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fallen-gravity · 3 years

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awaken the stars, ‘cause they’re all around you

Stanford Pines never really believed in soulmates.

He can't imagine the idea that there's one person out there for him in the multiverse who would stop at nothing to love him for who he is, despite everything he is and everything he's done. He can't imagine that someone out there is meant for him, someone who will stand by his side until the end of time.

Or maybe he'd just been looking at it from the wrong angle.

Notes:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @stariousfalls!!!!! I can't believe we've been friends for upwards of five years now?? You've been a huge inspiration of mine from my first day in the gravity falls fandom back in late 2014, and now you're one of my closest friends. I've been spending the last week and a half working on this behind your back, because I wanted to surprise you with a gift I thought you'd love!!

7.5k words of fluff was....not my original plan, but fluff brain wanted to go feral for you, I guess.

Huge, huge shoutout to @ariasofelegance for helping me keep my mouth shut about this, I absolutely would've internally combusted without your help & support

AO3

Ford never saw the appeal of romantic relationships.

One night when he and Stan were kids, they snuck downstairs in the middle of the night after their parents were asleep to dig through Pa’s “Secret stash” of movies he thought he was good at keeping a secret. They’d thought for sure they’d be coming across bootleg cuts of action movies that were still playing in theaters, or documentaries about how all of the politicians in power were secretly aliens.

What they actually found was much more…sensual. They were both horrified, to say the least, but each time Ford had to turn away to prevent himself from gagging, he’d hear Stan beside him struggling not to laugh.

For years, Ford was convinced coming across those tapes before he was old enough to fully comprehend what was happening in them is what had turned him off to relationships altogether. It certainly didn’t help that he was never able to experience romantic relationships firsthand, as every time he tried asking someone out in high school he’d just be laughed at or called a freak.

Though college was another story entirely, his feelings towards romantic relationships never seemed to change. He went out with a girl from his dungeons, dungeons, and more dungeons club for a few weeks, a guy from his advanced physics class for almost two months, and even tried going out with Fiddleford for upwards of nine months, but he never felt that deeper connection with any of them, no matter how much he wanted to feel that connection.

It’d be forty more years before he learned the term aromantic, but when he was still in college he would brush off his parents’ questions about his relationship status by telling them he was too busy working on his thesis, which technically wasn’t all that far from the truth anyway.

Still, the faint sense of yearning never seemed to leave him be. Whenever he found gaps in his schedule, he would spend hours in his university library reading up on the science of relationships and their place in society. Though he no longer remembers most of the papers he read, one scientific study that’s always stuck with him was a dissertation written entirely on the concept of soulmates.

Everyone has a soulmate, the paper claimed. Though it may be decades until you properly meet, your path always leads to the moment that you and your soulmate are finally united. Once finally together, not a single force on earth can tear you apart. Even if you are apart physically, the stars will always align to bring you together. Weirdest of all, the paper mentioned soulmarks, which were described as “the phenomenon that a person’s very soul is marked with a piece that belongs to their soulmate, which may appear as a physical anomaly on a person’s body, such as an oddly-shaped birthmark”.

Ford had thought for sure that somebody must’ve moved a romance novel into the sociology section of the library as a joke. The only sort of anomaly he had going for him was his polydactyly, and thinking too much about how that could connect him to a single person who was destined to love him gave him a headache.

Nowadays, though, Ford tries not to give it much thought. He’s perfectly happy right where he is, watching the sunrise from the deck of the Stan O’ War II through the steam visibly rising from his coffee mug.

He sighs contently.

“Mornin’” Stan’s voice sounds beside him, gruff with sleep. When Ford turns to look at him, he’s rubbing at his eyes with one hand while he holds a steaming cup of coffee in his other. He’s already donning one of the sweaters Mabel mailed to him, a deep blue with a tropical island and a treasure chest stitched across the chest.

Ford smirks. “You’re up early”

Stan cocks an eyebrow as he sips from his coffee. “A’course I am. I always get up early when we’re docking to see the kids”

Ford blinks, the teasing smirk on his face melting into a gentle smile. “That’s today?”

“Haven’t you checked the calendar lately?” Stan tosses a second handmade sweater at Ford. This one’s the same shade of maroon as his journal covers, and pictures an angry cycloptopus squirting ink towards the bottom left corner of the sweater. “The kids are on spring break. They talked to their parents about letting us have ‘em all week”

Ford is quick to pull the warm sweater over his head. “All week?”

He can’t help sounding like a broken record, but it’s been months since the last time he saw the kids face to face. Sure, they talk over video at least once a week, but nothing beats seeing their smiling faces and having them nearly tackle him to the ground in a hug in-person.

“Heh, you miss em too, Sixer?”

As little as two years ago, Ford would’ve flinched at the nickname. But Bill is gone for good, and Ford knows that Bill is gone for good, and Stan made a promise to do anything in his power to help him reclaim the nickname. He brings his mug close to his face without taking a sip, allowing himself to take in the warmth in his hands and the steam in his face.

“Not as much as you, clearly” Ford smirks, and Stan crosses his arms over his chest.

“You bet I missed them more than you. I’d been taking care of them all summer before you showed up and fell in love with them in half that time”

Ford smirks as he finishes up his coffee and heads into the navigation room to set their course. “By that logic, wouldn’t that mean that I miss them more, since I had less time with them?”

“Hey!” Stan groans as he follows him into the room. “It does not. It means that you don’t know them like I know them, genius. Everyone knows that it’s all about how much time you’ve spent with a person that determines how close you are with them”

Ford laughs as he enters the coordinates they need to get to the seaport they were meeting the young twins at. From the looks of it, it’d be three hours before they arrived.

“Mm, and who put that study together? Was it you?”

Stan doesn’t reply with words, just a noise that sounds halfway between disgruntled and baffled. It makes Ford laugh even harder, and he wipes at his eyes with a wrist. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Stan’s overdramatic pout melt away until he’s laughing too.

The sight of it makes the smile on Ford’s face widen. It’d been decades since the two of them were able to just be like this. It’d been so long since the last time Ford heard Stan��s genuine laugh that he’d gone and forgotten what it sounded like altogether. When he was still traveling the multiverse, he searched far and wide for a shred of hope, something to keep his anxieties and nightmares from catching up to him.

What a fool he’d been to ignore his childhood memories of home.

The trip is a quiet but familiar one. Ford can’t talk much when he’s steering because he needs to be on constant lookout, but Stan remains in the room to talk at him and keep him company anyway. The sun is well over the horizon by the time they reach the seaport, and call it instincts, intuition, or something else entirely, because Ford spots the kids sitting on a bench in the near distance the moment he and Stan step foot onto the dock.

They’re squished closely together, watching a video on Mabel’s phone. Whether they’re aware of it or not, they’re swaying their legs back and forth underneath the bench in perfect unison. On the ground beside them are their backpacks, overstuffed with so many things that both of them are popping open.

Most importantly, neither of them have noticed that Ford and Stan are approaching them.

Ford exchanges an amused glance with Stan, and clears his throat to catch their attention.

The phone nearly stumbles out of their hands in shock when they look up and meet their eyes.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel squeals, standing to sprint past Ford to knock Stan off of his feet. Ford chuckles at the sight, but not quickly enough to hear Dipper’s “Great Uncle Ford!”, and before he knows it he’s hitting the floor too. The young twins are laughing messes, and stumble over each other as they try to stand to their feet and help their Grunkles up.

Mabel spits out the hair that stuck to her mouth, and pulls a hair tie seemingly out of thin air to tie her hair up into a ponytail. It’s only now that Ford realizes that she and Dipper are also both wearing sweaters, and if Ford had to guess, it looks like Mabel made both of these sweaters as well. Mabel’s is a galaxy print with actual twinkling stars, and Ford makes a mental note to ask her later what she did to make it glow like that. Dipper’s is also space themed, though his pictures the big dipper splotched across a black night sky with a bright orange meteor shooting through the center.

“You have to tell us about everything you’ve encountered”, Dipper beams, once Stan finishes brushing himself off.

Stan cocks an eyebrow. “Two years’ worth is a lot to get through, kiddo”

“Exactly!” Mabel beams, turning to pick up her backpack and put it on. “Which is exactly why you can tell us on the way to the hotel!”

“Hotel?” Ford and Stan ask in unison.

“Surprise?” Dipper giggles. “Our parents rented us a hotel room for the week cause they figured you’d appreciate some time away from the boat”

“It’ll be like our summer in Gravity Falls all over again!” Mabel grins. “But in reverse! You’re in our territory now”

Stan laughs. “You’re the boss, kiddo”

“You bet I am!” She beams, and hands Dipper his backpack. “Now c’mon! If you tell us all of the horrors you’ve encountered out at sea, we’ll tell you about all the horrors we’ve encountered in high school!”

“I...think I remember those horrors pretty well already, thank you” Ford smiles sheepishly, adjusting his glasses. “But we’d be more than glad to tell you some of our own stories”

It’s a short walk to the bus stop, but Ford honestly wouldn’t mind if they walked all the way to the hotel on foot if it meant an extra half an hour with the kids. They’re just as eccentric as he remembers, attached at the hip but still wildly different people all on their own. Dipper’s still hanging on to every word he’s saying, and Mabel’s still skipping along like she’s in her own world.

Once they reach the hotel and check in, Dipper collapses face first onto one of the beds the moment he steps into the room, groaning.

Stan smiles. “Something bothering you, kiddo?”

He turns on his side to look Stan in the eye, his face smushing into the pillow. “Mabel didn’t let me get any sleep last night. She insisted on getting to the seaport three whole hours early because she insisted that she had this gut feeling that you guys would have the same idea and we’d magically show up at the same time”

Mabel pouts, and sits on the bed besides him. “Well it’s not my fault you stayed up late reading that dumb book of yours. Plus, would you rather have kept them waiting for three hours?”

Dipper removes his hat and places it on the table beside him, exposing just enough of his forehead through his hair to reveal his birthmark. It has the same faint glow to it as Mabel’s sweater, and Ford wonders how the two could possibly reflect off of each other.

“Their boat has beds and a fully stocked kitchen, Mabel. They can afford to wait. All we had were those strawberry pop tarts that you ate five minutes after we got there”

Ford can’t help but smile softly at their banter. He missed them so, so, much more than he could’ve ever imagined. He’s got half a mind to stow them away on the boat at the end of the week and homeschool them both himself so he never has to be apart from them again.

Apart. The word still feels like a knife twisted into his chest. There’s nothing he regrets more than trying to separate the young twins from each other two summers ago because he’d been so caught up in projecting his own fears onto the pair. He’d tried apologizing to Mabel over the whole ordeal, but she stopped him before he could even start to tell him he had nothing to worry about.

He only wishes he could learn to forgive himself as easily as she did.

“...Can we, Grunkle Ford?”

He blushes. Had he just said all of that out loud?

“Can we...what?”

“Take the boat out! Not right now, since Dips is being a grumpy-grump and insists on wasting precious time with a nap, but we’ve been talking about it all week”

From across the room, Stan snorts. “Let me get this straight,” he takes his jacket off and hangs it up in the closet. At this point Ford swears his eyes must be playing tricks on him, because Stan’s old burn scar is glowing just as Mabel’s sweater and Dipper’s birthmark are. “All the time you spent groaning and complaining about fishing every time I took you in Gravity Falls, and now you’re asking to go fishing?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a joy ride,” Dipper yawns from under the covers. “But if agreeing to go fishing is what gets you to say yes, then sure”

He’s smirking under the covers, Ford can tell, because he inherited that expression from Stan.

Stan’s about to bite back, but Dipper must not have been exaggerating about how long he and Mabel were waiting for them at the dock, because he’s already out cold. Stan smiles at him, gently ruffling up his hair before he takes a seat on the adjacent bed, kicking his shoes off so he can kick his feet up on the bed and relax. Ford sits beside Stan, and Stan slings his arms behind him to support his head in his hands as he glances over at Ford.

“They make you wanna retire the whole ‘treasure hunting’ thing and move into the city to be closer to ‘em too?”

Ford chuckles. “I’ve already considered hiding them away on the boat twice today already.” He taps at his chin. “Though I suppose that moving in with them would go over better with their parents then taking them away to live on a boat”

“Hmm…” Stan taps at his chin as well. “Being stuck in the same stuffy high school for four years, or living on a boat traveling all over the world whenever they feel like it? I dunno about you, Sixer, but I have a pretty good idea on what the kids would prefer”

“Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Ford?” Mabel’s voice suddenly chimes in, and Ford blushes, wondering how much of that she just heard.

“What’s on your mind, pumpkin?” Stan asks.

“Well, uh, Dipper was right about us only eating once really early this morning, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to, uh” She twirls her hair between her fingers. “Cook something for us? For old time’s sake?”

Okay, it’s settled, Ford’s never letting these kids go again.

“Sure, kiddo. Soon as your brother’s up we’ll head right back up, okay?”

“Okay!” she beams, and crawls back into her side of the bed, staring at Dipper like she can will him into waking up on command.

Though Ford would’ve been okay if they’d had to wait hours for him, it’s really only about twenty minutes before Dipper opens his eyes again and nearly shrieks in surprise at Mabel’s face hovering three inches from his own. He smacks his hand into her face to shove her away, and she giggles as she rolls off the bed and onto the floor.

Beside Ford, Stan smirks. “Better get up before we leave without you and all our food goes to Mabel, kiddo. You’ve got plenty of time to crash in Ford’s bed on the ship, since he never seems to use it anyway”

Dipper yawns, rubbing at his eyes as he kicks the covers off. “I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep”

“I didn’t realize you were even capable of sleep, bro-bro” Mabel punches him in the shoulder as she walks past him to put her shoes on. He glares at her wordlessly, and Ford has to cover up his snicker with a fake cough.

This time, the bus ride and the walk back to the ship are a quiet one. Ford never really lets himself let his guard down and relax for an extended period of the time, so he cherishes any moment he can get where he finally feels like he doesn’t constantly feel the need to check over his shoulder for signs of danger. Most of the time, if you asked him about his heightened senses, he’d call them a curse. But on days like these, when he can hear the birds chirping and the waves smacking gently against the boats in the seaport, he’d almost go as far as calling it a blessing.

The kids take a seat at the dining table as soon as they enter the kitchen, and Stan grins at them from over his shoulder as he clicks the stove on. “Whaddya say, Stancakes?”

Dipper and Mabel grimace in unison. “Ewwww, Grunkle Stan, you promised lunch!” Mabel scrunches her nose, and Stan’s grin only widens.

“Ah, ah, you said like old times. That means I get to decide what to make, and you have to eat it because I’m your legal guardian”.

“Well I wasn’t even awake when you were talking about old times, so I’d say that cancels out” Dipper crosses his arms over his chest, and Ford can’t help but smile warmly at the three of them as he reaches into the cupboard for his favorite coffee mug. The younger twins clearly had just gotten two copies of the same mug, but crossed both of them out so they’d say #1 GRUNKLES on them instead of #1 UNCLE. Stan has the other one, of course, but he keeps it on his bedside to hold small treasures and keepsakes because it’s, in his own words, “Too special to waste on something as ordinary as coffee”.

Ford sits himself in the seat between the younger twins at their okay, and after some back and forth banter between the four of them, they end up settling for burgers. Truth be told, this is the first time Ford’s eaten a meal in a group larger than two since the last time he and Stan visited the young twins in the winter, and he can’t help but smile into his food at the thought. The closest he’d come even remotely close to eating with others in his research years was his very, very brief time at the truck stop diner, and the experience had soured his view of...well, other people for near decades.

Now, though, he’d burn his own research dozens of times over before he’d even consider eating alone.

Stan’s chair scraping across the floor as he stands pops Ford out of his bubble of serenity.

“Now that that’s taken care of,” Stan cracks his knuckles, smiling mischievously at Dipper and Mabel. “I think I remember a couple of kiddos finally promising their Grunkle Stan he could take them fishing”

“Promise is a strong word-” Dipper starts as he stands to place his plate in the sink, but Stan’s already placing a fishing hat on his head before he can finish his sentence.

“Course you did! You wanna take our baby for a joyride, you gotta earn it first”

Dipper turns to Ford, like he’s expecting him to back him up.

Ford chuckles. “I don’t know, Dipper. That sounds perfectly reasonable to me”.

Dipper scoffs, sitting back down at the table. Mabel laughs.

“Aww, C’mon, Dipper! Aren’t you all about the supernatural? For all we know, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford could be harboring magical glowing bait that only attracts, like, magical talking fish men, or something!”

Dipper raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just receive a bottle message from Mermando last week?”

“Exactly!” Mabel flashes a grin. “That must mean that he’s in the area!”

Stan laughs. “You tellin’ me you only agreed to go fishing so you could kiss and make-up with your long-distance fish boyfriend?”

��Grunkle Stan, what kind of person do you take me for?” she gasps. “He’s married! You know I would never want to break apart such a loving couple!”

Ford’s smile only warms. Where else could he partake in such a conversation that doesn’t turn heads and result in judgmental whispers? Where else can he just be like this, surrounded by loved ones who are just as weird, just as out of the ordinary as himself? In his younger years he thought for sure his place would be among the monsters and cryptids everyone in his childhood made him out to be, but even in the weirdness capital of the country he felt more alone than ever.

“...Don’t think you’re immune, Sixer” Stan’s voice cuts into his thoughts, and before Ford can ask what he means Stan is smacking a homemade fishing cap on his head. “It may ruin your badass image when we’re monster hunting, or whatever, but we’re fishing with the kids.” Stan gestures to them with his thumb. They’re already outside, leaning over the railing to look out at the water in a perfect mirror of each other. “If they have to embarrass themselves by humoring me for a few hours, so do you”

Ford waits for Stan to join the kids outside before he takes his hat off to admire the stitch work. It’s not perfect, and nowhere near the fancy embroidery he and Stan have found in various markets across their world travels. But it’s personalized, and Ford knows it comes from a place in Stan’s mind that’s been stuck behind lock and key since he was seventeen.

Ford runs his hands along each individual letter, which reads POINDEXTER, before placing it back on his head to join the others outside.

Stan has, miraculously, already pulled out his joke book. Stan’s laughing too hard at his own joke for Ford to really make out what the punchline is, but the younger twins’ collective groans is all he needs to know about it. When Mabel notices him stepping out of the doorway, though, her expression shifts entirely.

“So…” she draws out, stepping towards him. “Is there a trick for attracting merpeople to your boat? I mean, asides from being super cute, obviously”

Ford chuckles, taking a glance behind her to make sure that Stan is out of earshot. “Stan’ll kill me if I tell you this, but they’re really attracted towards shiny things. If you tied one of his gold necklaces around a fishing pole and dangled it into the water, the boat’ll be surrounded in minutes”

Mabel offers up her pinkie finger. “I won’t tell him if you won’t”

Ford interlocks his pinkie with hers, smiling. “I think he’ll notice when a whole family of merpeople show up”

“Hmmm…” Mabel taps at her chin with her free hand, visibly mouthing a plan to herself. “Oh! I know! Come with me,” she beams, and before Ford can even open his mouth to respond she’s already dragging him back into the kitchen. She kneels down on the floor and opens the cupboard below the sink. “Got any empty bottles I can use?”

Ford blinks. “Empty....bottles”

“Yeah!” Mabel pulls a neatly folded piece of paper out of her skirt. “If I can send out my response letter the same time we throw Stan’s necklace over, he’ll never be able to tell the difference!”

“Wait, wait” Ford shakes his head. “You really are dating a merperson?”

“Listening skills, Grunkle Ford” she taps at her forehead, folding the letter back into her pocket as she continues to dig through the cupboards. “Used to date. We met at the Gravity Falls Public Pool, where he was stuck, but then I drove him to the lake in a golf cart I stole from the pool grounds because he really missed his family, and then he was my first kiss, and then we were in a long-distance relationship for like, two months, and I kept every single bottle he sent me, but then we had to break up because he was arranged to marry to prevent a big undersea war.” She picks up a bottle, shakes it, and puts it back when it’s too full for her liking. “I know it sounds, like, super complicated, but it’s all okay, because we’re still pen pals!”

Ford laughs, shaking his head. “No, Mabel, I had to ask because I, uh…” his cheeks warm, and he clears his throat. “Before I...came to term with my orientation, I...dated a merperson too”

The bottles in the cupboard rattle as Mabel’s head smacks against the doorframe. She’s rubbing the spot where her head hit, but there are stars in her eyes. “Really?”

Ford’s cheeks burn even hotter. “Yes,” he whispers, and takes a knee so he can get at her eye level. “Technically he was a siren, but yes, we dated for about a month. He promised me he wouldn’t entice anyone else while we were together, but I guess there wasn’t anything...there.” He turns to help her shuffle through the cupboard, and finds a near-empty bottle of olive oil that’s definitely been sitting down there for at least a year. He hands it off to Mabel, smiling. “I’m glad that things worked out with you, though”

To his surprise, Mabel drops the bottle and throws her arms around him in a hug. “I can’t wait to introduce you! He’s gonna love you”

Ford huffs a quiet laugh, and pulls her close as he winds his arms around her as well. The hug only lasts for a few brief moments, but it feels to Ford in those moments that time itself had stopped. Mabel stands, taking the bottle in one hand and offering to help Ford up in her other.

Mabel places the bottle in the sink and turns the water on to rinse it out before she turns back towards Ford, stretching her arms up in the air as if she were warming up for an exercise. “Alright, here’s the plan. You tell me where Grunkle Stan keeps all of his jewelry, and I’ll sneak in and take his necklace while you distract him. Got it?”

Ford smiles. “Got it”.

As Mabel splits away for Stan’s bedroom, Ford heads back out to the deck. Dipper’s leaning over the side of the boat pointing at something jumping out of the water, rambling excitedly to Stan beside him. He’s holding his fishing hat in his hand to stop it from blowing into the water, and his hair is bouncing in the breeze. It’s just enough for the edge of his birthmark to poke through his bangs, and even in broad daylight it seems to be emitting a faint glow.

“I found it!” Mabel cheers, bounding up from behind him. She’s wearing the chain around her neck, and for some reason the gold seems much dimmer in contrast to her sweater. She takes it off and hands it to him. “You wanna do the honors while I go and throw this overboard?”

Ford smiles, ruffling her hair. “Sure thing.” He walks over to where Stan and Dipper are chatting and picks up one of the extra fishing rods. Making sure that Stan’s too engrossed with his conversation to notice, Ford starts wrapping the chain along the line, and at the signal from Mabel, he tosses his line as far from the boat as he can manage.

Five minutes pass before Mabel squeals so loud that Ford’s afraid his glasses might shatter. He reaches for the gun he knows he’s got stashed in his pants pocket, but when he turns to run to her aid she’s leaning halfway over the boat wrapping her arms around a young merman in a tight hug.

“...so good to see you again!” She’s beaming. “I didn’t think you’d be able to find us so quickly!”

“Yes, well, you were easy to track down after we figured out the coordinates to the seaport” the young man says in a thick Spanish accent. “It is good to see you too! My family was so excited to meet you”

“Your family?” she gasps. “Did they all come with you?”

“Of course!” he grins. “We merpeople are very family oriented. Wherever we go, we go together”

Ford winces at the uncanny familiarity of the statement. Mabel must recognize the statement too, because she responds with “Oh, that reminds me! There’s someone I want you guys to meet! Wait right here,” she says, and comes bouncing back over to Ford. Taking his hand in her own, she starts to drag him back to where she’d just been leaning. “C’mon! He’s the one I was just talking about!”

Three more merpeople emerge from the water when she gently knocks on the side of the boat again. “Grunkle Ford, this is Mermando!” she grins, gesturing to the young merman she’d just been conversing with. “He’s the one I helped reunite with his family after they were separated by tragic circumstances.” She wraps her arms around Ford in a side-hug. “Mermando, this is my Grunkle Ford! He was also separated from his family by tragic circumstances, but I helped with that too!”

Mermando laughs. “Even when you think it’s the end, family always finds its way, doesn’t it?”

Ford laughs, shaking his hand. “It always seems that way to me”

“Awwww!” Mabel squeals. “I knew you’d get along!” She grins, and turns her attention back towards Mermando. “Before I forget, though, did you see where Grunkle Ford threw that gold necklace? If I don’t get it back my Grunkle Stan’s gonna kill me”

Mermando laughs again. “I was wondering if that belonged to any of you!” He takes off his shell necklace to reveal that he’d put Stan’s necklace on around his neck. He takes that off, too, and offers it to Ford. “I much prefer this one, anyway” he clicks his shell necklace open, revealing it to be a locket with a picture of his family inside.

Ford takes the gold necklace back, and he means to thank him, but a bell ringing from elsewhere in the port interrupts him before he can open his mouth. Mermando turns to Mabel, taking her hands in his own. “We must go. I’m so sorry we have to leave so soon, but we merpeople recognize the sounds of fishing boats very easily. We’ll try to come back later this week” He opens his arms for her once more, and Mabel wraps his arms around him in a quick hug before she watches him and his family swim away.

“I am so glad that all you were doing was hugging,” Dipper shudders as he and Stan approach Ford and Mabel. “I’m not sure my stomach could handle witnessing you two kissing a second time”

“Awww,” Mabel punches him playfully in the shoulder. “You’re just jealous that I had a boyfriend before you did!”

Dipper cringes. “If you having a boyfriend before I do means I didn’t have to be the one dating a fish, then I’m glad you were the one who got stuck with him first” He punches her back, and gestures at Stan over his shoulder with his thumb. “But anyways, I came over here because Grunkle Stan says he wants to get out on the open water before everyone else gets the idea, or something”.

Ford pockets Stan’s necklace and makes a mental note to put it away sometime later tonight when Stan is too distracted to notice. “Tell Stan I’m going to untie the rope from the edge of the dock, and when he sees me back on board we’re all set to go.”

Nodding, Dipper bounds off towards the navigation room where Stan must be waiting, and Ford steps off of the boat to take care of everything else. On the way to the bow, he traces a hand along the white painted STAN O’ WAR II, and a feeling of warmth sprouts in his chest. Once back on board, he waves to Stan as he passes besides the navigation room once more, and takes a seat on one of the beach chairs they liked to keep aboard.

Most days, Ford prefers to be the one at the wheel. But every once in a while he just wants to be. All he wants to do is lean back in one of their beach chairs and let the sun warm his face. It’s a good kind of warm, the same way spending time with the kids and heavy rain hitting his bedroom window and planning new escapades with Stan feel warm. After so, so long of only knowing unbearable burns, it feels indescribable to have a constant back in his life that heals, rather than hurts.

“Mind if we join you?” Dipper asks, and Ford glances over to see both of the young twins dragging a chair behind them.

Speaking of healing constants.

“Sure,” Ford says, and can’t help the warmth spilling through his tone. They pull their chairs up on either side of him, and curl up to enjoy the warm breeze. Dipper places his hat on his lap to let the wind blow through his hair, and Mabel stretches her arms out behind her head to act as her own pillow. Ford chuckles silently at the pair, and closes his eyes to let himself relax.

All is quiet when Stan finally finds them a spot out on the open water without a single other boat in sight. The water is nearly still, save for the occasional small wave that gently sways the boat. The sun is at its afternoon high, turning the water beautiful shades of teal and aqua. Fishing is tedious, but it’s careful work, and gives Ford something to put all of his focus into. Two whole hours pass before any of them catch a thing, and Stan laughs himself to tears when it’s Dipper who pulls up a single sardine.

Typically Ford prefers much more immersive activities, but right now there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. The sun is starting to set before they realize they aren’t going to have much luck catching anything, and instead decide to take the boat for another ride around the harbor to look for a better place to eventually watch the stars.

“...Great Uncle Ford?” Dipper approaches him shyly once they’ve anchored the boat.

“Yes?”

He tugs shyly at the edge of his sweater. “I…” he starts. “I know you’ve told me that the multiverse was dangerous, and all, but...was there ever anything you enjoyed about it?” He pauses. “What were the sunsets like?”

Ford chuckles, patting at the seat beside him, and Dipper’s eyes light up as he sits down.

“You’re right,” Ford starts, folding his hands together. “I wouldn’t wish what I went through on even my worst enemies, Dipper. It was practically impossible to get any decent amount of sleep and even harder to find food digestible by human kind. I lost some of my best years to the multiverse when I could’ve gone on to become the most renowned scientist in the world.” Ford turns his gaze away from the sun setting on the horizon to meet Dipper’s eyes, but he’s frowning, eyes cast downwards towards the deck of the ship.

“But,” Ford adds before the poor kid can get too lost in his own head, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It definitely had its perks.” He smiles. “The sun in Dimension 18.2 would emit a sound that mimicked a lullaby every night as it set. Dimension 47’23 had three moons that would shift phases before your very eyes. I haven’t told Mabel because I’m afraid she’ll try activating a portal of her own and run away, but in Dimension 25-12, everyone and everything looks like a watercolor painting. There’s danger in the multiverse, but there’s beauty in equal measure”

“Do you ever miss it?” Dipper fiddles with his hands, like he’s trying real hard not to say the wrong thing. “I mean, I know you don’t miss being lost, or having no idea if you’re ever going to see home again, but...is there any dimension...where you could’ve seen yourself staying, if you thought you couldn’t make it back?”

Ford shifts in his chair so he doesn’t have to twist his neck so much to look directly at his nephew. “Occasionally,” he muses. “I met the most friendly faces in Dimension 52, so my mind does tend to wander there from time to time” he smiles. “But rest assured, there is something in this dimension that makes it my favorite”

“Oh yeah?” Dipper’s eyes light up. “Over every other dimension you’ve passed through? What is it?”

Ford gently nudges Dipper’s shoulder. “You and your sister”

Dipper’s cheeks turn bright red, and he looks as though he’s struggling not to bury his face into the collar of his sweater and disappear. “Really?” his voice squeaks.

Ford nods. “Everything I had in those other dimensions were fleeting, Dipper. At a moment’s notice everything I grew to love could disappear in the blink of an eye. The very thing happened to me in Dimension 52. When I fell asleep, I woke up in a new dimension I didn’t recognize. Things may have been more advanced, and there may have been dimensions crafted to give you your greatest desires, but in the end nothing ever lasted.”

Now it’s Ford’s turn to divert Dipper’s eyes, gaze casting towards the floor. “Stan was cut from my life completely in the dimension that claimed to be a perfect world. I had nobody. Even in dimensions that actively worked towards my happiness, I was all alone” Ford shakes his head, and turns his gaze once more out on the horizon. The sun is still touching the horizon, but it’s dipped just low enough that some of the stars are beginning to show in the sky.

“But...here, at home, everything is consistent. I don’t have to worry about waking up in the morning to find that everyone I love is gone. I can keep everyone in arm’s lengths, even when Stan and I can only communicate with you and your sister over a video call. I’m…” Ford gently squeezes his hands to reassure himself that this is real and now. “...happy. Happier than I’ve been in decades”

Beside him, Dipper yawns, and when Ford spares a glance over at him he’s smiling at him sleepily. “We’re really happy you’re here too, Grunkle Ford” he murmurs, and his eyes slip closed. Ford’s cheeks flush pink, and he has to choke back a laugh because that’s one of the first times Dipper’s felt comfortable enough to call him Grunkle.

Ford stands, so as not to wake Dipper from his nap. A small glance to his right and he catches a glimpse of Stan and Mabel leaning against the side of the boat watching the sunset just outside of earshot of his current conversation with Dipper.

“You finally bore him to sleep with all your nerdy science talk?” Stan asks as he approaches, sparing a glance behind him at Dipper. “Was starting to think that the poor kid would never get a nap in”

“Yes, well,” Ford smirks. “I’m sure it helped plenty that you bored him to death by taking him fishing first”

Stan gasps in mock offense, and slugs him in the shoulder. “Hey, at least I’m engaging them in something they can actually interact with, unlike your kooky alien stories, or whatever”

Ford can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Bold statement coming from the man who dedicated thirty years of his life rescuing me from said kooky aliens” he says, returning with a punch of his own. Stan opens his mouth to argue back, realizes he has nothing to say, and closes his mouth. The sight of it makes Ford laugh even harder, keeling over and slapping a hand on Stan’s shoulder to support himself. It must be contagious, because it’s not long before Stan is laughing too.

Ford removes his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes, and cleans off the lenses with the edge of his sweater. Once his eyes adjust after he puts them back on, his throat nearly catches in his throat when he glances back out towards the water. He’s just able to catch a shooting star before it disappears over the horizon, and the boat’s just far out enough on the water that there isn’t an ounce of light pollution obscuring the rest of the stars in the sky. He takes a few steps back so he can look up and admire more of them at once, and if he looks close enough he can see them twinkling.

Before he can ask the others if they’re seeing the same thing, a bright flash of light coming from somewhere on the boat cuts into his thoughts. He turns, to make sure that none of the lights in any of the rooms are on, but no, they’d turned those off when they’d started fishing. Scratching at his head, he turns to Stan and Mabel to ask if they have any idea where the light is coming from, but that question catches in its throat as quickly as it formulated.

They’re the ones emitting light.

Or, rather, Mabel’s sweater and Stan’s shoulder, approximately where his burn scar should be. Those are emitting light.

...Surely it must just be the reflection of the starlight on the water, right? That same bright light must have woken Dipper from his nap, yes?

He turns heel to ask Dipper the same question, but freezes in his tracks before he can take a single step forward. Dipper’s forehead is glowing too, the same way it has since he and Stan docked the boat this morning.

It...It can’t be, can it?

Gripping his forehead, Ford takes a number of steps backwards until his back hits the wall. Maybe...maybe he just needs to call it a night. He’s been awake since sunrise, maybe his vision is just blurring because he needs to lie down?

He waves his hands in front of his face, but no, those don’t look any different. He squints, to make sure his hands aren’t shaking, but no, they’re perfectly still.

He squints at Stan and Mabel, just to try and see if his eyes are watering, and-

He gasps.

Mabel’s sweater, Dipper’s forehead, Stan’s shoulder; they’re not glowing; they’re twinkling like the stars. It was hard to tell in broad daylight, but now that they’re surrounded by a thousand shining stars, the resemblance is unmistakable.

But...that’s not possible. If he can see them twinkling, but none of them have said anything about it, that could only be if those were…

...soulmarks.

Ford suddenly feels like he’s going to pass out.

He slides to the floor.

Is...Is that even possible? Ford thought for sure that study he read years ago was nothing but a joke. Someone...who does everything in their power to bring you two together, no matter the cost? Someone who, even though you may not meet for decades, will feel as though you’ve known each other their entire lives? Someone who will do anything for you, no matter the personal expense?

Someone...someone like Stan, who spent a painstaking thirty years teaching himself quantum physics to rescue someone that anyone else would assume dead? The man who sacrificed his very mind, his very life, so he could be spared physical torture?

Or...someone like Mabel, the first friendly face he saw after emerging from the portal? The one who forgave him so easily after he tried to separate her from her brother? The one who insists on calling him a good person, despite all of those he knows he hurt?

Or...Dipper? His kindred spirit in all things supernatural? The one who, alongside his sister, sacrificed himself as bait for the most dangerous being in the entire multiverse? Who saw memories of him at his very worst, and apologized to him for snooping?

After everything he’s been through...could things really work out that well in his favor? To not have one soulmate but three, and the guarantee that they’ll never leave, because they’ve already expressed how they love him so?

There’s a tear streaming down his cheek at the thought, but he’s too distracted by a fourth light suddenly emitting from...himself to really notice.

He spares a cautious glance downward, and notices a pulsing light emerging from his chest in perfect time with his heartbeat. If he looks closely, he notices that the light travels down his arms and ties itself into a translucent bow around his fingers. If he looks closer still, the light looks as though it’s slinking faintly across the deck of the boat and reaching towards the gentle twinkling of Stan and Mabel’s marks.

Ford places a hand to his forehead, throws his head back, and laughs his throat dry, paying no mind to the tears pouring down his face.

#gravity falls #my writing #syd #cool kid squad 2.0 #ILYSM FRIEND

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smells-like-mettaton · 3 years

Link

Rating: G

Summary: Papyrus's New Year's resolutions include: trying new fashion choices, helping his brother talk about his feelings, keeping his friends from murdering each other over Monopoly, and admitting his crush on Mettaton.

Word Count: 4333

XXX

“Hmmm… I feel a little… nervous.” Papyrus tugged at the end of his shirt. His very long, very tight shirt. That aspect felt more embarrassing than the fact that Mettaton’s face was cross-stitched into it. “This outfit is very different from my battle body.”

Sans blinked. His grin stayed tight, but still not as tight as this strange shirt. The red-and-pink fabric clung to the invisible magic that filled out his form. His usual crop tops covered just his ribcage, but this full-length shirt… it showed his abs. A full six pack of them. It was weird.

Of course, he knew that if he had physical muscles, he would surely have such a buff physique. A skeleton’s clothed form was based on their perception of their true self, after all. Sans was lazy and round. Papyrus trained daily, and his magic chiseled his form to show it.

He just hoped he didn’t look too chiseled. He didn’t want to intimidate anyone with his handsome figure. Though… perhaps a certain robot wouldn’t mind...

“You don’t have to wear it, bro. I’m sure the bucket of bolts will understand.”

No. No, the ‘bucket of bolts,” the fabulous Mettaton himself, would not understand. He would wonder why Papyrus didn’t wear his Christmas gift to the New Year’s Eve party. And then Mettaton would never believe how much Papyrus cared for him…

“No! Change can be refreshing. New year, new fashion! Yeah!!!”

“...Alright.” Sans shrugged.

He wouldn’t understand. He was wearing the same dingey hoodie he’d worn every day in the underground. At least it smelled a little better now that Toriel was around to occasionally wrangle it off of him and throw it in the wash. (Sans always complained, but Papyrus had caught him sniffing it and smiling dreamily each time.)

“You could stand to freshen up too, you know! Don’t you want to impress Miss Toriel? HMM??”

He elbowed his brother in the ribs (nyeh heh) but it wasn’t as effective as usual. This shirt had long sleeves, which left Papyrus’s arms looking more filled-out than in his battle body. And thus, his elbow had less boney-nudging power.

“Hey. Don’t try to jack-et up my style. ‘Sides, if Tori didn’t like the hoodie, it hood have ended up in the garbage ages ago.”

“Oh my gosh!!! Both of you belong in the garbage then!”

“Only if you’re there too, bro.” Sans winked. “Come on, I think we’re late enough to make an entrance. I know a—”

“Geez, Sans, I know you can teleport. You don’t have to be dramatic about it!”

Sans’s browbones scrunched. “You really are nervous, huh? It’s gonna be fine, bro. You’re gonna knock that robot’s socks off. Y’know, if he had socks.”

Sweat beaded on Papyrus’s forehead. He wasn’t surprised that Sans had guessed the source of his anxiety, but that didn’t mean he had to admit it.

“N-no I’m not nervous! It’s just… hot in here! Let’s take that shortcut and hope that Miss Toriel has been banned from the celebratory cider!”

“Yeah, it’d be a shame to have to lock her in her own garage this time…”

Sans casually slipped his arm through Papyrus’s and led them towards the bathroom. Of course, when Papyrus blinked at the entryway, they were suddenly walking through the tall doorframe into Toriel’s living room.

It wasn’t covered in Mew Mew- or Mettaton-bits. That was a good sign—Papyrus would’ve hated to miss a live chainsaw fight again. At the Gyftmas party, he’d been too busy wrangling Toriel to watch.

Sound always took a second to catch up with Sans’s shortcuts, so Papyrus felt Undyne’s smack on his back before he heard her.

“ACK!” He jumped before attempting to cover it with a cough. Undyne laughed.

“Dude, I know you don’t have to breathe! You can’t fool me!”

“It was a courtesy scream! Of greeting! Because I know how much you love to be intimidating!!”

“Heck yeah I do! Thanks, Papyrus!” She slugged him again for good measure, this time on the shoulder. It felt weird, with his bones covered in layers of protective magic and fabric. “Lookin’ good, by the way! I haven’t seen you in a full shirt in… geez, has it been a year? I almost didn’t recognize you!”

He tugged at his collar, though it wouldn’t keep him from sweating. Toriel kept her house cool, at least. Probably because she was covered in fur.

“I know, I know. It still feels unseemly for a royal mascot to be seen out of uniform…”

“Nah, it’s all good! I’m sure all the monsters with two good eyes won’t have a problem recognizing the Great Papyrus.”

He felt his cheeks warm. “Nyeh heh... heh… so it doesn’t look weird? Sans said it was fine, but you know Sans… he only wears the same smelly outfit, day in and day out! I can’t trust his fashion sense.”

“Then trust me. I practically invented fashion! Like, if you replaced Mettaton’s face with… a spear! Or an anime princess with a sword! IT WOULD INSPIRE FEAR INTO THE HEARTS OF YOUR ENEMIES!”

Papyrus hunched his shoulders and scratched the back of his neck. At least the shirt didn’t have a high collar, so he could still feel the tips of his vertebrae.

“I’m not sure fear is the emotion I am going for. Perhaps… grandeur? Or even… admiration??” His skull heated a bit more. Oh, he hoped his cheekbones weren’t stained pink. He hadn’t intended to keep his feelings from his best friend… but Undyne and Mettaton butted heads so often. He just wanted everyone to be friends!

Especially his best friend and the robot he maybe-sort-of had a crush on!

Undyne took a step back, squinting at him with her one good eye. Darn it, she was so perceptive!

“B-but I didn’t say it was romantic admiration!” Papyrus clarified. “It is—”

“OH MY GOSH!!” Undyne interrupted, her voice echoing over the human program Toriel had on TV. “YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON—?”

“SHHHH!” He slapped her hands over her mouth. She batted at them with her face-fins, her muffled shouting seeping through his gloves.

Eventually she quieted. Probably because the whole room was staring at them. Sans and Toriel on the couch, Frisk squished between them. Flowey on the windowsill, leaves crossed and faking disinterest. Alphys with wide eyes, as if predicting what Undyne was about to shout. And Napstablook, Mew Mew, and…

Mettaton.

Papyrus didn’t need to gulp. He did anyway.

“DARLING!” Mettaton spread his arms wide as he strutted towards Papyrus. His heeled boots somehow made a loud CLICK-CLICK-CLICK, even though the living room’s floor was carpeted. “Oh, you look wonderful! Positively ravishing!”

He stopped at arms’ length, then scanned Papyrus up and down. It felt like his robot vision could see right through him. Not that there was much to see—just normal bones. It was still rattling regardless.

“Th-thank you! The Great Papyrus strives to always be ready to be ravished!”

Sans spit out his drink. Thankfully it was just water, and not anything more intoxicating. With Frisk present, adult drinks would be off-limits.

But it still left a puddle on the floor, and wet bubbles gurgling out of Sans’s eyesockets.

“Oh dear.” Toriel bit back a giggle. “Frisk, do you mind getting your dunkle a towel?”

Frisk nodded eagerly, shooting Papyrus a wink before scampering off to the kitchen. Double dang it. Even Frisk could see right through him! Of course, Frisk was a master of flirtation, even if none of it had wooed Papyrus in the end. Perhaps the child could help him… if he survived this current encounter.

He straightened his spine. He was the Great Papyrus, and he would not be intimidated by a soul-fluttering crush.

“I um—I mean—”

Undyne pushed in front of him before he could come up with a super-effective conversation saver.

“Dude, you got Papyrus a shirt with your face on it? Why didn’t you pick out something cool?”

“Please.” Mettaton snorted, even though he also didn’t need to breathe. (They had so much in common!!) “You’d have me embroider your human cartoons instead, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh, YEAH!” Undyne was one of the few monsters who could almost match Mettaton in height, and she made use of that fact. Their noses—er, Mettaton’s nose and where Undyne’s nose would be—were nearly touching. Papyrus wished that meant they were about to hug and make up, but Undyne always kept her friends close and her enemies closer. She’d be more likely to strangle the robot than hug him.

Alphys hovered near her girlfriend, but her stammering was too quiet to break up the intense glare-off. That was too bad; Alphys was the one person who was beloved by both Undyne and Mettaton.

“You care about Papyrus, right? Don’t you want him to look as cool as possible?” Undyne continued.

“Of course I do.” Mettaton nudged her back with one gloved finger. “Papyrus is the very epitome of cool. And thus, the only accessory that could possibly accentuate his natural style is my face.”

Papyrus blinked. Maybe Alphys wasn’t the only person Undyne and Mettaton both respected.

“WOWIE!! You… think I’m that cool?”

“Oh, don’t sound so surprised, darling. I don’t cross-stitch for just anyone.” Mettaton winked—or maybe it was just a blink; his bangs covered the other half of his face—and then turned on his heel. “You may join Mew Mew, Blooky, and I in the kitchen if you’d like. Mew is absolutely desperate to be crushed at Monopoly.”

“HEY! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S GONNA GET CRUSHED, METTA-LOSER!”

Mettaton rolled his eyes. “Seriously. What is the point of an insult if it doesn’t include at least one clever pun? No class whatsoever.”

“Exactly!” Papyrus agreed.

“Hey, Me and Al want in on some metal butt crushing!” Undyne bent down and seized her girlfriend in a headlock, making Alphys’s face burn red. Papyrus wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or lack of oxygen, since that was her natural state around Undyne anyway.

“W-well, a-as long as all c-crushing is metaphorical…”

“Darling, the only Metta-phorical thing at this party is me.”

“UGH!! Papyrus, how can you hate Sans’s puns and put up with this?” Undyne threw her arms in the air, which had the side effect of releasing Alphys. “Come on, babe, I’m gonna need you to come up with our battle strategy!”

“Umm, you do know that Monopoly isn’t a fighting game, right…?”

Mettaton, Undyne, and Alphys all trailed into the kitchen with various levels of excitement. Papyrus was about to follow them when he caught Sans staring again.

Frisk was wiping his face with a snail-embroidered dish towel. His brother didn’t even blink, and his eyelights had gone oddly dim.

“Brother? Are you alright?” Papyrus leaned over the armrest and said in as quiet a voice as he could manage. “Did you want to play Monopoly too? You can be on my team!”

“Nah, it’s all good. I think Tori, Frisk, and I are gonna play Uno. It’s a lot easier for a lazybones like me.” He winked, but Papyrus wasn’t fooled.

“Sans. You made a New Year’s resolution to be more honest about your feelings. As is the time-honored tradition, you must keep your promise or risk a year’s worth of bad luck!”

Toriel and Frisk shared a glance. Had they seriously not heard of this tradition? Frisk had an excuse, being both a human and a child, but Toriel was hundreds of years old!

“Uh. Bro. I didn’t make any kinda resolution like that.”

“I know! You were too busy boondoggling, so I made it for you!” Papyrus grinned. “It’s already written on the refrigerator at home, so don’t even try to get out of it.”

Sans let out a long breath through his nasal cavity. His smile looked strained.

“Alright. You’re always better at comin’ up with that kinda stuff than me, anyway. But it’s no big deal this time. Really. I’ll tell ya after your Monopoly game.”

Papyrus’s browbone furrowed. “Okay… but Toriel and Frisk are my witnesses! You can’t wriggle out of it this time!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, bro.”

After one last knowing look, Papyrus left him in the living room. Perhaps he just wanted some alone time with Toriel, but that look… it had definitely been focused on Papyrus. He wasn’t so smitten by Mettaton’s charms to ignore that.

But Papyrus trusted his brother. And he trusted his own ability to pin Sans down by his gross hoodie until he got answers, if necessary.

“I hope you guys saved me the car!” Papyrus called as he plopped down at the kitchen table.

The empty seat just happened to be next to Mettaton. Had Undyne been wingmanning… (wingwomaning… finwomaning…?) for him already? Maybe he should’ve revealed his crush earlier. Her letter had managed to woo Alphys, after all.

“Oh no…” Napstablook said quietly. “We, umm, didn’t bring that Monopoly…”

“We brought Monster Monopoly!” Mew Mew brushed her hair out of her face with a paw. “It’s way cooler, mew~”

“It’s, umm, a-actually… Pocket Monster Monopoly, if we’re being specific,” Alphys said from her spot in Undyne’s lap.

“POKEMON!” Undyne grinned. “You remember watching Pokemon with me and Al, right, Papyrus? There was the epic fight between the Charizards, and then there was the lab that got Alphys all spooked, and then Ash got turned into a rock and you started crying—”

“I remember!” Papyrus cut her off. Not because he was embarrassed—it had been perfectly reasonable to cry when the human was resurrected by the love of the strange monsters. But Alphys might not want to think about the anime lab that had been reminiscent of her old home.

“Great! Then pick your mon!” Undyne reached around Alphys to push the two remaining pieces towards him.

One was an orange lizard Pokemon with flames on its tail. Was that Charizard? Papyrus had expected Undyne to pick that one, but she’d chosen a blue turtle-looking Pokemon with canons coming from its back. Alphys had presumably let her pick, or else they would’ve had the round pink Pokemon. Mettaton had chosen that one, and was cooing it it as he balanced it on his fingertip.

The other available option was Pikachu. Everyone liked Pikachu. Papyrus set that figure on the starting square.

“Excellent choice, darling. Now it’s time for the real show!”

The real show turned out to be a three-hour long battle royale. Despite Alphys’s insistence that Monopoly wasn’t a fighting game, the board game was interrupted by three and a half chainsaw battles. Two of those were stopped by Toriel entering with slices of pie and fistfuls of fire magic, respectively. The other two were settled by Sans distracting Mettaton with bad puns, and flashing his blue eye socket. Drama queen. It worked though, startling Mettaton and Mew Mew into calling a draw.

“Not that it matters, since Al and I are winning anyway!” Undyne grinned, stacking her paper cash into a tall tower. “I’d like to see your MTT-brand resort come back from that!”

It was true. If anything, Mettaton and Mew Mew were battling for last place. Each of them only held a few mortgaged properties to their name, while Team Shellshock (as Undyne named her and Alphys’s duo) had racked up monopolies on the two highest-priced sides of the board. Napstablook had owned the two purple spaces at the beginning of the board, until all the fighting drove them to vanish into the ground. They later reappeared the living room, chatting quietly with Toriel, Frisk, and Sans, and occasionally calling out “Oooo-no.” Papyrus wondered how he was playing the card game with no arms.

Papyrus himself was rather satisfied with owning the orange properties before Free Parking. His stacks of houses caught the other players as they escaped from jail. Plus, Tangela and Victreebel were rather cute.

“Do you hear her, Papyrus?” Mettaton raised the back of his hand to his forehead and leaned dramatically into Papyrus’s space. “Insulting my brand when she hasn’t even had the nerve to duel me! Of course, I would have to show her mercy, on account of her being Alphys’s one true love.”

“You? Show ME mercy??” Undyne stood abruptly, accidentally dumping Alphys onto the floor. “Oh, uh. Sorry babe.”

“I’m used to it…” Alphys muttered. “Maybe I should just stay down here…”

“No! No more fighting! The Great Papyrus will not allow this lighthearted board game to devolve into yet another brawl!” Besides, he really did not want to find out what Sans would do if the others caused any more damage to Toriel’s house. The scorch marks on the tile would already take hours to buff out.

“Very well, darling. I’ve showed off all of my moves for the night, anyway. I wouldn’t want to let my performance go stale.”

“Oh, like it wasn’t stale to begin with,” Mew Mew said. Mettaton glared at her before—to Papyrus’s surprise—the robot rested his head on Papyrus’s shoulder.

“Wake me up when Mew comes up with some more original material.” His metallic eyelids slid closed.

“It’s Mewtwo to you, bolts for brains!” Mew Mew pointed to her character, the purple Pokemon from the movie.

She’d landed on Alphys and Undyne’s Nidoking space again, but neither of the girls seemed to notice. Undyne because she was busy snapping a not-so-discreet photo of Mettaton on Papyrus’s shoulder, and Alphys because she was still under the table.

In response, Mettaton just started emitting tiny Zs. Papyrus was careful not to move and possibly disturb him, even though his bones wanted to rattle with nervous energy. No one had ever slept on his shoulder before, let alone a handsome robot. Normally he was simply too bony to be comfortable.

Maybe this new shirt would have to become a permanent part of his wardrobe.

“Enough. ENOUGH. ENOUGH!!! I refuse to play under these conditions any longer!!” Mew Mew shoved herself back from the table. Her tail lashed back and forth, and the bells in her hair jingled angrily.

“Mewtwo—” Papyrus called, but she was already in the living room, opening the door to leave. He sighed. Why was it so difficult to be friends with everyone…?

“Oh! Uh, h-hi, Asgore!” Mew Mew’s voice was suddenly respectful.

Asgore? Papyrus had thought he wasn’t invited, since the party was at Toriel’s house. He tried to crane his neck to check on Miss Toriel, but couldn’t turn far enough with Mettaton’s weight on him. Well, Sans and Frisk would surely be there with her. Hopefully with enough moral support, the two Dreemurrs could get along.

If not, they probably couldn’t do much more damage than Mew Mew and Mettaton already had with their chainsaws.

“He made it!” Undyne grinned toothily before throwing Alphys over her shoulder and jogging to join them in the living room.

Which left only Papyrus and Mettaton in the kitchen. Alone.

Stars, he hoped Mettaton couldn’t tell how sweaty he was.

“Finally,” Mettaton murmured, wrapping his arm around Papyrus’s not-bicep. “As much as I adore the spotlight, every star needs a moment to regain their shine.”

Papyrus blinked. Mettaton’s fingers tap-tap-tapped over his sleeve, a rhythm that was both comforting and baffling. What was he doing? Had he been faking sleep this whole time?

“I… are you alright, Mettaton?” He settled for asking.

“Oh my. I am being awfully forward, aren’t I?” He let go of Papyrus’s arm, but still left his head resting on his shoulder. His dark hair obscured his eyes from Papyrus’s angle. “This… isn’t something I’m used to, you know.”

Papyrus cleared his throat. “I, the Great Papyrus, know many things! But you will have to be more specific.”

Mettaton chuckled. “Very well. I am not used to cuddling with such a sweet, sincere, and devilishly handsome skeleton.”

His jaw dropped. Literally. It clinked off of Mettaton’s shoulder and landed in Papyrus’s lap. He had to reattach it before he could ask the question that pounded in his soul.

“Are you… flirting with me?” He didn’t have his dating handbook with him! Or a plate of emergency spaghetti!! How was he supposed to secure Mettaton’s affections??

Though… Mettaton seemed affectionate enough already, without any of those things. Could it be… that he just liked him?

“Finally! I made a bet with Alphys on how long it would take you to notice. The suspense was absolutely killing me, darling. You do know how to create dramatic tension.”

“Mettaton.” Papyrus scooted his chair back, leaving him space to grip Mettaton’s spiked shoulders. “You… like me? Romantically??”

Mettaton’s smoulder looked a little less confident than usual. “Is that so surprising? You’re the only one who shines as brightly as me. Your energy… your passion… you give one hundred percent to everything you put your mind to. That’s what makes a true star, darling.”

“Wowie…” Papyrus breathed. His head felt like it was spinning. Of course Mettaton, being an actor, would be good with words, but… these ones felt sincere. “Would you like to… maybe… go on a date??”

The robot blinked before shooting his signature dazzling smile. “I thought you’d never ask, darling.”

“Are you two done flirting?”

Papyrus jumped at Frisk’s voice. Their head had poked through the entrance of the kitchen.

“Of course not! I, the Great Papyrus, have barely begun flirting!” He puffed out his chest, and Mettaton laughed.

“Fabulous! That’s the confidence I want to hear! It’s no wonder you were able to help Alphys.” Mettaton’s smile softened. It was something Papyrus had never seen before, something that had certainly never been captured on film or broadcast on television. He would like to save that smile forever, if he could. “I must thank you for that, by the way. I… haven’t always been the greatest friend to her. But you were able to do for her what I should have. She has positively sparkled since your self-confidence lessons.”

“I am glad to hear it! Alphys is a wonderful friend, and she deserves to feel wonderful about herself!” He beamed.

“Keep flirting if you want, but you’re gonna miss the ball drop,” Frisk called again, and then their messy brown hair disappeared back into the living room.

“It can’t be that spectacular,” Mettaton scoffed, though he hadn’t stopped smiling. “Now, if I were swinging in on the disco ball… now that would be a way to ring in the new year!”

“We’ll have to plan that for next year! I can’t wait to build a giant disco ball. It will be just like building a puzzle… but spherical! Nyeh heh heh!!”

“I’ll be looking forward to it, darling.”

And then, before Papyrus could blink, Mettaton gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Warmth pulsed through his bones, even though Mettaton’s metal lips were cold.

“Nyeh! Heh!! Heh???” He melted back into his chair with a hysterical giggle. He could see the appeal of Sans’s hoodie now. It would be nice to have a hood to hide his blush in.

But Mettaton was giggling too. The sound mixed with the cheers from the living room as the clock struck midnight.

“Happy new year, darling.” Mettaton winked.

“Happy new year!” Papyrus pulled him into a hug that probably would’ve crushed someone not made of metal. But Mettaton was, so everything was fine. “Have you regained your shine now?”

Mettaton squeezed him back. “Oh yes. I definitely have.”

XXX

“Some party, huh?” Sans yawned when they arrived home hours after midnight. It was a miracle he’d stayed awake this long. He’d even helped Toriel clean up, despite leaving Papyrus to clear the mess from his holiday party last week. Sans definitely had it bad, but at least Toriel was a good influence on him.

“It certainly was!” Papyrus beamed. “I’m sorry I did not spend much of it with you.”

“‘S alright. Frisk filled me in on everything.” Sans winked. “I gotta admit, I was worried at first, but I’m happy for ya.”

“Worried?” Papyrus squinted. “Wait… is that why you were acting weird earlier? I thought it might be about Miss Toriel.”

He chuckled. “Not this time, bro. You, uh… I don’t want you to think I don’t believe in ya, because I do. If anyone could get a superstar boyfriend, it would be you.”

Papyrus’s face warmed. He wasn’t sure that Mettaton was his boyfriend yet, but… he could be! Eventually!! The thought was nearly enough to make him see stars.

“But, uh, I just didn’t want him to lead you on.” He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “I’m glad he’s head over stiletto heels for you too.”

“Awww!” Papyrus squeezed his brother’s shoulders with one arm, the other grinding his knuckles against his skull.

“Hey, hey.” Sans pretended to struggle, but he was laughing. “Watch the skull. These things bone’t grow on trees.”

That pun was absolutely horrible, but Papyrus elected to ignore it for now.

“Thank you for caring, Sans. And thank you even more for not scaring him away.”

“Me? Scare anyone? You must be thinking of a different Sans. That would take way too much energy.”

“Oh, you can’t play innocent with me! You were going to give Mew Mew and Mettaton a bad time if they broke Toriel’s dining table!”

Sans’s eye sockets widened, as if he’d already forgotten about breaking up the fourth chainsaw fight.

“Heh. Nah, all I had to do was spook ‘em a little.”

“Spooking and scaring are synonyms, brother!”

“But I didn’t scare him away. In fact, I think I scared him towards ya.” He winked again. “You’re welcome, bro.”

Papyrus just shook his head and let out a soft nyeh-heh-heh. By the time he blinked, Sans had disappeared, probably shortcutting himself to his bedroom. It was rather late, even for Papyrus.

He flopped in his bed, still in his long-sleeved MTT-brand shirt, and dreamt of the fond memories to be made in the new year.

#undertale #papyton #papyrus #mettaton #papyrus & undyne #fic tag #tali writes

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monaisme · 3 years

Text

One Week Later - Chapter One

This is the sequel to my one-shot, “The Battle”

He had drifted in and out of the consciousness for the first five days-- which he guessed, after the fact, had been a blessing.

His transformation, which had taken three days the first time 'round, still hadn't quite finished seven days later.

He was trying to be patient but, well, it would’ve been nice to sleep all the way through to the end. It seemed he was destined to suffer fits and jags of pain and spontaneous naps to recover from them. It hurt... and it sucked.

Dr. Cho couldn't be 100% certain as she hadn't been around after the bite, but she'd felt safe in assuming that the prolonged change had to do with all of Peter's injuries from both Titan all those years ago and the battle in Upstate New York. The concussion had been pretty significant, according to the doctor. Multiple scans had been taken to keep track of that healing, seeing as he'd been so out of it from the worst of the fever. The broken ribs still had a ways to go towards knitting back together but he could inhale just a little deeper before it hurt so that was a win. And there was no need for stitches for the deeper stab wounds—Mr. Stark’s nanoparticles were taking care of that. The dislocated shoulder, however, still required surgery.

Correction. Another surgery. Peter looked up at the clock on the wall... in about thirty minutes.

Arthroscopic surgery had apparently been performed on the second day after the battle, once all of the other wounded had been tended to, not that Peter remembered much from those first five days. Tendons and cartilage had been damaged to the point that Dr. Cho was certain it needed intervention so she'd done her medical magic per Spider-Man protocols, being as non-invasive as possible, knowing that Peter's body could do the rest-- except that it hadn't.

It had been quite the gong show, in fact—his fever had spiked along with his blood pressure and all sorts of bad things had Dr. Cho plus Mr. Stark and all the rest worried out of their minds.

... but he was definitely on the mend now.

Really.

Peter fussed at his hospital gown nervously and wondered, not for the first time, if maybe he still had some dust stuck somewhere in him-- gumming up the works like Uncle Ben used to say when their old '97 Pontiac Firefly would stall again and again and again-- or something like that. He couldn't be sure, but yeah, he was definitely curious about it.

"Knock, knock!" The rapping of knuckles against the door frame pulled Peter from his commiserating. "Guess what surprise the most super-amazing best mentor on the planet got for his currently boo-booed Spider-mentee?" Mr. Stark grinned big and slid into the med bay room.

Peter tried to think of something he’d wanted, then brightened immediately as hope flared. He looked to the man and then at the doorway Mr. Stark had just vacated. "Is May here?!" He asked eagerly. He repressed the flinch of pain as he struggled to sit up in the bed. "Did Dr. Strange finally get May here? May?!" He called out.

Peter was too busy trying to look around Mr. Stark to notice the look of regret flashing across his face before he could school it into something more sympathetic. “I’m sorry, kid.” He stepped up to the bed and moved to help Peter lay back down. “I should have been more thoughtful.“ He pulled the blankets back up to the boy’s neck and tucked him in tight. “One of the wizards was willing to make a pit stop and grabbed you a sandwich from Delmar’s before coming back to Wakanda. It came back hot so I’ve got it hiding away in one of the kitchen’s fancy stasis units and is ready for you as soon as you get the all clear from Dr. Cho to eat after they take care of...” Mr. Stark waved toward Peter’s shoulder, “that.”

Peter flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I just thought that...” He trailed off, and sighed. “It’s not that I’m not grateful, Mr. Stark, I promise! It’s just that everyone else has family being brought over and I’m sure that everyone is really busy, I only hoped that...” His eyes glistened with tears he was trying so hard to not let fall. He used his arm to brush the wetness away. “I’m just being a baby. Sorry.”

He had tried to tamp down the jealousy he’d felt when Mr. Barton had popped by to introduce himself properly and had gushed about how amazing it was to see his wife and kids after the last five years—not that he could wrap his brain around that bit of information yet, but still—

Where was May?

Mr. Stark interrupted his wandering thoughts with the brushing of his hand against Peter’s cheek. “You’re not being a baby, so stop talking that way. You’re allowed to miss her, and once this is all over and you get the all clear to leave the med bay, we’ll get you to our temporary quarters so you can have a good, long video call with her, okay?” Mr. Stark moved to run his fingers through Peter’s hair, then leaned forward, “Don’t tell anyone I said this,” He whispered conspiratorially, “But the tech here is incredible. When everything is settled, we may need to set up a play date between you and Shuri.” He gave a wink and straightened up as he noticed one of the nurses enter the room with a rolling cart full of medical supplies.

The nurse smiled kindly at the two heroes and then focused on Peter. “I’m glad that you’re awake. Dr. Cho has asked me to get final prep out of the way.” She snapped on a pair of gloves and starting pulling out supplies for an IV. “She’d prefer a new line so we can keep you on the IV nutrients during the procedure,” She assessed his still slinged arm, then moved down the bed to uncover his leg. “I think we’ll do a little reorganizing so we can just get this done quickly and be off. The surgical suite is ready for you, so if you’re good, we can get this show on the road and get you on the mend.”

Peter blanched and looked to Mr. Stark with sheer terror on his face. Being unconscious and having surgery was easy, this was a whole other kettle of fish. “Um...” He struggled to not panic. “Mr. Stark?” His breathing started to pick up.

Both the nurse and Mr. Stark picked up on the cues right away. Mr. Stark grabbed the boy’s good hand in support and gave the nurse a quick look. She backed out of the room without another word and closed the door behind her.

“Hey, hey, kiddo. You’re okay,” Mr. Stark soothed. “Why don’t you take a deep breath me, yeah?” He pulled in an exaggerated breath. “In...” and then blew it out with just as much effort. “... and out.”

Peter tried, then flinched, grunted, and then shifted to try and relieve the pain that flared in his ribs even as his anxiety ramped up and he struggled to catch his breath.

“Oh, shit! Sorry, sweetheart. Sorry!” His hands fluttered around Peter, trying to find something to fix. Mr. Stark looked to be on the edge of his own panic attack but Peter could do nothing. Then Mr. Stark lit up as he apparently came up with another idea. “Okay, kid, this is gonna seem weird, but let’s keep those breaths quick and short, okay?” And then the man was demonstrating, “He-he-he-he-hooo. He-he-he-he-hooo.” Mr. Stark squeezed Peter’s hand in assurance.

Peter tried to emulate him, and after a couple of minutes of lost rhythms and wiped away tears, Peter was calm enough that he felt safe speaking again, “Sorry, Mr. Stark, I...” He dried he cheeks again, “I don’t know where that came from. “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve had to have something fixed and all... I just...”

Mr. Stark smiled down fondly at the boy, “Maybe not, but you’re far from home and your hot aunt isn’t down the hall waiting to chew you out for doing something stupid enough to require surgery—and honestly, we’ve had a pretty shitty week, if you don’t mind my saying. I mean, I’ll be forever grateful that you’re back,” and Mr. Stark leaned over to plant a big ol’ kiss on Peter’s forehead as he said it, “but we fought a literal battle over my demolished compound, you were gone for five years, you were hurt, your powers are out of whack, you are currently situated on a different continent altogether, and the world doesn’t seem to remember that we deserve a little down time after battling for the fate of half a universe.” He ran his fingers through Peter’s hair. “We’re allowed to be stressed, and if it comes out in a pre-surgery freak-out, then so be it.”

Peter chuckled, being mindful of his ribs. “Yeah, I guess. And—um, thanks, by the way for the, uh... the breathing thing.” He was confused though, “Can I ask a dumb question? Was that a breathing exercise for women in labor?”

A blush tinged Mr. Stark’s cheeks and he rubbed at the back of his neck in apparent discomfort. “Yeah, Pete, it is, but it worked so no teasin’ the old man about it, got it?!” He pointed a finger at the boy in the bed. “You were hurting and I couldn’t think of anything to help with the broken ribs and all. Short breaths made sense and it just came to me.” He laughed low to himself, “I think it was pretty ingenious, if you ask me.”

Peter blushed, himself. “I guess it was. I’m curious to know how you’d know—“

A knock on the door interrupted his question. “Hello?” Dr. Cho opened the door and peeked her head into the room. “I’m sorry for intruding, but we’ve only got the surgical suite and staff for an allotted period of time and...“ She trailed off.

Mr. Stark looked at Peter, cocking an eyebrow in question.

Peter hesitated, then nodded ‘yes.’

Mr. Stark smiled at him then gave his still gripped hand another assuring squeeze. “He’s good to go, Helen.” He finally looked towards the doctor. “But you’ve got to hurry this up. The kid has a date with the #5—extra pickles and squished really flat, and we’d like to get that to him before someone in the kitchen realizes we’re hiding the best sandwich in Queens and absconds with it.”

Peter snort-laughed then closed his eyes to the nurse as she re-entered the room to do her prep. He didn’t want to be rude, he just couldn’t...

Ah, shit! He knew it was coming before it hit, and then—

She waited patiently for him as the pain zinged up his spine, causing him to arch off the bed and whimper as he waited for the episode to pass. She simply stepped away from the bed so Mr. Stark could come close enough to whisper words of encouragement.

“You’ve got this, kid.”

“It’s gonna pass.”

“I’m so, so sorry...”

This episode lasted only a few minutes, but it left Peter exhausted, like always. After taking a second to pull himself together, he gave the nurse the go ahead with a nod and closed his eyes again—trying to ignore the sounds of movement and the poking and prodding at his foot.

“A little pinch.” The nurse whispered, and then there was more than a little pinch, but the second line was in. “Good job.” On what, he didn’t know, but it was done and Peter worked to keep himself from jumping off the table.

Dr. Cho came to his bedside again, “Well, Peter, I’m hoping that we can get everything sorted this last time and give your transformation a chance to finish the job without having to worry about all of this extra work.” She winked playfully at him. “And then I can start doing my regular job of putting you back together with all of the standard superhero stuff. Does that sound like a plan to you?”

He understood that she was trying to put him at ease, and it would have worked, but something was niggling at the back of his brain and he couldn’t understand what was going on. He ignored it. “Sure. Let’s do this,” he replied.

Giving a nod to the nurse on his opposite side, Dr. Cho released the break on his bed and they started moving him toward the door.

“Wait!” Peter shouted in renewed panic. “Mr. Stark?!”

He popped back into view, having kept out of the way as he was sorted. “I’m here, baby. You’re safe.” He bumped the nurse out of the way and took her place as they moved down the hallway.

He tried to look brave, but—“Could you...?”

Mr. Stark didn’t look to anyone for permission. He just answered. “I’ll go with you as far as I can, okay?”

Peter could have cried from relief, but remained strong as he nodded. “Okay. Yeah, okay.” He blinked away the moisture in his eyes and exhaled, “Uh, thanks.”

Mr. Stark ruffled his hair. “You never have to thank me, sweetheart. Do you understand?”

Peter smiled, tentative, “I guess?”

Mr. Stark huffed in frustration. “You guess? We’ll need to have a chat over that sandwich later, okay?”

By this point, they’d managed to find their way to the surgical suite. They parked the bed and Dr. Cho disappeared inside the room for a second.

Peter was about to ask if maybe she’d changed her mind about everything when she popped back out and tossed a surgical cap, mask, and gown at Mr. Stark. “Put that on, and then touch nothing, but Peter once we’re in. If you behave, you can stay with him until he’s asleep, okay?”

Mr. Stark nodded and immediately put on the gown while Dr. Cho entered the room again. He hesitated with the cap though. “No one appreciates the effort I make to look this good,” he complained. “Seriously.” He shook his head and looked down at Peter as he placed the mask on his face. “The things I do for you, kid.”

Peter grinned at that, and for a moment he could imagine they were back in the lab at the compound and it was just the two of them being idiots while blowing crap up. “You do it because you love me,” he teased.

If they’d been back at the lab, Mr. Stark would have made a crack about doing this to keep Peter from turning to the dark side, or from working for the competition, or anything other than what he’d really said—“Yeah, kid. I really do.”

And THAT was the moment Peter realized that something had shifted in the five years. He’d heard the ‘sweetheart’ and maybe even the ‘baby’ but...

Another nurse came out of the room to address them. “Okay, we’re going in now. Once we enter the room, we’ll transfer you to a different gurney and tuck this bed away for you to use later. The room is sterile and will remain that way if everyone does what they’re supposed to do.” The nurse looked directly at Mr. Stark. “I am to remind you, sir, that you can ask Princess Shuri about the tech and sterilization methods later and that—and this is a quote from Dr. Cho—“you’d better be good, Tony, or you will be out on your ass faster than you can say ‘nanoparticle.’”

Mr. Stark barked a laugh at that and raised his right hand. “I promise I will be a good boy.”

The nurse seemed to believe him so they worked together to pull the bed through the doors and into the chill of the surgical suite. Peter would have been impressed if he wasn’t suddenly terrified.

Peter couldn’t suppress the shiver as he felt the cold press in on him and he thought again about running away—somewhere warm and vibrant and Mr. Stark could come and then—he was being transferred to a metal table, just as cold as the room.

Mr. Stark came into view again, and was again running fingers through his hair in comfort. His heart was in his throat and he couldn’t speak.

“You’ll feel a little chill here, Peter,” Dr. Cho was talking to him as someone off to the side started injecting an anaesthetic into the IV line.

He felt it as it entered his system, the mix of standard and enhanced drugs because his body didn’t know what the heck it was doing anymore, and then whatever bits of Spider-Man that were fighting to come through did exactly that. Even as his thoughts tried to soften, he battled and ached to come back from the nothingness that was trying to catch hold of him again. His eyes flew open. He couldn’t go again! His drug weakened limbs felt weighted but still fought against gentle hands pressing him to the table, yet he tensed with anticipation of them flaking and floating off into the aether—“NO!” He couldn’t do it again, and his panic flared one last time as the anaesthetist gave one last push. “stop—“ he slurred. “don’—wanna go, ms’r star—“ Tears streamed down his temples and he finally gave up as he whispered, “’m—‘m sorry—“

Peter fell limp against the table—

And didn’t see Mr. Stark, as he stood over him, tried to comfort him—wept for him.

Peter also didn’t see the glare on Mr. Stark’s tear stained face as he looked at a paled Dr. Cho. “You get in. You fix it. You get out. Got it?”

Peter didn’t see her nod in agreement and start barking out orders to the medical staff in the room.

And Peter didn’t see Mr. Stark lean over to kiss his forehead and then step back into a quiet corner, deciding to not leave the boy’s side unless they dragged him forcibly from the room.

#fanfiction #IronDad and SpiderSon #Avengers: Endgame #Non-compliant #a03 fanfic #OBlossom

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iloveyouthree-thousand · 5 years

Text

and even if I’m gone, there’s always a place for you here

Tony leaves something precious behind for Peter.

(This is my coping mechanism)

“Oh, Peter, come on in,” Pepper said, opening the door and stepping aside to allow the teenager in.

He just nodded his thanks as he brushed past her, stopping just inside the door. He felt out of place in the small house. The last time he’d been there was under much different circumstances, and he tried to push those memories into the back of his mind.

“Can I get you something? I know you just got out of school, I’ve got some snacks in the cupboard--,” she started moving toward the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets stocked with snacks that clearly belonged to the five-year-old living in the house.

“I’m okay, Ms. Potts, thank you though,” Peter said, still standing like a statue in the front entryway, as if he was afraid to walk any further.

Pepper looked older than he remembered, and he had to keep reminding himself that he’d missed out on five whole years: five years of moments, of memories, of moving on.

“How’ve you been, Peter?”

“I, uh,” he stuttered, trying to find the right words, “I’ve been okay, I guess.”

He didn’t want to tell her that the last three weeks had been a roller-coaster of emotions, that coming here had ripped open the stitches in a wound he thought was healing.

“I miss him too,” she said, and he had to fight against the ugly sob trying to force its way out of his chest, because Pepper had enough hurt of her own without having to comfort a teenager that didn’t even really belong there.

“You, um… you said you wanted to show me something?” He hated the way his voice cracked as he tried miserably to change the subject, but to her credit, Pepper just smiled and gestured toward the stairs.

Four rooms lined the narrow hallway. The first, he assumed from the mess of toys and Avengers gadgets, was Morgan’s. The master bedroom was next door, and a small but cozy room with a perfectly-made bed sat just across the hall.

Pepper stopped in front of the last room.

“It was originally just supposed to be another guest room, but we had all this stuff that we couldn’t just… at first I thought it might be unhealthy.”

He was about to ask her what she was talking about, but the question died on his lips when he looked past the door frame.

There was a twin bed, just like the one in Morgan’s room, but this one had a familiar dark green quilt and Jurassic Park sheets. Above the headboard was a Star Wars poster that Harrison Ford had autographed, next to a periodic table of memes and a framed photo of Stephen Hawking.

A desk sat in the far corner against the window, and he recognized the AP History textbook he’d been looking for sandwiched between two R2-D2 bookends along with a few notebooks and reading assignments he’d forgotten at the compound over the years.

“When I found out I was pregnant, he wanted to get away from the city and start over after… everything. We started moving things, and we just kept finding these little things of yours all over the compound and he couldn’t...” she bit at her lip, which had started wavering, “I think it gave him hope. If we had this room all set up for you, then it was like you had to come back.”

The tears that Peter had been so valiantly holding back came pouring out with a vengeance now, and Pepper pulled his shaking body into her own.

“I wanted you to know that he never forgot about you. You meant a lot to him, to us. You were a part of this family too, and it didn’t feel right to not include you in our new home.”

They stayed like that for a minute, just holding onto each other, until the convulsing sobs melted into a dull ache.

She pulled back from him, using her thumb to wipe the watery mess from his cheeks before guiding him into the room.

“He recorded a couple things before--,” she took a breath, unable to finish the sentence but Peter understood. Her back turned to him as she reached into the closet. Above a rack of clothing--some were Peter’s, some had been stolen from Tony’s collection--was a device no bigger than a phone.

“I only watched the first few minutes,” she admitted, setting it up on the desk as Peter took a seat on the bed, “but I think you should see it. I’ll give you some space.”

Pepper brushed his hair from his face and gave him a small smile before she disappeared from the room.

“Hey, kid. Pete. Mr. Parker. Underoos. Take your pick.”

Peter had to blink his eyes a few times, because all of a sudden Tony was right in front of him. Or, at least, an incredibly realistic hologram of him was.

“You have been an excellent… how should I say… protege, if you will. Smartest kid I know, aside from Morgan of course, but she gets her brains from her mother.”

He almost had to laugh, because it was all so surreal, having Tony Stark quipping jokes in front of him as if wasn’t gone. As if Peter’s whole world hadn’t been flipped on its head.

“I can’t claim you, of course. You’re Parker through and through. Still, when I look at you, Pete, God, I just feel like I’m doing something right. Someday you’re going to blow my whole R&D department out of the water and I really hope I’m alive to see it,” Tony’s smile faltered, “But there’s a more-than-decent chance that I won’t, hence this video.”

He paused, as if debating on what he was going to say next.

“You know, I had this dream—right before this whole shit storm started—that I had a kid. It was so vivid… I really thought it was real. And the weirdest part is that, for the first time in ever, I wasn’t scared. And then I was on that donut ship headed straight into the star-studded abyss and all I could think about was how twisted it was that, after being haunted by the idea for years, I was finally ready to be a dad—and I was going to be robbed of the chance. I just kept seeing that little face from my dream, looking at me with all the trust in the world, like I could do no wrong. I've never felt that overwhelming sense of responsibility before, and I didn't think I'd ever feel it again.”

Tony laughed drily, shaking his head up at the sky and looking almost like he was holding back tears.

"And then your rebellious, teenage ass disobeyed my orders and climbed onto that god damned ship, and I had to watch as you started disappearing in my arms while your stupid little lamb face stared up at me and that beautiful and horrible feeling came flooding back. When you were gone, I felt that. I'll always remember the feeling. That was real."

He took a sharp breath and pressed his lips into a thin line. “Look, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, kid, and I’ve learned to live with my regrets. I have this one particular regret, though, that I’ve been losing some sleep over.”

He took another deep breath.

“Okay, here goes nothing. Serious Tony moment. If this all goes south… I need you to know that you’re my family just as much as Morgan and Pep and Rhodey and Happy are. Honestly, I don’t think I could’ve asked for a better big brother for my little girl. I hope I get to see you on the other side of this, Pete, but if not… you are everything I ever wanted to be, kid, and more. I love you, I’m obnoxiously proud of you, and I should’ve told you that more often.”

Tony gave one last wistful smile at the camera, and then the recording cut out.

Peter didn’t know how long he sat there on that bed, trying to process everything that had just played out in front of his eyes. He was still in a daze when a tuft of dark hair peeked into the room.

“Mommy asked me to give this to you,” she announced, handing him a folded up piece of fabric and jumping up onto the bed next to him.

“Daddy made them. I have one too, but it doesn’t fit me anymore.”

Peter held up the gift in his hands, revealing a red T-shirt with the words Mark I printed across the front in gold lettering. Morgan, as if to prove her point, pulled out a much smaller shirt, with Mark II printed in identical font.

“I’m Morgan,” she said.

Peter smiled, clearing his throat to try and hide how choked up he was, “I’m--,”

“Spider-Man,” she finished, grinning, “I know all about you. You like cheeseburgers, like me. And you can stick to walls and shoot webs out of your hands.”

He laughed, “All of that is true. But you can call me Peter. Spider-Man is just my pretend name.”

Morgan frowned, “Can I call you Petey?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” she declared, and then added softly, “because daddy used to call you Petey.”

Peter’s not quite sure what about that sentence sets him off--maybe the way Petey feels intimate, like something a parent would call a child--but suddenly he’s choked up again.

Morgan didn’t hesitate, she just wrapped her little arms around him.

“Come on,” she said a moment later, “Mom made cheeseburgers for dinner.”

Peter spent the evening having dinner with the Starks, and by the time he was ready to leave, he didn’t feel so out of place in the lake house anymore.

Pepper walked him to the door, and whispered, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Yea,” Morgan added, much louder, “Come back and play! I wanna see how you swing with your webs!”

“I’ll be back soon, I promise. And I’ll teach you how to swing. How does that sound?”

“Awesome!”

“Oh, you two together are going to be all kinds of trouble,” Pepper frowned, but she couldn’t hold back a laugh when Morgan giggled maniacally.

Because this, this little family they’ve created, is exactly what Tony would’ve wanted.

#endgame spoilers #endgame #spoilers #irondad #tony stark #peter parker #morgan stark #pepper potts

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hailing-stars · 5 years

Text

relax, just breathe

Read on Ao3

Trope: Poisoning

Summary

“Tony,” said Peter, lifting his head from the glass, his stubbornness spent. “I don’t feel so- “

“Do not,” said Tony, through gritted teeth, and meeting Peter’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He had just one hand on the steering wheel as he drove them into the night. “Finish that sentence.”

Morgan leaned over, hung out of her booster seat, and whispered, “It gives dad attacks.”

The Starks go on a road trip and everything goes wrong when Peter gets food poisoning and suffers an allergic reaction.

relax, just breathe

Peter used to wonder when it happened, exactly.

Days like this, for one reason or another, he wanted to find the precise second he got abducted into the Stark family.

It’d be easy to say it was on the battlefield, after he snapped back into existence, when Tony saw him for the first time in five years, when he hugged him and pressed a kiss on his cheek to welcome him back, but the more Peter thought back, the more he realized it was some undefinable time before that.

Maybe it was during late nights in the workshop, or all those nights Peter had to call for backup when he was in trouble, and Tony would have to come, stitch him up and ice his bruises.

Or maybe he became a Stark during the few seconds before he died in Tony’s arms, like Tony decided if he ever somehow, by some miracle, got him back, he wouldn’t ever let him go.

Peter wished Tony would let him go.

Maybe then he’d be back at his apartment, free to do whatever he wanted while May and Happy were on their honeymoon, instead of being at a small, roadside carnival Morgan conned Tony into stopping at during their drive through the country. Peter hadn’t wanted to come along for the drive, but he was forced into the road trip, anyway.

A trip, Peter was convinced, didn’t actually have a destination. They were just driving around just to drive around, and besides being at a carnival, Peter wasn’t sure where they were, what state they had wandered into, or when they would get to go home.

“It’ll be great,” Tony had told him. “It’ll be fun.”

Peter had yet to have any fun.

Not when he was busy thinking about the week that could have been, that he could be doing what he’d planned to be doing before Tony interrupted those plans by sitting him down, giving him a weird talk about underage drinking, and announcing that they would be going on a road trip.

A breeze caused Peter to zip up his jacket, and leaves crunched under his Converse as he looked around. The carnival was pretty unimpressive. It was small and cramped and the rides were so rusted over Tony banned Morgan from riding them. Peter didn’t have to be banned. He had no interest in doing anything that might make Tony believe he was enjoying himself.

“Hey Pete!”

He turned, and saw Tony waving him over to where he stood in front the lane of skee ball games at the edge of the carnival’s boarder. It was too late to pretend he hadn’t heard him, so Peter ducked his head down and marched over.

“Let’s play,” said Tony, and before Peter could give an answer, which would’ve been a hard no, he handed the employee a few tickets to cover both of them. The carnie, who looked like he wanted to be there just as much as Peter, slammed down a button and the skee balls released from the rack.

Peter looked down at the lane hopelessly, and with a sigh, reached down and grabbed a skee ball. He eyed the 10,000 slot. If Tony wanted a game, Peter was going to give him a game. He aimed, swung his arm backward, brought it forward, then released and watched, like his life depended on it, as the ball rolled down the lane, jumped up, hit the rim of the 10,000, bounced off, and dropped down to roll into the 1,000.

“Almost,” said Tony. Peter wanted to shove him, or at least sabotage his roll, and when it leapt up and sunk down and scored 10,000 points, he wished he had. “Oh, look at that.”

Peter swiped another, sent it rolling down the lane and cringed when it was an exact repeat of his first roll. He didn’t look over at Tony. Just looking at his scoreboard light up 20,000 was enough to clench his fists, to get him riled up and even more determined to win.

He didn’t know why it mattered so much, or why he was getting so frustrated each time he rolled the ball and it missed his target. On any other day, he’d laugh it off. He was never really any good at these sorts of games, but that day was different.

Beating Tony at skee ball was all he had, and then, after rolling his last ball, and of course, missing, he didn’t even have that.

“Damnit,” he muttered, under his breath, as he kicked the front of the machine.

“Kid, relax,” said Tony. He must’ve sensed his frustrations, because he’d stopped gloating after his first hit. “It’s just a game.”

Easy for Tony to say. He finished his game with a perfect score.

“Congratulations, sir,” said the carnie, in a monotone voice. He ripped a golden ticket off a roll and handed it to Tony. “You won a free elephant ear.”

They walked away from skee ball, and Peter glared at the golden ticket in Tony’s hand. It was stupid to be angry about losing at a carnival game. Petty, even, he knew that, but he still felt it, still wanted to rip coupon out from Tony’s hand and stomp it on the ground.

“You cheated,” said Peter. “You used your prosthetic arm. It’s unfair advantage.”

The words sounded like a joke, even to Peter, but his tone made it clear it wasn’t. Tony laughed anyway.

“It’s still attached to my genius brain,” said Tony. “That knows how to aim, unlike yours.”

They walked past a trash can, and Tony tried to toss the golden ticket, but Peter snatched it in midair, before it went in.

“You can’t throw this away, it’s free food.”

Tony looked down at him and stared. “You always forget I’m a billionaire.”

“That’s not the point,” said Peter. He didn’t want an elephant ear. It was the principle. He looked around until the spotted the concession stand, then took off in that direction, Tony following along at his heels as he went.

Tony was always following him.

The cashier greeted them by coughing into her hands and sniffing her nose, and Peter choose to ignore that, along with the offended look that flashed across Tony’s face. He put the crumpled coupon on the wood counter and pushed it forward.

“One elephant ear, please.”

She turned her head and screamed his order to the back, causing her voice to break off as she went into a coughing fit. When she finally stopped, she straightened out, and looked at Peter and Tony with watery eyes. “Sorry, I’m just getting over Strep.”

Peter took a couple of steps backwards, and Tony distanced himself even further. Behind the cashier the kitchen looked dirty and rusted just like the rides, but Peter tried not to pay attention to that, just like he tried not to pay attention to the way the cashier handled his food when it was passed off by the cook.

He took it from her, with a smile that faltered, and stepped away from the stand with Tony, both of them eying the elephant ear wearily.

“Don’t eat that,” said Tony.

And he probably wouldn’t have had Tony not said anything. He didn’t particular want it. He didn’t want to tempt his body into getting sick, but Tony just had to open his mouth, and Peter couldn’t take another lose after the skee ball disaster.

He looked up at Tony. He maintained eye contact and took a bite into the sugary, cinnamony, probably germ-infested treat.

Tony sucked in a deep breath, then released. “I’m not feeling sorry for you when you get sick.”

Peter shrugged, took another bite. He was already committed to finishing and it was actually pretty good, once he divorced it from the dirty kitchen and sick cashier.

“Dad!” Morgan ran towards them, holding a cone filled with blue candy cotton that was bigger than her head, and with Pepper chasing after her. “Look what I got!”

“Where did you get that?” asked Tony. Peter rolled his eyes at the dramatics while he chopped on the elephant ear. “The concession stand?”

“No,” said Morgan. “Mommy and I found a cotton candy machine.”

Tony sighed in relief, just in time for Pepper to catch up with them. He checked his watch and tapped it.

“Time to get back on the road, before we all die from swine flu.”

It took only thirty minutes for Peter’s stomach to start hurting.

It felt like longer, though. Tony had confiscated his cellphone so they could bond as a family over road games, which just meant instead of listening to his music or watching YouTube videos, he was listening to Tony and Pepper bicker about directions from the front seat, while Morgan’s kid songs blasted from the speakers.

Peter tried to tune them out, both the music and the arguing, as he hugged his stomach and let his head rest against the cool window.

First he tried denial. He wasn’t getting sick. It was all in his head. Tony had planted it there, but then his stomach cramps twisted and twisted until denial was impossible and all he had left was stubbornness.

But that hadn’t lasted long, either.

He regretted all his recent life decisions, mostly scarfing down that entire elephant ear in four bites when Tony wouldn’t allow it into his car, and he resented Tony, and his spontaneous road trip and perfect skee ball game but mostly, he resented having to admit he was right.

“Tony,” said Peter, lifting his head from the glass, his stubbornness spent. “I don’t feel so- “

Morgan leaned over, hung out of her booster seat, and whispered, “It gives dad attacks.”

“I, um, feel the opposite of good.” His voice was raspy and small and begging for relief from the fire in his belly.

“Tony watch out!”

Pepper grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it to the side just as Tony slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a stop, the front half off the road and in the grass, while the backseats were still out in the road. It was a rough stop, but Peter was thankful for it. He wrestled out of his seatbelt, opened the door, stuck his head out, and puked.

“Ewwwww, dad, Peter’s getting sick,” announced Morgan, as he continued to empty his stomach.

Three car doors opened and shut, and sometime between Peter’s last gag and wiping his mouth off on his jacket, Tony appeared above him. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but even there in the dark, Peter could see the smug, I-told-you-so expression written into every line on his face. That passed quickly, though, and it was replaced with concern, something he’d promised Peter he wouldn’t feel for him.

“Are you good?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so, for now.”

Tony checked his watch, then sighed. “We’re gonna stop for the night. The first hotel we see.”

Peter nodded, too relieved to even try to argue. Tony had been planning on driving through the night, but they both knew they couldn’t continue. Not like this. Not when he was sure to puke again.

He kept the door to the car open but leaned back against in his seat while Tony rummaged around for something up front. When he straightened out, he handed Peter a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” said Peter. He took a sip, swirled it around in his mouth, and spit it out on the ground, careful to avoid looking at his puke.

“Dad look!” Morgan walked around the car and into view. She had a black cat cradled in her arms.

“You almost ran over her, that means we have to give her a home.”

“What?”

“It’s the rules,” said Morgan.

“Says who?”

“I dunno,” said Morgan, with a shrug. “Says me.”

Peter watched Tony look down at Morgan, who was cooing and petting the cat, who was already in love with her, and Peter knew, probably before Tony did, that they all just met the newest member of their family and the newest passenger for their road trip.

She didn’t need her own seat. She sat in Morgan’s lap as Tony maneuvered the car back on the road, and FRIDAY gave directions to the nearest hotel. Peter put his head against the window, shut his eyes, and tried to focus on something that wasn’t the cramps knotting in his stomach.

He drifted in and out, until the car finally slowed, and Peter lifted his head and opened his eyes to a large, plastic teddy bear standing tall, directly outside his window. The bear carried a sign, and it read: Huggy Bear Motel.

“Absolutely not,” said Tony. The car was stopped, but the engine was still running. “We can’t stay here. We’ll all be dead by morning.”

“We have one spider-boy, and one retired savior, I think we’ll all be fine,” said Pepper.

Peter jerked his car door open and hung his head outside. He felt it coming back again.

“Either we stay here,” Pepper continued, “or force Peter to stay in the car sick for another hundred miles.”

Peter threw up all over the ground, and felt the car switch off under him and heard a frustrated sigh from up front.

“Fine, we’ll get a room.”

Tony and Pepper disappeared inside the building, and Peter looked over at Morgan. She was fast asleep, and so was her new cat. Overhead lights flickered, bringing Peter’s attention to the motel, instead. It was the kind of place without hallways. All the rooms looked like they were accessed from the outside, and all the doors leading to those rooms had faded, chipped red paint. There was a hot tub off to the side, near some trees, and Peter could tell just by looking it wasn’t functional, or at least, shouldn’t be functional.

“That man has one hundred percent killed someone with an ax,” said Tony, when he came back, as he gently helped Peter out of the car and to his feet.

“He was just a little strange,” said Pepper. She picked up the cat off Morgan’s lap, and gently shook her daughter’s arm, trying to wake her. “Not completely unlike yourself.”

The motel room was small, with just two queen sized beds, and single hallway leading to a bathroom. It had a weird smell, that Peter tried to ignore, just like he tried to ignore the faded, off-white color of the comforter as he collapsed down on the bed closest to the bathroom. He was too exhausted, felt too sick and gross to care, but neither of those things kept him from appreciating Tony’s horror as he stared down at his bed.

Peter sat up, and looked around, a realization hitting him. That there were only two beds. That Pepper, Morgan and the cat were missing.

“Where’s Pepper and Morgan going to sleep?” asked Peter.

“They didn’t have a suite, shocker, right?” said Tony. He lifted up the pillows and searched underneath, as though he expected something to jump out at him. “So they’re in the adjoining room.”

“You can go be with them. I’ll be fine in here by myself.”

“Right,” said Tony, with a small laugh. He put the pillows back, but still frowned at the bed and refused to sit down. “Then who’d be here, keeping you company, and making sure you don’t die?”

Peter opened his mouth, the answer somewhere on his tongue, but something else wanted out, instead. He felt it again, and it’d come on just as suddenly as the first two times. He jumped off the bed and darted into the bathroom, where he slammed his knees down on the floor and dunked his head into the toilet, just in time.

He finished puking, shut the toilet seat, flushed, then looked up. Tony hovered in the doorway, leaning against the frame, like always. He always hovered, always tried to help, or planed road trips just to ruin Peter’s plans for freedom and independence.

Peter draped his body against the toilet for support, then blinked at Tony. “I don’t need you here taking care of me.”

Tony frowned, opened his mouth but shut in quickly. His face crinkled with confusion.

“I can take care of myself,” said Peter, and he knew he should stop talking, even knew he didn’t really mean it. He liked the company, even when he wasn’t sick and miserable, but he couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth. “If you weren’t around, I could take care of myself just fine.”

The room went silent, and that left plenty of room for Peter to remember that he’d almost gotten to see a world where Tony Stark wasn’t around.

Tony crossed his arms, hooking his prosthetic and his flesh together, while he continued to stare at Peter, who couldn’t take the words back now that they were out there, no matter how badly he wished he could. He couldn’t read Tony’s expression, either.

Confusion, hurt maybe, but definitely worry.

Always worry. Tony was always waiting for Peter to be taken away from him, a second time.

“So, you’re still mad about not being able to stay home alone,” Tony told him. “That’s what this is all about? Why you’ve had an attitude this entire trip?”

Peter clamped his mouth shut, and continued to hug the toilet, ruminating about how he was about to get lectured in the bathroom of some crummy motel as he threw up bits of elephant ear. It could only happen to him. Parker luck.

“I could’ve stayed home alone,” said Peter. “I’m seventeen. I’m Spider-Man. I’m not a baby.”

“You mean, you could’ve stayed home by yourself, so you could have your party?”

“What?” asked Peter. He gripped the edges of the toilet seat tighter to keep himself sturdy as the bathroom spun. “N-no – “

“You’re not the only one good at eavesdropping, Pete,” said Tony. “I heard you on the phone, then I found your fake ID.”

He lifted his head off the toilet seat and tried to focus on Tony as his figure blurred. “You could’ve just busted me.”

Like a normal parent

He didn’t say that part out loud. Something about digging his own grave didn’t really appeal to him when he was pretty sure he was actually just going to die from a bad elephant ear right there on the floor, and besides that, he was too exhausted and frustrated and sick to try explaining to Tony that he’d gotten it all wrong.

Tony shrugged away from the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Road trip sounded like more fun. Believe it or not, I don’t actually like being the bad guy.”

“Next time just ground me,” said Peter, as he laid his head back down on the seat cover. It was still gross, but at least it was cool on his burning skin.

“I look forward to throwing that back in your face.”

“Well I’ll be eighteen before you get the chance.”

Tony chuckled under his breath. “It’s so adorable how you think that matters.”

He walked furthered into the bathroom, and sunk down to the floor, opposite of where Peter rested against the toilet.

“I’m sorry,” said Peter. He didn’t know how it was possible to feel resentful and angry, and for those things to also be wrapped up in guilt. “Sometimes it just feels like, like you’re suffocating me.”

“Let’s just put this on ice, for now, okay? We can have it out when you’re not puking your guts out. It’s damn near impossible for me to be angry with you when you look so pathetic.”

Peter forced a small laugh, and nodded, and wished the pain mounting in his belly would stop so he could just sleep.

“Do you think someone got axed in here?” asked Peter. He was leaned against the wall, with Tony by his side, staring at a giant stain splatter.

“Maybe,” answered Tony, also eying the stain.

It was hours later, and Peter had thrown up twice more. That last time he mostly just gagged on his own stomach acid, while Tony rubbed his back. He was seventeen. He didn’t need Tony to take care of him like that, but he wasn’t exactly going to tell him to stop, either. He craved the comfort still, and he wondered if that would ever go away, if his biggest, most obvious lie would be telling Tony he didn’t need him anymore.

His stomach was starting to feel at peace, like all the poison had left him, but his throat felt tight, felt so tight, he had trouble getting a good breath. Peter inhaled deeply, trying to get a good, deep breath in, but it didn’t matter. It was useless. His lungs still weren’t satisfied.

“Tony, I can’t breathe,” said Peter. He rubbed at his throat, as if that might help.

“Yeah, yeah I get it, I’m helicoptering – “He started to scoot away from him, to finally give him space, right when he didn’t really want it.

“-No literally, I can’t breathe.”

“Okay,” said Tony. His voice was calm as he repositioned himself, back closer to Peter, and put a comforting hand on his back, rubbing circles. “Just relax. Deep breath in, deep breath out, match me.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can, we’ve done this a million times, it’s just a panic attack.” Tony kept rubbing his circles, slow and steady, and that should’ve helped, should’ve grounded him and brought him back to reality, but it didn’t.

Peter shook his head. He knew what a panic attack felt like, and this wasn’t it. He knew what it was like for the room to spin with anxiety, but he also knew what it was like for the planet to spin as death came crept near.

Before he could tell Tony, Pepper appeared outside the bathroom door. “Tony we can’t stay here.”

“Oh now you listen to me – “

“-Morgan’s cat found some… bugs,” said Pepper. “In the beds.”

“What?”

Tony’s eyes snapped back to Peter, and without warning, he grabbed him by his shirt collar and hoisted him to his feet. He dragged him out of the bathroom, through the motel room, then finally, out the door and into the night.

Cool air hit Peter’s skin, and without the odd smell of motel room, the air felt lighter and reached his lungs in a way it hadn’t when he was inside. He breathed deep and exhaled, as Tony lowered him down so he could sit on the sidewalk and up against the wall.

“Better?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Okay, just, just work on your breathing,” said Tony. He stayed standing and ran a hand through his hair, his head partially blocking out the moon behind him.

Peter sat on the concrete, and for once, did what Tony told him and worked on his breathing, that became labored for a second time as a bright light flashed in his face. He gasped, shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, Tony stood between him and the light source.

“What the fuck?” yelled Tony.

“Sorry to scare your kid there,” said a man, who caught the malice in Tony’s voice, and directed his flashlight to the ground. “Just going around, making sure everyone’s alright.”

“Why wouldn’t everything be alright?” questioned Tony.

“We’ve been having bug problems,” said the man. “Just bug bombed the place earlier on in the day.”

“We’re checking out now, right now.”

The man, who Peter guessed must’ve been the caretaker, frowned at them, said nothing, and left, whistling as he turned a corner and disappeared.

“To answer your question,” said Tony. “Yup, someone was axed in there without a doubt.”

Just ten minutes later, Peter sat on a curb, out in the parking lot, and watched as Tony and Pepper covered all their bags in plastic and loaded them into the car. Morgan and her cat were already inside, passed out in the backseat, but Peter wasn’t ready to be locked up in a moving vehicle yet. Though he’d stopped throwing up, he was still nauseous and exhausted and dreaded having to drive a couple hours longer to get to a hotel.

Tony seemed to sense the dread, though. He threw the key fab to Pepper, who caught it easily and slid into the car behind the wheel. Tony helped Peter to his feet by gently tugging on his arm.

“Come on,” he told him. “I’ll sit in the back with you and Morgan, and you can use me as a pillow.”

Peter only offered him a shaky nod, then climbed into the car after him. The cat decided the backseat was too cramped and jumped off to the passenger’s seat to keep Pepper company, but it was just the right amount cramped for Peter. He huddled into Tony’s side, put his head on his chest, and, as Pepper drove them into the night and to a nice, normal hotel, fell asleep in his arms.

The wind blew through the treetops, and ruffled through Peter’s freshly showered hair, as he sat on a wooden balcony and let his legs dangle off the ledge.

He was up early, considering the night they had, but their drive from the bug infested motel to their safe haven at the nearest Holiday Inn hadn’t been as bad as Peter had expected. He’d gotten sleep. Good sleep, and the few seconds he’d been jostled awake by the car hitting a bump, he’d at least been comforted by Tony’s hand running through his hair, or by the rock music playing softly through the speakers.

The door to the balcony slid open with a squeak, and Tony stepped out, holding a soda fresh from the fountain of whatever gas station he found. He sat next to Peter and handed him the Sprite he’d requested.

“Thanks.” He poked the straw through the plastic lid, and took a small sip, before setting it down, off to the side.

“Anytime, kid,” said Tony, as he sat down next to him, and let his legs dangle next to Peter’s.

For a while, it was nice. It was just Peter, and Tony, and the sound the trees made when the wind blew through the leaves and branches. They didn’t need to fill the air with noisy words, or apologies, though Peter knew that would be coming for both of them sooner or later. It was quiet, and that was okay. Company was enough.

Tony’s company was more than enough. It was comforting, an anchor, and Peter didn’t want to ever imagine what his life might be like without it, what his life had almost been.

“So,” said Tony, bumping his shoulder with a nudge. “Are we ever gonna talk about you being allergic to bug spray?”

Peter laughed, shrugged, and looked out on the trees.

“I swear, the longer I know you, the more I’m convinced you’re more spider than human.”

“Tony listen,” said Peter. “I’m sorry about what I – “

“-Forget it, Pete. We all say things we don’t mean when we’re angry.”

It was said with ease and confidence, and as if Tony had never really taken it to heart. He wondered if it was an act. If Tony made his voice sound that way so Peter wouldn’t have to walk around feeling guilty, like he was known to do.

“I do need you. I just – need you to let me ask for help sometimes, instead of rushing in.”

Tony nodded, to make it clear he heard him, that he was considering, and then he hit him with, “We need to talk about the party.”

“I know,” said Peter. “I know it was stupid, and I should’ve talked to May before inviting Ned and MJ to come over – “

“No wait,” Tony cut him off. “Just Ned and MJ?”

“Yeah.”

“You said on the phone that it was, I quote ‘going to be wild.’”

“It was,” said Peter. “We were going to watch all the Star Wars movies.”

Tony blinked at him.

“In zigzag order, when everyone knows the best way to watch them is in release order.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, and looked more confused than Peter had ever seen him look before. “Do I even want to know what the fake ID was for?”

“I don’t want to say.”

“Kid- “

“-They were playing this Black Dahlia documentary at the movies. And it was rated R, right? So they wouldn’t let us buy tickets, which is ridiculous by way, but anyway, we couldn’t have May come with us on a date, you know? May’s getting pretty nosey as it is, and that’s really uncalled for, I don’t go around spying on her and Happy-”

“Alright, alright, I think I get it,” said Tony. He looked at him, then laughed. It was at his expense, just like at the carnival, but it was booming, and infectious, and brought a grin to Peter’s face. “You’re Spider-Man, and you can’t sneak a girl into the movies?”

“Spider-Man is sneaky,” said Peter. He looked down at his sock covered feet, still smiling. “Peter Parker trips over his untied shoelaces.”

Tony fist bumped Peter’s shoulder, and his laughing died down. “I suppose I owe you an apology. I, uh, let my anxiety run away with me, and jumped to conclusions. The truth is, I… I worry about you becoming past me, but you’re so much better, already, than I ever was. You’re a good person, Peter. A responsible one.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Thanks to May,” corrected Tony. “In spite of me.”

“Thanks to Ben, and May, and you,” said Peter. He gave one last look at Tony’s prosthetic arm, a permanent reminder of what Tony was willing to do to keep his family and his home safe. “You taught what it means to be a hero, what it takes.”

Tony smiled, and gave his shoulder a pat, before standing up, and walking towards the door. “We’ll head back home tomorrow, once you’re feeling better, I think I tortured you with this road trip long enough.”

“Wait, Tony,” said Peter, stopping him when his hand was on the door handle. “Where were we going, anyway?”

“Galaxy’s Edge.” The answer came off Tony’s lips causally, like it was no big deal, like it wasn’t the single greatest place on earth that Peter had yet to visit.

“What? Star Wars land?”asked Peter. He stood up, to match Tony. “You couldn’t have, I don’t know, mentioned that in the first place?”

Tony shrugged. “Honestly, I wanted you to suffer.”

“Can we still go?”

“If you want to,” said Tony. Peter nodded his head up and down. “Okay. We’ll get back on the road tomorrow.”

“Sweet. I’m gonna go watch the movies, to get in the spirit,” said Peter, as he stepped past Tony, and into their suite. It wasn’t the luxury that Tony was used to, but it was homey and wasn’t advertised by a creepy plastic bear holding a sign.

Also, it didn’t have bugs, or poisonous fumes from bug bombs floating around in the air.

“Sounds like a family movie day.” Tony followed him in. “Just stick to the originals. The ones without the Kylo the dad killer. He’s Morgan’s favorite, and I’m not sure what that says about my future.”

Peter stopped, and turned, and laughed. “Morgan’s favorite is Rey. I just told her to tell you Kylo to freak you out.”

“You’re grounded,” said Tony, and wiped the grin right off Peter’s face. “See? Told you I’d get a chance to throw it back in your face.”

Tony patted his head, and walked past him, plopping himself down on the couch in the living area and snatching the remote off the coffee table. Peter paused and watched Tony flip through the pay-to-watch movies on the hotel catalogue.

They ended up breezing through four Star Wars movies that day. All five of them, including the cat, smashed together on the tiny, hotel room couch. It was a pretty good day to be an abducted member of the Starks, and it was a pretty good week for a road trip, after all.

#fanfic #irondad #irondad bingo #sickfic #road trips #peter parker #tony stark #morgan stark

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crystalninjaphoenix · 5 years

Text

The Start of the Nightmare

A Stitched Story

JSE Fanfic

So, Stitched Together sequel thing. This is sorta dealing with how all the boys fit into this AU, so it’s gonna be longer than Stitched, and possibly not as interesting character development wise, but what can you do

tagging @septic-dr-schneep for the original idea

“You are lucky to not be dead.”

Jack couldn’t help but poke at the wound on his neck. He winced. “I’m lucky I know the best doctor in the world,” he said quietly. He didn’t want to tear the stitches.

Schneep huffed, but couldn’t hold back a smile. “Well, yes, I am a qualified doctor. But that is no reason for you to play with knives.”

“It was Halloween, bro.” Chase piped up for the first time since his arrival. He was leaning against the doorway of the hospital room, trying his best to look casual when he’d just been hovering nervously by Jack seconds before. “Pumpkin carving is a tradition, you know. How was he supposed to know he’d cut himself?”

Jack shifted uncomfortably on the hospital bed. For a moment, he wondered if he should just stay silent. But honesty was always the best policy. If what happened was real, then they had a serious threat to deal with. If it wasn’t, then they could figure out why the hell he was seeing things. “Well, actually, guys...I didn’t exactly do it myself.”

Immediately, Schneep and Chase jumped to attention. “Why? What happened?” “Should we call the police?”

“No, I...you guys are gonna think I’m crazy,” Jack sighed.

“No way, dude.” Chase shook his head. “We’d never think that.”

“I—you haven’t even heard what it is.” Jack muttered. “Okay, here goes...so, like, for a couple weeks now, I’ve had a feeling like something is watching me. But not at times when that would make sense, I mean all the time. And sometimes I’d see things out of the corner of my eye, or hear whispers that aren’t there.”

“Jack, I do not think I am the right kind of doctor for these problems,” Schneep said, half-joking.

“No, no, let me finish. So, sometimes I’d get nosebleeds out of nowhere, and sometimes I started, like, walking down to the shop or something but then a split second later I’d be back home, like there was a—a glitch in the fabric of reality. And I’d start laughing or hearing laughter for no reason.”

“Okay...so what does that have to do with this business?” Chase asked.

“So, I was doing the video, just like normal, and I’d keep hearing noises. When I went to check them out, nothing. I got another nosebleed, heard more laughing, and just...it just seemed like everything that was happening that month got dialed up to eleven. And then, after I got the pumpkin all finished and was about to do some fine cleaning...I just—I fucking have no idea how to describe it. My arm was moving on its own and it was like—it was like there was someone else in my head, like...squeezing it. And this thing was controlling my arm and it—it did the thing.”

Silence. Jack tried not to squirm as his two friends exchanged glances. They looked worried. “Jack...what I said before was joke, but I really think you should talk to a different doctor,” Schneep suggested haltingly.

“You haven’t even heard the weirdest part.” Jack shook his head. “It—he talked to me. He called me weak...and...” He swallowed nervously. He didn’t really want to talk about the things he said after he cut his throat and used his body like a puppet. So he skipped to the most important part. “Anyway, after he left, or retreated, or whatever, I saw him. And he looked a lot like me, but...wearing different clothes. He looked like a living computer glitch.”

“You sure you weren’t just...hallucinating?” Chase asked. “I mean, you’d lost a lot of blood by the time I came to check on you.”

“I know, I know, it’s a real possibility. But the weirdest thing was his neck. It was—was also cut open, but it was stitched close. With green string. But it wasn’t doing a very good job at keeping the wound closed, and the stitches were pulling apart...and I got the strangest feeling I knew him.”

Schneep walked over to the counter nearby and grabbed a pen and pad of paper. He wrote down something real quick, then came back and handed it to Jack. “I think you should check out Dr. Laurens. She is very good. Not to say you have to, but I think it would help.”

“Wait, doc, hang on a second.” Chase frowned thoughtfully. “I think...maybe...”

Schneep glared at him. “Chase, do not encourage him,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to keep Jack from hearing. “I know you are wanting to help but it will not to do this.”

“All I’m saying is—I mean—I’m wondering—” Chase stopped, gathering his thoughts. “So, I know you remember what happened a little under a year ago. I do too.”

The doctor’s expression immediately darkened. Nobody needed a reminder of what happened to Marvin and Jackie. It was bad enough that the double murder—or possibly murder-suicide, nobody could agree—got an unholy amount of media attention, given that no one could figure out what actually happened. One had a slit throat, the other held the knife, both were dead but only one was injured, and they were inside a circle drawn on the floor like some sort of ritual. How and why did they even die? And then the police found Jackie’s super suit hidden in the closet and all sorts of shady websites on Marvin’s computer. That only made things more complicated.

“Well, it can’t be a coincidence that the same kind of cut appeared on Jack nearly a year later,” Chase pointed out. “And they were probably doing some kind of magic, right? Maybe black magic? Doesn’t what Jack said sound like he got attacked by a black magic demon or something?”

Jack smiled. He hadn’t really thought of the possibility that what happened to Marvin and Jackie could be connected to the thing that attacked him, but it was nice to know that Chase thought there was an explanation besides him being crazy. Schneep, on the other hand, looked doubtful. “I do not mean to speak ill of the dead, but Marvin believed in things that could not exist. If he dragged Jackie into his shit, then that was between them. But it had nothing to do with their deaths.”

“You don’t know that,” Chase snapped. “Maybe there was some sort of sacrifice or something, and things went wrong.”

“For god’s sake, do you really think Jackie would be part of black magic?” Schneep threw his hands up in the air. “Have you ever heard anyone speak out against evil more than him?”

“I mean...the dark side can be tempting, bro,” Chase mumbled.

“I am not being part of this. I am leaving, I have other patients to check on. Jack, please at least try to visit Dr. Laurens. She can help more that mindless speculation.” Schneep stuck around long enough to see Jack nod in agreement, then quickly left.

“Jack...you think that...” Chase hesitated, then said the next few words in a rush. “D’you think that if we find out more about what attacked you we could find out what happened to them?”

Jack hesitated. There was a bit of desperation shining in Chase’s eyes. No, actually, there was a lot. Jack couldn’t blame him. A lot of terrible shit had hit Chase at that moment in time, shit that led to...well, it made sense that he wanted his friends back. Jack did too. But also, he just really wanted to know what the deal with this thing was. Why was he targeting them? “I mean, maybe,” Jack shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. And if there’s really a demon out there, we need to protect ourselves. But how do we do that?”

The next day, Chase and Jack found themselves standing outside a little shop on the edge of town. The window showed a display made of books, amulets, and hanging talismans. The sign identified the shop as “Jackson Magick Emporium.”

“So, this place is, like, legit, right?” Chase asked.

Jack pulled on the bandages around his neck. “I mean, as much as one of these places can be. The website seemed to know what they were talking about, and there were good reviews from people who weren’t nutters. So...let’s go in.”

A bell ding-a-linged to announce their arrival into the shop. Chase blinked. “Good god, did we just step back in time or something?” The front room of the shop looked a lot like a living room from the early twentieth century, but with the addition of a counter with a cash register and price tags on the various knickknacks scattered on the tables. It was a pleasant place, pastel blue in color and well-lit with yellow lamps. But nobody was there.

“They head the bell, right?” Jack wondered, glancing over at the little silver instrument hanging by the door.

“Don’t see how they could’nt’ve.” Chase wandered over to one of the tables and picked up the leather-bound book on its surface. He turned it over in his hands. It did look like something Marvin would’ve had. This must be the right sort of place.

“I’d advise you to put that down.”

Chase jumped, looking around for the source of the voice. A well-dressed man in a blue vest and black hat was coming out of a door behind the counter. He...weirdly enough, he looked pretty similar to Jack and Chase, just with a mustache. Did Jack have some sort of doppelganger magnet attached to him?

“Sorry,” Chase mumbled, putting the book back.

“Quite alright. You had no idea. But I must warn you that it’s very old and fragile.” The man walked around the counter and approached the two. He gave a friendly smile and stuck out his hand. “My name is Jameson Jackson, but you may call me JJ if you like. Welcome to my shop. How may I help you?”

Jack shook his hand. “Hello. I’m Jack and this is my friend Chase. We, uh...” He looked over to Chase for support, but he just shrugged. “So I went onto your website and saw that you did a thing where you could get rid of, like...evil spirits and shit.”

“Well, I wouldn’t use that type of language,” JJ frowned. “But yes, that is correct.”

“Okay, so, you see...I mean it’s been happening for a while, but last night it really...really, um...” Jack fidgeted with the bandages again. “So, I’m not wearing these for fun. You see what I’m talking about?”

JJ’s brows furrowed. “Yes, I think I’m getting the gist of it. Why don’t we go into the other room? I can make us some tea and you can tell me everything, at your own pace of course.”

The other room looked pretty much the same, but red instead of blue and no items for sale. The main piece of furniture was a table and chairs in the center, but there were a few drawers and chests along the edge for holding things, along with a small stove. Jack and Chase sat down and spilled out the whole story, starting with Marvin and Jackie’s mysterious incident last year, and ending with Jack’s account of this thing taking control of his body and seeing it afterward. By the time their tale had ended, the tea was long finished. JJ set a cup in front of each of them, then joined them at the table. He leaned forward and rested his head on his hands.

“So, do you have any idea what your friends were actually messing about with?” he asked in a quiet voice, as if afraid someone would overhear.

Jack shook his head. “No, sorry.”

“They were in a circle?”

“Yeah, with candles around the edges. Is that...is that helpful?”

“Not very, unfortunately. Most spells—or at least, most heavy-duty spells—take place in a protective circle. It’s meant to protect the casters from outside dangers and keep any misfires contained inside. Do you remember anything else? Did they discover any spellbooks or charms?”

“I don’t remem—”

Chase interrupted. “Wait, I think...I think there was some weird things. A bunch of burned paper, and...and there were two weird necklaces, but...I dunno about those ones.”

“Explain.”

“Well, Schneep—he’s a friend of ours, a doctor—showed me the police report of the crime scene. They were both wearing them, and they were when he saw the bodies, but later, when he asked the cops about where those necklaces went, they swore there weren’t any.”

“Hmm...” JJ took a sip of the tea, thoughtful. “Disappearing amulets...that is unusual. Depending on their purpose, we could guess at the spell they were trying. Hang on.” He stood up, walked over to a chest and rummaged it, then came back with a book with a red cover. He opened it, revealing that the book had been patched together with pages tied into the lining, like an old-fashioned kind of binder. They were covered with ink drawings of various amulets, with explanations of what each did. “Did your friend happen to describe them?”

“Uhhh...” Chase cast a line back into the waters of memory. “This is a recall of a recall of a glance, so don’t take this too seriously. But they were white...a bit teardrop-shaped.”

“Wait wait wait I saw those!” Jack nearly knocked over his teacup in excitement. “He was wearing them! They had these weird designs on them, and they were glowing green.”

JJ slid the book toward him. “Do you think you could identify them?”

“Maybe...I didn’t really see them that good.” Jack started flipping through the pages, then suddenly stopped. He looked around. “It’s happening again...” he muttered. “I feel like someone’s watching us...”

Chase, confused, said “What?” But JJ didn’t hesitate, shooting to his feet and dashing to the drawers, pulling them open and glancing at the contents before slamming them shut again.

“What are you looking for?” Jack asked, nervous.

“Either protection or the source of that feeling,” Jameson explained. “If you can, help me look.”

“We don’t know—oh, alright.” Jack didn’t want a repeat of Halloween night. He stood up, pulled Chase upward too, and ran toward the drawers. He figured he’d know if something was important. The drawers were filled with books and loose papers with strange writing, crude dolls with paint on them, amulets and other magickal jewelry, and so many other talismans that Jack couldn’t identify. Nothing stood out.

Until Jack heard a sudden shriek.

His head whipped around, and he saw Chase standing in front of an open drawer with a look of absolute shock and horror on his face. He held something in his hand, a pair of teardrop-shaped amulets dangling from strings. They glowed green, but the glow couldn’t mask the cracks that marred their surfaces.

“Chase! Drop it!” Jameson yelled.

Startled, Chase did exactly that. The amulets clattered to the surface. There was a sound, a sound in the back of their minds that seemed to be coming from the broken talismans. It was a high whine, punctuated with electronic-sounding crackling. Or was it laughing?

“How’d they get there?” Chase asked, breathless.

“They came with him,” Jack muttered.

It was definitely laughter. Then Jack heard, directly in his ear, “I'm so p̶ro̡u̡d, J̷ąck͝ie̴bo̢y.”

With a yelp, Jack whirled around, but nobody was there. Chase and Jameson, who’d apparently also heard something similar, were looking around wildly as well. The room seemed darker. The whine was growing louder.

“Where are you?” Jameson asked. “Show yourself!”

A giggle. “You’d lik̵e̵ that, wou̡l͞dn̕'͢t͝ yo͢u҉? A neat little ta͡r̴g̨et to throw your s͠p̛e͞l̡ls̶ at? Oh wait, Ì f͝ór͠g̕o̶t, you don’t a̦̝̤̱̥c̗̭͝t̮̤̭̝u͈̭͓̰͈a̦ḻl̩̦͈y̠͟ have any m̀͏ag̢ic̢..” The voice bounced around the room, seeming to come from the corner one moment and the center the next.

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Jameson said.

“Oh, I̢̕ ̨͏k͏ǹ̸̕o͠w̸͠.” He sounded amused now.

“What are you?” Jack cried.

“Can’t you t̶e͟ll? I’m y̕͢o̢͞͠u̷̶ , of course, J̮̪̘̯͝à̵̟̣̻́ͅc̨̘̬͓͖̭̞̳̲̟k̛̼̣̝̞̹̹͍̬i̖̞̭͝e͏͓͢b̷̨̫̗̗̕o̤͔̝͖y̖͕̣.”

“N-no...” Jack whispered. “No, you’re not. If anything, you’re the anti-me.”

“ Ą̴̀n͢͠t͞í̶..oh, I l͟i̸̛ḱè̵ that. V͠e̡r̵y̛ m҉uch͝.”

“Great, you just named it,” Chase grumbled. Jack noticed his hands were shaking, and his eyes were darting everywhere.

He—Anti—laughed again, and the lights flickered at the same time. Jack felt the feeling of being watched lighten up, and the white noise seemed to shift...to Chase. “ Y̕o͞u’re putting on sųćh͢ a b̷͝r̴͞av̧̀e fa͏͝c̶͢e, but I can taste the f̛e̵̷a҉̨ŕ̶͝ i͝n͡ y̢o̕uŕ m͏̕͟i͟͠ǹ͞d̷̸̶. It’s dȩ̴l̛ic̶i͠o͡u̡s̸͢.”

The flickering intensified. Jack’s eyes widened as Chase’s shadow shifted, contorted, then stepped away from the wall. “Chase, watch out!” Jack yelled. He started to run toward him, and Chase himself tried to turn around, but it was too late. Anti was real, and he was holding a knife to Chase’s throat.

Jack froze in place.

“ G̨ood i̢ḑeà, J̷̶a̧ck͏̷i̛e̕.” Anti bared his teeth in what would’ve been a smile on anyone else, but on him it could only be seen as a threat. He did indeed look a lot like Jack, but his form was spazzing out and glitching at every moment, coming apart in pixels. The upper half of his face was hidden in shadows that twisted and writhed, strands of green light trying to form a symbol on the center of his forehead. The wound on his neck wasn’t just a cut, but a wide gash weeping blood. Green stitches were trying to keep it closed.

“What do you want?” Jack whispered.

“What do I w̶̡a͡n̵̴t̸̸?” Anti repeated the question, tilting his head like a predator sizing up its prey. “First, I want to see if y͡ou̴r f̢r҉ieńd he͠r̶e̡ b̵̶lè̷e̢d̴̡s͟͠ like you, if your faces are t͢hè ͝s̶a̡m̡e. Then...well, you͠'̀l̷l ͡soon fin͢d̀ ͢o̧u̢t̵. I wouldn’t want to s̴po͠į͟l e̦̼v̖̫̱̰͇e͏̰r̤̜͝y̪̼͖̙̙̕t̥h̪͎̙̱i̖n̦̻̭̹͈̼̮͝g͢ for you.”

Chase’s eyes were wide, and he held perfectly still. The knife was glitching ever so slightly. As Jack watched, it nicked Chase’s neck and a single drop of blood trickled down his throat. Jack sucked in an panicked breath. What could he do? Was there anything he could do?

Suddenly, Anti’s smile dropped. His head snapped—quite literally, the sound accompanied by a shattering of pixels—toward Jameson. Jack realized that he’d been awfully quiet during the whole confrontation. And it was because he was preparing. Several drawers were hanging open. There was a tall blue candle burning on the table, surrounded by strange symbols written in red chalk. Jameson held a golden amulet out in front of him, a golden square with a purple gem in the center. It was emitting a faint white light. He grinned triumphantly. “What were you saying about magic?”

Anti growled. “ F̵̮͎̠̭̮̯͇̀͟i̛͓̦̠͖͈̥̹̞̕n͎̰̠̙̻͟e͖̱̼̬. I’ll l̶͟e͠t ̛͝yǫ͝u win t͞͠͡hiş ̀t̀i̷͞m̶̧̢e. But this i̛sn'͏̶t ̧̕o̢v̵̡e͞r̛.” Reality flickered, and shattered. When everything was set back to normal, the room was light again, Chase was gasping for air, and Anti and the amulets were gone. “S͏҉e̵̡e̶ ̸́ýo̸͡u͟ ̧̀s͏o̶̡o̸͢n͢͞.” One last whisper around their minds, and they felt his presence disappear.

Silence.

After a long while, Jack turned to JJ and said, “You have to teach us how to do that.”

JJ smiled shakily. “A strong and more specific variant of the banishing. I wasn’t sure it would work. But it was better than the alternative.”

“You can say that again.” Chase almost reached up to prod the small cut on his neck, but stopped himself. “We need to tell Schneep about this. Let’s see him deny it in the face of three eyewitnesses.”

“He’ll find a way to.” Jack sighed. “But we gotta convince him. He could be in trouble too.”

And still, Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew who Anti was, and not just because he shared his face. There was something eerily familiar...like a favorite song that had been twisted and distorted into a different tune entirely.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #dr schneeplestein #chase brody #jameson jackson #antisepticeye #jackieboy man #marvin the magnificent #septic egos #septic egos au #brigid writes fanfiction #stitched anti #writing anti was so fun how come ive never done it before #stitchedstories

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thesinglesjukebox · 6 years

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ARIANA GRANDE FT. NICKI MINAJ - THE LIGHT IS COMING

[6.36]

It's Ariana Gran-Day! Starting off with this Nicki duet, containing an unexpected sample...

Rebecca A. Gowns: The sample is fascinating. It reminds me of the baby coo in "Are You That Somebody"; a non-musical sound transformed into a musical refrain, then multiplied so often it becomes the beat itself. And seemingly not connected to the actual content of the song... or is it? Like, is "Are You That Somebody" really about making babies? (Not just euphemistically, but about conception itself?) And is this song really an anti-establishment taunt? (Not just the music industry, but the clowns in Congress, if you will?) Well, who the hell knows. The music here is so much more fascinating than the lyrical content; the man yells about not being interrupted between stringent beep-bop-boop sounds crossing over from Dan Deacon territory. Honestly, it's reminiscent of a certain other pop/rap song that could also be called equal turns annoying, political, and just plain fun. And like that song, I like it even when it starts to grate. Maybe even because it's grating -- like, thank God established pop artists take risks like this sometimes. [8]

Katherine St Asaph: Gather around, folks, for a recent history lesson! The man sampled all over "The Light Is Coming," Craig Miller, was part of a Tea Party-organized, "almost entirely white and irritable" crowd protesting an 2009 Arlen Specter town hall in soon-to-flip-red Pennsylvania. The protest was against Obamacare, but it devolved almost immediately into more general right-wing bullshit. You can watch the whole thing on C-SPAN, if you're short on despair. Lowlights include: "What about this Guantanamo closure? ... The [mispronounced] Koar-ann says that all unbelievers shall be executed, killed. That's why I cannot support Islam." "He's right." (43:56); cheering at "we can take the non-U.S. citizens and give them an airplane ticket and ship them back" (38:47); even louder cheering at "the illegals, they shouldn't even be here" (18:34), and, toward the end (1:13:13), a familiar refrain: "The people in this room want their country back." One of them felt the need to clarify that she didn't have "any Nazi symbols with [her]" (7:45), perhaps because the previous day, in Georgia, someone painted a swastika outside Democratic representative David Scott's office after his town hall. Do I think Pharrell -- who also sampled Specter's own remarks in "Lemon" -- is maliciously sneaking far-right propaganda into our children's pop music? No, of course not. Maybe he just thought it sounded cool. But including a sample this obscure, this prominently, must have some point, and choosing one so politically charged brings in connotations -- connotations that just don't play nice with the light/darkness/taking-back/theft imagery and taunting delivery of "the light is coming to give back everything the darkness stole." It doesn't help that the Manchester bombing, which every Sweetener interview unavoidably alludes to, was quickly exploited by the far right. It also doesn't help that Grande's verses don't rebut but echo Miller, targeting someone who's a "know-it-all" (see other protesters' gripes about "elitists" and a bill written above "junior high school" language), who's irrational and doesn't listen, who's "tellin' everyone, stay woke" -- sides clearly assigned. The beat is great, the most inventive and sinuous Pharrell's sounded in years, but it's wasted on -- what, exactly? Both-sidesing? A Producers-esque attempt to squash innovation in pop with a bizarre sample set up to fail? Or inadvertently (I hope) something more reactionary than anything Taylor Swift's ever released? It could be worse. The track's a "Sleazy"/"Dark Horse"/"Jewels 'n' Drugs" urban crossover attempt, for which Grande's team "auditioned eight rappers," one of whom may have been much-streamed XXXTentacion. Nicki's winning verse, self-promotion and fuckboy dissing written remotely, doesn't engage with the song at all, which is probably for the best. As for fan consensus? Seems to be: "Will that old guy please STFU?" [2]

Vikram Joseph: Ladies and gentlemen, 2018's most bizarre sampling decision! I've read the context behind the "You wouldn't let anybody speak, and instead..." quote, and it still makes minimal sense to loop it continuously behind what's otherwise a seductive, abrasive, very N.E.R.D. throb of a beat. Thematically, it seems to be an attempt to take down condescension and echo-chamber complacency in debate ("if it ain't your view, that's the bottom line"); this is ambitious, and only occasionally hits the mark, too often stumbling into jumbled nonsense such as "give you a box of chances, every time you blow it all". Nicki Minaj, meanwhile, is relegated to a brief, off-topic turn in the intro. And all the while, that shouty man keeps shouting (and, god, I really can't emphasise enough what a strange choice of sample this is). Good Beat, B.A.A.D. Decisions. [5]

Tobi Tella: I mean, you don't know how HARD I tried to like this. Coming off their three amazing previous collaborations, this should've been great. But there's so much about this I don't like: the repetitive chorus, the weird way she sings so you can't actually understand a word she's saying, the sample of a conservative yelling? It's all just off-putting and irritating to me. Nicki gets in the best line of the song with "Yo Ariana come let give you a high five", but even her solid verse can't save the trainwreck around her. [3]

Abdullah Siddiqui: Little about this track is normal for a Top 40 single. And I find that very refreshing. The hook is effective, in that it hasn't left the back of my mind in weeks. The instrumental is beautifully minimalistic; the drum sequence at the start reminds me of Björk's "Heirloom". I love when the track kicks into double time. Minaj delivers a few solid bars at the top. Grande doesn't rely too much on her vocal tricks for this one, and it works to the song's benefit. The track is not without its flaws, however. It feels somewhat structurally underdeveloped. The "you wouldn't let anybody speak" is a bit overused, and it feels particularly misplaced during the verses. But these flaws are not by any means fatal. This is definitely one of Grande's most adventurous releases, and I'd go so far as to say, one of her best. [8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Aside from Nicki Minaj, whose tacked-on verse sounds less like its own contribution and more like another mandatory installment in the "Chun-Li" cinematic universe, all the many moving parts here end up making a lot of sense. Ariana's vocal performance darts between the little open spaces of Pharrell's beat, expanding and contracting as he brings in bizarro-bounce elements (including a sample from an anti-Obamacare town hall, of all things.) It's almost interesting enough as a pure physical feat, the way she moves from taunting cadences to breathy whispers to damn-near belting on a second's notice, but fortunately there's a good enough song as scaffolding around her too, one that provides enough structure to support "the light is coming" in its pursuit of weird pop glory. [7]

Alex Clifton: Ariana seems to be reinventing pop this year; the work off of Sweetener so far is the most eclectic stuff I've heard on the charts in quite some time. Where "No Tears Left to Cry" refused to resolve in any particular tonality (major or minor? why not both!), "The Light Is Coming" stutters and glitches with a sample of an irate citizen from hearings over Obamacare paired with video game beeps and boops. On paper, it shouldn't work, and it doesn't overwhelm me the way that all of Ariana's best tracks have in the past. But in practice it ends up sounding like a dystopian dance song/spoken word poem, which in 2018 feels like a real mood. Ariana and Nicki work well together as always although once Nicki's initial verse is gone she's out of the song for good; she could've come back pretty easily, and that would've made for some nice vocal interplay. But the more I hear of Ariana's music the more I keep wanting to hear, even when it misses the mark. It's been a while since I've seen a Pop Diva experiment so boldly away from her typical formula, and I'm revelling in every moment of it. [6]

Ashley John: The dismembered corpses of pure pop hooks and Pennsylvania politics roughly stitched together with a Pharrell beat is as close to a summary of Me as a song can get, so I'm partial to and suspicious of it right away. "The Light is Coming" should feel gimmicky, like Ariana is rushing in a rebellious phase, but instead it hits closer to a teaser--of what I am not sure. A Lorde song without the specificity or the groove, a Gwen Stefani track without the whimsy, and in those places just a hollow, trembling core. The track feels like it could collapse in on itself at any point, and actually, how fitting for a chorus of chanted, demanded optimism. [7]

Alfred Soto: A gesture -- an attempt to coalesce Pharrellistic effects around a would-be aphorism. One of the effects is Nicki Minaj. [6]

Thomas Inskeep: The beat, the slightly off-kilter rhythm was nagging at me, and then once I looked up the credits it made sense: it's Pharrell. And what he's brought for Ariana here is Trio's "Da Da Da" cut with Hot Butter's 1972 smash "Popcorn"! And then, on top of that, Minaj drops a solid opening 12 bars before Grande cuts loose with a message of positivity -- the chorus is "the light is coming to give back everything the darkness stole" -- that's obviously another reference to Manchester. And it works. I hope this hits on radio, because it'll sound glaringly different, and radio needs more of that right now. [7]

Will Rivitz: Man, Pharrell can't miss, can he? No one quite does the minimal beat like he does, and the versatility of his productions -- fitting everyone from Clipse to Ed Sheeran -- is on full display here, addictive vocal sample and all. Of course, it helps that everything else clicks, too: Ariana's finally embracing her "sardonic" side in her music, Nicki's verse is serviceable and appropriate if not particularly memorable, and the eerie nonchalance of the chorus perfectly encapsulates the song's uncanny ambience. Dangerous Woman is one of the best pop albums of the decade, and if Grande's current singles are any indication, Sweetener could be even better. [9]

Stephen Eisermann: Pharrell's production has been a bit shaky lately, but here his experimentation works. Nicki gives a perfectly serviceable verse to Pharrell's noisy beat, but it's Ariana's commitment and sass that elevates the track. To take on a track this playful, you need an artist who is willing and able to dance along to the track and Ariana is no slacker; even if the song is a bit weird thematically, sonically it's a gem and I'll be dancing along all summer. [7]

Maxwell Cavaseno: The unlikely world where I can imagine if Ariana thought the kind of music that came out of Ghostly International at the start of the decade would be the perfect sort of music to top the charts. Nevertheless, she's utterly at home, crooning and yammering through the strange pinball playground of her design, and to make the retrofitting all the more complete, you have Nicki doing her best to remember when she last sounded interesting... way back at the dawn of the decade. [7]

Pedro João Santos: It's a idiosyncratic mix of atypical vocal restraint by Ariana, boundless structure and glitchy, angular production courtesy of Pharrell. The verses are amorphous and abstract; Nicki makes a perfunctory but reliable appearance; the circular hook is repeated ad infinitum. Somehow, it all amounts to moderate success, after the brilliant "No Tears Left to Cry", even despite the appalling sample, which might serve for texture, but not much else. At least, it led to interview gold: "Is Ariana Grande a Christian?", the man whose voice was sampled, unbeknownst to him, asks an MTV reporter; his wife Karen sensibly replies: "Craig, I think she's more like Madonna." [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#Ariana Grande #Nicki Minaj #pop #music reviews

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hotgirlrpt · 3 years

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my thoughts about china (anne mcclain) that nobody asked for: black culture & christianity are deeply DEEPLY rooted to the point that most black/brown people see being christian as a part of their identity. this can cause a lot of black and brown people to feel the need to cape for christians or defend some of their fucked up viewpoints because, again, their religion is tied heavily to their sense of self. 1/2

from what i saw, she went out of her way to try and dance around being outright homophobic and more so...just trying to be a little preacher. personally it feels like we’re calling her homophobic bc she’s christian and talked about religion at all. if jojo fucking siwa was saying “people are not representations of gods love get to know him for yourself” bullshit i’m sure it would have been received better. 2/2

i’m on mobile so i hope that looks okay. i don’t think she’s being called homophobic just for being christian like not to try and compare our experiences but i was raised with a religious black mother who probably would’ve said something similar to what china said and she wouldn’t see anything wrong with it. first of all i know this wasn’t your intention but trust me if i ain’t like it when a black person said it i damn sure wouldn’t like hearing a white person say it. now i’m not sure if she’s homophobic or not BUT i do think it’s fair to call her insensitive. to stitch a gay mans video when he made a video expressing how religion wronged him it is very insensitive to be like this makes me sad get to know god </3 so i don’t know maybe she is maybe she isn’t but her being christian and black doesn’t mean you cannot be critical of the way she talks about religion on a public platform ( only if you’re a POC white people really not allowed to speak for this ).

#flo #did this make sense

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thedarkenedkeeper · 7 years

Text

Glitched: Part 4 - Glitch in the System

Author’s note: I made some posts before about how the 4th part would be centered on when Schneeple was trying to save Jack in “Kill Jacksepticeye”. However, when I was figuring out the timeline of how I wanted the whole overall fanfic to pan out, I realized it’d be better to do the 4th part on the origins of Anti and what happened in October leading up to Halloween. I do plan to write the Schneeple part, don’t worry. That’ll be Part 6, and believe me, when I write that, everything onward will be a feels trip. Also, a daily reminder: this fanfiction is full of angst and horror. It’s dark and there’s nothing happy about it. There are feels and blood at every corner. This chapter in particular deals with psychological horror, as well as a detailed blood/gore scene that can be disturbing to some readers. You have been warned.

Also, listen to this playlist while reading it

It had been nine months.

He had been here, caged in this cold dank prison for nine whole months.

Now he knew the answer to his gut-wrenching question: How long had it been?

And yet, he couldn’t fully wrap his mind around it. He couldn’t fathom the thought.

Nine months – That was an awful long time, more than half a year. He’d been gone for that long with the glitchy demon in his place and no one had noticed?

No, there was no way that could possibly be true. Surely someone would have noticed something was wrong, something was off. Mark, Bob, Wade – they would notice something off about his speech. Robin and Felix would easily be able to recognize any changes in his speech and personality, as well as his mannerisms. And Signe…of everyone, she would most definitely sense something wrong; there was no doubt about it. There was no way he had been gone for nine months, he refused to believe it.

And yet, an uncomfortable leech of dread remained festering in the pit of his aching stomach.

If what Anti had said about the community was true – that they wanted to see him again at his strongest – then they had been blind to see that the demon had been in front of them all this time. Maybe for a time they could’ve had their suspicions. Maybe they had thought Jack was dead and Anti had in fact taken over. But given how long the YouTuber had been gone for, if the community had been suspicious of Jack’s behavior, then they would’ve done something. They would’ve banded together, and being the smart fans Jack knew they were, they would’ve come up with a solution to get their favorite Jackaboy back.

But they did nothing…they sat back and watched…which only led the Irishman to believe that they had been played. They thought they had Jack, when really they’d been watching a demon this entire time.

There he remained laying on the stone-cold floor, still in the exact same position he’d been in ten minutes ago; in chains, laying on his stomach, facing the right side of the cage. He was staring at the watch Anti had left for him. It now read 3:10 PM, fifty more minutes until his awaited death.

The green-haired man let out a faint, raspy breath at seeing, let alone thinking about, how much time he had left. How had this happened? How did any of this come to happen – what caused all of this? Was it true that the abomination that had locked him up in this prison was the community’s creation? And if it was, why had they created him?

Unfortunately, the emotionally-abused Irishman didn’t know the truth. He didn’t know how Anti had been created or of what had happened during the month of October that led up to where he was now. And it was better he didn’t know.

Yes, it was true, the alter ego had been created by the community. They had given him a form, a face, a name – Anti hadn’t lied about any of that. However, what the demon had failed to mention was how no one had planned for him to become a reality. He was a mistake.

Long before October had come around, many loving fans of both Markiplier and Jacksepticeye had come to know of Mark’s darker half, Darkiplier. They grew intrigued by him, and from this, a question emerged: If Jack had an evil corrupt side, what would he look like? How would he act and what would his name be? Naturally, this peaked everyone’s interest. The Jacksepticeye fandom instantly scrambled off and set off to work on this new idea – to construct a brand new alter ego for Jack. One by one, day after day, members of the community began to make this darker half of their favorite YouTuber; each and every one giving him a different unique design, each imagining him in their own distinct way. Some envisioned him as a demon – complete with pointed ears, razor-sharp teeth, claws, and sometimes a tail and/or a set of horns – while others as a shadow-like entity, a virus, or something else entirely. He was an evil version of Jack, and as such, was out to destroy the Irishman, whether that meant making his life a living hell or just straight-up killing him, it didn’t matter. And one day, this abomination that the community had created was given a name.

His name was Antisepticeye.

Over the course of a few months, this name went viral; spreading like a virus and getting the entire fandom’s attention. It had been settled, Antisepticeye was now Jack’s evil persona. However, unknowingly to the community, the more they spread that name, the more fanart they created surrounding their new creation and the more attention they gave him, the more real he was becoming. From the abyss-like void of nothingness came a being. A pale lean figure with forest-green hair and eyes a soulless black came glitching spastically into reality, and he was not happy.

It was dark and cold where he was, hovering in the back of Jack’s mind. He was all alone with only his own thoughts to keep him company. No one knew he existed – not yet, anyway. The community had created him – they had given him life through the amount of recognition they gave him. He had been put together by each individual representation of him by the fandom; piece after piece ripped away from different takes on the ego to stitch together the perfect being. The community had inadvertently and unknowingly given life to a Frankenstein-like monster. And that monster was not pleased to discover this. He was grateful to be alive, but he wasn’t alive, not truly. He had awakened to complete darkness, getting no proper greeting from his makers. They hadn’t realized what they’d done; there was no proof of his existence. As an idea, yes, but not as an actual spiritual creature. And so, in that moment, the glitchy entity came to a conclusion: If they, his creators, couldn’t present him with a proper greeting and accept that he was real, then he would make his own grand entrance. He would make them believe.

But how? How could he get everyone’s attention? How could he make himself known?

There had to be a way to get noticed, there had to - !

Jacksepticeye.

That name – he had heard that name repeating in his head like a mantra ever since he awoke, almost like it was constantly taunting him. What was so important about that name? Why did he suddenly feel his entire form glitch violently at just the mention of it?

And then he heard it.

“Top of the mornin’ to ya laddies! My name is Jacksepticeye, and welcome back to – !”

There it was, there was that name that caused his blood – did he have blood? – to boil furiously. Searching through the endless gloom, the manifestation looked for something, anything, that would grant him a clue as to where he was. He followed the Irish voice to the ends of the dark, finally coming upon some light. And through this light he saw everything.

The man whose mind he was residing in was seated at a desk, currently playing a video game of sorts on his PC, taking glances at a nearby camera every few seconds to speak to someone. Who was he speaking to? What was with the set up and the odd name?

Jacksepticeye…Antisepticeye…

In a matter of seconds, everything came flooding at the being full force. He had been created as the other half to Jacksepticeye, a YouTuber – a very popular YouTuber. A YouTuber with a lot of followers and a large community made up of millions of viewers.

At this discovery, the abomination grinned from ear to ear with delight. He had found his creators and more, so much more. This was far better than he could’ve ever imagined. All of those people – if he could make himself known, the amount of attention he’d receive would give him immense strength and power. And maybe, just maybe, if he managed to get enough power, he could take this “Jacksepticeye” character out of the picture and make the channel his own. If he could do that, he’d have all the attention put on him and him alone – he would be loved by millions. Is this not the reason why he was created? Had his makers not made him to get rid of the YouTuber? Perhaps they had grown tired of the Irishman; maybe they wanted something new – a replacement. If that’s what they wanted, then he would provide. He would make them proud and give them exactly what they asked for.

Now if only he could find a way to show himself…

No…No, it was too early. He couldn’t show himself just yet. He needed to familiarize himself with this “Jacksepticeye”. He just got here; he needed time to understand who this Irishman was – how he spoke, how he behaved on and off camera, all of it. He needed to know how to become his host.

From that point onward, Anti stayed in his place, off to the sidelines. For months, the unhinged manifestation studied his host, watching everything the green-haired man did and learning everything about him, inside and out. He mimicked his speech patterns day after day, getting used to the way Jack spoke, and did just the same with any of his noticeable mannerisms as well. He established a general understanding of Jack’s personality, his likes and dislikes, and how he was as Jack versus how he was as Sean. He even went as far as managing to crawl his way into the part of Jack’s brain where all of his memories were stored; going through each and every one and memorizing them all right down to the faintest detail. He hadn’t shown himself yet, but if his plan worked, he would have to put on an act and the only way that would fly is if he were to become Jack – both in body and mind. He would do anything and everything to make his performance believable when the time came.

And then it was October, the month of spooks and scares. When better a time to reveal himself than now?

Oh, but he couldn’t straight up possess his host. No, he’d wait. He’d tease them all, make brief appearances to stir up the pot. That would get their attention. But first things first: trying to actually project himself so others would know he was there.

October 8th is when it happened.

Jack was just starting to record himself a new game called “Five Nights at Freddy’s Sister Location”. The glitch wasn’t all too familiar with the game yet, but he knew it was from a popular horror game franchise. And if it was popular, the likelihood of the video getting seen was at an all-time high. Now was his chance to show himself to everyone and reveal to his creators that he was actually alive.

As his host carried on playing the game, every few seconds speaking into the camera about it, Anti gave an attempt at breaking through the barrier that kept him at bay from possessing Jack. Nothing much happened. He didn’t manage to project his form, but he did manage to make the screen glitch out for half a second. That was better than nothing. Now if he could just show his face…

Focusing on channeling his energy out of Jack and into the recording camera, Anti glared at the lens, not wanting to break concentration. Shifting his attention to the computer screen, he almost thought it hadn’t worked, until he saw it glitch out again, and very briefly show another Jack pop up, glaring sinisterly at the audience. Upon seeing this, the entity grinned wickedly, and to his surprise, that very expression of insidious glee got caught on tape, even though he had barely concentrated at all this time.

It was working, it was actually working! He was finally able to show his face to everyone without trouble. With this in mind, and knowing there was still plenty of recording time left, the demon chuckled deep in his throat and figured he would have some fun while he had the chance.

During the remainder of the recording, Anti continued to mess with the camera; making the screen break out into static and glitches, letting brief glimpses of his face leak through here and there. The first couple were unsettlingly happy, while the last few were actually violent in nature and clearly showed how angered and unstable he was at the core; gripping and tugging on his hair, screaming out of rage, and head twitching spastically. His audience deserved to see just how twisted and erratic their creation had become. They made him this way, now he had to wait and see what they thought of him – that is if they noticed him. And notice him they did.

Two days later and the video was uploaded, and within an hour after the upload, comment after comment came flooding in about the glitch.

“OMG! It’s Anti!”

“What’s up with Jack’s facecam? It keeps glitching out.”

“Is that Jack’s evil alter ego, Antisepticeye? Oh my God!”

“Does anyone else notice the creepy faces showing up in Jack’s facecam? Pretty spooky.”

Everyone was finally beginning to take notice in him – one after another, these people had come to realize he existed. A jack o’ lantern-like grin stretched impossibly wide across the demon’s face. It was time to toy with his makers.

* * * * *

Over the course of the month, the troublesome demon continued to make unannounced appearances in Jack’s videos left, right, and center. Just like with his grand “introduction” as he put it, the glitches varied from frighteningly gleeful to sudden manic behavior. And as he expected, with each show of his face, more attention was put on him. With each day, the demonic entity could feel himself growing more powerful. He could physically feel jolts of tantalizing energy coursing through his veins, rejuvenating him and making him feel stronger than he ever had before. He felt like he could take on his host. He felt like he could take on the world.

Poor Jack, he hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on. He barely even took notice of the glitches, he automatically assumed there was either something wrong with the camera or Robin had gone and added some pretty cool effects for Spooktober. He had no idea that what was living deep inside of him wanted out and was planning to take control.

Nonetheless, as the days flew by and Halloween was nearing, the Irishman began to experience out of the ordinary phenomenon that he wouldn’t admit was unnerving him to the bone.

Within the first two weeks, the chronic headaches started. At first, they were barely noticeable – just a small faint pang of pain, nothing Tylenol or Advil couldn’t fix. But the closer it got to the 31st, the harsher the pain grew to the point of being so agonizing, it felt like someone was actually physically trying to pry his skull open from the inside out. Jack rarely ever got headaches, let alone ones this painful. Maybe it was from stress? Had he been working himself too hard lately? Maybe a long overdue break was called for. But things only got worse for the green-haired man.

He was starting to hear things, especially at late hours of the night. There were always thumps and shuffling, like someone was moving around the apartment, all accompanied with faint, bone-chilling giggles of glee. After staying up late for nights on end, he’d swear up and down that he’d seen something move out of the corner of his eye; a shadow passing by at breakneck speed or an object on his desk shaking a bit with no explanation as to why. He felt like he was losing his mind, but he wouldn’t dare tell anyone about any of this, especially not to Signe. He most certainly didn’t want her worrying about him, and more importantly, he didn’t want to scare her off. She didn’t need to know about any of this – none of them did. Nothing was wrong with him, everything was fine…right?

How very wrong he was. He was in complete denial.

After the 10th, Jack found himself having very odd, very unnerving dreams night after night. Just like with the headaches, they started off fine. It was normal to have weird and bizarre dreams, everyone had those. The Irishman thought nothing much of them…that was until the following week. The following week was when the indescribable dreams underwent a horrific transformation into nightmares. Jack had had his rare bad dream every couple of months, but these were so different. These were so much worse.

For fourteen nights straight, endless night terrors haunted and tormented the Irishman repeatedly, tearing apart at his sanity bit by bit and plaguing his mind with the worst visuals imaginable. And they were quite often the same. Maybe the images were shuffled around, but they always seemed to have the exact same feel to them: like he was being watched. The dreams were getting increasingly more vivid as the nights passed, until one night, the nightmare became so vivid, so lifelike, he couldn’t tell where the dream ended and where reality started.

It opened up to complete and utter darkness, swallowing the green-haired man whole and sucking out any and all bravery he had. He was all alone in the dark for what felt like a decade, and yet he knew – dread and gut-wrenching anxiety swelling in his chest – that he wasn’t alone. Someone or something somewhere in the eternal darkness was watching his every move, and for all he knew, that thing was right behind him or at his side. He heard a mirthful giggle reverberate throughout the room, if that’s what it was. Chills raced up his spine, all of the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention. There was something breathing down his neck, and it wasn’t a hot puff of air either – it was freezing cold, like an icy breeze during the winter season. Almost instantly, he whirled on his heel to see nothing but black in his wake. He suddenly made out the overwhelming scent of copper and the giggle he heard before returned with a vengeance, louder and more of a sadistic laugh that would belong to a deranged psychopath. His breathing began to quicken, as did his heartbeat as his wide eyes desperately tried to find whatever it was in the dark. Something was very wrong here.

This demented laughter echoed and became distorted after a few seconds, the smell of blood growing stronger to the point of crashing a wave of nausea over him. The darkened space before his eyes started to ripple and glitch out, giving him brief glimpses of a paled figure coming towards him with what looked like a knife in its hand. Frightened, Jack tried to step back, but to his horror realized he was unable to move. He was paralyzed where he was standing, not taking his eyes away from the glitching being. Blood spotted the edges of his vision as the distorted figure neared closer, one moment yanking violently on its hair, the next laughing manically and having its head spastically twitch from side to side. And the closer it got, the more Jack recognized the figure as himself – an incredibly unstable, frightening version of himself.

His breathing hitched when this demented Jack suddenly gave a glitch of his body so fierce it made his neck snap forward, a loud cringe-worthy crack emitting from it and making Jack reel back in disgust. And with a blink of his aquatic blue eyes, this sinister version of himself was standing in front of him, a Cheshire smile plastered onto his pale face. The mirthful being shook all over, distorted versions of himself glitching into view for a few fleeting moments, the most disturbing of them all being one of him clawing at his bleeding eyes while leaning towards Jack, screaming out of both pain and rage. The poor Irishman didn’t know what to do – he couldn’t move, he could barely even breathe properly. He was shaken to the core and didn’t know what to expect. He felt his lips struggle to part to question the duplicate standing in front of him, but nothing came out. He was too scared; it seemed any words he longed to get out had gotten crammed in his throat, unable to escape.

He flinched when the being went to move, slowly raising the knife up to his own throat, the grin never faltering. As the twitchy version of him did this, an extremely loud ear-piercing ringing erupted in both of Jack’s ears, immediately causing him to wince and cup his ears, trying desperately to block out the sound. He could make out distorted, disembodied whispers bouncing off of the walls, some much harsher and threatening than others. Many of them were overlapping, so it was quite difficult for him to make out each one, but he managed to catch a few.

“Unw-wanted…I-In the way…”

“Release me…”

“N-Need…Need m-more…”

“To d-dissect…”

“P-Power-er…”

“NEeD iT!”

“M-My host…A-All mi-ine.”

“I-In the way….I-In the way…”

“W-Will su-uffer in h-here…”

“1, 2, 3 – 1,2, 3, 3, 3, 3….3, 2, 1, 1…”

“EnD It aLL!”

“Th-They’ll c-call my na-ame…”

“S-Sa-ay G-Goodb-bye…”

Jack’s face scrunched up in both fear as well as confusion. None of it made any sense, not even when he tried to piece it together. Why was he dreaming this? Was this even a dream to begin with? This felt far too real to be a dream. The manifestation in front of him looked so lifelike; he felt that if he were to reach out to touch it he’d actually feel cool flesh against his fingertips.

Those words continued to repeat themselves in the endless darkness as Jack watched his mirror image raise the knife to his windpipe. His eyes widened in horror as he watched the blade press deep into the sickeningly pale skin before gliding along, slowly cutting the creature’s throat open; a thick spray of warm crimson spewing out and onto his face as the cut grew. But as horrifying as this was, this isn’t what scarred Jack – this isn’t what made his bones quake with terror. What did was as the blade cut into the manifestation, the green-haired man could suddenly feel an earth-shattering strike of pain blossom in his own neck. And as the glistening sharpened knife sliced into his other self’s throat, tearing open the flesh, Jack felt the pain in his neck muscles stretch and pull apart, followed by a warm wet substance oozing and dripping down his body.

He opened his mouth, a silent choked scream bursting free as he instantly raised a hand to his throat to feel around for a cut, but there was nothing there. There was no evidence of there being a slit in his throat, and yet, the more the creature cut away at its neck, the more agony he felt. His vision was beginning to go red, the rush of blood thumping and pumping loudly in his ears. He felt sick, like he was going to vomit or pass out at any moment, which ever came first. All he smelled was copper now, that’s all he could smell. He swore the words echoing around him were getting louder to the point of deafening. He tried to close his eyes, or at least look away from the horrific display, but he couldn’t tear his gaze off of the demonic entity. It was like he was hypnotized, almost intrigued in a way at what was happening.

Without fully realizing it, Jack had collapsed to his knees – when had that happened? – and his head felt heavy, his vision swimming. He inhaled and exhaled sharply and shakily, struggling to get any air in his lungs. The air here was tainted by the strong scent of blood, and it only made the urge to hurl a whole lot stronger. He dry heaved and glanced up at the twitching being. Slowly blinking and now having trouble making out the figure clearly, he watched as the twisted version of him finally stopped slicing into its neck. It dropped the knife and with both hands, Jack witnessed the most horrifying thing he had ever seen. The demon gripped its hair and slowly began to pull its own head backward, the flesh, muscle, and veins all tearing and separating, giving way until the head had been entirely removed. A vast amount of blood gushed out and splattered all over the Irishman’s face and body as a blood-curdling scream finally managed to burst forth from his lungs.

In an instant, the YouTuber bolted up in bed, gasping for breath; clutching his chest with one hand, the other caressing his throat gently. His entire body was trembling all over and he breathed in shaky breaths, glancing around the dark room wildly; sweat running down his forehead as he took in his surroundings. He was at home, in his room in bed. He looked to his right, his heart still pounding violently against the palm of his clammy hand. Through the darkness of the room, he managed to make out a figure – a woman – under the covers, fast asleep; her brown flowing curls pushed away from her face. Signe. Jack let out a trembling breath of relief at seeing her there before glancing around the room. It had been a nightmare, that whole thing had just been one really vivid, intense, horrifying nightmare. None of it had happened. He was at home, safe and sound.

Pressing a hand to his forehead, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a long sigh in attempts to calm his poor heart down. He needed to relax. This had been the fourteenth night now that he’d woken up from a nightmare, except this time had to be the worst one. None of the others had been nearly as terrifying, not even remotely close to being this vivid either.

“F-Fuck me.” He whispered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

There was no way of going to sleep again, not after that hell. Being as quiet as he could, not wanting to wake Signe, Jack pushed back the covers and snuck out of the room, going down to the kitchen. He flicked the light on, opened the cupboard, grabbed a glass, and ran the tab, getting himself a glass of ice-cold water before seating himself at the table. After taking a long gulp of the liquid he finally took a glance at the time. It was 3:10 AM, still dark and quiet as ever outside. He lightly scoffed and shook his head once more before taking another sip. He couldn’t believe how late it was, let alone how he had been having nightmares for nights on end now. What the hell was that all about?

“Sean?”

The Irishman’s heart nearly jumped out of his ribcage at hearing Signe quietly say his name. His eyes shot to the opening to the kitchen, seeing her standing there in her pajamas, rubbing at one of her eyes sleepily. He looked at her a bit sheepishly, taking glances at the glass of water resting in his hands.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He said softly.

She yawned. “What’s wrong?” She turned her head, taking a look at the time. She blinked with surprise, even though it was apparent she was having trouble staying awake. “Why are you up so late? It’s three in the morning.”

“I know, I know. I’m…I’m sorry.” He apologized. He really didn’t want her worrying about him, especially not this late. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine, honest. Please, go back to bed.” He tried to reassure her, eyeing her and hoping she would listen.

Signe didn’t look convinced. “Like hell I’m leaving you alone.” She shuffled forward, nearing the table. “What’s wrong? This is the fourth time this week you’ve woken up in the middle of the night, Sean.”

Jack shook his head, shrugging his shoulders and attempting to brush it off as nothing. “It’s nothing, honestly. Just a bad dream, that’s all, I swear.” He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long sip. Unfortunately, his hand was shaking, and though she was tired, Signe easily noticed.

Her eyes shifted from her boyfriend to his trembling hand and then back again. “Sean…” She moved to the table, pulling out a chair beside him and taking a seat. She didn’t take her eyes off of him. “Tell me the truth…What’s wrong?”

He looked at her over the edge of the glass, slowly pulling it away and setting it down on the table. He sighed deeply, moving his hand to rub at his eyes. They were so sore from the lack of sleep he’d been getting the last few nights.

“I don’t know, Signe. I haven’t been sleeping very well the last fourteen nights in a row and I keep getting headaches.”

“Maybe you should go and see the doctor.” Signe suggested, noticing the dark circles under Jack’s eyes.

Her boyfriend shook his head. “No…No, I’ll be fine.”

She shook her own head in return. “No, you won’t be. Sean, you just said you haven’t been getting sleep for the last fourteen nights. That isn’t healthy, something is wrong.” She moved a hand to gently rub his back in circles. “I really think you should go and see a doctor about this.”

Still, Jack refused and remained in denial. “No…No, I’m fine.”

“Sean - .”

“Signe, I think all of this is just because of the amount of work I’ve been doing lately.” He finally looked at her. He spoke like he truly believed his own words – he was actually surprised how convincing he sounded. “I’ve been getting up early, gaming for an hour or two, editing stuff and sending the recordings to Robin. I’ve been staying up until two every night, trying to get as much done as possible, as well as continuing to interact with the community on Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram.”

“Well there’s your problem then.” Signe said. “You’ve been working yourself far too hard. This – all of this – is the stress catching up to you.” She looked at him softly. “I think you should take a break, a long one. Take the whole week off.” Jack went to object, but she didn’t let him. “Don’t try to argue with me. You’re working yourself too hard and you need a break. Let the community know. I’m sure they’ll understand.” She rubbed his back in slow gentle circles, causing him to close his tired eyes and relax into her touch.

Reluctantly, he gave a nod and realized she was right. Maybe this was all because of work. Maybe he did deserve a good long break from it all. He sighed.

“Alright, maybe you’re right. Maybe a long overdue break is needed.” He reopened his eyes and took a small sip of water before eyeing her. “I’ll tell you what. Tomorrow, I’m going to record my Halloween video, and after I’ve done that – after it’s been recorded, edited, and uploaded – I’ll give myself a break. And as I bonus, I’ll give the doctor a call and see about getting myself an appointment, alright? How’s that sound?”

She searched his eyes, trying to decipher if he was telling the truth and would actually do as he just said. “You promise? You’ll give yourself a break and go see the doctor?”

He nodded, a faint tired smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I promise.”

She gave a smile in return. “Good. ‘Cause,” Her smile faded, replacing it with a worried look, “you’ve been scaring me lately, what with how you’ve been acting. You’ve seemed a bit jumpy lately.”

Jack felt his heart skip a beat and his smile vanished instantly. He shook his head. “No, no, no, I don’t want to be scaring you. Please, believe me, Signe, I’m fine. It’s just all the stress from work that’s been affecting me, I swear.” He gave her a reassuring smile, pushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She still looked a tad bit uncertain, but gave a nod anyway, accompanied with a sheepish smile. “I know you wouldn’t.” She gave him a kiss before pushing her chair back and getting up, shuffling towards the exit of the kitchen.

Jack watched her before shifting his attention to his glass of water, his facial expression falling to one of dismay. Fragments of his nightmare returned to him, flashing before his eyes. The grip on his glass tightened. He heard Signe stop walking.

“Aren’t you coming back to bed?”

He shifted his attention back to her, and instantly he noticed the worry written all across her face. He gave her another reassuring smile, though he had a feeling she didn’t buy it.

“Go off to bed, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Signe stared at him for a moment longer before nodding and turning to leave, walking out of the kitchen and heading off to bed. Jack’s eyes went back to the glass of water, staring off into space as his nightmare played on repeat in his head. Letting out a shaky breath, he downed his drink, stood up, and went to place the glass on the counter before turning off the light and leaving the kitchen himself.

Before he had left though, the glitching demon lingering in the back of his mind managed to spot the calendar hanging in the kitchen. He knew what day it was, and he knew exactly what his host was planning to do that day for Halloween. He grinned sadistically, a sinister cackle of laughter ripping from him.

Tomorrow was the day.

It was time for everyone to say goodbye to their precious Jacksepticeye.

Part 3 - A Storm is Coming

Part 5 - Say Goodbye

@fear-is-nameless @golden-eyed-guardians @n-o-ra-xi @steffid101 @anti-support-group This came out as 10 pages long in Word and I am SO sorry for that! I didn’t think it’d come out this long!

#holy crap this took forever to write x_x #writing the nightmare sequence though #that was so much fun to write #i felt bad but oh my god #i love writing horror scenes #antisepticeye #anti #jacksepticeye #antisepticeye fanfiction #anti fanfiction #jacksepticeye fanfiction #antisepticeye fanfic #anti fanfic #jacksepticeye fanfic #glitched

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tdrcharmschool4 · 7 years

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Charm School Test #4 - Welcome to my Channel, Please Like and Subscribe! - Critiques

This week, the students' alter-alter egos took to the web with their very own YouTube channels. Let's see how they did!

Kushboo

After Granny went on Grindr a few days ago, she was bombarded with messages. In a rush of excitement she decided to make a video to share with everyone. After all, she does love sharing special occasions with everyone. Moral of the day: Sharing is caring.

Analyse: Hey, Kushboo! I really enjoyed this video and thought it read as one of those "Old People React To _______" videos, so that part of it was spot on. You had a good number of jokes in there that were really quite funny, and I know raunchy, inappropriate humor isn't everyone's cup of tea, but I loved it, so, do with that what you will. I think it's important when you're planning out jokes that you think from the audience's perspective and try to understand how they'll perceive it. One joke in particular that I was waiting for the punchline and it never came was the guy you would let "play with [your] pussy all day," and I think we were all expecting the "my cat's name is Mittens" punchline or some sort of "pussy=cat" wordplay, but it never came, and so all the buildup to that was for nothing. I would also be careful with how much time you spend on a joke -- the "sleeping" and "crying" gags went on *just* a little too long without adding much comedic value. (Things running long also contributed to the fact that your video was a minute a half longer than the maximum allowed time; make sure you're reading and following ALL directions!) I know I had a lot of really small things that I critiqued, but as we go into the final exam, I just want to see you put your best foot forward, because I have so much faith in your talent!

Harper: I think you had the strongest character going into this test, but this video fell a little flat for me. I can tell that you took my notes on the look, and I appreciate that! I will admit that it was a little hard to hear you, and I thought voice was a little deep for a granny at times. I thought you did a nice job with the graphic overlays, but the green screen was messy; it can be really hard to achieve a solid green screen without an HD camera and decent lighting, so I feel your pain. I think the central issue of this video is that the joke gets a little repetitive and the pacing is a little slow (especially when you went way over the 3-5 minute time limit). I think some more creative editing or some sort of buildup in tension would have helped it a lot. Overall, I think this was a funny premise with a lot of potential, but I do think it fell short on the execution. I can tell that you are listening to critiques and applying them, though, and that's a really important quality that doesn't go unnoticed! Good effort this week!

Luna

HEY WHATS UP YOU GUYS, YES! So storytime: I decided to change Latoya a lot from when she was first scene. I took Harpers critiques of more brow coverage and decided that I shouldn't rely on a look or a a visual gag since I couldn't make that funny for 5 minutes straight. These pictures are of Latoya BEFORE her video she filmed, so that is why she does not have lips/ eyeliner, as if this were a "no make up" face. More beauty happens during the video, but she only did what she wanted in 5 mins because she's here for one reason. To make friend$ :) The outfit is very inspired from the 90's as well as Latina and chola (I use this word with love and respect as I love the fashion and culture behind it) influences. Most items I had, except for the overalls, which were long pant overalls that were broken at the little hooks my sister had and gave to me, cut them and rolled them and stitched them into shorts. Not much construction but definitely a LOOK. Video description: Latoya's video this week is exactly what the title says, not click bait of course. It is a Q&A + new beauty trends video. She cares a lot about making content and she puts thought into every single #hack like it was totally the focus of the video. Subscribe and make sure to go to my PayPal and straight up send me money. Thanks.

Analyse: LA-TOY-A!!! For me, this video hit the nail on the head. Like, it fully decimated the nail. The jokes landed. The timing was right. There was a variety in humor. I loved it! A parody can be super hard to pull off, and I think you went a really good direction with this one. I lived for the references (bitch, you know I love Trisha Paytas), and while the look was simple and the makeup was pretty plain, it still looked cultivated and made sense with the concept. I would've liked to see maybe a before pic AND an after pic, because if somebody was just looking at these pictures, they'd wonder why there was no lip. I don't have much to say, so I'm just going to leave it at that! Good luck going forward, and I can't wait to see your final exam!

Harper: Awesome work this week! I was really worried that your character would come off one note, but you really did a great job of using her to create a fully-realized parody. There were so many small details in here that I really appreciated, the coupon codes especially. I thought you were really funny, the editing was great, and the look was appropriate. Your acting was good, too. I'm trying to think of something constructive to add, but I got nothing. Keep it up!

Marina

For this week I wanted to parody story time youtubers. I always thought their content was hilariously pathetic and desperate, as is Susan. So why not make a parody of it? In this video, Susan tells her true stories from her days of prostitution. Not clickbait.

Analyse: Marina Susan! In terms of the look, I see a lot that has really stepped up for this challenge. The makeup is definitely looking "draggier," and I would love for you to talk to the deans this final week and really work on refining and defining some of the details, but it is a HUGE step in the right direction. The costume is fun and cute; it doesn't tell me a lot about the character, but I get an idea of who might wear that. The shoes don't really go with with rest of it, so just make sure that when you're doing a head-to-toe look that it's really head-to-toe. The real miss for me in this submission is the video. I get the kind of video you were going for, but overall, it wasn't really all that captivating. I know you had a script, but make sure when you're in the planning process, that you're really coming at it with an editing mind. Ask yourself "is this funny? does this make sense? is there a way I can word this more clearly so the joke lands better?" and other questions like that, and I really think it will help you to refine some of those jokes and make sure that the audience is entertained and that the humor comes across. Good job this week and good luck in the final exam!

Harper: I like this look MUCH better than what you had for your homework assignment, good work there! I do wish you were wearing a wig, though! I thought your drag makeup also looked really nice, although I'd like to see you in bigger lashes, more nose contour, and with a bit more blending on the crease! As far as the acting goes, I think one of the biggest setbacks for you was the accent. At times it was Jersey, at times it was British... it was very all over the place. I don't expect you guys to be experts with accents, but if you choose to use one you gotta be consistent! I think the lack of eye contact was also a real issue. I know Marcella and I both brought it up in our lessons because it's a really important part of connecting with a viewer! You had some really good lines in there, but they got a little lost in the format. The parody wasn't super obvious to me, and I wish you would have used a few more "youtube-isms" in your submission. Finally, this video did not meet the 3-5 minute requirement! C'mon, henny!

Nikita

Analyse: CHARLENETOTHELEFT. This is one of the videos that had me cackling throughout! All in all, it's a very good submission! My number one complaint is the lighting, and I know there's a joke about finding your lighting right at the beginning, but then you settle back into this poorly lit filming. (On the topic of lighting, make sure when you take your pictures, you don't have a light directly behind you like in these head-to-toe shots). The jokes were FUNNY, and honestly, that's probably one of the hardest things to do in a challenge like this, so kudos on that. I think one of the things you can really work on is making sure that the timing works and that you aren't pausing, because there were a couple of times where you paused a little bit and it seemed like you were trying to remember your next line. The beauty of competing in an online setting like this is that (when permitted) you get to use the magic of video editing. Whenever I'm filming a video, the amount of footage I have is probably 5 times as long as the final product, sometimes more. This gives you ample takes to choose from, and you can edit down some of that awkward pausing time. (It'll also help the fact that your video was about a minute longer than the allowed maximum). I really did enjoy this video, I get the character from the look, and I'm super excited to see what you come up with for the final exam!

Harper: I was a little worried about your video since we didn't get homework for you, but you pulled out a fully-realized character! I thought your acting was great, and I'm about 82% certain Charlene was in my graduating class. The makeup and look are great, but I can hardly see you! I wish this video was better lit. I appreciated the stream of consciousness, but I think at the end of the day this assignment was about parodying youtube videos, and I just didn't get that from this video. I thought the things you were saying were funny and in character, but there was no real narrative structure or punchline here. It was also about a minute over the 3-5 minute window you were assigned. I think there is TONS of potential with you and this character, this video just didn't nail it for me.

Ophelia

Chip is your average peppy-happy, easily distracted, and kind of socially awkward kind demon spawn who wanted to take a break from her usual helpful tutorials to do something different for a change: a challenge video where she answers her viewers' questions!

Analyse: Hey there! I see a lot of things in the makeup that show that you're taking some of our critiques into consideration, so thank you for that! In this week's final exam, I would LOVE to see you give us full drag queen fantasy, because this is giving me the same facepaint kind of mug you've been giving, and I know I've already commented on that a couple of times. I like certain separate elements of this look (the skirt is cute, the belt is cool), but all together, I don't really understand it as a look and I'm not sure what it contributes to the character, so make sure you're super aware of those kinds of things when choosing a costume. The video for me was very all over the place, and I know that's the character and was the point of it, but it didn't really add anything to the video in terms of comedy or entertainment value. If I opened an actual video like this, I don't know that I would make it through the whole thing. It's not that the content of the video wasn't entertaining, but I think this flaws here happened in the editing. Make sure in future videos that your post-production elevates the quality of your video and doesn't detract or distract from the content. Good luck going forward, and I look forward to you final exam!

Harper: I can tell that you listened to the notes about deepening the contour and not relying so heavily on the face paint! I do wish, however, that you would have added some lashes and spiffed up the outit a bit. It looks like a sleeveless t-shirt that I'd wear to work out, and I'm not sure if it really fits with your character. I think the jokes in this video wound up being really one note... the punchline is always essentially that you're a happy demon. I would have liked to have seen you play around with editing/the youtube parody format a bit now, but I know you were having computer issues and were running late. I will say that this feels a little low effort compared to some of your classmates (also shorter than the 3-5 minute time limit you were assigned), and I think the energy you spent putting together this look/backstory would have been better spent putting together a super entertaining video. It's good to be ambitious, but sometimes it doesn't always pan out, and this (for me) was one of those weeks.

#tdr #tumblrs drag race #tdrcs4 #charm school #drag #drag queen #baby queen #kushboo #luna #marina lumiere #nikita nox #ophelia waters

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