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geralehane · 5 years

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A Faeverse Story: The Forest Queens

(faeverse is my new series of interconnected short stories about fae and their girlfriends interactions with humans.)

Fae hate iron. Fate love bargains. Fae want your name.

I was about twelve when I met my first fae.

I ran away from home and into the Forgotten Forest – a bad decision to make, if you ask me. But I simply couldn’t stand my mother’s silent fuming any longer, and I just wanted to -- get away. To forget and be forgotten. That’s what the forest is for, isn’t it? In a way, I was a willing spirit for fae to abduct.

I wandered off deep into the forest and spend an hour aimlessly browsing through the trees. The forest is beautiful. Sun was shining through the leaves, illuminating them a shining brilliant green, and particles of dust swirling in the streams of light looked enchanting. That’s exactly the word.

I sat down on a tree stump, and I cried. I cried, because my mother didn’t love me, and I don’t think I loved her, either. I cried because there were no friends I could talk to about this, and even if there were, twelve year olds aren’t exactly equipped enough to deal with this kind of emotional turmoil. I cried, because I knew that I would end up going back to my broken home with its tense silence and my mother angrily washing dishes at me. I cried, because there seemed to be no escaped.

That’s when she crept out of the woods, her steps light, inaudible. She walked the way only fae could – almost levitating. And mesmerizing. Fae are, despite all of the danger and alleged people eating, magnificent creatures.

“Hey.” Her voice was light, too. Like wind, and sunshine, and the stream of a spring. All lovely clichés rolled together in one slender blonde-haired bundle standing before me.

I sprung to my feet and ran. Or wanted to run, really. Except I only ended up stumbling over a branch that wasn’t here before and scraping my knee as I fell down.

“Am I that scary?” Fae cocked her head to the right, studying me with her amused eyes. Emerald green. Just like the leaves with the sun shining through them.

I kept silent. Talking with fae, if you’re inexperienced at it, could end badly. On the other hand, what did I have to lose, really? My name? My life? None of it particularly mattered to me. None of it made me happy. So I stood up, dusted myself off, and looked at her.

She appeared to be the same age as me, but you never knew with fae, the immortal creatures they were. She could be a thousand years old and I wouldn’t know till she told me. She was a little shorted than me, and much, much prettier. Which isn’t that hard to be when the eternal magick of the Forgotten Forest and the spirits of wanderers lost feed your youth and beauty.

“So?” She got impatient with me rather quickly. Not surprising. “Am I that scary?”

“No,” I said quietly. “Not really. But I’m still scared.”

She stood, then, contemplating something as she studied me. Then, she sighed. “I won’t ask for your name. Don’t worry.”

“I can give it to you,” I said. For a second, I was enveloped by my fear; imagining The Feast of Fae, with a table full of every food I loved, beckoning me to eat something, anything, and never be able to return to the mortal world again. Imagining the endless dance. Imagining fading away into the sunlight, and the fae in front of me breathing my soul in.

I wasn’t sure that that was exactly how it went, but my twelve-year-old imagination pictured everything so vividly and beautifully that I didn’t want to know the truth. Perhaps, fae would simply gnaw on my flesh and bones instead while I danced away in a magically induced haze. Perhaps, they – or even her, in front of me - would wear my skin and come back to my mother.

“Careful.” Her quiet voice interrupted my train of thought that was about to take a rather gory turn. “It’s not something you want to say in this forest. Come on.” She gave me another long stare. “Follow me.”

I had already made peace with the fact that I was staying in the Forgotten Forest forever, so I simply did as I was told. To my surprise, instead of a sunny meadow and a dinner table, she led me back to the town border.

“Go. Don’t come back.” Her expression was serious, and it looked completely out of place on her young, ethereal face. “I can’t cross over the border, or I’d walk you home. But hey,” a tiny smirk appeared on her lips, then. “If you managed to survive an hour in the Forgotten Forest, I’m sure you’ll find your way back home.”

The words escaped my mouth before I even had a chance to thought them over. “What if I don’t want to go back home? What if I wanna stay here?”

“No mortal wants to stay here,” she cut me off, rather coldly. “Go before I change my mind.”

That was when my self-preservation instinct kicked in, and I ran. Mother didn’t even notice my absence, and I never told anymore about my run-in with fae. No one would believe I escaped her, anyway.

For a week after that, I waited. And researched. I read everything I could on fae, but the books didn’t offer much – only that they were trouble and you should never talk to them, or attempt to bargain. There were things I already knew – that they hated salt and iron and you could use that to protect yourself, should a stray fae wander up to your house. In the Forgotten Forest, though, that was virtually useless. It was their territory. The land itself gave them power. Or so dusty old books told me. I wasn’t that dumb of a kid to go to the forest again, but I also had enough anxiety that told me the border might not stop a fae that realized she let her prey go.

So I stocked up on salt and waited seven long, sleepless nights for her to come take me back. Yet she never appeared. I waited for confusing, luring dreams, but they never happened. I waited, and waited, and it was almost in vain.

Until the eight night, when I awoke to a silver moon and an annoyed familiar face staring at me through the window. Naturally, I screamed. Or attempted to, really, but fae waved her hand at me, and no sound came out. I could only watch, wide-eyed and terrified, as she crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

Her next words, however, made me more baffled than scared. “What do you want?” She hissed, thoroughly irritated.

I blinked and gestured at my throat.

“You scream and I tear you apart,” she warned. I nodded. Huffing again, she snapped her fingers. “Now. What do you want?”

“N-nothing,” I stammered. “I don’t want anything.”

She glanced down at the window sill. “Salt? Seriously? I finally answer to your call, and you make it so I can’t get in?”

“My call?”

At my question, she narrowed her eyes, and studied me for a long moment. Her gaze ran over me, searching for something. And, clearly, she found what she was looking for, and she didn’t particularly like it. “If you don’t know about the call, how did you do it?”

“I don’t—”

“Yeah, you don’t know.” She shook her head, incredulous. Her hair shined silver in the moonlight, and her eyes looked dark. “Don’t think about me. Forget you ever met me. If I cross the border again, it’s to kill you and burn your town to the ground. Do you understand?”

Oh, I understood. I frantically nodded, wishing for this all to be over so I could go back to my uninterrupted, boring small-town life. As soon as I thought of it, her face relaxed, and her expression became that of a relief.

“Good,” she told me, curtly. “Hope to never see you again.” With that, she stepped away from my window and ran. I didn’t watch her retreat. I jumped from the bed, closed the curtains, and poured another salt circle around my bed before climbing back in and hiding under the blanket.

I was wildly successful in not thinking of fae at all for several years. If I were more willing to start therapy, I would’ve been probably told that I blocked a traumatic experience as a defense mechanism. And I, once again, successfully avoided even talking about fae unless it came to studies, and I was the only one in my class to opt out of the Defense Against Fae class, which didn’t exactly help with my social standing as that quiet freak.

It was only at my graduation night that I was forced to think of her again.

Our class gathered at the house of our valedictorian, as was the long-running tradition. It certainly helped that our valedictorian came from an extremely long and equally powerful line of witches. Makes sense, really; children of ancient witch families were taught the craft earlier than they learned to walk. I, like many of other simple witches, only got to start on the witchcraft at the age of fourteen. Anything earlier was deemed potentially harmful. But old bloodlines didn’t care. And maybe they were onto something, too.

The fact that our valedictorian was from one of these families meant not only proficiency in magic, but wealth, too. Wealth meant owning a house that was more of a mansion, which meant a party for the ages. I had no idea how I ended up going there. The invitation stretched for everyone in the class, though, and I wasn’t all that looking forward to spending another lonely night in my room with my mother silently watching TV. I guess I just wanted to celebrate at least somehow. Do something to remember one of the most important days in my life.

It turned out to be both the worst and the best decision I’ve ever made.

When it was late and half the class had passed out in various places not really meant to passing out around the house and the other half got tired of excessive dancing and drinking, we all spilled out into the backyard to gather around the fire. Another tradition. I stood a little behind, silently sipping on my wine and watching everyone joke around and exchange promises they likely won’t keep. Until it got quieter, and the main fae expert of our class, Sam, noticed me.

“Hey,” he addressed me, with a tiny bit of slur in his words. “Hey – Mika, right?” His pupils, dilated and sparkling, told me he’d been sipping on potions that night. That didn’t help me at all. I wondered if I should translocate to my house. That would be too dangerous for a novice like me. I could always just run, though.

“Yeah, Mika,” he nodded and beckoned me to come closer and sit on one of the logs that served as chairs around the crackling bonfire. “I always wanted to ask you. Why are you so afraid of fae?”

“Why aren’t you?” I replied quietly. Every pair of eyes watched me as I slowly sat down.

He shrugged. “Why would I be?” The on-going question ping-pong did nothing good for my anxiety. I took a deep breath and shrugged back at him, clearly indicating I wasn’t interested in continuing with this conversation. But he wasn’t done. And not just him. Reana Griffin, the valedictorian, watched the exchange with unhealthy interest.

“No, seriously,” Sam continued coking his head to the right. Just like – no. I gulped the remaining wine down, shutting the thought down. “You didn’t take the Defense class. You never talk about them.”

“I never talk about anything to any of you,” I reasoned.

Reana smirked. “Then why are you here?”

I didn’t have an answer to that, and I was all out of wine to gulp.

“Come on, tell us,” Sam said loudly. He spilled some wine on his tailored pants, and didn’t notice. “Something happened, didn’t it? Did they kill your father?”

“Sam,” one of his friends, a guy I didn’t remember the name of, shushed him disapprovingly. “Too far, man.”

“No one killed my father,” I said, clearing my throat. “He was just... never there. I don’t really…” Why was I even sharing any of these with those people? I glanced at my empty glass. Right.

Everyone kept staring at me. Witch unions were supposed to last forever – literally, in some cases. Divorce was unheard of. One of the many reasons I didn’t really have friends. Everyone speculated that my mother got rid of my father, or that I caused him to leave, somehow.

“So you don’t know your dad?”

“Wait, I wanna know what’s up with her and fae first,” Sam interrupted.

“Nothing,” I said. Nothing was up with me and fae. I was afraid of them. I couldn’t think of them. It inevitably lead to thinking about her, and what happened that night, and what did she even mean by my call? And why did she save me – and did she even save me at all, or did I make it all up in my lonely mind of a lonely child to escape the reality of being utterly, truly alone?

I blinked and felt something wet drip down my cheek. Great. Now I was crying in front of these brilliant, wealthy, confident morons. Truly a way to end the night. I blinked faster, and the tears kept coming faster, too. I couldn’t bear to watch their faces twist with pity, so I pointedly looked past them, far eat. In the direction of the Forest.

It probably shouldn’t have been such a surprise to see her standing there. She grew up, too, as I did. Her hair was longer, and it still shone silver under the moonlight. She stood mere feet away from where we were all sitting, and her smirk was as warm as it was annoyed. At first, I thought she was just a result of my desperation and blurry vision. But, when I wiped the tears away, she remained.

“I’m surprised it took you this long,” she told me. Everyone turned around, and then scrambled to their feet, cries of surprise and fear filling the air. I didn’t move. I simply watched her as she walked to me, her bare feet barely touching the ground.

“So am I.” There was something different about meeting her this time. There was no fear. “Are you mad at me?”

“Not anymore.” She outstretched her hand. “Come.”

“Aren’t you going to kill me and burn this town to the ground?” I asked, then, allowing myself a small smile as I stood and took her hand. Warm. And soft. It promised forever. So I accepted.

And she led me away; away from my gawking classmates and my small town and my dim future; away from my previous life that seemed so dull in comparison with the bright green of The Forgotten Forest. We crossed the clearing that separated the town and the woods, and I didn’t ask why The Forest was suddenly illuminated by sunshine, just like the way it was when we first met. I just watched, and breathed the warm summer air in, and smiled.

“It’s yours now,” she told me, quietly, as we stood before the unseen border. “All of it.”

I looked at her. “Do you need my name?”

“No. No,” she shook her head, and let out a small, melodic laugh. “But you don’t need it, either. You can find a new one. I can give you a new one, if you want. Or you can go without any name at all.”

I thought of it, and the last option seemed the best. Later, perhaps, we’ll come up with something together. Now, I just wanted to be.

And so I smiled wider, and grasped her hand, and led her over the border, into the emerald depth of our forest. patreon

#faeverse #wlw drabble #femslash #the forgotten forest #forest queens #writing #short story #fae #wlw novel

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strikertheblackdog-blog · 5 years

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Striker

The Basics:

Name: Striker Age: Unknown Place of birth: Unknown Current location: Folie a deux Species: Black Dog (guardian type) Powers: Stronger and faster than an average human, better senses (sight, smell, hearing), can shift into a huge black dog at will (unaffected by the moon) Skills: Tracking (even when not shifted), hand-to-hand combat, singing

Physical Appearance:

Eye colour: Blue (human form), red (dog form)

Hair style/colour: Black, longish and sort of disheveled (human form), black, thick, roughly the same length as a Golden Retriever (dog form)

Build: Lean but muscular (human form), big, bulky muscles (dog form)

Usual level of grooming: Somewhat untidy but clean

How he walks: Lazy sort of stroll in human form, confidently in dog form

Distinguishing features (tattoos, scars, birthmarks): A few scars from normal wear and tear: one on his shoulder about 2″ in length from a sharp tree branch, on his left calf there are 5 small puncture scars from being bitten by a wolf during a fight. No tattoos. No birthmarks, only a few freckles here and there in his human form.

Preferred outfit: Jeans, black t-shirt, work boots

Glasses/contacts: none.

Any accessories that are ALWAYS associated with him (cane, pipe, necklace, etc.): Silver lighter with intricate engraving though he doesn’t smoke

Distinguishing “tics” or mannerisms: He likes to roll his knuckles along the wall/fence/whatever is next to him as he walks.

General health: Good health, no issues

Handwriting: Sloppy, barely legible

Speech and Communication

How he talks: Quickly

Style of speech: Average, sometimes a smattering of Scottish slang or different languages thrown in

Accent: Scottish

Posture: Relaxed and casual, usually crosses arms over his chest

Gesturing: Only when agitated or eager

Eye contact: Direct

Preferred curse word: Fuck (it’s very versatile)

Catchphrase: For fuck’s sake

Speech impediments: None

Distinguishing speech “tics”: May pause while he collects his thoughts

What's his laugh like? What does he tend to find funny? Loud, boisterous laugh unless he’s being a little shite about something in which case it’s an evil little chuckle. He finds most things funny, especially when people (read: Vihaan) get pissy about stupid, unimportant things

Describe his smile: (Okay, it’s Sebastian Stan.. it’s radiant and the loveliest of lovely smiles that warms the hearts of even the most dickish of dragons!)

How emotive are they? Do they wear their emotions on their sleeve? How easily can others to read them? Very emotive, his face doesn’t really have a filter unless he’s very focused on hiding what he’s feeling, it’s very difficult for him to do. Others can usually read him quite well.

He has a resting ANGEL face.

Some general stuff:

I wrote a more detailed bio for Striker here but here’s some tl;dr points:

Black Dog shifter that used to guide and guard travellers in the Ballyboley Forest

Saw “something” in Vihaan and decided to pursue him

They were together a long time (you can see the wanted connection info here

Striker was an idiot and left, faking his death which affected Vihaan more than he knows/understands (it affected HIM more than he knows/understands)

After faking his death, he wandered around in the wilderness for a while in his dog form, eventually being tracked and trapped by scouts for the city who think he has some way to predict/see upcoming deaths, which he doesn’t

Possible Interactions:

I mean there’s gonna be angst with Vihaan like no bodies business... and some shit with Citali because of course but here are some things I’d love:

Mentor: Someone older or wiser than he is. He’s got his head on straight most of the time but he’s been known to make stupid decisions

Drinking buddy: It takes a lot to get Striker drunk with his abilities mucking things up and he doesn’t do it often because of this but a friend to drink with and shoot the shit with would be amazing. You know... deep drunk convos at the bar or laying on the hood of the car staring at the stars...

Friends with benefits: Because of course? Striker’s gay, sorry ladies!

Housemates: Other rescues who don’t have a sponsor yet

Mix ‘n match: Anything you can think of really. Striker’s a sweetie, you won’t regret making friends with him (just don’t ask Vihaan’s opinion on this point...)

This Or That

Personality Quizzes

Moral Alignment: Neutral Good Hogwarts House: Gryffindor Seven Deadly Sins:

Greed: Very Low

Gluttony: Low

Wrath: High

Sloth: Very Low

Envy: Very Low

Lust: Very High

Pride: Very Low

Colour Quiz:

A Red/Green Planeswalker asks the question where am I now, and where should I go? Red and green both agree on the importance of authenticity. Green, from a place of wildness and immediacy, and red from a place of passion and self actualization. A real life activity that embodies red/green is Circling (à la the Authentic Relating community), which in part emphasizes setting aside narratives and frames and just being present, in the moment, with yourself and other people. Dionysian archetypes are red/green, as is Tinkerbell and the Hulk, and the parts of Wolverine that aren't green are usually red. On the gentler side of things, Aang from Avatar: The Last Airbender is firmly red/green and is often torn between his innate red playfulness and the gravity and responsibility required of his green role and destiny.

Red wants freedom.

Everyone seems preoccupied with the meaning of life. Red's not, because red already knows the answer. You see, your heart tells you what it needs in order to be fulfilled. All you have to do is listen to it and act accordingly. It's not a mystery. You are literally bombarded with constant feelings that guide you down the correct path. The problem is all the other colors ignore the message.

To outsiders, red might seem a bit chaotic; but that's only because others can't see what's in red's heart. They cannot feel red's emotions guiding them. Living life to its fullest takes a lot of dedication and perseverance, but red is always up to the task.

Green wants harmony.

The other colors are all focused on how they'd change the world to make it better. Green is the one color that doesn't want to change the world, because green is convinced that the world already got everything right. The natural order is a thing of beauty and has all the answers to life's problems. The key is learning to sit back and recognize what is right in front of you.

== Results from bdsmtest.org == 100% Rope bunny 98% Primal (Prey) 93% Submissive 75% Pet 67% Voyeur 65% Exhibitionist 60% Vanilla 59% Brat 58% Experimentalist 41% Masochist 14% Non-monogamist 10% Boy/Girl 4% Ageplayer 1% Switch 1% Degradee 1% Slave

PLACE IN SOCIETY financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty / depends on who’s asking medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged. class: upper / middle / working / slave / unsure / unknown education: qualified / unqualified / studying criminal record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no

FAMILY married - happily / married - unhappily / engaged or betrothed / partnered / open / single / divorced / separated / verse dependent has a child or children / has no children / wants children / verse dependent close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings (prolly) / sibling(s) is deceased orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s) / other

TRAITS + TENDENCIES extroverted / introverted / in between disorganized / organized / in between close minded / open-minded / in between calm / anxious / in between disagreeable / agreeable / in between cautious / reckless / in between patient / impatient / in between outspoken / reserved / in between leader / follower / in between empathetic / unemphatic / in between optimistic / pessimistic / in between traditional / modern / in between hard-working / lazy / in between cultured / un-cultured / in between / unknown loyal / disloyal / unknown faithful / unfaithful / unknown

BELIEFS monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic / other belief in ghosts or spirits: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care. belief in an afterlife: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care. belief in reincarnation: yes / no /don’t know / don’t care. belief in aliens: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care. religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious / other philosophical: yes / no / maybe

SEXUALITY + ROMANTIC INCLINATION heterosexual / homosexual /bisexual / demisexual / asexual / pansexual sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favourable. (slightly) romance repulsed /romance neutral / romance favourable. sexually: adventurous /experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious. potential sexual partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all potential romantic partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all

ABILITIES combat skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none. literacy skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none artistic skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none technical skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

HABITS drinking alcohol: never / sometimes/ frequently / to excess. smoking: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. other narcotics: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. medicinal drugs: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. indulgent food: never / sometimes /frequently / to excess. splurge spending: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. gambling: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

#sd.001 #sdintros #long sorry not sorry #task #ugh

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kitkat1003 · 7 years

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The Courage of Stars

@snarkyowl this took me way too long but here

Most winged people are born on their own.

It’s a disorienting thing, to exist. Bursting from nothing and finding yourself being something somewhere. Most winged people appear near towns, and society pays a small tax to house them for a time until they can spread their wings, figuratively of course. They already know how to fly on their own.

Anti?

Well, he was born with someone else.

Twins aren’t unheard of in regular human life. People see them all the time. Twins in winged people are special, are rare. They come from the same idea and the same passion and they are known to be quite powerful.

Jim and Jim are an example.

So are Anti and Jack.

Anti wakes up looking at the clouds, lying down in a forest with his arms, legs and wings splayed out to the sun. His hair falls slightly in front of his face, and he frowns, brushing the green locks back and pushing himself up off of the ground, leaning back on his hands and staring at his surroundings for a moment, before getting up and brushing the dirt off of his black pants.

“Hello!” Anti jumps, wings flapping wildly as he jolts around to meet the voice from behind him. The person who greets him is flapping his wings just enough to hover above ground, with a smile as bright as the sun. His wings are a soft light green, with feathers of light blue and dark green speckled in. He has the same green hair, though his is less messy and it shares the same color as his wings. Anti’s wings contrast sharply, what being black with dark blue and bright, septic green feathers placed in perfect opposition.

“Jack?” The name falls out of his mouth without thought, and suddenly he knows Jack more than he’s known anyone else.

Jack tilts his head to the side, still smiling down at him, and he holds out his hand.

“C’mon, what’re you waiting for Anti, let’s go!” His eyes crinkle, sparkling dark green orbs in white space to contrast Anti’s bright light green in a sea of black, and Anti doesn’t need to ask where to.

Their first day alive is spent chasing the sun.

They don’t actually make it to the sun of course, not when they’re so young and so inexperienced, but the feeling of being in the air, of speeding last clouds and going over forests and plains is so amazingly freeing. Jack does more tricks, wide wings twirling and looping around in the sky, and Anti watches while speeding up, pushing his hair back with the wind and laughing so hard it hurts and feeling his eyes tear up from opening them so wide against the wind to take in everything.

They roll into the grass when they land, still laughing because existence is funny and so is everything else, before they stroll into a town, not talking because they don’t need to, but bumping into each other and giggling and ruffling each other’s feathers.

Turns out, they’re in Ireland.

Jack does most of the talking and Anti watches from afar, because the thought of talking to anyone is…discomforting. Jack is easy to talk to, because Anti understands him and Jack understands Anti, but the other people are new and strange and Anti feels oddly hostile towards them, hackles raised like a cat ready to pounce.

Still, they easily make their way to the empty house made for new arrivals, marveling over appliances and bouncing on beds and flipping through channels on the tv. It’s pretty threadbare, with utensils and a few essentials, along with a small pocket of cash for buying food, and Jack is immediately enamored with the oven.

“We could make so many cookies with this!” He shouts, bouncing on his toes, before grabbing the cash and bolting out, calling behind him about going to the store to get ‘cookie supplies’.

That leaves Anti alone in the kitchen.

He isn’t quite sure what to do, all things considered, so he opens the drawers and looks around, until his eyes land on a large knife. His eyes reflect off the blade, and when he picks it up, the hilt fits perfectly in his hand.

Something darker in him stirs, and he imagines the knife soaked in red, imagines people screaming as the blade grows closer, imagines dragging the tool across skin.

He pockets the item out of more a need than a want, and the darker thing silences.

Jack comes back to Anti laying in the living room floor, rubbing his wings against the wooden plane in a vain attempt to scratch hard to reach areas. Jack laughs, lifting Anti off of the floor, seeing the knife in his pocket and saying nothing as he instead runs his fingers through Anti’s feathers, scratching certain areas, and laughing because Anti purrs like a cat does.

Anti follows Jack into the kitchen, and the two bake together, Jack mixing the ingredients and Anti ending up covered in flour and eggs because he couldn’t get the flour out of the bag and it’s impossible to crack the ‘stupid not-birds’ without getting shell in the mixture. In his anger he smacks the bowl so it upturns and splashes him, and Anti stews as Jack giggles while wiping the ingredients off of Anti’s face and mixing the dough together.

Anti redeems his culinary skills by rolling the dough into balls and making sure the oven is preheated, as well as putting the cookies in the oven and setting the timer. He immediately sits in front of the oven door, impatiently watching as the cookies bake.

Jack sits down next to him, eyes alight with excitement at the prospect of freshly baked goods, and the night is filled with cookie eating and movie watching.

Funnily enough, turns out they flew to Westmeath. That wouldn’t be anything notable if it weren’t for the fact that their creator, Sean, lives in Westmeath, and they spot him three days in.

Jack crashes into Sean with a shout of excitement, but Anti stalks behind, wondering over the burn of anger bubbling beneath his eyes, the instant hatred and disgust he feels for their creator the moment he sets eyes on him.

Sean looks like Jack, with less messy hair and light blue eyes instead of green. There’s also a slight…difference between their eyes. Sean’s eyes are blue, but it has the same energy that Jack’s does, an electric fire that draws people in, but with a calm, controlled bubble covering it that produces an air of…pleasantness that isn’t stifling in the way Jack can be.

Sean nearly screams when Jack runs into him, but the sight of his hair and wings makes his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, before he face splits into a smile.

“Woah, dude! Did I make you?!” Jack nods fanatically, and Sean’s jaw drops, eyes scanning over Jack as he takes in the details, the wings, the light in Jack’s eyes. Then, he looks over at Anti, who instinctively tenses, wings curling in and hunching in on himself, giving Sean a sharp grin that is anything but friendly.

Sean doesn’t seem particularly surprised by Anti’s behavior, and if Anti had to decipher the emotion in Sean’s eyes, he would say it would be…disappointment? “I expected you to be scarier,” Sean finally says, and the dark expression on Anti’s face drops to one of surprise, his brows furrowing in confusion after a moment.

“Scarier?” He comments, and Sean nods, eyes lighting up.

“Yeah! You’re like, Antisepticeye, yknow? A scary and crazy dude my fans came up with. Tries to possess and kill me, or, well, Jack,” He laughs, scratching the back of his head, and Jack looks…concerned. As if he doesn’t like the information he’s hearing. His eyes flicker over to Anti, and Anti gives him a kind grin.

Like he’d ever try and kill Jack. Ridiculous. Who’d ever want to kill their brother?

Jack and Sean talk for a while as Sean takes his groceries home, and Anti stays silent. There’s so many people here, and his fingers twitch with and itch he doesn’t understand, a desire to main, to make a scene and have people look at him in all his mad glory, and it burrows beneath his skin until it feels like he’s on fire. The less people, the better, because the itch dissipates the closer they get to Jack’s a house, the neighborhood and empty and private and quiet.

When Sean gets to his house he’s laughing because of a joke Jack made, and the sound is grating. Anti wants to take the knife in his pocket and run it across Sean’s throat so he’ll shut up. He doesn’t do it, of course, but he imagines it.

“I’ll see you guys again?” He asks, and Jack nods.

“Of course! Right, bro?”

It takes a moment for Anti to realize Jack is talking to him, and that’s just enough time for him to think of a response, and that is enough for that dark, slimy thing to give him an idea.

He grins and tilts his head to the side, showing off sharp teeth and giggling shrilly and enjoying the way Sean goes pale.

“Yes~,” He holds out the word just enough to be creepy, but not overtly so, and Jack chuckles good naturedly, turning around as waving goodbye before taking off. Anti takes a few steps closer to Sean, eyes wide and crinkled with mad glee, and Sean’s hands start to shake.

“S̫͙̮͇̆̋̎͋̋̄͡ẻ̎ͦ̐ͫ̈͘e̒͌̃͋̊͟ ̳̱̗̰̝̺̓̿y̲̝̟̭̥ͯ̿o̦͕̜͕̳͎͈u͗ͤ̍͆́̽̀͘ ̟͎͚̌ͬ͂̈́̽s̰ͦ͗o͕̰͕͉͕̥̹̊̔͑͘ȏ̞̖̹̯ͦ͂n̙̥̲̦͓̩͛̾͐͂̄̍̀ͅ.:

The look on Sean’s face when he leaves is priceless.

He and Jack fly home after that, and Jack orders pizza, half pineapple and half cheese because the heathen Jack likes pineapple on his pizza and Anti would rather stab himself in the neck than have such an abomination touch his tastebuds.

That night, Anti sits on the edge of his bed, staring down his reflection in the knife. Sean’s words float in his head, and he wonders if that’s his purpose. The Anti of Jack. But what does that mean? Jack is kind, is unfailingly gentle towards others, and loves people.

Anti has claws, and he hates people for no reason other than that they aren’t paying him attention, and because they’re weak.

The reflection of him in the knife flickers like a glitch, and Anti allows himself to smile, giggling to himself and twitching with a new kind of energy.

Scary and crazy, huh?

He can work with that.

The next day is spent searching for the sun. They know that’s where they’re supposed to go, they know it. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of their heads, a need to reach the city that can’t be seen from below. That’s home, that’s where they can nest and feel like the belong, so they spend all their time flying higher and faster and getting stronger.

When Anti comes down for breakfast in the morning, Jack notices a shift in him, frowning while plating pancakes.

“You alright bro?” He asks, and Anti chuckles, playing with the knife in his hand and thinking, reveling in this new sense of purpose, of reason to be.

“Why w̩͊͒ͨ̊o͖̳̲̻̜ͪͫ̆͛̓̔̾͡u̡̗ͅl͎ͯ͑͆̿ͅd͖ͧ̕ń̳̗̜͙͎̙͑ͧ͗ͬ͞’͕̪͚̥̭̦͂̾̔ͮ̉͜t͟ ͣ̂ͯ͘I̟͈̹̟̟̻ͫ͗ͬ ̐͂̕be?” He responds, hopping onto a chair and digging in, ending the conversation even as his form glitches and his voice is accompanied by static. Jack looks at him, worried but never scared, irritatingly enough. Anti likes fear, liked it when Sean went pale yesterday and wants to see Jack be terrified of him like he should be, because he’s Anti, dammit! He should be feared by all!

They go out, and when they fly the idea of Anti being Anti fades into background noise, replaced by the joy of flight because being in the air is so much fun; flying beside your twin and speeding past clouds and going so high your eyes feel like they’re going to freeze open.

When they hit the ground it all comes back, like tendrils of black seeping into his skin, colder than when in high altitude, and the Anti that was new and wide eyed and laughing at everything is shoved into a corner because he needs to be the madman he was made to be, trapped in his own bonds of creation, and maybe he likes it and maybe he doesn’t, but he isn’t given time to choose before being thrust into the role he was made for.

Jack lands beside him, and they stare at the setting sun for a while, watching it in wonder and imagining the city that lays on it somewhere.

“We’ll make it there soon, Anti. You can bet on it!” Jack says, with no uncertainty or doubt staining his voice, and in that moment Anti thinks he believes him.

They spend more and more time trying to find the sun, and as days past they get closer and closer to the realization that they just need to fly there, to find a high point and fly until they find themselves in the utopia they dream of.

One day, a bright, light green owl flies in through the window of their house, but the color isn’t the only weird thing. For one, it only has one eye, and it’s tail turns from feathers to whisps near the end. It has black talons and beak and a black and green belt with a container that seems to be for paper.

“Sam!” Jack shouts the moment he sees it, and the owl perks up, flying over and landing on Jack’s arm, nuzzling him with its head and Jack scratches underneath his chin. “Check it out Anti, I got me own messenger bird!” He leans Sam towards Anti, but the bird narrows its one eye, snapping its beak at him so Anti has to move away. Jack’s face falls, and he looks at Sam with furrowed brows. “What’s wrong little bud?” he asks, but of course Sam doesn’t respond.

“H̖̭͈̗e̷͇̪̼̺̞̻ ̬͓̦̠͕̳j̪̮̰͉̮͠ͅus̩͖̬ț̦ ̛̰͕̪̯̖ḏ̺͙̣̟̻͎o̵̬̤͕̰e̯̥̟͞s͍̤͙̕ṉ̫̺̯̣͇̭’̜̖͓̙̦̰̭t̬̙͙͖̲͜ ̛̝l͉͇͍͔͇i͍͚̰̯̥̲k̶e̝̹͍ͅ ̮m̭̠̬̠̖͕̯e̙ ̹I̦̫̤̥͙ ̼̥̥ǵu̺̜͓͇̠̤̪e̥̱̣̘s͔̺̳̞͝s̡͍͉̪͈̦͕,̖̀” Anti shrugs, and it shouldn’t matter but it does, because this is the first thing Jack and Anti don’t share.

“Hey, maybe you’ll get your own,” Jack tries to reassure, and Anti shrugs.

He doesn’t get his own, but he’s not very surprised about it.

It’s after a flight towards the sun that Anti notices it.

It’s well known that wing size symbolizes power. The bigger your wings, the more powerful and popular you are. Simple.

Jack’s wings are bigger than his own.

Anti shouldn’t be jealous. It’s not even a monumental difference in size, but a dark, burning jealousy erupts from the small difference and he can’t help the anger that eats him alive, that makes him grit his teeth because Jack has popularity and people like him while others shoo away from Anti and Jack has Sam and Jack has everything-

That Anti that was born staring at the sun, the one that laughs at the silly things and like flying faster than anyone else, that Anti flinches from the wave of rage and envy that boils inside him, and no one can save that Anti as the darkness swallows him whole.

A few days later, the anger and jealousy erupt, because Anti wakes up to Jack’s ribbing, and his eyes snap open and he tells Jack to leave him alone, but Jack keeps pushing and pushing to get him awake and-

Anti comes to and sees Jack with his back against the wall, covered in scratches that seem to be disappearing rapidly, and he lurches forward in concern, but by the time he gets there the wounds are all gone, as if they’d never existed.

“W̮̯͎h̦̲̬̫̫̗̙á̺̖͇̲ṯ̻͚…͞h̯̫̘̤a͙͕͍̦̝̳͟ͅp̯̞̫̺̬p̦͖̖̯̖̱̠e̶͍̙̯͍̪n̠͍̮͇̫e̡͚̰d̙͔̮̳?” he asks, and Jack stares at him with wide eyes.

“You went ape-shit on me dude. Your eyes got all black and you just kept slashing at me, but it all went away pretty quickly so,” Jack shrugs. “Are you alright? You went nuts, bro,” Anti blinks in surprise, because he doesn’t remember any of that, but he’s glad that he didn’t hurt Jack much.

“I̮’̫̮m̤̕ ̖f̮́i̦̲̪ṇ͕͔e,” Such a response has never been more wrong, but Anti doesn’t realize that until it’s too late.

Three weeks after that, and they’re ready to try to reach the sun.

Sean and Jack have met up a few times during those weeks, mostly to talk about life and other things, and Anti stays in his room or flies until it hurts to do so while he waits because there isn’t much else to do. Jack doesn’t comment on the static in his voice, or the way his form with sometimes glitch or twitch awkwardly when he’s sitting or standing around, and Anti wonders why, and he wonders what he did when he blacked out and he despises Sean and he can’t find it in himself to hate Jack even though sometimes he wants to.

He wonders what’s wrong with him.

The day they decide to go isn’t a special one, just a day they picked out for fun and Jack tells Sam to stay at Sean’s while they go, worried for his owl, and Anti watches in envy and flaps his wings impatiently.

“Alright Anti, Let’s go!” Jack says, excited and practically laughing, and Anti can’t help but crack a smile and be excited himself, because Jack has that effect on people.

They’re on the highest tip of Ireland, legs aching from the walk but wings poised to fly, and the foliage around them is swept back as they take off, bursting into the sky and flying so fast they look like tiny planes zooming through the sky, and Anti sees with a dark satisfaction that he’s faster than Jack.

The sun gets closer and closer, and it starts to tingle, a fuzzy feeling on top of his wings, but Anti ignore it and pushes forward and for a second it turns painful, before going away as they both push through it.

The light becomes blinding, but neither of the stop, and when they can see they can’t believe it.

A large city greets them, tall buildings shooting up from the sun and they can see other winged people zooming about. Not very many, about ten, but that’s a mind boggling number in comparison to the amount they’ve seen. Jack practically divebombs to the ground, and Anti follows him with the same sort of glee because they’re here!!!!

They’re on the sun!!

Euphoria has him laughing with Jack and running around with him, flying up and looking at all the buildings, dancing around in the air and trying to memorize every inch of this new space.

“Anti, look!” Jack points to a building, and the symbol of a single green orb on it is unmistakably a septic eye.

They land in front of it, staring at the large building with wide eyes until Jack drags them inside, and from there they search every room, and Jack loves the large over and the rooms that are for drums and the bedrooms and the second floor has one with two beds.

Jack plops down on one, and Anti jumps on the other, and they both stare at the ceiling.

“We made it!” Jack shouts, laughing and giggling to himself, and even though they’re on the sun, even though they have their own building and bedroom and this place seems to be made for them, Anti isn’t sure that they have.

The next day the doorbell rings, and Jack goes to answer it while Anti finishes scarfing down breakfast.

“Holy fuck!” Anti drops the fork with a clatter and sprints to the entryway, only to see a man in a yellow shirt with a pink bowtie and suspenders aiming a gun at Jack, and anger has him glitching in front of Jack with a snarl.

“Ṱ͓̜̥̝͡h̝̹͔͟e̸͎͇̻ ̢̝̺̖̗̤f̟̠̱̘͈u̜̦̥͕͕͔͝ͅc̹̬͔̺̳̭̬k͚̖̩ ͍̹̣̬̝̕á̲͙͔̺re̸͎̟̲̩ ̱̻̜̝̪̻̕ͅy̯̩͙̗̟o̺̦̮̞̙̜̬u̦̻̰?̖̤̫͚̰!̣͎̲̯̹̟̱”̸̜̘̣̝̠ ̱̟͔̲̟̖͙͝He shouts, and the man leans back, lowering his gun only to play with his suspenders and puff out his chest.

“Why, I’m Wilford Warfstache!” He shouts, twirling his mustache. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jack!” Jack calls from behind Anti, smiling.

“À̭̰͖n̥̺͝t͍͇̫̰̹̫i͜,” Anti deadpans, glaring.

He lets Jack do the talking again, watching from afar, but not too far because he doesn’t trust Wilford in the slightest.

Somehow, he gets roped into joining Jack to the ‘Markiplier Ego’ households, and there he finds far too many people with the same face. Is Jack going to do something like this? He hopes not, because having to stare at someone who looks just like you has got to be disorienting. Jack is different, because he doesn’t exactly look like Anti, but he still isn’t looking forward to newcomers

He has another episode the next day, but this time he is given a bit of a view, because he can see shapes but he can’t decipher them, and he can hear Jack yelling and he wants to stop but the anger that boils his blood until it feels like he’s about to burst stops those thoughts from ever coming to fruition.

Jack just laughs about it this time, clapping Anti on the shoulder and helping him clean his wings while showing that he’s fine, and Anti wonder if this is Jack’s purpose. Is Jack supposed to be a barrier, something Anti can rip apart without worrying about consequences? Or does Jack just have a healing factor of sorts, like a superhero?

The answer comes the next day, when Jack cuts himself while cutting up an apple into slices. The wound doesn’t heal immediately, and he has to bandage it, but Anti finds it as a confirmation that what he’s doing is fine.

He knows when he needs to stop, and Jack doesn’t mind, so it’s fine, right?

Right.

A few months later, a new Markiplier ego comes to say hello, and Anti hates him immediately.

“I am Darkiplier, but you can call me Dark. Charmed to meet you,” His voice is slimy and cold, but Jack grins at him nervously and shakes his hand.

“I’m Jack. Nice ta meet ya Dark!” Anti sneers from his hiding spot before getting an idea, snickering to himself with a wide grin as he puts his plan into action.

When Dark is done talking to Jack, most likely learning his weaknesses and what to exploit, he opens the door to leave, and a bucket of water falls on top of him.

A beat of silence, and then Anti bursts out laughing, with even jack chuckling to himself. Dark turns around with a murderous expression on his face, but then he sees Anti, and the rage turns into dark curiosity.

“Who’s this?” He asks while removing the bucket from his head, and Jack inclines his head.

“That’s Anti, my twin,” He says easily, and Anti watches with cold eyes as Dark stares back with calculating ones.

“A pleasure,” He says, and walks back out.

He has another episode, and this time his vision is clearer, so he can see the lack of fear in Jack’s eyes, the calm way he dodges, which only serves to make him angrier.

More months past, as well as more episodes that Jack brushes off with a smile, and suddenly there are newcomers.

The first is a Doctor of sorts. He wears glasses, a doctor’s coat, a stethoscope round his neck, a hair cap, a mouth mask thing, and has a wild smile.

“Doctor Henrik Von Schneeplestein, at your service!” He shouts with a decidedly not Irish accent, and he has an office clinic in their house that they don’t remember being there before. After that, a magician named Marvin arrives, wearing a cat mask and showing off tricks to Jack who listens and watches with excitement, and his room is a stage with a bed behind it. Lastly, a superhero named Jackaboy Man. He and Anti spar sometimes, and his room is hidden and seen by no one. Apparently it’s a part of his ‘secret identity’ or something.

They all gravitate towards Jack, because of course they do, and Anti watches from afar, jealousy burning in his soul and that terrible hatred that he doesn’t know the source of grows darker and angrier.

The three find out about his outbursts sooner or later. Schneeps sees Anti and shouts in surprise, but Jack waves him off and says it’s fine just as he gets three terrible gashes on his cheek, but Schneep watches the skin knit itself back together and walks off after a moment, still looking concerned.

Marvin sees and tries to distract Anti with magic, but Anti tears through his cards and tricks and Jack has to push the magician out of the way to stop him from getting hurt.

Jackaboy actually jumps in the way and starts fighting Anti, throwing punches and dodging claws, and just as Anti lunges for Jackaboy’s throat Jack shoves him out and saves him.

Jack explains it to them later, how Anti just goes nuts sometimes and that he can handle it, but that doesn’t stop them from giving Anti a wide berth, from staying by Jack’s side and leaving Anti alone.

It’s not like Anti cares that they fear him. He likes fear! He should be feared! But then they stop paying attention to him and they hang out with Jack and Anti doesn’t get to fly with brother so much anymore and he’s angry and possessive and mean.

Other egos have tried to fight Jack, sparring or just because they want to ruffle some feathers, but Anti always gets in the way, because Jack is fine after fighting Anti but he actually gets hurt when fighting other people and anyone who tries to hurt his brother is a dead man.

He takes it too far during one of his episodes. Jack ends with a slit throat not from his claws but from the knife in his pocket, and the anger Anti feels melts away into panic and he speeds Jack to Schneep’s office and Schneep spends hours sewing the wound on Jack’s throat, fixing him and Anti watches the heart monitor until Jack wakes up and then he hugs Jack for all it’s worth, mumbling apologies but Jack just laughs and tells him to stick to his claws and not weapons but Anti knows it isn’t okay anymore, not when Jackaboy looks at him like he’s an enemy and Marvin looks at him like he’s a monster and Schneep looks at him like he’s a parasite.

Suddenly, Sam’s hostility makes sense, and Anti holds it all in, this burgeoning anger and lets it out by being rough with Jack on occasion instead of all at once, pushing him a little too hard to be playful and ‘accidentally’ ripping out a feather or two when they clean each other’s wings, but it’s not enough, never enough, and the knife is still in his pocket because the dark thing that has taken hold makes him keep it in his pocket.

Jack keeps saying it’s fine, but Anti doesn’t quite believe him anymore.

Something has to break, and it does, erroneously so. Anti doesn’t stop pushing Jack around, and Jack doesn’t mind because it heals so fast, and they don’t fix it like they could. Anti’s anger comes from such a simple issue of jealousy, but Anti doesn’t talk about it and Jack never asks, so the cycle continues as Anti holds it all in until it explodes.

And it explodes.

Anti is left in that terrible mixture of lucidity and lack of control, swiping at Jack for all it’s worth because he wants Jack to know how it feels to be second best, to pay for this feeling of resentment and never being good enough that Anti hates, and it drives him forward in sharp jabs of claws to Jack’s chest.

Jack dodges with practiced ease, taking a few hits here and there that’ll heal quickly so Anti feels like he’s doing something, that he’s actually accomplishing a task and alleviating this anger, but it’s not enough, and Anti breaks the one rules by whipping the knife out from his back pocket and slashing downward.

Jack stumbles back as the blade grazes his chest, the pain of a wound that actually stays and doesn’t heal immediately being so dizzying and disorienting that he doesn’t have time to recover, and Anti doesn’t stop for him, can’t stop because his eyes have gone black and his mouth is no longer a smile and is instead a snarl, and Jack keeps moving back and back and Anti keeps slashing and slashing, until Jack’s chest is more red than skin, and Anti’s vision clears just as Jack falls backwards off the edge of the city.

The knife hits the ground as soon as Jack disappears from view, and Anti screams.

Immediately, he jumps down, piercing the air like a bullet as Jack falls with limp arms and wings and legs and his eyes are calm, that’s the worst thing, because Jack is never calm but now he is, staring at Anti as Anti desperately tries to save his twin, and he’s going so fast that a dome forms around him, a cone of heat that burns the tips of his hair and ears and feathers. He reaching forward as he gets closer, trying to grasp a hand, a leg, anything.

He doesn’t notice the black being ripped off of his wings as if the color was a layer of tar, revealing pristine white feathers beneath it, doesn’t feel the weight of something being lifted, but Jack does, Jack does and he smiles with a bloody chest and calm green eyes and he reaches up to wipe the tears that are falling from Anti’s eyes that are falling because he’s so close-

Anti grasps Jack’s t-shirt, and he pulls, but the fabric is torn from the knife so he loses his grip just as he’s pulling back up, and he has to dive again, but the ground is coming so fast and Jack’s eyes are closed.

The thud that accompanies Jack’s arrival to the ground is resounding, with cracks and snaps from bones and a sharp intake of air before nothing, dust sweeping across the landscape in a wide radius, pushing back leaves and foliage. Anti lands harshly as he scrambles to get to Jack, because the wounds aren’t healing and Jack isn’t breathing.

He cradles Jack in his arms, pushing the lids of his eyes open, and the green orbs that contrast his own have gone glassy and empty, but he shoots back into the air and hopes because if he doesn’t he’ll fall apart.

The trip to Dr.Schneeplestein’s office feels far, far too long.

He bursts through the door of the clinic, placing Jack on the examination table with a gentleness he doesn’t remember having, and Schneep jumps up in surprise and alarm, checking Jack’s pulse before even thinking to ask questions because he doesn’t need to and going for the defibrillator as Anti shouts at him to fix it, fix him, fix Jack please.

The body jolts once, twice, three times, and even a fourth, but Jack does not start breathing, his chest doesn’t rise and his heart doesn’t start and Schneep has to place the defibrillator down with shaking hands that move to clutch his face and then he starts to cry like he can’t believe it. He turns to Anti like he’s about to say something but Anti knows, he knows and he grabs Jack before Schneep can say anything and whisks him away to their nest.

When he’s there, he places Jack on the carpet covered in feathers and soft blankets and everything that they shared and he clutches Jack’s tattered shirt like a lifeline but he doesn’t cry, he doesn’t because if he does he won’t ever stop.

He’s always loved Jack’s wings, loved their feel and their soft colors and envied their beauty that rivaled his own garish black-wait, they’re white now, how on earth did that happen?

He stares at his own wings, and he laughs because they have blood on them, just like his hands are stained red so are they and of course they would be white because it’s so much easier to see red on white than on black. He laughs and laughs and he clutches Jack’s shirt until it tears again and then he takes a deep breath and plucks each feather off of Jack’s wings. He takes special care and places each feather next to him in a stack and his hands shake as he pulls each one off of Jack’s body-not a corpse, god no not a corpse-and when he’s done he picks up Jack and walks him back to the clinic.

Schneep is there, as well as Marvin and Jackaboy, and the three of them are crying and they look broken but Anti drops the body-it’s a corpse it’s a corpse you did this-on the examination table with a loud thud because there’s no point in being gentle anymore, and when they look at him he sees their hatred and fear and he runs, he runs to his room; he locks the door and he lays in their room surrounded by the feel and the smell and the whole of Jack’s feathers and if he pretends just enough he can believe that Jack is still here.

But he’s not, and Anti is the reason he’s gone.

Days pass, he knows because Jack’s alarm clock that wakes him up each morning goes off five times, but the days pass like minutes that Anti spends doing nothing but burrowing into this shell of a home, because Jack was home, Jack was what made living on the sun with everyone else bearable, Jack was the center of everything , was his rock and he only has the pieces of him, only has the feathers and his sheets and blankets and his clothes and things that Anti wants to hold and burn at the same time.

Is this grief? Is this empty feeling of missing something but knowing you can’t get it back a form of moving on? Can he even move on at all?

He feels listless, restlessly needing to get up and move but also so tired, too tired to walk, so he curls himself into a ball in the remnants of home thinks about how much better off the world would be if he’d never existed at all.

He scratches at his skin, wishing to tear himself apart but instead just leaving gashes that stain the green feathers with blood and so he rips out his own feathers because he doesn’t deserve to fly, doesn’t want to without Jack by his side, and he wants to feel pain because it’s better than feeling empty.

The alarm goes off for the tenth time, and that afternoon Schneep opens the door, looking down and finding Anti curled into a ball of blood and feathers, and he looks so tired, he’s not wearing his coat or his stethoscope or cap or face mask or anything other than the light blue shirt and jeans and when he sees Anti his eyes soften ever so slightly.

“G̪̮ͦ͠ẹ͚͉̞͕̔̕t͉̠̤̝̆͊̑̋ͦ ̬̯͔̞ó̠̻̝̖̿̒̀ų̲̭̬̰͕ͧ̏͆͐t̪̗̮̮̳͇̼̆̏!͒͋ͧͬ̈̊͏̪̦͙͍̺” Anti yells from where he is, slowly getting up on shaking legs and baring his teeth because he can’t, he can’t talk to people and tell them that he killed Jack because he’s a sick fuck who got jealous and never stopped being jealous-but was it even jealousy anymore? Was it jealousy or was it because he was playing the role that he was cast- and he doesn’t want anyone in their room, he doesn’t want anyone tainting the sanctuary of Jack and Anti: Brothers.

Schneep sighs, and Anti notices his hands are shaking, just like before in his office, and Anti wonders if they ever stopped and if they ever will stop, or if Schneep have to live with shaking hands because they couldn’t save Jack.

“Anti, please, vould you at least come eat somezing,” The voice is strained, but Anti doesn’t care, he’s unbelievably selfish and he wants to never leave this room that has all of Jack in it.

“G̯͔̿͂̓͐́̒̔E͕͚̣͎͉̱ͥ̈́ͫͤT̶̲͈̫̿ ̶̱͍̲͍̤ͤ̃O̥͆̃̏̂͛̃ͨǓ̩̗̮̄͐͐ͩT̗̭͑ͣ͗͂!͔̖͈̠̜͇͌̐̀” He screams, glitching wildly and taking a step forward.

“I am not losing someone else! I am not having you die here! Jack vould’ve vanted-”

“Ỹ͛ͫ͂͏̖͉͕Oͫ̽̄̌̒̏̇҉̺͔̦͔Ü̞͓̱̝̪̔ͦ̔̋͢ ̈́ͮͯ͌҉͉D̢̽̏O͔̔̒̇͊Ṉ̔͜'̤͎̗̤̰̝͡T̷̺͎̞̤ͣ̑̎ͭ̅͛̅ ̸͂̊̓K̼̺̞̏̅̇̉̚͞N̜̣̰̟͙̼̳͆͌̓̆͊̚O̪̟͎͍͇̣̜̾͛̔ͨ̕Ẁ̟̥̟ ̖̬̦̽̊A̔ͯ̆ͧ̓̈ͧN̥͉̭͙̗̈Ẏ̖̹̩ͧ̉T͙̰̙͇̮͔̠̃͆͗ͦ̔ͣH͐̚͟I̩̩̞̔̒̂ͤ̎̓ͯͅN̲̥͊̋̿ͮ̔͐ͬ͟G̤͠ ̞͉Ȧ̝̙ͦ̕B̦̃̊͌̄ͮ̚ͅO̟̺̼̣̓̍ͫU̖̮͚̟ͫͪ͛̉ͬ̀Ț͉͕̦͈͓̔ ̴̺͚͎̱͈̬̺̌͐͂̿͑Ĵ͎̟̩̃A̶͇̝͎̞̞͎̰ͦͥ̅̿ͪ͋Ç̦̜̍ͨ̐K̜͚̥̲̇ͧͦ͋͝!ͪͭͪ” Anti shouts, because how dare Schneep use Jack’s name in front of him, how dare he use Jack against him, and suddenly he’s dashing forward and raising his claws to slash downward as Schneep flinches-

But Schneep has Jack’s face, Jack’s hair, just like they all do and Anti can’t look at that face and do it harm anymore, so he pushes Schneep out of his room instead and slams the door, leaning against it to stop it from opening and sliding down until he hits the floor.

He pulls his knees to his chest and puts his head down, wishing for the whole world to go away.

Eventually, he passes out from lack of food. He’d had water from the bathroom, but no food for twenty seven days isn’t healthy, and he wakes up in Schneep’s clinic and when he opens his eyes the doctor hands him a bowl of soup with eyes that have dark, dark bags underneath them.

“Eat,” he says, and Anti does.

After that, a routine comes about. Two times a day Schneep will come to his with some sort of meal, and Anti will eat it before leaving the plates and silverware outside his door. He still doesn’t leave his room, still doesn’t listen when Marvin asks for him to come out because he wants to show him a trick or when Jackaboy demands that he spar because he can’t leave his haven where he can pretend things are fine.

Schneep doesn’t try and force Anti out, and the fact that the good doctor gave up on him is saddening, but ultimately unsurprising, and Anti hides behind locked doors for weeks.

He’s so goddamn selfish, and he knows that he is, but he can’t find the energy to care or change.

One day, nearing four months…after, a person wanders into Anti’s room.

“O-oh! Didn’t think anyone lived in this area of the house, sorry bro!” The voice that greets Anti before he gets up is achingly familiar, and when he opens his eyes he sees green feathers.

Jack?

When he does actually look at the person he realizes with crushing certainty that he is not in fact Jack, but the similarities are striking and painful. Immediately, he growls, getting up off of the floor and glaring at the newcomer.

“W̴̯̬̦͖h̞̠̼̜̥̮ͅo̷̱͙̤͍͖̞̖ ̝͔͉̰͝a̜̯͔͕̖̟̜re̴̟ͅ ̣͝yo͏͙͔̘͍ͅṷ̯̬,” He spits through gritted teeth, and the man holds his hands up in a peace making motion.

“Woah, woah! I’m Chase, Chase Brody. I just moved in here?” Chase seems to be a new creation by Sean, if the look is anything to go by, and Anti huffs, turning back around and sitting back on the floor in the pile of feathers and blankets.

“G̷̳̦̮e̡̩t̸͓͇ ̲̥̞̘̘̟͡o҉̻͈͉̩̻u̵͇̮̹̝͈ͅt͎̟͖͓͕̘͉.̛̣̤͚̬͈̼”

Chase eyes the green feathers critically, tilting his head to the side.

“Whose feathers are those?” he asks, and Anti sees red, whipping back around with a snarl.

“I͕̟̦̺ͨ ̶͈̖̜̞̰̿ͨS̱̹̤̿̒̿̕A̲̩̣̥͖̩͠Ȉ̍҉̦͓̫̝̻D̲̮̹̙͔̰͆ͣ ̫̘̗̼̮͐̋G̻̯̱͎͒̊̋ͨ̀̽E͓̘̱̖͊̈̔͌͐͗͘T̻̥̝̤ͨ͐̊ͩ̓̀͡ͅ ̙̳̭͉̠̖̑̀̍̂ͩͧ́Ǒ̞̻̮̠̥͙̬̎̒Ǘ̢͍̙̥̱̹͌T̨͖̥̥̜̗ͩͦ̏͌̐!̭̜̫̱͔̳̾͗ͮ̐͘” Chase yelps, running out of the room and slamming the door closed behind him. Anti can hear him running down the hall, and he growls to himself, falling back into his comfort zone and curling his wings around himself in his empty room.

The emptiness seems more noticeable now.

Later that day there’s a knock on his door.

“H-hey, bro? The doctor dude told me to bring this to you, so…,” he trails off, before the door opens slowly, Chase’s head peeking in.

“D̨o͏n͞’t ͞ca͡l̕l me bro,” Anti sneers because that was something Jack called him, holding his hand out for food, and Chase gives it to him carefully.

“Sorry, dude, I-,”

“Do̶n̴’t ca̕ll me͟ ̡t̀h̶a҉t͘ eit͘her!”

“Well, I don’t know your name, so-,”

“It҉’̡s̢ ҉An͠t̡i! ̶ No͞th̀i͜ng else!” Chase looks more amused than scared this time when Anti bares his teeth at him, and Anti doesn’t despise it like he thinks he should. Instead it’s…nice, almost.

Taking in a forkful of food Anti eyes Chase carefully, watching as the man fidgets uncomfortably. “Who͞ ̛a͞rę ̴you an͡y͜way? ͠M̀ore̵ ̶th̴a̡n͞ your̴ ͞n͝amè,́ ̵I ̧m͟ęan͞,” Anti asks between bites, and Chase practically lights up at the question, sitting down in front of him and going over his whole life story.

A dad with two kids and a mean ex-wife. Not what Anti expected, but then again, Sean did make Anti up, so the man has to be crazy. Still, the way Chase speaks about his kids is sweet, and Chase himself seems kind, if clumsy and not very intelligent, though that might be more from Sean than from Chase.

When Chase leaves with his dishes, the quiet in the room becomes stifling, and Anti wonders why he can’t ever seem to get himself to leave.

Chase comes by the next morning, and Anti doesn’t snarl, doesn’t really mind because Chase is kind, not exactly in the way Jack was but close. Jack was kind but sometimes impersonal and over excitable, while Chase seems to know how to act, when to be loud and when to be soft, like a parent, and Anti listens to him talk about his life and the craziness that comes with having winged kids, how ‘Margaret used to fly around when she was two and I had to shoot after her,’ and ‘Miles would climb on his crib and jump off all the time, scared the shit out of Susan the first time.’ He listens and eats and starts wanting to follow Chase out, because Chase starts to feel more like a comfort than an annoyance and he doesn’t want that comfort to go away, he wants it all to remain in his room where he can hide for all eternity but Chase would never stay because he has a life to live.

Anti doesn’t really think he has a life anymore. It died with Jack, because it was always Jack and Anti, Anti and Jack, and how can anyone stand one half of a whole for so long? How can Chase stand Anti’s static and glitching and the way he growls whenever Chase slips up and calls him dude, and how can Chase stand him if he knows that he killed Jack?

Maybe he doesn’t know.

(He doesn’t know)

A month in to where Chase has become a common occurrence rather than a surprise, and when Chase gets up to leave he holds out his hand.

“Want to go on a flight with me?” He asks, and Anti blinks in utter confusion.

“I̧ͧ̌̌ͨ̍…̨́”

“I mean, I don’t see you come out of your room ever, and that can’t be healthy. I mean, we all need to get some sun, and we live on the sun, so there’s no excuse for you to not get your daily dose of vitamin D!” Anti should say no, he should hide in his room until he wastes away and he should snap at Chase and make him leave forever so he can die alone but they way Chase holds out his hand, the way Chase’s smile curves up sharply at one side is so reminiscent that Anti can’t even think to deny the request.

“Oͥ̌͂ka͒̀yͬ̃͊̓͆͐̾,” he says, and Chase beams at him, pulling him up and dragging him out of his room for the first time in five months.

Okay, Jack.

Flying is the most fun he’s had in a long time, and he races Chase around the city and he laughs without static and doesn’t notice the people staring at him. He doesn’t see the Markiplier egos staying far away, watching him with an odd mix of confusion and pity because his wings are in terrible shape and his hair is messier than usual and he looks like garbage.

Later he wonders about them, wonders how they were given the news about Jack. He wonders if they all hate him.

Later he thinks that they should.

For now, he zooms through the air with Chase until he gets tired, landing on the roof of their building with a contented breath. Chase lands next to him and, without thinking, starts fixing Anti’s ruffled and half molted feathers.

Anti shrieks.

“D͚́̆̾ͨỏ̮̗̟̤ͭ̆̓ͩn͇̘̜̭̥ͅ’̗ͮ̀̈́t͚̤̼̗̗͐͛̂́̊͛ͥ ͙̦̻͔ͧ̌͋͆͘T͙̹͎̠̲̳̎ͤ̃͊͌O̵̱Ù̗̞͉̼̠ͅC̦͇̙̞̞̻̎̑̑̊̆ͮ̄͡Ḩ͈̯̲͔͎͇ͮ ͎̐ͯ̉͂ͦ͌͛͠Ḿ̗̬̬͉̫ͧ̿ͦ́̽̒͡E̜͚̞̙͉̘̞!̥̹̥͍̙” He shouts, jumping off of the roof and curling his arms around him, because no one touches his wings but Jack but Jack isn’t here and no one is Jack but Chase looks like him and he’s so confused and hurt again and-

Chase is babbling apologies, things Anti doesn’t want to hear, and Anti leaves, flying back into his room and slamming the door.

Immediately, he can sense that’s something’s missing.

A feather.

Suspicion has him bursting back out of his room and to Schneeps office, and he’s about to run in when he hears crying.

He peeks open the door quietly, and Schneep is sitting at the table in his office, clutching the feather that belonged to Jack and now belongs to Anti like a lifeline, shoulders shaking as Dr.Iplier rubs his back comfortingly.

“You did all you could, Henrik-,”

“I could not save him!” Schneep wails, head in his hands and the feather up against his cheek. “I-I tried but he vas too far gone and I could not, and now he is, now Jack is-“ He cuts himself off with a shuddering gasp and he doesn’t stop crying and Dr.Iplier looks at him with understanding eyes and Anti has to look away because it’s his fault.

He’s so unbelievably selfish, and Anti waits until Schneep and Iplier shuffle out to grab the feather because Jack’s stuff should all be his, because he knew Jack first and he wants everything that Jack was.

That night, he dreams.

Jack is standing with a smile on his face, looking perfectly fine and alive, but each step Anti takes toward him is another slash to his chest, and no matter how fast Anti runs, he can’t stop Jack from falling.

And then Jackaboy and Marvin and Schneep are there, and they’re looking at with such hatred that Anti can’t breathe.

“You killed him,” They accuse him in unison, voices dark and looming, and Anti ducks his head, wings curling around him and he sees that they’re soaked red, just likes his hands and suddenly he’s drowning in blood, Schneep and the others growing larger and Anti feels so small.

“I̙̞̝ͣ̂ͦ͆̋̌̚ ̤̩̲̝̋̋ͨ̔̀̃d̶͔͍̣͔̻̭̖̆͛̀i̡͎̫̿̈́̂d̴̙̯̼̠͍̭ṉ̛͊͋’̭͓̘͓̭̰̹̓ͥ͜t͗͐ ̢͍̩̫̫ͫͨͧ̍̆ͦͪṁ͍́͊͋e̩͍͖͙͠a̺͍ͦ͜n̘̮̪̲͛̾̍̍ͪͪ ̺̘̬͙̯̐ṭ͚ͫ̔̀̌̎͑ͫ͘ó̝̟͎̣̈́!” He screams, flapping his arms and wings in the thick liquid as he struggles to stay afloat. “I̹̟̳͈̞̪ͭͩͪͬͧ͑ ̼̗͉̠̲d̞̚į̬̮͕̗̖͕́̃ͩͤ̋̃ͧd̺̺͙͕͕̆̎̃ͣ̓̚n̗͍̠̹̮͈ͧ̄̓’̻͎̺̅̒͗́ͅt̥͍̣̝͇͕̟͌ͭ̾̔͊̍ͯ͞ ̞͇̤̜̫͐́̒̌w̵̙̐ͭ̑̿̒͂ͅã̜͈n̜̪̖̋̏̊̾ṯ̖͈͇̐̈ͧ̕ ̵̬̩̪̮̼͆̒̒͐̆̿ͨt̫͓̙͝o̵͓ͥ,̇ͮ͂̉ ̨͎̭̝̝͍͈̇ͧĮ͚͔̩̭’̨̖͇̣̰̙͙̃ͅṃ̮̽̑ ̶̭̤͍̰̠̚s̗̯̹̹̫̩̺̓͒̾o͚̥̱̟͔̼͙̒ͬ̅ŕ̪̳̳̫͓̉̾͗ͯ̈͜r̵̥̰̖̅y̓̐̊ͧͨ!̦͓̺͈ ̂̒͊ͫ̉ͮ̋͏̦ ̜͍ͮ͊̅Ȉͩͣͩ̉̐́’͎̼̱̯͖͙͚̍̂͑̿̄ͨ͋m̠̠̄̃́ͤ͒ ͏̩̟͍̼̟s̭̜̅̇ͪ̏o̦̺̮̖̰͖̒̒̈̇r͓̻̳̝͖̂͐ͥͦ͑̒ͯ̕rͤ̊ͯ̒̌̌ẏ̗͓̦̯͇͖͝!̶͎̥̗̩̾͌ͯ̒”

He gets no response, and then he falls beneath the surface and is lost in a sea of red and regret and he’s screaming but he can’t breathe and there’s blood in his mouth and in his eyes and he needs out-

He wakes up screaming, and he claws at his skin, tearing and trying to get rid of the feeling of blood on his hands, the sticky feeling on his skin.

His claws find the walls, his bed, everything around him, until his side of the room is a mess, but as he glitches and shouts strong hands grab his wrists, holding him in place as he kicks and writhes about.

“-nti, Anti, ANTI!” Anti stops as the voice calling his name becomes clear, and he finds Chase’s eyes boring into his own. He gasps, going slack in Chase’s hold and breathing harshly to try and calm down, the remnants of the dream echoing but disappearing when he gazes into light blue eyes. After a moment, Chase lets go, running to the bathroom and coming back with the first aid kit.

Carefully, he wraps Anti’s arms, cleaning out the many gashes in his skin and then putting bandaids on his face. After that, he sits on the edge of Anti’s bed, watching Anti breathe. “Bad dream?” Anti nods, fingers clutching his sheets, trembling with bandaged arms and wide eyes.

Chase goes to brush a hand through Anti’s fingers but stops, looking to Anti for permission.

Anti nods, and Chase runs his hands slowly through his feathers, pulling out the molting ones and wiping away dirt Anti couldn’t reach with practiced ease, and Anti falls back asleep to the feeling of being safe and of being home.

In the morning he goes out with Chase, and it becomes part of his routine to do so, to follow Chase around while avoiding everyone else because they know and Chase doesn’t and that makes it so much easier to be around Chase. Chase will clean his wings-like Jack does- and Anti will do the same for Chase, and if anyone else tries to touch Anti’s wings he’ll snap at them and slash at them and when Marvin comes around he hides behind Chase, doing the same when Jackaboy arrives or when Schneep walks by because they hate him and he hates them, he does-doesn’t-and it’s better if he stays away because they know what he did.

Schneep grabs him by his sleeve once while he walks back to his room one night, not at all happy but looking better than before, as if Dr.Iplier talking to him helped. The bags have lessened, and he looks to have fewer lines in his face.

“He isn’t Jack, Anti,” He tells him resolutely, and Anti clenches his fists so they don’t shake.

“I͞ ̵k̴ńow,” he replies easily, the lie falling out of his mouth like any other sentence, because he does know, because Chase has blue eyes and wears different clothing and doesn’t have as much of an accent.

But Chase has green wings, has a soft smile and soft eyes and likes to ruffle Anti’s hair and laughs loud and flies with him, and maybe, just maybe Anti is projecting someone else but it’s okay because no one needs to know and because Anti is getting better.

There’s just a little problem.

Whenever new egos arrive to the sun, they’re judged by many. A social hierarchy has erupted over the years, and everyone wants to be at the top, so the more you can say you beat the more powerful you seem. Chase seems weak, but he doesn’t act like it, and it ticks people off because he needs to know his place, and Anti always has to get in the way and let anyone who tries to fight Chase that they’ll have to go through him, because only he can hurt Chase-not that he would-and anyone who tries to hurt Chase will get claws to their face.

At some point, Chase brings it up.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he says, and Anti raises an eyebrow.

“Wh̶at?̀”

“The guys just want to rough me up a bit, and then they’ll be done. They’ll just keep coming if you don’t let them have their go at me,” Chase shrugs. “They won’t kill me, well, Wilford might, but I’m not helpless,” Anti crosses his arms.

“I’m̨ ҉n͏ơt s̨to͝p̵p̵ing,” He growls, but Chase doesn’t let it go.

“But you’re getting hurt,” He points to the bullet wound on Anti’s arm from Wilford earlier that week and Anti shrugs.

“Do͡e͢sǹ’t ͠ma̡tt͘er.”

“Yes it does! I can handle myself!”

“I͂͗͋̅ͩͭ̇ ͦd̷o͜n̂͑͛̿ͫ̄ͤ’̎ͥͦ̍̂̽ţ̍̽ ̿̊ͣ̑̿́͞wͭ̃̈͋a͏ń̃t̔ͮ͝ ͌̄̌͂͡y̵͋ͫ̐̀̒͐̚ő̔ͩ́͠u̽ ͦ̐ͥͦͤ̍͋t͊̿͂̄͘o̴͛ͬ͗!”

“I don’t care, Anti! I’m not going to let you throw yourself into harm’s way for something stupid!” and Anti feels the words building up in his throat, the shout that is a long time coming.

“I̳̝̫̦̎̅͛ͮ̈́̾͊ͅ ͙͈̙̱͔̳̥͊͐̌S̫͈͖̩̫̓̔ͨ̿Ḁ͚͉̄͌̍ͭI͙̣̤͙͋̂͛D͔̬̞̟͉͛́ ͓͈͕́ͭ̎ͤI̴͈̺͉͕̫̎̄̓ͫ̈́ͅ’̗̠̠̜̼̂̾͂ͬͪ͞M̖͎̫̮͆̾̿͡ ͂ͭ̆͂ͦN̜̟ͦͣ̌ͯ͂͐O͇̱ͫ̑̒͌̌̅T̜̉ͭͯͧ̏ ̧̟̞͎͔̿̒ͫ̆̒ͧG̴̘̥̳͔̿̉̋̐̓ͦÓ̻̣͈͇̣̃͐N͉̓ͩ̂ͩ͒͗̚G͆ ̙̘̞͡T̍ͧ͑̏ͭͭ̄͡Ỏ̵̺͖̖̝̣͓̯ͮ̋̋̔́̚ ͓̳̙̻̩̥L̔̀҉̲̪͓͎̯̦E̹͗̐̾T̖̳̫̺̲͉̘͝ ̧̟̤͓̠͇̬̳̈́̍̾̆̚̚A̯͚̫͕ͣ̎ͅN̵̺͙̯̩Y̛̳͔ͤO͎̰͓̖̰͈̊̌͆ͪ̑ͮ͠N̒̉̂ͩ͂̄̿Ê̘̥̭ͫ̌̒͌̄ͧͅ ̻̮̪̮͂ͩ̅Ḣ͚̲͈̣͙̀U͇̘̟͎̜̥̞ͬ͟R̸̮̜͍͖̀ͨͅT̪̬̬̰ͪ͂͌͂͝ͅ ̝̼̼ͭ̅ͬ͒ͦͣ̎Y̠̠̝͎̬̾ͣͫͅƠ͇̺͈̠ͣ̽ͣͪǓ͉̭̖͙̖̮̌ͧ̄̃̾̓͢ ̠̞́̊ͥ̔̒̈J̡̩̲̹̖̮̗͊Ḁ̳̫̗ͦͬ͋C̗͎͚͚̆̓ͯ͘K̵̋ͦ!”

And everything around them goes silent.

“Jack?” Chase asks, and Anti’s heart leaps into his throat, because he fucked up, Schneep was right and he can’t explain and so he runs, flying off before Chase can say anything else.

Chase finds Anti sitting on the roof of their building, staring at the ground with hunched shoulders, wings curled around him.

“Hey,” He says softly, sitting down next to him and waiting, and Anti slowly uncurls his wings to look at him, feeling more tired than he’s ever been.

“Y̕ou’́r͘e ҉n͢ot̕ ̸Ja͝çk҉,” He says to Chase, because if he says it than he can believe it’s true, and Chase nods.

“I’m not. Who was he?” He asks, probing gently, not pushing for an answer but patiently waiting for one.

“My ̧b̶rotheŕ.̡ ̸W̨e were t̸w̕in͜s̡. ́ ̴H҉e ͟wàs ́the b͞est̵,” Anti’s voice cracks, not like static but like a piece of glass shattering because he hasn’t talked about Jack in so long. “Y͠o̧u ͡s̛houl̀d͞n̢'t̨ ̡be͞ fr̶i͘e͡n̶d͞s ̕wi͜t̷h mé,” he says after a moment of silence, and Chase tilts his head to the side.

“Why not?”

“I’̸m a ͢ba̵d̛ ̵pe̕r͢so̴n̵. Yơu s̨hou̸ldn’͞ţ ͘b̶e̶ ̨around̸ me.” Anti curls in on himself, but Chase doesn’t let him push him away.

“Why?”

“I̡ hu͠r̀t̸ ͡p̴eop͝le.”

“Who?”

“H̯̯̲͒̃ͯ̐̏i͇̫̼̭̺̭̹m̘͙͔͍̜̦̍.”

“Him?”

“J̟̱ͪͬ̌̿ͦa̵̰̘̩̦̘̘̍̓͋͌̚ċ̌͑͊͋ͯ̚k̒̏ͣ̋ͥ!̓ͯͦ̐̑̀̾҉̙̣̩”

“What happened?”

“I̺̻̞͙̦̔̏̑ͭ̓̈́̚ ͧ̏͑̇ḵ̯̠̭̤̖͛ͅi̟̊ͤ̔͛ͬ̄͛͞l͓̍̅̑̓͟l̟̬̱͕ͦͨͫ̊e̟ͥ̋͝d̙ ̦̞̳̆ͨ̈́̒̅͝h͚͖̺̼̮͔̫ͧͮ͊i̞̱̙̩ͦ̓̔̔ͫ̐̾ͅͅm̬̱̭̳̔̓̾̃ͦ͑!̠̙̦͂͊ ̠̜͗ͩͅ ̮̟͔͔̳̺̌ͭ̇̉ͥ̒ͮ͟Ȏ̘̹k͐̓̑̚a̹͖ͩ͂͟y̺͍̥̼̗̖͇͛ͬ́?̖͜!̩̞̫̜̫͆͂̽̉̿̓̍̀ ̖̱ͯ̈͝ ̡͉̭̹̱̿̊͆̀̂Ĩ͈̹̤ͧͤ̏͗ͅ ͙̙̻̄̇̇̈́ͅǩ͚̪̭͖̎̇̈i̗͖̪͇̲ͅl̙͓͓ͬͮ̃̽le̹ͦ̄͊̍̈́̓̆͢d̳̀ ̘̰̣̦̂͑͆m͔͈ͮy ͔̝̳̟̒̈̎ͅb̝ͮrͣ͆̓̊ͭ̐̎ö̙̗͓̺͇̩̪́̓̍̀t͔̠͚͈̳͉̤͂͌ͣͨ̈́ͩ͟h̙͈͖̀̎ͧ͒͂̊̂e̜̗̪̜̖͈͍͆ͦṙ̯̗̅ͩ̿!̜̱̳͍̙̺̽͒” Anti finally bursts out, wings flaring up, and his eyes widen the moment he says it, watching as Chase gasps.

“I̲̳͇̼̖͍̳ͩ̎̽͐̆̎ ̨̰̦̮̯̦͒͑k͗̓̂̿͐̕i͔̘͠l̵͔̫͎͗͆̐̑l̸̤͆ͩͩ͊̂ȩ̺̰͙̭̥̲̟ͫ̂̃ͥ̇͗d̸͕̜͕̜́̈́́ ̗̳̦̈̄̑̌̚̚͢ä̭͇̻̦́̎ͪ́̒͘n̩̰͟d̩̜̥̪͈͕̣͌̾ͫ͂͒̑͢ ̩͓̤̹͟h̓i̦̫̪͓ͣ͗̋͋ͯͥͯ͢ṃ̣̲͆̓̄ ̜͖̓ͣa͓͐ͨ̊͗ͨ̑n͓̹ͧ̽͒̾d̠̰̱͚̫̍͛͛͒͗́ ͩh̨̰̎̓ͯ͂ͦ̽e͍̦̦̾̋ͨͪͧ͊͗͞’̝̹͐̿̔̏͑s̩̣̫̤̋ͤ̏ͮ̓ ̺͔̉̔̒g͉͙͓̖̤̈́́͡ͅǒ̪̦͐ṋ̝͚͈ͣe̴ͮ̃͒̓̇ ̙̼b̪̓͢ȩ̘̗̲̲̏͋͆͆̐c͕͍̣̰̝̞̐͟a̠͇̟͙͆͊ͬ͛̓u͓̳̼̼̘̓̅̂ͅs͉͖̫̞̦̺̫͌̎͆̅͠ȅ̂͛͊̀͠ ̗̫̳͈̾̽̄̆̏̐ͧͅó͍̮̤͓́̚f̹̼̮̻̙͔͟ ̟͍̻̞̞́̅ͯ̄́̍̀͢m̡̝̂̓ͅe͉̳̗ͧ̅̋͆͑,” And saying it hurts, because the truth is painful.

Chase doesn’t react, but his eyes pool with sympathy and understanding instead of hatred and fear, and it is mind boggling. No one besides Jack has ever been this kind, has put up with him for this long, and Anti doesn’t understand why.

“Did you want to?” The question catches Anti off guard.

“W̵h̵̤͖̩͎̬̖̜̄͐̊a̬̪̥̰͋̃̏ͩͣ̇ͫt̲̳ͯͤ̀ͬͯ͡?͈̻̖̉ͧ̇̄̂ͯ̚ͅ”

“Did you want to kill him,” And Chase is staring him down with intense eyes, and Anti stares into the blue orbs and his wings fold back as he sighs.

“No,” His voice has no static when he says this, resolute, because if he had to choose between dying right here and now and having Jack alive or being alive and having Jack dead he’d choose to die so fast it’d give the world whiplash. Chase smiles at him then, running a hand through his wings like Jack used to and staring at him with eyes that have softened.

“Then if he was as great as you claim him to be, I’d think he wouldn’t want you to hate yourself so much, right? He’d want you to be happy,” And when Chase says that, something clicks, something snaps open and reveals that Anti that was born what feels like a million years ago, the one who laughed and liked to fly until his wings ached and the one that was shrouded in some sort of darkness a long time ago, and Anti lurches forward to give Chase a hug.

It’s awkward, and Anti lets go and scooches far away not three seconds afterwards, but Chase is beaming.

The next day, he takes every single feather from Jack out of his room. He finds the three best ones, the prettiest, and he hands them to Marvin, Schneep, and Jackaboy without a word, an apology and a peace offering all at once because he’s tired of fighting and of being alone and he wants things to be okay.

Marvin hugs him, and just this once Anti lets him, patiently waiting out the sobs and rubbing Marvin’s back awkwardly because he doesn’t understand comfort.

Schneep grins at him, chuckles and places a hand on Anti’s shoulder while wiping tears from his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, and Anti smiles softly back.

Jackaboy doesn’t say anything, but instead he smiles softly, running his finger over the feather and showing some sort of forgiveness in his eyes, and for Anti that’s enough.

When night falls, he takes the rest of his collection out to the edge of the city, the place where Jack fell. There’s a tiny memorial, a stone plaque that says Jack on it and some sort of quote that’s supposed to mean something, not that any few words could ever sum up who Jack was. Anti thinks that Jack could be buried here as well, but he also heard something about cremation, so he isn’t sure.

That doesn’t matter. There’s a slight breeze that Anti appreciates, and he takes the bag of feathers and upturns it, letting the feathers that have stayed in his room for months fall into the wind, flying far away from the city and down toward the ground below.

The tears that he finally allows himself to have should feel like acid on his skin, but instead they feel like a cool release, relief of pain that has been building for those months when he wouldn’t let himself cry because he felt he didn’t deserve to.

He stares up at the stars, and his mind goes back to when they were just trying to get to the sun, still in Westmeath on the ground and still brothers with no idea of what they were doing, just know that they had to do something, just knowing that they had to go somewhere.

We’ll make it there soon, Anti. You can bet on it!

Anti chuckles, still crying but smiling because Jack has that effect on people.

“You were right, you big idiot,” He says without static, and his voice is choked up and so unbelievably sad but so amazingly happy because Jack has that effect on people.

“We made it.”

And the feathers float through the air in the shape of two strong wings, and the stars continue to shine.

#antisepticeye #jacksepticeye #chase brody #dr. schneeplestein #icarus au #kitkat1003 #haha

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222daysoflight · 7 years

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A Journey Through Kitee, Finland: Birthplace of Nightwish

So as some of you know and I’ve made a few random posts about, last December I visited Kitee, Finland, the birthplace of Nightwish and (arguably) of symphonic metal. I’ve been wanting to make a full post about it for a long time, but I really want to do it justice. It’s a long story, so I’ve put it under a cut, but I feel like there’s some good info in there.

I’m going to try to give it what it deserves, but the long and short of it is: Kitee’s the most magical place I’ve ever visited. And that’s not something I say lightly, or with anything but sincerity. I’ve been to a fair amount of places, but Kitee feels like nowhere else I’ve ever been.

I can see how it created something like Nightwish.

So, bits of background: Nightwish has been my favourite band since I was about 10. It was the first thing I remember ever autonomously liking, and I’ve pretty much always liked them with the intensity I do now, but I was very embarrassed about it and kept it a secret until I was about 16. Why that is is a different matter entirely, but my point in explaining this is to hammer home (as if the whole “Nightwish blog” didn’t do that already) is that Nightwish is something massively important and personal to me, and has been for more than half my life. Going to Kitee was like a pilgrimage.

Anyway, more practical things: I was in Europe in December. I had no intention of flying back to the States for Christmas, and I wanted to go somewhere. Ergo, Finland. Now, several years ago, in the early days of this blog, I was talking to someone who had gone to Kitee, and they had mentioned a name to me: Plamen Dimov. I found him on facebook and sent him a message asking if he would recommend some places to see in Kitee. He replied for me to text him the time my train would get into town, and he’d come pick me up.

So one cold December morning after Christmas, I got on a train from Joensuu, where I was staying, to Kitee, about a half hour south. I texted Plamen, got off the train, waited for everyone else to get into their cars and leave, and then approached the only car that remained.

It was the right car, fortunately, so I got in and introduced myself properly to Plamen Dimov. Essentially, his claim to fame is that he is the music teacher in the Kitee high school who originally taught Tarja, Tuomas, Emppu, Jukka, and Sami. He was instrumental in their earlier stuff, though since they’ve gotten bigger, he’s taken more of a step back. But (as I’ll talk about later) he’s still very close to Tuomas and the Holopainen family, and has, of course, taken on the role of tour guide to people who have somehow found his name and are juuuust obsessed enough to come to town.

He’s also a big, loud, intimidating Bulgarian man.That should definitely be noted. We realised afterwards that we hadn’t taken a picture together, and I regret that.

First stop after the train station was Plamen’s house, because he had lost the keys to the museum where all the Nightwish stuff was. On the way, he told me about how as kids around my age, the entire original lineup of Nightwish used to sleep at his house so that they could stay up together and finish the demo that would become Angels Fall First.

It was there, he said, that they actually came up with the name Nightwish for the band, basing it off the song of the same name. I was thrilled to learn this, since I had been wondering about that for years and the internet was not forthcoming. Plamen eventually found his keys, and we left again.

Stop 2 was actually the local convenience store, because I’m not very smart and had not bought a return ticket to Joensuu, and apparently they sell out. When the lady checked, the last train with tickets available was the 6pm train. Plamen said it really wouldn’t take us that long and he had afternoon appointments. I said it was fine, I would just wander around for a while, and then we would meet up again and he would take me to the train. This ended up being a lovely bit of luck, but I didn’t know that yet.

Kitee is a tiny town. The municipality (also called Kitee) it’s in has a population of about 10 000, but the town itself is essentially just one street with shops on either side, clusteres of houses on little side streets, and then farms and lakes and forests. Your classic small town, at first glance.

And Plamen knew everybody. Before we even made it to the museum, he had already stopped three times to chat with random people. He’s large and sort of scary looking, but also very, very friendly and charismatic. He also seemed to take great joy in interrupting his Finnish conversation to go “and this my visiting Canadian!” while pointing at me. This didn’t really ease how intimidated I was by him, but y’know, that’s just my personality.

Eventually though we did make it to the museum, which was an old barn converted for the purpose. We went in, and it had apparently originally been a museum about logging in the area, but Nightwish stuff was slowly starting to creep its way down the stairs to probably take over the building.

The upstairs area, as it were, was already cramped with artefacts in cases (for the ones that really couldn’t be left out in an uninsulated barn), and sort of roughly organised in another area (for the things that could get a bit cold or wet). And it was small, don’t get me wrong-- this isn’t a high-budget operation, and Kitee is a tiny town to have anything that big-- but it was fascinating what was in there. All of the editions of all of the albums. The original lyric sheet for “Eva”. The original artwork for the cover of Century Child. The certifications for when the albums had gone silver, gold, platinum. There was even a poster, inexplicably, from the Nightwish show that I had been to in Toronto two years prior.

Frankly, even despite its mediocre organisation and small size, it was a little bit overwhelming. It was like everything that had been so important in my life all in one room.

(I blame my poor photography skills on glare)

Plamen let me look around for a bit, then asked me what my favourite Nightwish album was. My answer for that is actually about four pages long, but I just said Once, because that’s the conclusion of those four pages.

On the way out he had me sign a guestbook, which was pretty fun to leaf through. It wasn’t signed very often, but the places that people had come from were pretty amazing: Mexico, Brazil, Japan, all over Europe. I put in my own name and a nice word in for Montreal, and then we left.

Next stop was the Kitee high school, which I thought was strange, but it turns out that Finnish high schools have recording studios in their basements (don’t tell me if not all Finnish high schools do, I want to believe), and that all of the Nightwish albums until Dark Passion Play were recorded in said high school basement. I think it’s technically called “Caverock” or something, but it’s totally just a recording studio below a school.

Now, this is the only recording studio I’ve ever actually been into, but from my inexperienced perspective (and you can tell me yes or no from the pictures) but that place is swanky. There were a few rooms that you sort of snaked through, but eventually you made it to the back, where there was what I would call a Nightwish shrine.

This thing is huge, and filled with signatures. It was sort of like the guestbook, but it had all of the members of Nightwish, their families, their crew, everybody who was important or had visited the town where it all began. Plamen gave me a marker and I dutifully added my name, country of origin, and date to the shrine. Not gonna lie, I felt a little bit proud with my name there alongside everyone else’s.

Then Plamen opened up a little storage closet, pushed aside some cleaning supplies, and pulled out a microphone. I know I already posted this once, but I just feel like it bears repeating.

P: Here, it’s the microphone Tarja used to record Once. Want to hold it? Me: Oh god no, I’m going to break it. P: You’re not going to break it, it’s already broken Me: No no, I’m going to break it more P: ... Just take it

And so I held the microphone used to record Once, my favourite Nightwish album, the one that Rolling Stone said was really good or something. It was just a broken microphone, but I think you can tell be the look on my face. I was absolutely smitten.

So when we were looking at the shrine wall, Plamen had pointed out the signature of John Finburg. He’s Nightwish’s North American tour manager, and if you’re from North America and have seen Nightwish or various others before, he runs the ticket ordering service Enter the Vault. And, much like his ticket ordering service, John Finburg is terrible. Horribly misogynistic and racist. I don’t want to get too much into it here (or why people use him), but my point is that he’s a scummy human being and I hate him with a passion.

I don’t know why, but as we were walking back to the car, I mentioned this to Plamen. He turned back to me and looked sort of angry, and I was afraid I had said something bad, but I was wrong. I will never forget what he said next:

“John Finburg is a giant piece of shit. The way he treats women-- I told him, if you lay a hand on any one of the girls, I will kill you.”

Needless to say, Plamen and I got along swimmingly after that.

We got back into the car and drove for a while after that.The above picture is the very far edge of the Meadows of Heaven, which is apparently an actual place and not just a metaphor in a song (which I had always assumed). I wish I had a better picture, but they were on the left and Plamen’s head was in the way, but essentially it’s just this huuuuge open meadow, dark pine trees behind it, lake just barely visible in the distance. It was covered in snow because of the time of year, and Plamen said it was absolutely beautiful in summer, filled with wildflowers and the like.I don’t know, I thought it was pretty with the snow on it.

All the while Plamen chatted, giving interesting tidbits about Finland, which I found fascinating but isn’t worth relaying here. But, once we had bonded over our mutual hatred of John Finburg (or something), he also started to talk about other Nightwish things, especially Tuomas. About how he had once had to pull a girl off Tuomas and then talk her down. About that girl who had tried to get Tuomas to sign a marriage certificate. And how Tuomas had had to set up security around his house, because of people figuring out where he lived then going there (???). I asked if my belief was correct, that Tuomas is just a quiet Finnish man who would just like to write music in peace. The answer to that is yes.

Oh, and also, Plamen loves Floor. Obviously he had a special connection with Tarja, and he liked Anette, but he was on my page that Floor is a perfect fit for the band.

“Before with the other two, they were always a band and a soloist, a band and a soloist,” he said. “Now, with Floor, they’re just a band.”

Eventually, we stopped and got out of the car at the above house. Plamen explained that it was the Holopai’s house, Tuomas’ parents, and that they weren’t home at the time otherwise they would probably love to come out and meet me (Tuomas’ uncle/godfather lives in the red house to the side, hence the footprints). So I was like okay, cool, Tuomas grew up really really far from everything. We were about 10km from the Russian border, in pretty much the middle of nowhere.

Then Plamen lead me down a little path that went to the edge of the lake, looking out over the quiet, frozen emptiness.

“Over there, on that island,” he said,

“was where the idea for Nightwish was born.”

I took the picture, the sun (kindly) cooperating with me, and then I just... stood there. I stood there and stared for a long time. Plamen silently smoked a cigarette behind me, letting me be all weird and caught up in the mythos of it all. Do I really believe that Nightwish started there? I’m not sure. But it’s a nice story, and that’s what Nightwish is all about, right?

After a while, Plamen came back to stand by me again. Some dogs had started barking in the distance, and Plamen asked me if I knew what that meant. I said no.

“Wolves,” he said simply.

It was a few more senconds, and then there was the distinctive howl of a wolf, silencing all the dogs. It was one of the oddest things I had ever experienced. Absolutely eerie.

We stopped a few other places, but nowhere particularly worth noting in this already very long post. As I said, my train didn’t arrive for several more hours, and Plamen had some afternoon commitments, so we drove to the supermarket parking lot and he dropped me off. I said I was okay to just wander around a few hours, that I was used to the cold. He told me that if anything came up, I was supposed to go into the pizzeria and say “puhelin Plamen” (which means “telephone Plamen,” but like it’s being said by a child who doesn’t understand grammar). I agreed, and he drove off.

So then I had several hours to kill in a town that only had one road. I went into the supermarket to get some food, because it was around lunch time. For some reason, this supermarket had a music section, and so I waltzed on in and looked at some of the titles. Normal stuff, mostly-- all the Nightwish CDs-- and all organised in alphabetical order, like normal.

Except when I got to the letter “T”, I found this:

I don’t know why I found this little thing so strange, but I did. That CD should not have been classed under “T”, it should be under “H” for Holopainen. And yet it most definitely was not. I didn’t take a picture in the store, but I did stand there for a long while, thinking to myself how weird it was. Tuomas was so normal in that town, it would have been unusual to put his own album under his last name.

I didn’t own Life and Times of Scrooge, so I bought it along with my weird bagel things* and some hummus, and then set back out into the day, not really knowing what I was going to do.

It wasn’t a cold day at all, compared to some of those I’ve experienced in Montreal. Still, it was hovering around -4 C, and I didn’t have my proper winter gear with me, so it was a bit chilly. Plus, the minute I left the store, it started to snow as well, which was not helped by the fact that none of my clothes were waterproof. But it wasn’t wholly unpleasant, as far as days go, especially given December in Finland. Plus I was eager to explore.

As mentioned, Kitee “downtown” is just one street, so I decided it best to go out into the “outskirts” a bit. Being a proper wannabe goth (tm), the first place this lead me to was a series of graveyards. For a town of so few, Kitee has A LOT of graveyards, and you can make of that what you will with regards to Nightwish.

Next order of business was weird abandoned mill thing. Look, I have no idea, I had time to kill, and have a terrible sense of self preservation. I went through some of the outbuildings, with most everything being too dark to photograph and I just... I don’t know what this place was, really. One of the places seemed like a house, abandoned and with its door gaping open, with snow blowing in. Like nobody cared.

However, when I reached the far edge of the mill-area, I realised that there was, in fact, an occupied building on the property, and that there were lights on in it. I was fairly certain that I wasn’t supposed to be there. If I got caught I doubted I’d be able to explain myself, and I was too far from the pizzeria for me to emergency call Plamen for Finnish help.

So I bolted into the woods.

This was, perhaps, a mistake.

Now you see, the entirety of Kitee is surrounded by forest on the edge of a lake, so I knew that is I kept the lake in my sights I would be able to find my way back into the town. This is an excellent theory. However, as I mentioned, I didn’t have proper snow gear, and while my boots were okay and I had tucked my socks correctly, there was probably 8 inches of the snow on the ground in the forest, beautiful and pristine and utterly impossible to walk through.

But I had committed, and I didn’t really want to turn back and risk having anyone ask me questions. So I set off again, this time slogging through the woods.

I was never lost, per se, but I didn’t really know where I was going. I always kept the lake at my side, and knew I would get there eventually. At one point I ended up alongside a freeway before going back into the woods. It would snow, then stop, then snow again. Things were starting to melt onto me.

But I didn’t really care. As I walked along-- sometimes finding paths, sometimes through the woods-- it was the weirdest feeling. Like I was just suuuper aware of my surroundings, of the silence, of everything, and it was all... pleasant. Like when you’re warm and cozy in bed with the knowledge you don’t have to be anywhere for a little bit. I don’t like to bandy about words like magical, but that’s the closest I can come to describing it.

There would sometimes be weird little bits of life left behind in the woods, like this chimney with nothing else still visible around it. Sometimes there would be things like the freeway or a house. But for the most part, it was just trees, and snow, and views like the picture above this one, of a vast, frozen lake.

It may sound boring, the way I’ve described it. Snow and trees and ruined structures. But that’s not how I felt, and I think the most telling thing was that I didn’t listen to anything. Ever since I got my first iPod nearing on ten years ago, I’ve had headphones in constantly. I probably listen to about 5 hours of music a day, on average. It’s a compulsion, and has to do with some mental health issues that I won’t get into, but suffice it to say that I usually get very stressed if I’m out and not listening to music.

But walking through those woods, for pretty much the first time since I was 12, I didn’t feel the need to listen to music. Not Nightwish, not anything. Actually, at one point I put my headphones in, then took them out again, because it felt so wrong.

It sounds sort of silly, all typed out. “Kitee cured my anxiety,” or whatever. But it felt real at the time, and I swear to god, there something weird about that place. Maybe it was all in my head, but hey, so is the music, in the end.

I did eventually make it back to town, crossing through a metal pipe under the freeway (?) and eventually seeing the main stretch. It was pretty dark at that point, too, so I was pretty glad when I saw the entrance to town and the glow of the ABC minimart/gas station in the distance.

(don’t forget to rake your tits)

Plamen had suggested that if I got too cold I could go into the minimart to wait for him, and I felt like that was just what I needed. I went, got a coffee, and sat at a table in a far corner. There was wifi, so I made this post, and checked some stuff, but mostly I just wrote all of this down, everything that had happened, but mostly about how fucking weird I felt.

I listening to old men play slot machines and teenagers fuck around two tables over from me. I watched as cars drove by in the dark. Life went on while I was having a very small existential crisis with some mediocre coffee in a gas station.

As such, I managed to accidentally miss the time that I was supposed to meet Plamen back in the supermarket parking lot, and had to run to get back there. I was only a few minutes late, but he was extremely worried about me, even though I had plenty of time before my train.

Anyway, his son Nikolai had for some reason tagged along to drive me back to the station, but honestly I was very glad for the company. Things seemed more normal with them there, and we talked and laughed about languages, and Canada and Finland, and metal and circus. They told me to come back again anytime, but especially in the summer, as that was when things got really beautiful. I thanked Plamen and said goodbye to Nikolai, and got out to wait for my now-late train.

The lake wasn’t frozen over back up in Joensuu. I don’t know why. The next day I was back to listening to music again, exploring Joensuu and the woods there, but it wasn’t quite the same. Nothing was quite the same, and part of me doubts that I’ll ever find anything else that is.

There’s something weird about Kitee, and it’s not just Nightwish. And I really, really like it.

*if ANYONE knows what the weird bagel things are, I will love you forever. They’re more like rings of dough, so the hole in the centre is huge, and they’re a lot sweeter than normal bagels. I think I ate about 4 a day when I was in Joensuu, but I cannot for the life of me remember what they are called.

#personal #nightwish #kitee #long post #shit yeah originally i didn't have it under a cut but that would be... excessive #too many pictures #anyway this was really nice to write #it's been like... 8 months but as i mentioned i wrote down everything after it happened #so this is as accurate as i can assume anything is that happened in that town #seriously did i like temporarily step through a wormhole to some other dimension?#like ok this romanticises it a bit but... that's what it felt like #and i romanticise like nothing #and the music thing may seem small but you've got to realise that that is one of the weirdest things i've ever experienced #not wanting to listen to music #also i wanted to post a picture of my signature on the wall (i'm standing in front of it in the picture)#but it's defs my full name #and i ain't doing that #uh anyway if you're even in that neck of the woods 10/10 go visit kitee #and go through plamen #i can provide introduction if anyone needs #man there's so much more stuff but like this post is forever long #and here i am just rambling in the tags #wait later addition to tags #just because i feel like i need to make a note of something #that these pictures are not necessarily in the order i took them in #i just matched them to where they fit best in the story #all of them are mine and from kitee though #with the exception of the second to last one which is actually joensuu

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