Still̢. ͘Or I͜’̴l͏l m̴ès̡s ̴up̡.”

His hands shook against the wall, every instinct in his brain screaming for him to move, to get away—

The first cut drew a startled gasp out of him, pain flaring up in the middle of his back. The next cut came relatively quickly, so he had to grit his teeth. Tiny noises slipped through his teeth, and within a few seconds his jaw is aching. Thankfully, it only lasted a minute or so. Once Anti was done(?), it retraced the lines, sinking the knife deeper into the original cuts. Tears that had been collecting in his eyes spilled down his cheeks and his jaw gave up, letting a pained sob out.

“͘Re͟alĺy?”͝ Anti asked, voice amused as it drug the knife down the previous cut. “҉Th͘ís isn’͜t͝ ̴e̶ven th̸at̷ bad. ͝Gųes̢s we’l̨l҉ ̧h̀av͢e̡ ͡t͜o ̷w̕or̢k on͘ ̸it̵.”̀

Guess we’ll have to work on it.

Dear gods, this was going to be a regular occurance. The thought made his eyes sting more.

He wasn’t sure how long this process lasted but then the knife is removed, and he sagged forward, choked gasps and sobs breaking the silence. The wounds throbbed and he cried out when Anti traced the lines, smearing warmth in its wake. It’s letters.

ANTI.

“̴T͟h҉er͘e̡ w̴e͞ g̨o. ͡M͡u̷ch b̡ette̡r͡, ͞hm͟m?́”̕

Fingers curled in his hair, tugging his head uncomfortably to the side. Bloodied fingers stroked his cheek tenderly, making him cringe. Seeing Anti suck his blood off its fingers only made his empty stomach roil.

“Q͡uit̴e̡ ̨t҉h̵e͟ ͠p͢re҉t͟t̸y ̀do͞ll̴.̢..”̶ the demon murmured, clearly lost in thought. Marvin wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear that but his cheeks flushed, and he cursed himself for getting flustered over such a creepy comment. “D͜on̴’t q͠u̶i͡tę k̢n̢ow͘ wh̢at́ ͟I͢’l̸l dò wi̡t̛h ̸yo̷u y҉et̢, bu̷t͘ ̸I͝’̕m ͠su͠r̷e ̛I’͝l̶l̢ ̴f͏ind͘ a pur͡po̸se fo͝r ỳou̴ ̧soo̸n.”

That look…. Marvin’s seen that look from people he’s met on the streets. Just like always, it made his insides twist.

Anti blinked, mind coming back to reality. It withdrew its hand and backed away. “Wel͟l,̀ ̢I͞ neęd͢ to ͜b̵e g͞oin͞g҉. I ͏e̡x͞pect̨ ͝yoư t̕o ̡lea͡rn͜ ̸how͢ to lis͠t͜éń b̵e̴tter̷ n͠ext̴ t̛i̵me.͡“͟ ͞The air warped, its figure glitching violently before disappearing.

The static lifted as soon as it had come and the oppressive atmosphere shifted back into its neutral one.

He’s alone.

His legs shook violently and he slid down the wall, the remains of his mask littering the ground around him, cursing colorfully when the wall rubbed the fabrics into his wounds.

What the fuck happened. What the fuck happened? Did he… did he really make a deal with a demon...? And not fucking get his curse removed? Gods, he truly is stupider than he thought.

For the first time in a long time, Marvin bowed his head and cried.

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anarchist-puppet-on-strings · 5 years

Text

Fool

SUMMARY: Henrik Von Schneeplestein was no fool. He’s a perfectly sensible and logical man with a clear line between reality and fiction. To him, any human was far more terrifying than a monster.

Perhaps he should change that notion...

Tag list: @assbutt-of-the-readers (let me know if you want to be added)

Henrik Von Schneeplestein was no fool. He’s a perfectly sensible and logical man with a clear line between reality and fiction. He was the one who investigated weird sounds at sleepovers with friends when he was a child, insisting there was nothing to fear. He had won countless silly bets in high school involving spending the night in supposedly “haunted” places. He concerned himself with only the plausible situations. To him, any human was far more terrifying than a monster.

Which is why he cannot begin to wrap his head around the scene in front of him.

The day started off normal enough.

Jack had been drifting in and out of consciousness, never staying awake long enough for Henrik to question him as to what had happened on Halloween. He’d only left the room for a few minutes to get a change of fresh bandages for the man’s neck. Beads of blood seeping through the stitches were already dotting the white material, and he didn't want to leave Jack in bandages that could easily get infected.

Entering the room with a soft knock and seeing Jack sitting up, staring out the window startled him. Just a few hours ago, the man had been struggling to keep his eyes open and now here he was sitting up, alert as ever.

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth—Henrik had seen his fair share of “miracles” in this profession—he recomposed himself. “Ah, I see you are awake, mein Freund.” He shut the door behind him. “You should lay back down; you are still so weak.”

The other’s head turned to him slowly, his reaction time most certainly delayed by the major injury and then hindered by his neck wound. His head was turned at an inhuman angle. Henrik dropped the roll of bandages, gaze locked on Jack.

A pair of shiny pitch black eyes bored into his.

“Jack, you do not look well. Here, let me—” he fumbled for some kind of answer.

Jack grinned wide and full of stained sharp teeth, lips curled back and black eyes narrowed thoughtfully, like he was trying to figure out the best way to kill him. It sent chills down the doctor’s spine.

He watched in shocked silence as the other man lifted his arm, examining the tubes going into his arm curiously before grabbing them and ripping them out violently. He chuckled at Henrik’s distressed noise of alarm.

“You cannot do that! You’re not—”

“I̡’m ͠no̸t ҉wh͟a̶t̶, ̷doçto͝r?͝”

If Henrik had remained unphased through the first few red flags, Jack's voice would've alerted him immediately. It sounded so grating and... distorted? It tore apart in some places, sounding like two people at once before the voices overlapped into one. The pitch rose and fell wildly at completely polar spectrums.

It didn't make any sense—how was his voice sounding like that?

Jack swung his legs over the edge and shoved himself out of bed, bare feet touching tile. He stumbled a bit, legs threatening to give out from beneath him.

"̀U҉gh͞, ͝s͠t̛u҉p̕i҉d̨ ̛m̶or̕ta̛l bo͠d̶y,͠" he muttered, gripping onto the bars of the hospital bed.

The scene would've been funny had Henrik not been as confused and apprehensive as he was. The words he said—it sounded so genuine and... and wrong. The very phrase sent something unpleasant wriggling in his gut.

Henrik took a deep breath, shoving down whatever gross feeling was rising in his throat. "Jack, you should really lay back down. You should not be up and about yet!"

Jack's head tilted to the side, eyes wide and unblinking. "̀Oh,͟ ͜re͏ál̶ly̷?̡"̡

"Yes!" He snapped irritably, bending over to snatch the roll of bandages up off the ground. "And these cannot be used! Perfect!"

"̨That's̷ t͏he̶ ͠lȩa͏st ҉of̷ ̡you̧r̛ pŕobl̴ęm͢s̷ ͝ri̡g̵ht̶ ̀no͢w."

Henrik's head snapped up, mouth open to ask about what that meant when he closed it with a click. Jack had began moving towards him, stalking forward.

He'd used to think people were incapable of being menacing in a hospital gown but that was before he saw Jack like this. The way he strode forward and the malicious glint in his eyes paired with the crazed smile managed to draw his attention mainly away from the flimsy paper gown.

Henrik didn’t understand. As far as he knew, the only damage had been to his trachea and vocal cords but the lack of oxygen being regulated to his brain may have caused some irreversible damages. But nothing that should affect the color of his eyes and causing a dual layered voice. It didn’t make sense—

Jack reached over and grabbed something metal off a tray. Upon further inspection, he could see it was a scalpel. The other grinned widely and twirled it between his fingers before flicking his wrist upwards and letting it fly through the air and fall back into his grasp.

Alright, Jack had fairly poor coordination and Henrik knew for a fact that he couldn't do such a trick.

"̢Y'̨k̴n̕ow͢, I̛’m pis̛sed͢ y҉o̧u̡ m̶a͝naged̸ ҉t̀ǫ s̨t̨it̕ch ͞t͏hè ͞loud͝ bás̨tar̀d͘'s͞ t͏hro͘át shùt̸.̢.̶. ͝bu͜t͜ I͞ guess th̕ís̀'ll͟ worķ to͜o̢.̀"͏

Maybe he was hallucinating. He'd been up on his feet and awake for longer than he should be, doing paperwork and drinking copious amounts of coffee to keep him awake. Not to mention the brain deals with shock and grief in funny ways.

"Jack, please put that down. You shouldn't be messing with equipment so carelessly," Henrik said firmly, arms crossed. One wrong move and Jack could cut himself with it. The last thing he needed was another wound on his body.

Having the other a single pace away unnerved Henrik more than he'd like to admit. He couldn't put his finger on it but there was some weird, uncomfortable feeling in the air around Jack.

"͞Oh̕,̡" the other said with a laugh. "͜W҉e҉ ̨h͏a͟v̶en̡'t̷ ̵bȩen ̕in̵t̵r҉ǫd̷u̧ce͞d prop͜e̶rļy.̶ ͠Si̕ll̴y ̵ḿe.̶"

"Jack—"

The scalpel was in the wall next to his head faster than his brain could comprehend it.

"I͠'m҉ not ͠t̷h͞at fuc҉k̴i̧n̶g̢ ҉i̡d̨iot!"͝ He screeched, his once carefree posture tense.

There was something clearly wrong here. Henrik wasn’t sure what exactly is causing this because Jack’s never had outbursts like this, or at least he’s never had them in front of him before. Maybe this had to do with all the problems he had been having in October? The only option he had was to play along and see where this goes.

“Alright, my bad. What’s your name then?” He tried to keep the patronizing tone out of his voice but some of it still slipped through.

Jack(?) narrowed his eyes. “͠Y̕óu͡’r̢e n̕òt̢ ҉ta̶k͘ing me̷ ser͘i͘ou͢sl̀y,”̕ he noted dully, avoiding the question.

Henrik didn’t know how to respond to that.

“͟Fo҉r su̕ch̶ a͝ ̨“sma̶ŕt” ̴m̵an,͟ ̛y̷ǫu ręa͏l͢ly ̕ar͘e̸ ͞stuṕid̷,͠”͘ he said with a grin.

Indignation burned in his chest, cheeks flushing in anger. He couldn’t retaliate too harshly—he’s a doctor. Before he could get any words out, the other continued.

“I͜ me͘a̧n,̨ ̀here I t͢ḩo̸uģh͏t͜ ̨th͘e ͏òth͡ers ̧wer͟e͝ ̡s̨t̴u̴píd ͏bu̢t̶ at͡ ĺea̧st͡ ͞th̨e͜y͠ ̛kn͝e͞w ͠I ̡was͘n͠'t human̴.͞”

Then a hand was wrapped around his throat and lifting him up, fingers squeezing and cutting off his air supply. He choked and wheezed, lungs already struggling to draw in oxygen. Based on how weak Jack had been earlier and how the other was several inches shorter than him, he shouldn’t be able to lift him with ease using only one hand yet here they were.

Their noses were brushing together as the other scanned his face. “T͜e͟ll you͝ w̸h͢at:̕ i͟f͠ ỳo̷u can f̸ind th̴e͡ ̴h̴e̴ro or ̡th҉e̸ ̡magi͞cian, ͞y̡ou ̡c̨a͞n͜ learn͜ all a͟b́ou̶t m͡e͞.̛ If̴ n̛ot, I'm͟ ̡a̡f́r͞a̷id ͞y҉ou'll ͟b̨e͠ ̢in f͢or̛ a n̢ąs̢t͟y҉ ҉surpri͞se̛ ̕nex͠t ti͏me͝ ͠I drop b҉y͜."̢ He dropped the doctor, allowing him to crumple into a heap on the ground. He watched in vague disinterest as he coughed, glasses askew.

“It͞'s ti͞m̕e f͜or̛ ̢m̷è ͝to ̵ta͘k҉ę m̵y̷ lęav͟e͟. S̡ee ̶you s͞oo̷n͝.͘”̸ With that his eyes rolled up into the back of his head, Jack’s body falling limply to the floor.

Henrik Von Schneeplestein was no fool. He knew something was very wrong with his friend. And to find out what: he needed to find the two he mentioned… after he got Jack back into bed and hooked up to the machines.

#anarchist tries to write #let me help pick up the pieces #antisepticeye #4N71 #henrik von schneeplestein #hen #angst #swearing #choking #obliviousness #threats #first meetings

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anarchist-puppet-on-strings · 5 years

Text

Lonely

SUMMARY: Chase gets drunk and does something he probably shouldn’t.

TW - DUB-CON (DRUNKEN CONSENT)

Chase is pretty drunk. He didn't know how long he had been drinking but the answer is probably a while. He couldn't even remember why he was drinking in the first place—the only thing that mattered was the next sip of whiskey.

Familiar loneliness gnawed away at his mind. The alcohol took some of the pain away—like always—but it wasn't gone entirely. Maybe with another glass or two, the feeling would be forgotten in the back of his mind for a while.

When he felt prickling static crawl over his skin, he distantly knew he should be panicking. Static equals bad news and pain. Yet here he is, perfectly calm and tipping more whiskey into his empty glass with half melted ice cubes. The only reason his hands were shaking is because of the alcohol. Maybe he finally didn't give a shit what happened to him anymore. Or maybe he was so lonely he'd accept whatever company he could get.

“Wow,” Anti said in near amazement. “You look as drunk as a skunk.”

Chase didn't bother answering the demon’s comment, instead throwing back another mouthful of burning amber. He set the glass back down on the coffee table and grinned—not too much amazed Anti. Then it faded. The other didn't visit without reason.

“Why-why are you… here? What d’ya want?” He asked, stumbling over his words a bit.

“What? Can't visit out of the goodness of my heart?” Anti asks, mock offended by the notion he’d need something to come over.

Chase shook his head seriously.

“Rude,” the other said, pulling his knife out of a cloud of pixels and fiddling with it.

“What–” he hiccupped–”do ya… what do ya want from me?”

Anti huffed, breaking the knife back into pixels and letting the bits reattach themselves to his body. “Well, if you must insist on me needing a reason.”

Chase isn't surprised when Anti draws nearer to him. The glitch normally only came over for his suffering.

He is surprised, however, when claws dug into his upper arms. He made a startled noise before he feels chapped lips on his. Kissing Anti is… not what he's used to. The other is primal and possessive, teeth catching on his bottom lip a few times and mixing copper into the mess. He wound his arms around the back of Anti’s neck, pressing himself closer to the other and moaning at the way the demon pulls Chase against himself. One of his hands threads its fingers in the dark green hair.

He’s vaguely aware of his head spinning and the fact it's hard to think straight but that didn't matter right now. All that mattered is that there’s someone touching him.

When he felt something brush against his lips, he opened them and allowed a long tongue to slip in. He hummed happily into the kiss. The static rolling off the demon enveloped him, sending tingles of pleasure throughout his body. His mouth is numb but he didn't care. It felt amazing.

He whined when Anti drew away, breathing labored. Looking up at him, Chase saw a cocky smirk on the glitch’s face, a single eyebrow raised. “So… wanna fuck?”

The yank on Anti’s hair and the continuation of the kiss is all the answer the glitch needed.

(A/N) Hey, Jay, here’s that unhealthy Antiaverage I talked about in the Discord server. Go wild, I guess.

#anarchist tries to write #let me help pick up the pieces #jse fanfiction #antisepticeye #4N71 #chase brody #sunshine #antiaverage #whump???#tw alcohol #making out #bad choices #/seems like a fitting tag/#/does this count as consensual if chase is drunk???/#/probs not/#/why do my stories just keep getting more and more suggestive???/#non con

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anarchist-puppet-on-strings · 5 years

Note

“Why are you lying to me?” With your choice of characters?

SUMMARY: Henrik doesn’t want to sleep but Chase comes to the rescue.

The past few weeks have been hell for Henrik. Night terrors, sleep paralysis, memories he’d rather forget, and the damn hallucinations plagued most of his waking and sleeping hours. Sometimes he found himself wishing he was back there with the glitch if only for the knowledge of what was to come. There was only so much he could take.

Meticulously crafting a wall to keep his emotions at bay was difficult but in the end, he’d done it. The others had insisted of doing everything to make him comfortable, but eventually they began to believe he was truly getting better. They were none the wiser. In fact, they thought he’d been doing better than he had been before he’d…

Sometimes he forgot that’s what this all was—a facade of his former self. It always dampened his mood to remember everything that had happened.

He spent most the time in his office, pouring over months of paperwork he’d missed and downed mug after mug of coffee—burning hot or disgustingly cold—to keep him awake. He couldn’t close his eyes, not for a second. If he did—

Cruel green and black eyes, a shark toothed grin, sugar coated words, invasive static, soothing touches, red, pain, so much pain—

Henrik ignored his aching back and reached up to rub at his heavy eyes with his wrist, squinting at the blurry words on the paper. His glasses weren’t seeming to be helping him see as well anymore. Maybe he needed to get them checked out again (going for nine months without wearing them once probably messed up his vision a bit). Or maybe the amount of caffeine with no sleep in days was the problem. Eh, probably both.

Moving at a snail’s pace with his paperwork is beyond frustrating. But he didn’t want to just stop and call it a night—he couldn’t.

He knew his coping mechanisms weren’t considered the healthiest but hey, he was coping. As long as he up and working, he was fine. That’s all that mattered: productivity. If he wasn’t being productive then what use was he?

“Knock knock,” Chase said softly, pushing the door open. “You still awake, Hen?”

He hummed absentmindedly, shoving his initial fear back down. It’s fine. It’s just Chase, it’s fine, he’s fine.

“You plannin’ on coming to bed soon?” He asked.

Henrik opened his mouth to tell him he’d probably be working for another hour or so but stopped before he was able to.

Chase looked exhausted. His hair is a mess, dark bruises under his tired eyes, and posture slouched and defeated looking. He’s already in an oversized tshirt and his boxers.

He couldn’t just leave Chase alone when he looked so sad. If anything, he’d keep himself awake in bed while his boyfriend slept. Not like he’s getting much done here anyway.

“Ah,” he said, glancing back at his empty mug and messy desk. “Yes, yes, just let me—”

Chase leaned against the doorway, one arm drawn over his chest and the other scrubbing at his face. He yawned. “I’ll wait.”

He stretched, yawning and cringing as his back popped and his jaw cracked. Then he shoved himself up out of his seat, grabbing the edge of his desk to steady himself when his vision went dark for a few terrifying seconds.

“Uh, you okay?”

He nodded, clenching his eyes shut at the nausea that threatened to squeeze his guts.

Tidying his desk shouldn’t take as long as it did but it admittedly took a moment to think about his actions. He gathered his papers haphazardly into a pile and straightened them. He messed with his pens until the two were exactly straight.

“Were you waiting for me?” He asked, trying to get the ringing of silence in his ears to go away.

Chase shrugged. “Kinda? At first I couldn’t sleep and then I was waiting for you to come in. I dunno really.”

The doctor didn’t answer, choosing to instead pick up his empty mug and sweeping the whiteout he’d needed to use more than once back into the drawer.

Dread squeezed his throat uncomfortably tight at the thought of accidentally falling asleep. He shuddered.

“You sure you’re good, doc?”

He gave a slow, dismissive wave of his empty hand, cursing the traitorous yawn he had to swallow. “Of course, of course. Let’s get to bed, yes?”

After stopping by the kitchen to deposit the mug in the sink, Henrik could feel his dread mounting as they neared the bedroom. While freeing himself of his itchy vest and long sleeved shirt and pulling on a pair of pajama pants felt wonderful, he still isn’t looking forward to laying down.

He hates to admit it but the pain in his back lessened when he laid down on his stomach, chest pressed against the mattress. Tensing up so he wouldn’t be lulled off to sleep by the warmth, he shifted slightly when Chase wrapped his arms around him, face pressed against his shoulder.

“Relax,” Chase murmured, eye cracked open. “You’re stiff as a board.”

Against his better judgement, Henrik tried to force himself to relax, tired muscles loosening and sinking into the mattress.

“You okay?”

He made a noise of assent.

“Hey,” Chase said, lifting his head to try and peer into the other’s eyes. “Why’re ya lying ta me, Hen?”

Henrik didn’t reply. He avoided the concerned gaze, and he shifted so he was looking the other way. Realistically, he knew he couldn’t get away with not answering Chase. He’d keep badgering until he got the others involved. It was better to tell the truth right away… yet he couldn’t find the words.

After a few silent minutes, he whispered, “I cannot close my eyes without seeing him.” He swallowed. “I’m not there and he taunts me.”

The grip on him tightens. “You need to sleep,” Chase said.

“I know.”

He could already feel his mind giving in to the warmth of the other’s hold on him. It’s becoming increasingly harder and harder to keep his thoughts in line.

“Hey, ya know that’s one thing I’m good at.”

Henrik hummed drowsily, prying open his eyes to glance over at Chase.

He bumped his forehead against the side of Henrik’s head gently. “Keeping nightmares away.”

He huffed, humming contentedly as he wiggled closer to Chase, making him giggle. “Course you do… you’re the… Regenbogen.” He wasn’t looking but he knew the other was blushing, because he always did.

“Stop it,” he whined childishly.

“Mmmm… no.”

“Go to sleep!” Chase groaned.

“Fine, fine. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

He sighed deeply, soaking up the warmth and safety Chase practically oozed. It’s been a while since he’s felt so wonderful.

Chase fell asleep first, and the reason Henrik could tell was because of Chase’s infamous snores that could drown out the tv at half volume. But he didn’t feel lonely being the only one awake for once.

It’s the first time Henrik had slept without any interruption in many months.

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