#jse fic

[kalcifers-blog]

IRIS FILES - ROBBIE THE ZOMBIE

CW - Physical/Mental Deterioration, Derealization, Rotting Alive, Zombification, Bugs/Insects, Medical Horror

Word Count: 994

Character Count: 4,271

CLASSIFICATION: ALTR 181502

ALTR AGE: 24 YRS OLD

ALTR HEIGHT: 5 “5

ALTR SEX: X

ALTR STATUS: UNSTABLE

ALTR INFO: 18152 contracted an unknown illness after an encounter with ALTR 114209. He was advised to keep track of his symptoms in the form of a journal; IRIS Researchers have secured the journal to track 18152's both physical and mental development.

08/09/2016

“Not been great lately, I've had cold or flu symptoms for the past two weeks, really has been messing with my focus, not great for when I'm trying to study or play as well as I usually can but I've been pushing through it!

I'm still a bit shaken up from that creepy ass guy from last month- it messed with me. I'm glad IRIS is here to help out with my case tho, hopefully they catch the freak. I keep getting all fidgety and anxious whenever I'm out in public. I mean I guess that's normal after something like that but still, doesn't make it easier. I would hang out with friends to make me feel safer but I don't wanna get them sick, hopefully this'll pass

-R”

15/09/2016

“God my head will not stop pounding, I got my headache about 2 days ago, it started off only occasionally but god it just keeps flaring up and more often. My flu hasn't gotten any better. It makes it hard to do anything, I keep getting by, slowly but surely.

-R”

22/09/2016

“Been bed ridden this week- I thought rest would probably help but, every time I sleep I keep dreaming of that guy- I don't remember it fully and it's probably just some weird trauma thing but he keeps.. I don't really know how to describe it? He keeps warping. I don't know its probably just some dream shit”

29/09/2016

“haven't been able to eat properly.. keep feeling this itch on my neck, its not bad just annoying mostly. My phone hurts my eyes. Keep dreaming of creeper.im sure he didn't actually look like that. Sorry for the bad handwriting, I'm so tired nd my hands hurt. Might try sleeping again”

30/09/2016

“woke up and puked, pretty badly too- dreaming of that guy hurts my head”

05/10/2016

“Really should call a doctor I think. I did call IRIS, I'm sure I did, they said they'd send someone over. No one came- my body hurts, everywhere it's just this dull ache. I might try

and shower or something. I don't know what to do at this point- no ones coming I've waited and waited and no one showed. The itching got worse, I don't know what's wrong with me I just need someone to come help”

“Why is no one answering my calls???”

12/10/2016

“Tried to shower, clumps of my hair just- came out. I just cried something is wrong with me I called IRIS again I told them it was urgent and I need help. The creeper answered me. It couldn't have been real- but it made me throw my phone accidentally. It broke and I can't get it to work again. I can't keep going on like this. The itching keeps spreading too- it now feels like things are crawling in my organs. I can't scratch there”

“Threw up again, mostly blood- it was clumpy, I think it was bits of my throat. It hurts my throat to breathe let alone talk”

16/10/2016

“The man in my room can't be here- I didn't let anyone in, he shouldn't be here”

23/10/2016

“I found out why I feel like there things crawling in me. I threw up a dead bug. The itching keeps going. I think I need to leave”

“I left my apartment. The air stung and I felt everyone's eyes on me. I don't care i just need help”

“IRIS won't let me in. Or near anyone.”

30/10/2016

“They're keeping me here. They keep giving me things. They poked IVs in me- the skin just teared away. It hurt so much, it feels good to actually be given medication. It's not kicked in yet but I think it should soon. The nurse gave me a funny look when I described my creep to him. I don't know, I just wanna sleep”

IRIS Supplemental:

ALTR 181502, previously known as Robert “Robbie” James, was announced as clinically dead to the public on 05/11/2016. Within the IRIS Foundation however it should be known that ALTR 181502, while maintaining a “corpse-like” appearance, is very much alive. IRIS researchers and medics have been working on a plausible theory on the rapid and alarming decline in ATLR 181502’s health after an apparent encounter with ALTR 114209. This variation of effects with 114209 seems to be an outlier. But until a working theory has been confirmed, the containment is highly necessary for both ALTR 181502 and for the wider public. Some IRIS staff have left due to unknown illnesses after contact with ALTR 181502. Their symptoms are yet to be examined but they are all in highly secure quarantine zones until they are confirmed to not be carrying a “Zombie Virus” as the research staff seem to be calling it.

As for ALTR 181502- exact details of his initial encounter with ALTR 114209 are documented in his original report to IRIS. His condition remains unpleasant. And it seems the best we can hope for is to keep him in containment until we understand what's going on.

The journal, as well as the remainder of ALTR 181502's belongings have been quarantined or burned. We managed to digitise his IRIS issued journal for the research sake. In said journal we believe the figure he describes is ALTR 114209- as it is within it's behaviour to torment it's victims while they are in mental distress.

It was discovered, by one such medic, after attempting an autopsy on ALTR 181502, that he is very much no longer human. If the hive of moth larvae that has eaten away at all of his organs have anything to say about it at least. How he still is living, albeit not pleasantly, is about as good a guess as yours as it is mine.

End Supplemental.

[winterfeeling1]

"Magic overload."

[jsehungergamesau]

Against All Odds

CHAPTER 1

Chase can't help the goofy smile that takes up his entire face. 

"What are you smiling at?" Stacy asked with a fond laugh. The early rays of morning sunlight shone through her brown hair, lighting it up into a rich auburn color that matched the oak trees in fall.

"You," Chase replied simply with a soft look in his pale blue eyes, scooting closer to his girlfriend as they lay together in her bed. 

The young woman laughed and pretended to push him away, "You're being incredibly cheesy for how early in the morning it is, Mr. Brody." She let out a squeak when her boyfriend practically engulfed her in a bear hug, trapping her in his arms as he nuzzled into the junction between her neck and shoulder.

"I can't help that you're so incredibly beautiful this early in the morning, Miss. Wells!" Chase teased her before blowing a light raspberry into her skin, making Stacy squeal again. 

She pushed his face away as Chase laughed to himself. He could practically hear her roll her eyes when she said, "Cut it out! You're gonna upset her." 

"I'm still suspicious of how you're so sure that it's gonna be a girl." Chase mused, taking Stacy's hand from his face and tenderly kissing the back of it on top of a freckle.

Stacy scoffed lightly, "I thought you said you wanted a girl."

"I do!" He defends himself, placing a hand over his heart, "And I'd be happy either way! I just.. wonder how you're so certain." 

Her deep brown eyes sparkle, and Chase smiles while listening intently, "My mother has this trick that she learned from Granny when she had me." Stacy gently rolls onto her back and places Chase's hand on her stomach. Chase immediately starts to gently stroke his thumb over her shirt as he listens. "You take a wedding ring- eer or a ring you wear a lot- and tie it to a strand of your hair. You hold it steady over your tummy, and if it swings back and forth, it's a boy, but if it swings in a circle, it's a girl."

"A wedding ring, huh?" Chase grins, catching his girlfriend's hint immediately, but watches as she shrugs with a sad smile on her face as she places her hand over Chase's.

"We used my Granny's ring the first time, and it swung in a circle." Stacy smiles warmly down at their hands, and Chase weaves their fingers together. Stacy's hands were callused but remained soft, whereas Chase's hands had already grown somewhat leathery due to his work of handling an axe and climbing trees nearly every day. But it didn't matter to the two young lovers, they fit together perfectly.

Chase Brody had known and loved Stacy Wells since they were little kids. She was a year older than him, but they naturally gravitated toward each other, spending their free time wandering the streets of District 7 and enjoying each other's company. The peacekeepers kept a pretty tight leash on the people they watched over, but very rarely, the pair managed to slip by them and hide in the outskirts of the forests. On more than one occasion they were caught and Chase took the brunt of the punishment. But when they did manage a clean slip, they followed ancient deer trails to the river and would climb their favorite tree to spend the afternoon in peace. 

But more recently, the two of them have been much more cautious since reality has smacked them in the face.

Stacy was pregnant. 

It was terrifying for her when Stacy first told Chase. She said she was so worried about how he would react and if he would leave her on the spot. But it was immediately clear that Chase was over the moon. He was so excited that he picked Stacy up and spun her around her family's small kitchen before peppering her face with a million kisses. Stacy was so relieved she wanted to cry as Chase turned his brain to making plans for their future together.

Chase would go on and on about how he would build them a house near the outskirts of town where they could see the river- with Stacy gently reminding him that housing was assigned at marriage. He went on to say how he would work and trade to support them both- she already makes her fair share by mending the climbing ropes and helping her mothers in the apothecary, but wasn't upset about the prospect of a combined income. And Chase would very seriously tell her how he would do anything for her and their future child. He swore to protect and take care of them. It warmed Stacy's heart like a soft flame. 

But in the quiet moments, there was an obvious undercurrent of anxiety. Not only were there going to be incredible challenges with raising this child- their child- at such a young age, but in the back of Chase's mind there was another looming fear.

Stacy was already 19, she has aged out of The Reaping. But Chase was 18. This was his last year of having his name in the pool for the Hunger Games. And since he realized his child would be coming one way or another, with or without him, he needed to get extra tesserae for both him and his family, including Stacy. 

He has entered his name 21 times. 7 for his age, and 14 more for the grain and oil rations. He had to do it for his family to get by, but in the back of Chase's mind, he knows the odds were slightly more in his favor. He has the terrible thought that, unfortunately, he has friends with much larger families than him. So they must have more name slips in that glass bubble than he does… Chase always feels a wash of shame whenever the idea crosses his mind. Anybody but me.

Today was Reaping Day, and Chase was content to pretend like it was a rare day off. Just another Sunday with no work and no school. Soaking in the warmth and love of his girlfriend as much as he could. Avoiding the growing anxiety in his chest about the Reaping. It's just one more year. He thought to himself, I've slipped by 7 years already, maybe it will be okay. What's one more year?

Though he dared not say this out loud, instead opting for, "Well, if you didn't use a wedding ring, then how do you know if it was accurate?" 

Stacy scoffed, voice warm but tinged with sadness, "It's not like I have one of my own, Chase…" 

Chase leaned up and tenderly kissed her forehead, "Starlight…" He gently squeezed her hand and reached into his back pants pocket with the other. 

Stacy gasped at the sight of the palm-sized wooden box. It was small but clearly made by Chase himself, his craftsmanship is unmistakable. It was carved with delicate swirls and blueberries, stained a deep brown-caramel color, and embellished with blue ink on the berries. The polish alone must have cost him a fortune, let alone the paint, but when he opened the box Stacy covered her mouth with a hand. 

Inside was a ring. It was somewhat simple, being made of a polished gray metal of some kind, but in the center was set a small yet beautiful chip of golden amber, bracketed by thinner metal swirls to keep it secure. 

Chase smiled sheepishly, "Working with metal isn't my strong suit, but I hope this will do." He forged the ring (and a matching band for himself) out of a heavy broken bolt used for securing climbing gear to the trees. He had to smuggle it out and then asked his father for help at his small forge. It came out somewhat rough but he hoped the intention was there to see.

Chase took much more pride in the wood carvings. His father had shown him the box that he had made for Chase's mother when he decided to marry her. And it was truly inspiring for Chase- burned designs of delicate flowers and detailed acorns. It was a tradition in District 7 to give your love a ring in a box that you created yourself. Chase worked hours into the night trying to sand everything perfectly smooth and ensure the varnish was evenly coated.

When Stacy didn't say anything immediately, Chase took a deep breath and tried again, "I don't know what's going to happen today…" He starts, voice low so only the two of them can hear, "But I know I want this. With you. I-I know I'm not the brightest man in the world, or the quickest with a saw, or talented in anything besides using my hands… But I know that I want to be with you, no matter what might come. When I'm with you it feels… It feels right. Like I'm coming home to something worthwhile." There is a pause, and Chase looks into Stacy's eyes which are brimming with tears. "You mean the world to me, Starlight. You're brave and creative and sharp as a thorn. You inspire me every day to fight for something, to get out of bed every day because there is someone worth loving and protecting." Chase sees tears rolling down her rosy cheeks and his smile wavers just slightly, "So… hah, what do you say, Miss. Wells? Will you be mine? Do you want to marry me, Stacy?"

Stacy barks a wet laugh and Chase can feel his heart sinking. But she nods her head quickly, hand falling away from her mouth to reveal her huge, brilliant smile, "Yes." She replies, tears warbling her voice, "Yes, yes I do." 

A smile breaks across Chase's face like a blinding flare in the night sky. As they both move to hold each other close, Chase kisses her like he needs air as she holds his face in her hands like he is the world.

When the two finally pull away, Chase takes the ring from the box and delicately slides it onto her finger, gently rubbing his thumb over the gem to try and shine it while holding her hand. He gives her the box as well and Stacy takes a moment to admire both gifts and then Chase's face again.

Stacy was about to say something when they froze at the sound of the old clock tower. 9 AM. One hour until the Reaping ceremony. Stacy shakes as anxiety fills her, looking from the window back to Chase before throwing herself into his tight embrace. He quietly tries to calm her while rocking them back and forth. 

Running fingers through her short hair Chase tries to comfort her, "It's okay. It's going to be alright, I promise you, Starlight. I promise it will be okay." He whispered into her hair as he held her head close to his heart. 

"But what if-?" She started but stopped herself. "I can't do this alone, Chase. I can't-"

"You won't." He says more firmly than he believes himself, holding her impossibility closer. "You are not going to be alone, I promise. I promise you won't be alone…" Not again, he thinks to himself.

The two young lovers hold each other tight for a minute more before Chase forces himself to pull himself away. He stands up and quickly puts his work shirt on before leaning down over the bed again, gently brushing hair from Stacy's face and using his thumb to wipe her tear-streaked cheeks.

"Hey, I'll see you later, okay?" He tries to smile, praying his eyes don't show his true fear to her. 

Stacy nods and smiles unevenly, "Okay." She whispers, then Chase kisses her forehead and quietly leaves out the back door, waving to Stacy's mom, Lilly, who gives him a sad smile as he goes. Shrugging on his thick, sap-stained gray flannel, Chase heads towards his home in the Seam to prepare for what's to come.

As soon as he enters the small home, Chase's father looks up from the table. The two men have a silent conversation with just their eyes and subtle gestures in their heads.

Did you ask her?

Yes.

Did she say yes?

Yeah, she did. I'm so happy she did.

I'm happy for you. Go clean up.

Yes, sir.

And just like that Chase went to the small bathroom and used the tub of lukewarm water to scrub himself clean. Picking splinters out of his thick skin and dunking his entire head underwater to wash his hair. He took extra care to trim his close-cropped beard so it was even and tried his best to smooth out the wrinkles of his father's hand-me-down pale orange button-up shirt. Stacy told him that the color made his eyes pop but never really saw the difference himself. Dark brown slacks, polished leather shoes with an unseen hole in the bottom, and clean socks- also with unseen holes. There was a small stain on the collar of his shirt, but there wasn't much either of the men could do about it so Chase just tried to pretend like it didn't exist. 

Like he was pretending the Reaping wasn't going to happen today. Instead, he pretended he was going for a nice walk with Stacy, his fiancée, around the square.

But his delusion barely took root when he heard the half-hour chime and felt his skin grow cold. 

Chase's father came in without a word and helped his son with his hair. A quiet, somber air about them as the larger man carefully brushed and styled back his son's unruly dark blonde hair. It used to be lighter when he was a baby, but it's grown dark as the years have passed. When his father is finished, Chase stands and they look at each other quietly. Chase's father nods, and Chase pulls on his gray flannel and leaves. It was way too hot for it, but he needed the comfort today.

Much sooner than he'd like, Chase was heading to the town square. 

°○°○°○°

It's the same proceedings as every year. Get in line for your age, check in with a finger prick and blood sample, stand in a roped-off area for your age bracket, listen to how the rebels are the reason for the games, draw names, and go home. Everyone would celebrate their children not being reaped except for two families. All of the kids stood in the front near the stage while the rest of the district stood behind them to watch. 

It's mandatory to watch. 

Chase remembers how his classmate's older brother tried to skip it a few years back and the peacekeepers dragged him from his house kicking and hollering,  only shutting up when they pointed a gun at him. 

The square was decorated with harvest-colored banners that paled in comparison to the actual trees in the fall. They did look nice Chase supposed. All things considered, anyway. The buildings were normally blank, the Justice building being the only one made entirely of concrete in stark contrast to all of the wooden ones that made up the rest of the town square. Storefronts, mostly. But in the center was the clock tower and city hall. There was talk of the clock being torn down to make way for the Justice building way back in the day, but to everyone's amazement, it stayed erect.

The young man scanned the crowd behind him looking for his love. So many somber faces but Chase couldn't find the one with a birthmark just below her ear and nose dusted with freckles. His attention was quickly drawn back forward to the center stage that sat in front of the mostly unused Justice building.

Chase holds his breath as the national anthem starts to play, his fingers playing with the stray threads at the bottom of his flannel. Just one last time. Someone, anyone besides him had to be picked. There had to be what, five maybe six hundred other slips of paper in that bowl, he would be fine. He’s lasted this long.

One more year then he'd be free from the games.

He watches as the previous victor, a man named Jameson Jackson, drags his shoes back and forth on the stage while leaning heavily on a cane.

Chase remembers that year well, Jameson managed to use traps and hide in the trees until the girl from District 2 shot him down. An arrow to his leg, and an arrow to his throat. The entire district grieved thinking that was it, District 2 would win again. But when the final canon went off, Jameson was still alive. The girl had wandered into one of his traps, making the mistake of not finishing him off right then and there, then falling into a carefully covered pit. At least she broke her neck in a way that she died almost instantly. Jameson lost his voice to the arrow but, miraculously, never seemed to lose that cheery exterior. 

Chase would hear about him buying loaves of bread for the kids whose parents died in the forest while cutting trees down. Giving his coal rations to the parents who needed them most. Hell, he's even heard that he carved wooden toys for the kids who live in the Seam and couldn't afford such frivolous items. Chase still has no idea how someone seemingly so kind could have won the games.

The Capital woman came out wearing a gown even more lavish than last year's. Pink lace draped off of her hips making her look like a cupcake and her body the candle, with her orange and red hair being the flame. Every inch of her was covered in a layer of glitter that was flaking off with every movement. The mayor and the previous victor sit down in their chairs when she reaches the microphone, waiting for this to be over with. To Jameson's credit, he did try to put on a smile. But Chase could see it was strained.

“Happy Hunger Games!” The bubbly woman exclaims into the microphone, her shrill Capitol voice echoing throughout the town square from the old speakers and spotless TV screens. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.” She brightly nods her head and another cascade of golden glitter falls from her hair.

Chase took in one last deep breath as he waited for the names to be called. 

“Why don’t we start with the ladies?” Her heels click as she moves across the stage. Chase watches as her white-gloved hand dips into the bowl plucking a white slip out from the bottom. She moves back to the microphone, opening the slip with minor difficulty thanks to the gloves, prolonging the announcement of someone’s worst nightmare. The square is silent until it is cut through with a crisp reading of a name. “Ivy Cinder.” 

Chase feels his stomach twist as he hears a former classmate of his scream out in agony. As if someone had already killed her. The crowd around her backs away as if she were poison- as if her fate was contagious. 

Peacekeepers in bright white uniforms grab her arms, dragging her to the stage as she tries to thrash out. Chase licks his lips and grabs the ends of his flannel. All things considered, she could do well in the games. Well-built, and good with an axe as far as he knows, she could be a force to be reckoned with. Well, if she wasn’t so kind. Chase knows that poor girl won’t last ten minutes, she couldn’t take a life, and she’d probably step off the platform and save the other tributes the trouble. He remembers her crying over a dead bird once in school. Her choked sobs were heard through the speakers and everyone tried to ignore them.

“Any volunteers?” The Capitol woman says, voice far too enthusiastic. The crowd remains silent, except for a few stray sniffles from her friends and family. “No? Well then, onto the boys!” 

Chase bites his lip as his body freezes like it has every other year since he was twelve years old. He watches as she plucks a name right from the top, fumbling a little while unfolding the slip. The districts don't really practice religion anymore. Believing in a God gave people hope, and that was a very dangerous thing. Still, Chase slipped his metal band onto his finger and prayed. To whom? He had no idea. But it didn't matter. It's obvious he wasn't heard.

“Chase Brody,” she says right into the microphone. His name echoes through the air like the breeze was trying to carry it away into the trees. 

--------

Tag list:

@brokentimewatch

[orkidays]

Did you ever get into the shipping side of mcu? If so do you have a favorite ship?

I did like reading ego shipping and my favorite one was danti 😭 I loved the sexual tension those two create

[jacksepticeye-simp]

Gratitude (Jackieboy Man x GN! Reader x Darkiplier) -Part 1

(Semi-inspired by this fic)

You sat at your desk, fingers tapping against the keyboard. Your mind wasn't focused on your work in the slightest. Your phone buzzed with a notification from instagram, bored out of your mind and curious you picked it up and unlocked it, tapping the notification. What you saw caused you to drop your phone onto the ground, cracking the screen protector. In the livestream was Jackie, or his hero persona 'Jackieboy Man' at some swanky party. Now you understood why he never showed up like he'd promised.

Usually you'd brush it off as part of his 'hero duties' but this time was unacceptable. Just a few days before, you'd been nominated for a prize after submitting some of your art into a competition and Jackie had promised to celebrate with you at your favorite coffee shop, but evidently being a fuckboy was more important to him. You frowned, a sting of hurt rising up in your chest. You stood up and grabbed your coat, deciding against locking the door to your apartment while leaving for the coffee shop nearby.

You were mad at Jackie sure, but that didn't mean he should sit out in the cold. You were still friends. Right? God how you hated how you felt whenever Jackie called you his friend. You felt so much more for him than he would ever for you, and it hurt.

You sighed, sitting down at a table while you waited for your drink to cool down. You felt so ignored by him. Nowadays it was like he cared more about being famous than he did about your friendship, it made you miss the earlier days of his heroing career when he'd actually make time to hang out. It wasn't like that anymore though, was it? The only time you really got to spend any time with him was for healing his wounds and fixing his costume if it got ripped.

"My apologies for bothering you, but is this seat taken?"

[fruitycasket]

Thinkin' about Dark Puppetry.

It's such a shame I was broke when that book was still for sale, I thought it looked neat then and now having hunted down the post it was advertised in (it's deleted now but the reblogs live on), I stand by that.

Now I guess someone could release another collection of fics in a book but you see that would require gathering the writers and other things so like. (Image of the book for reference under the cut.)

[pieofdeath]

ROTD Chapter 17!!! We are SO CLOSE!!!

[effloradox]

i've a nagging fear someone else is pulling at the strings

Chase Brody x IRIS!reader

"The date is October 20th 2019. Good morning Chase. How are you feeling today?" The man watches you as you take a seat across the table from him and place all your folders down. You're not a scientist he recognises, and yet something about you seems familiar. Weird.

"Fucking fantastic. Where's the other guy?"

"Today's his day off. Even scientists get a break every now and then Chase. I'll be filling in for him today to check up on your wellbeing if you're okay with that?" He considers you for a moment. The other scientist always looks so frustrated with him but you seem so earnest for him to want to speak to you. It's almost endearing. On the outside it would be flattering to have someone like you so invested in his wellbeing.

"S'fine. Not like I have a choice anyway." He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. He briefly glances at the camera that's been directed at him since he got here. It's almost like it follows him. IRIS certainly have the whole surveillance state thing down to a tee. The light remains off for now, he’s still not sure if that’s good or bad though.

"You always have a choice, Chase. Remember that." You smile at him, like you want to reassure him. The more he looks at you, the more he’s sure he’s seen you before. Fleeting images of you and a weird looking man drift through his mind but there’s nothing concrete attached to them, they feel like dreams rather than memories.

"Sorry but have we met before? You seem really familiar." He watches you closely as the gentle smile you'd been sporting quickly disappears as you press your lips into a thin line. Shit he didn't mean to upset you.

"Not as far as I'm aware. Is that sense of deja vu something you experience often?" You sound so concerned that Chase almost forgets that you're asking him in a professional capacity. You're a scientist, he needs to remember that and be careful what he says. Who knows how what he says could be used against him. You don't care about him, you care about what his answers mean for your research.

“Not that often. I felt it here when I first came in and just then when I saw you, that’s it. It’s not that interesting.” He waits for the rehearsed speech of “we’ll decide what’s important” and is mildly surprised when you don’t push him. You just make a short note on your clipboard and that’s that. He immediately likes you more than the usual guy.

“So, how are you feeling? What’s your emotional state where 1 is the worst and 10 is the best?”

“5? Maybe a 4? ‘M not too sure. Been getting bored waiting around with only a tennis ball to entertain myself.”

“We could provide you with some reading material if that would alleviate some of the boredom? I can’t promise it’ll be a New York Times bestseller but if it’s something that you would like, I can arrange to have something brought in for you.”

“That would be great, yeah. Could I have had stuff all this time? Why did the other guy not offer me anything?”

“Honestly, Chase, I’m not sure. He should have offered you something, it’s not like we want you getting cabin fever from being here. I promise after this I’ll look into it for you.” You're so different from the usual guy, he keeps almost forgetting what the symbol on your lab coat represents. He's been treated with suspicion and disdain since he was brought here, and then you come along and show him actual human decency. You're different from everyone else he's interacted with, part of him is hoping you'll visit him again. There's a prickling of suspicion about your behaviour in the back of his mind though.

"Why're you being so nice to me?"

"Believe it or not, we all just want to help you Chase. It's for your protection that you were brought here. We just need to make sure that you're okay and then you'll be free to go. The least we can do is help to make your stay here feel less like you're in prison."

"Wait, protection from what? I don't remember what happened to me, are you saying I was attacked or something?"

"No, nothing like that. We just need to try and build a better picture of what happened to you and the best way to do that is to keep you under observation. I just need to ask you a few more questions, okay?" He makes a noise of agreement and the next few minutes are spent going over the usual questions he gets asked during these sessions.

He senses the presence before he sees it. It's when you bend your head to make another note that he sees out of the corner of his eye a figure move through the room. When he turns his head it seems to vanish and then appear directly behind you. He wants to speak up, to warn you, but finds his voice is failing him and the figure moves to rest its hands on your shoulders. Chase expects you to react to the touch but when you give no indication that anything is amiss, he starts to worry that he genuinely is going crazy.

The sudden flashing light on the camera next to you makes you look up to see Chase looking at you with such fear in his eyes. "Is everything okay?" He nods but doesn't look certain. It seems like he's staring at something behind you but there's no one there, nobody else is in the room with you. He blinks his eyes rapidly, then flicks back to yours and he seems to relax ever so slightly. Interesting.

"Yeah 'm fine. What's the next question?"

"Actually I think we're done with questions for this session. Is there anything else you want to discuss other than what you've already raised?" He shakes his head in response to your question and he notes that you frown slightly at the lack of verbal response. "Well in that case, I hope to see you again soon. I'll get that reading material sorted for you, hopefully we'll be able to provide you with something within the next day or so."

Closing the door behind you, you make your way to the break room, but not before looking up and making eye contact with the WATCHR camera overhead. "114209 he's ready. It's time to begin." You end your sentence with a wink in the direction of the camera before making your way out of the building. Your job here is done. Now all that's left is to let Anti do what he does best. It's going to be a busy few days at the IRIS Institute and you can't wait to see it.

Notes: I really liked the idea of someone inside IRIS working with Anti and couldn't get this concept out of my head so here's my first dabble into writing Chase :)

[thechaosqueenishere]

So my brain is doing funky things again, and today funky things is a new fan fiction.

I tend to make a lot of "kids of the Egos" stories cause I love that shit, so I give you my newest idea:

Little Wonders Library

Vik and Ellie opened/run a library together, the little wonders library, which low-key is a front to collect the kids of the Egos and as a safe place for them. Except for the two none of them know about their parents "special" problems, most don't even really know the respective parent.

For the characters we have:

Vik

25

Marvin's kid

non-binary (they/them)

owner of the library

magic powers (more freestyle like marv)

ran away from their mother's fam, lived with their father for a long time

Moira

25

Vik's Twin sister

straightn't

magic powers ("proper" magic she studied/s at a magic circle)

lives with her mother's family (rich stuck-up assholes)

Elaina (Ellie/El)

23

Anti's daughter

professional sugar addict

manager of the library

protective (low-key adopts everyone younger than her, especially Lydia and Abby)

has a little anger management problem

inherited her father's powers

Lydia

20

JJ's daughter

history student

part time employee to pay for her tuition(+easy access to every book)

chronic people pleaser/tend to pile on way too much work for herself

Abigail (Abby)

16

intern/apprentice? Idk

Chase's daughter

new to the mix

has no contact to her dad

Might have a brother

Jacob

20

Schneep's son

medicine student

either a friend of Lydia or he'll show up later idk yet

Probs gonna have a sibling too

Kathie

21(?)

Jackie's daughter

shows up later

superpowers like Jackie

This one is very Jse Ego specific, but others might also play a role, depending on what the story does.

Storywise I don't have much now, but I have an idea (that I don't really wanna use as a beginning but maybe the beginning of the action)

I kinda wanna try to write this and post it here, if I find the motivation to do so. So if that's something someone wants to read, feel free to bully me into posting if I'm not fast enough.

I also have a bunch of other "kids of the Egos" stories and ideas, if anyone is interested in that (mainly septics and ipliers, but we have blank and nwtb egos too sometimes)

[florenceisfalling]

waiting for the sky to fall

the yeehaw egos au is basically a self-indulgent little scramble of ideas based off of the thought: what if the egos were modern rural texans? seeing as that is where im from :) this first little bit exists without context, there shall be more but im not sure if i'll add chapters or write separate works. but this one is 4500 or so words. the pacing is kinda weird, since i started writing it back in june and got lost somewhere between then and now.

warnings for brief mentions of drug use and alcohol, and somewhat more direct talk abt homophobia - including mentions of a shitty father who is neglectful and intolerant at best.

marvin meets chase's daughter on a sunny day.

➳➵➸➼➽

The sun is just at the point in the sky where its light encroaches on the porch’s shadow, and Marvin has to pull his toes back a little closer to the wooden rocking chair in order to avoid the heat. He hums and turns back to squint through the window screen, catching 4:33 PM on the clock in the kitchen. Eventually, the sun will dip far enough below the shingled awning for the light to hit his eyes directly, lighting up the flakes of gold that rest in his irises, and he’ll have to go inside; for now, his red sunglasses are enough to block it out. He uses one finger to prop them up a little higher til they sit on the scar across the bridge of his nose, then goes back to letting his red-painted nails dry, holding them out on the armrests of the chair and rocking softly back and forth to the sound of cicadas, barking dogs, and the lawn sprinklers.

Soon, another sound joins the chorus, though it’s one less familiar to him. Something bouncing on the concrete, a giggle as the sprinklers turn left across the yard. He opens one eye to see a little girl, quite the ragamuffin in a denim skirt and faded old pink-camo shirt, both stained with grass and dirt and other things unknown. She’s dropped a red kickball on the sidewalk. She lets it roll into the grass so she can spin in dizzy circles as the sprinkler sprays over her, drenching a mess of choppy caramel hair as she finally cools off in the Texas heat.

“Does your mama know you’re wandering by yourself?” Marvin questions from the porch, putting one sandaled foot down to stop his chair from rocking anymore.

The girl hides her startled eyes with a bright smile, a gap-toothed grin of feigned innocence. “Mama’s out of town.”

“And your dad?”

At that, the girl just starts spinning in circles once again, and chases down the sprinkler as it tries to sway rightward. Marvin sighs, takes a sip from an ice-cold glass of lemonade, then speaks again. “Well, do you have a name?”

She spins, and spins, and nearly topples over to the ground when she turns back to face him, eyes not quite focused after making herself into a clumsy little centrifuge. “Darcy Brody. What’s your name?”

“Marvin. Are you a Brody like Charles Brody?” 

Charles is not a kind man, nor a fun man, entirely unlike Darcy. Most of his interaction with Marvin consists of loathing glares and on more than one occasion a drunken exchange of joking insults - or, perhaps more accurately, insulting jokes. Other than that, the two try tirelessly to avoid each other, a hard feat for a duo three blocks away from each other in a tiny, isolating town. The task would be much more difficult if Darcy had any relation to him.

And unfortunately, Darcy nods. “Grandpa Charles was supposed to watch me, but he’s taking a nap. The house was boring by myself…”

“Well, you ought to go back inside. You’re too young to run around so close to the road,” Marvin chides, ready to close his eyes and go back to relaxing in his rocking chair.

Darcy’s gaze falls to her feet, kicking a bit at the wet grass with her clogs. “I can’t open the door.”

He hardly stifles a groan, “You locked yourself out?”

She nods. “But Dad said I go home at five.”

“Will he pick you up?”

One more nod, and Marvin mirrors the movement. “D’you know your daddy’s phone number, then?”

“I know there’s a number five in it… and that’s it.”

He hums in response, sitting up out of his rocking chair and tapping his nails to make sure they’re dried. “Alright, I’m not gonna be the one to wake your grandpa up. He hates me already… Tell you what, you wait right there, honey, don’t get any closer to the road. I’ll be right back.”

She nods, then plops down on the grass, as a promise not to stray too close to the cars. Most of her hair falls into her face over her now-closed eyes, the water sprays over her again, and she seems perfectly content to cool off right there. The pink in her shirt is starting to turn green with grass stains, but she doesn’t mind one bit.

Marvin smiles and leaves the chair to rock all alone, then slams the back of his heel against the door with his elbow holding down the handle. The warped frame sticks, but finally gives way with a quiet crack. The front room is all dramatic business, decorated with tapestries and sun-faded sheer print curtains, crystals and stained glass hanging in every window. Hints of the ugly plastic bug screens still show through, but only a little. A stacked deck of tarot cards, two empty teacups, a covered crystal ball, and an unlit candelabrum lay still on the center table, waiting for an anxious adulterer, superstitious traveler, or daring teenager to ask their advice. Marvin leaves his dusty shoes by the door. Lazily he shuffles through the beads and curtains guarding the hallway, revealing the more honest half of the building - all his personal rooms, including the hall closet he currently approaches. 

Behind the broom and dustpan, and a bundle of woven grocery bags shoved ungracefully inside each other, sits a hefty cardboard box neatly labeled “YARD SHIT” in purple permanent marker. Marvin shoves everything else out of the way and rips open the most busted flap at the top of the box, happy to see his bag of sidewalk chalk is exactly where he left it: tossed right on top of a broken pink plastic flamingo and a particularly grumpy looking garden gnome.

He grabs the bag and pumps it into the air like an athlete raising a new trophy gripped with white knuckles, then stands fully back up and swings the closet door shut. He puts his shoes back on once he reaches the front doorway. After a moment to appreciate the air conditioner, far preferable to the heat outside, he finally makes it back out to the blistering sunset. Relieved to see Darcy still splayed under the sprinkler, he grabs his glass of lemonade from beside the rocking chair and leaves the creaky porch for the cement driveway. 

Darcy leans up when she sees a tall shadow cast across her grassy resting spot, turning to curiously raise her eyebrows at Marvin.

“Here you go, Miss Brody! Brought you something to keep you busy.”

He drops the bag of chalk from the crook of his elbow, letting the contents roll out all over the concrete. As soon as the sight registers in Darcy’s eyes, she darts over to the shady side of the driveway, scooping up an orange piece of chalk and testing out the color. Marvin slowly sits criss-cross next to her, careful not to spill his drink, then picks up a green chalk. “I take it your grandpa doesn’t have much of this sort of thing?”

Darcy shakes her head, starting to sketch out the shape of a goldfish. “Nope. And the only board games he owns are about math and stuff.”

“Oh, my, not math and stuff!” Marvin exaggeratedly gasps, starting his own drawing with a looping figure eight. He briefly glances up from his handiwork to stare over at Charles’ house, making sure Darcy can be seen from the eldest Brody’s porch as well as the road. “That doesn’t sound very fun at all! But you can have this chalk when you go home, so you won’t get bored if you stay at his house again.”

“Really?” Darcy asks, scribbling some fins on her fishy drawing. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure your dad takes ‘em when he picks you up. I never really use these anyway.”

Despite his words, he starts to doodle more details on his picture. Another parallel line curving with the first, ending in a set of fangs, a shiny eye drawn in black. Darcy takes the black piece from beside Marvin, and uses it to draw a round bowl around her goldfish. Once satisfied, she starts to fill it with bright blue water and tiny white bubbles. “Are you drawing a snake?”

Marvin hums out a quiet, distracted “mhm.” The snake bites at its own tail, so he picks up a thin sliver of a broken red chalk to start drawing a forked tongue.

“What’s its name?”

“Ouroboros, from an Egyptian story.” It’s a simple explanation, but small children most often don’t need to understand ancient metaphors for endless cycles of creation and destruction.

Darcy’s face lights up with recognition just enough, though. “Teacher said Egypt has lots of sand, and big pyramids, too. Have you ever been there?”

The man smiles. “No, it’s a little too far away… how about your goldfish, does it have a name?”

“Oh, it’s just called Goldfish,” she solemnly states, as the topic is quite serious to her. She adds some waves to the top of the blue water. “Fish don’t need names, because they don’t talk very much.”

Marvin nods quite sagely, agreeing with her thoughts. He can’t argue with that logic.

➳➵➸➼➽

It took about twenty more minutes for Darcy’s dad to arrive, pulling in front of Charles’ house in a dented-up car with three rows of seats and far too many bumper stickers. Marvin quickly waved him over and explained the situation, while Darcy kept on coloring her fish. By 5:00 PM, she had completed many more aquatic creatures, with creative names like “Shark,” “Crab,” and “Dolphin,” and had just begun to draw a new kind of animal she invented. She titled it “Sillyfish.”

With no desire to interrupt her masterpiece, her father and Marvin struck up a conversation instead of parting ways. The newcomer to town awkwardly introduced himself as Chase, a name his mother picked as a compromise so that his father wouldn’t insist on calling him Charles Junior. Chase looks like he was from an entirely different world than the boring Charles, decked out in a colorful tie-dye shirt and yellow sneakers, a row of about 9 tangled-up friendship bracelets stacked on his wrist, a patchy baseball hat, and a smiley face pin hanging lopsided from his pocket. The only thing he has in common with his father is a pair of matching eyebags, dark and heavy under his long blonde lashes. 

“Thank you for taking care of Darcy,” he awkwardly says, glaring in the direction of the home she was supposed to be in. “I swear I’m gonna chew my dad out for at least an hour - I hope he doesn’t drive you too crazy, as your neighbor.”

Marvin waves him off, “He’s quite alright, what’s got you worried about him?”

“Oh, come on,” Chase grins. “He’s a total hardass on everybody.”

That only earns a stiff laugh, and Chase tries to coax more out of Marvin. “He used to half-jokingly say he should’ve beat me senseless because I wore… what was it… ‘too much lavender.’ Sorry for doubting his politeness towards you.”

He makes a little waving gesture with his hands, drawing attention to Marvin’s now-sparkly fingertips. 

Ah. A bit of a frown pulls at Marvin’s face, but he shrugs. “Oh, it’s not as if I’m unaccustomed to it. On the bright side, most the Puritans in town are too worried about my evil witchcraft to be primarily concerned about the…glamor.”

Chase’s gaze leaves Marvin’s sharp features to drift over the house instead - getting a proper look at the neon sign shaped like an eye in the window, the Christmas lights hung around the patio, the sprawling word PSYCHIC in bold, tacked to the roof and painted with stars. Darcy pulls his sight away by tugging on the ankle hem of his jeans, trying to show off her next drawing, but a moment and a compliment later he’s already back to staring at the charming decor. “All that magic and mojo, that’s s’pposedly real?” 

Marvin gives him a mischievous grin back. “Sure thing.”

“Oh, bull.” Chase says. “You’re shittin’ me.”

“Dad! Language!” Darcy scolds, slamming down her chalk with a scowl.

Marvin fake pouts, crossing his arms in a mockery of offense. “I would never lie to such a good man as yourself, Mr. Brody.”

That itself is a terrible lie, but it isn’t like Chase would believe him even if he was telling the truth. He scoffs, shakes his head, a playful smile still lighting up his face. Darcy is now staring between the both of them, curious as ever.

“I’ll prove it to you,” Marvin offers, one eyebrow raised. “I’ll even give you a discount.”

Chase finally breaks into full laughter, sighing in relent and shifting to pull his wallet from his back pocket. “How much I owe you, then?”

“Five bucks sound good?”

Stubby fingers rifle through the worn bills, before producing a ten. “Extra’s for the babysitting fee,” he teases, ruffling Darcy’s hair.

➳➵➸➼➽

Inside the house is much cooler in temperature, a welcome change to the sweat rolling like a river down Chase’s back. Darcy sits enraptured with the books on the shelf, flipping through fairytale illustrations and charts of the stars, while Chase has a couple of thoughts tumbling through his brain regarding Marvin’s choice of interior design.

“Ain’t that a fire hazard?” 

Marvin furrows his brows. “Which part?”

Gaze trailing from the layers upon layers of fabric draped about, the candles scattered around every surface, the crystals hanging near the sunlit window… Chase shrugs. “All of it?”

The magician pulls out a chair for Chase, with an awful scraping noise against the thin and creaking wood floorboards. He drums his nails against the back of it and waits for his guest to sit, though Chase does so with a bit of hesitation. “Well, I’m sure the place won’t burn down in the next couple minutes. You should be perfectly safe.”

However unsure he may be, Chase still laughs, and tries to relax in the chair, arms wrapping around himself despite how warm he was before he came inside.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous,” Marvin teases. He’s now across the table from Chase, and the latter of the two is becoming increasingly aware of just how much he has to crane his neck upward to meet Marv’s eyes.

“I- I’ve just never done this sorta thing before. Well, aside from a Ouija board in seventh grade.”

Marvin pouts, only a little. “It’s a fortune, Chase, not an interrogation. All you have to do is sit there and relax.”

“Alright, alright,” he capitulates, releasing the tension in his shoulders and shaking out his arms a moment. Once he’s settled, he leans forward, intertwining his fingers to rest his scruffy chin on his knuckles, and rest his elbows on the table.

With a gentle sigh, the magician lets a smile drift back onto his own face. “Good. Now…” he turns his attention to Darcy for just another moment, “My dear, could you promise to stay quiet down there for a little while?”

She nods solemnly, content now to flip through an old Cicely Mary Barker book of flower fairies, and mind a bit of her own magic.

“Thank you kindly.”

And with that, Marvin leans his head back on the chair. His sunglasses are now pulled up over his forehead, keeping his reddish hair from falling into his face. For a moment, he lets his eyelids stay shut. The breath he exhales seems to leave the room shuddering along with it, settling into its comfortable place. With it, he stretches his legs and relaxes. As if to open the gates to his heart, or unfurling some unseen map, his arms spread wide on the tabletop.

When he opens his eyes, the candles flicker with life between the two men, though they weren’t before. Chase looks startled, as if he was going to ask how - but is soon caught on another sight, stumbling over his astonishment - “Y- your eyes…”

Usually, guests come at night, when the shadows play more tricks. Sometimes, though, they see what Chase sees now: Marvin’s pupils blown inhumanly wide, like a cat trying to take in as much light as possible in a dim room.

Marvin presses a single slender finger to his own lips, shhh. Then, he trails his hand slowly across some invisible thread to the velvet cover on the crystal ball, pulling it away with a flick of his wrist. “Just parlor tricks, Mr. Brody. Try to focus.”

The look on Chase’s face tells Marvin that it will be a much harder task for him than anticipated, but Marv doesn’t mind. He finds the awestruck expression to be rather endearing. He almost giggles, though he feels a bit guilty, when he reaches across to take Chase’s right hand by the wrist and the poor guest practically flinches.

Still, Marvin guides him along, and Chase soon rests his calloused palm smoothly against the clear surface. Marvin places his own hands on the other side. When the magician takes a deep breath, sitting up straighter to stare into the globe, his guest naturally follows suit. Half a minute passes in near silence. The only sound remaining in the room is the papers moving while Darcy continues her quiet reading.

Marvin interrupts the tranquil, drags his hands away.

“Let me see his strings of fate.”

And with that, the magic obeys.

In the distorted light, a mirage comes to life. Two figures dancing across from what looks like kitchen cabinets, hand in hand dipping back and forth like a boat rocking on the sea. A child, maybe Darcy, scrambling after a cottontail rabbit. Sparklers leaving glimmering trails to red dirt, and the tiny snap of tweezers pinching closed. There’s the grit of soil, and the haze of grill smoke, and the crispness of cobbler baking in the oven. 

“It’s lovely,” Marvin sighs, offering Chase just a hint of what he sees through his words. “Though you’re clumsy, Chase, you need to practice your two-step.”

Before the subject can further draw his attention away, Marvin searches deeper. This time, he speaks aloud.

“Charles is awake now. You’ve got a six pack of Shiner in the back of your car right now, and you’ll almost forget it when you go into the house. Darcy, very excited, will tell you she saw something in the woods-” he tries to read the shape of her mouth, though the image is hazy - “something I believe she’s calling a fairy. I don’t know when. And the next time you argue, your wife won’t yell back.”

He doesn’t question the last thing, only pressing forward into the thick of the magic. He swears the room grows brighter with every breath.

“You’ll find new friends here - your path is very intertwined with this place. Meeting someone at the motel, finding someone at the church… someone very…very shaky…? Wait a moment, that…”

The room doesn’t grow brighter this time. Marvin forgets how to breathe.

Chase nearly pulls away, but stops himself. “Is everything okay? You look lost.”

Something is not right about the man in the church pews. The images start flickering faster in the crystal, and Marvin’s hands begin to twitch.

There’s blood spilling over a stair, a shadow looming over it before a steel-toed boot comes crashing down into the red. Bony fingers with dirt-tipped nails pluck at fiddle strings. A silver pistol barrel first rests pressed against Chase’s temple, but traces down his jaw instead. Chains rattle and then tug tight in a steel hook. Tiny, dirty mud boots, decorated with pastel hearts, trample over the garden flowers, and leave behind prints that trail into the dark woods. Black ink seems to drip from the top of the scrying tool. It spills over its curved surface and pools inside.

“Marvin?”

The visions vanish, and are replaced by the image of a single, glowing green eye in the surface of the crystal ball, watching back at Marvin, whose heart is slamming against his ribcage in ecstatic terror.

“Marvin!”

Finally, he breaks away from his stupor, and stares Chase down. He remembers at last to inhale, exhale, stretch his fingers taut from his palms and force them to stop trembling. Chase looks equally disturbed, hand no longer anywhere near the crystal ball - which was clear quartz just a moment ago, but now looks more like something made from obsidian.

“What the fuck kinda parlor trick was that, Marvin?”

The candelabrum flames die of their own accord. Darcy turns to her father in a scandalized state, slamming down the worn copy of Flower Fairies of the Summer to put her tiny hands over her ears. Once more, she berates him - “Watch your language!”

Neither man even looks at her, but Marvin collects himself enough to respond, face devoid of any perceived emotion. “Darcy, your grandpa’s up. Go knock on his door, please, get your stuff to go home with your dad.”

“But I wasn’t done reading-”

“Please, Darcy,” Marvin tries again. There's just a twinge of force in his voice.

She doesn’t move, not until her father nods in agreement. Once she has set the book back on the cluttered shelf, she dusts off her skirt and heads out, eager to pick up her new pile of chalk from outside. Her skipping steps have only faded off the porch for a moment before Chase is already back to his interrogation. At least he’s quieter, now, leaning over to half-whisper it in disbelief, “Are you high off your ass?”

Marvin shakes his head. “You need to leave.”

Chase leans away, pale eyelashes drawing closer as his brow furrows. “No. No, what are you on? Your eyes look like -”

“No, not ‘leave my house’. Leave town. And fast.”

Marvin is now up out of his chair, searching around the room for something he was hoping he wouldn’t have to use again. He remembers in his pacing where he tucked it months ago, and leans down to a low wooden cabinet on the opposite side of the room; when opened on its squeaking hinges, dust and cobwebs frame the entrance. He reaches inside and pulls out a thick black tarp, wrapped around something heavy. With none of his usual grace, he turns and drops it into the chair he was sitting in before.

“Leave t- why?” 

Marvin raps his knuckles against the edge of the crystal ball, now too dark to be transparent. “Whatever brought you back to this place is something very nasty. I can see that now.” Then, he begins to unwrap the plastic tarp, revealing the weight inside - a hardwood-handled sledgehammer with a rusted ten-pound head.

Chase finally stands, shoving the chair back into its place beneath the table. It clatters against the uneven floor, warped wood threatening to splinter. “Yes, sure! Fine! We moved here because my brother-in-law died - dark, I know! Still, that doesn’t explain why I need to leave - or why you’re acting so batshit!”

“Your brother-in-law was a García, wasn’t he?” Marvin asks in a casual monotone, though it’s more of a certain statement than a real question. He sets the hammer on the table, and yanks the tarp open, shaking out the dust and splaying it wrinkled across the floor. 

That stops Chase in his tracks, and he drops the defensive tone for just a moment. “Yeah, h- why?”

“Because-” interrupting himself with a groan, Marvin hefts the crystal ball off of its stand and leaves it in the center of the tarp - “It wasn’t an accident. I know who killed him, and I saw him again in your own future.”

Back to the accusatory tone, Chase’s mouth falls open in shock. “Bullshit! I didn’t see any of that!” 

“Chase.” With a good bit of effort, Marvin swings the sledgehammer over his own shoulder, fierce and now-slitted eyes piercing into Chase’s heart. It’d be nice to imagine that the magician’s gaze was enough to intimidate him into taking a few steps back, but the large metal tool probably did most of the work there. “Nobody sees their own future. Now stand back.”

And once Chase listens, Marvin flips his sunglasses back over his eyes, like a last resort for protection. Then, he lifts the hammer and swings it down on the crystal ball hard.

It doesn’t shatter in a messy spray across the room, instead splitting in fractals with an awful crunch and dropping to the ground in a couple of pieces. Whatever has happened to it, it isn’t quartz anymore. There isn’t any light or clarity left in it, just shadow and jagged edges.

Once the job is done, Marvin drops the sledgehammer to the ground by the remnants of destruction, though it seems to shake the walls. He sighs, and turns to Chase, looking pale and a moment away from crumbling himself. “If you won’t leave town, at least take some of my advice. Don’t leave your kids with someone as absentminded as your father. Keep your eyes open, and talk to Henrik at the vet’s office when you need help.”

“The vet?” Chase laughs for just a single breath, discomfort and shock still clear. Despite the fact that the hammer is no longer being wielded, his body still trembles in alarm.

Marvin’s face doesn’t change, set in stone with a practiced determination. “Yes, the vet. He’s good at stitches.”

They stare at each other for another few moments. Chase looks like he’s seen a ghost, though Marvin’s the only one in the room who’s really seen several. 

“I still don’t believe you,” Chase mumbles, his voice missing any of the frustration and volume it had before. He sounds more like he’s reassuring himself than speaking the truth.

Marvin shrugs, slumping against the table and turning to face the wreckage of the crystal ball. It’s not the only one he’s had to break so far in these past few years. 

“Fine. But no refunds.”

Once the silence has continued long enough for Chase to feel safe leaving, he stumbles past the psychic and back out the door.

➳➵➸➼➽

The ride back to the late Javier García’s old ranch is quiet, and uncomfortable, the trees seeming to loom in their headlight silhouettes as if reaching out for the Brody family car. Darcy starts the drive restless, shaking around her bag of chalk, but is asleep with her face pressed against the window by the time they pull past the fence and down the bumpy road.

Chase replays the evening over a million times in his head, trying to imagine how he’ll tell Stacy. If he’ll tell Stacy. He doesn’t understand what happened enough to repeat it for her, so he decides to tell her an abridged version. One that lends itself to more believable ideas - just some clever little actor trying to scare Chase into falling for magic.

He’s so busy thinking over it, in fact, that as he walks a drowsy Darcy across the stone path to the front porch, he almost forgets that he left the Shiner six-pack sitting in the back of his car. Waiting, just as promised by that clever little actor. 

Just a coincidence, surely.

[wendiiingo]

I have been OBSESSED with this fanfic so I finally caved and drew Henrik from it😭 (this is like- loosely based (probably detached💀)on the canon but it was fun and I love him so teehee)

au by @crystalninjaphoenix 💕💕!!

[docheros]

grieving what i didn't live nor thought about but left a profound mark on me (character jack)

[kalcifers-blog]

MAG 114209: The IRIS of The Eye

A JSE Ego x TMA Crossover fanfic

Content Warning!! Discussions of violence, self inflicted injury and insinuation of suicidal behaviour. Nothing is in graphic detail, but please stay safe while reading!!

[Tape Recorder clicks]

The Archivist: (sighs) Alright, let's try this again shall we-

Chase Brody: oh for fu- is that really necessary? Why do you people all insist on recording people??

The Archivist: oh- sorry this is just- procedure. It's kind of my job to make sure statements are recorded properly- unless you don't- want- to make a statement?

Chase: (interrupted the last sentence) No- no. I'm sorry- I just- I need to do this I think. I'm not exactly sure what this place is but... I think- somethin' tells me that this is the place to get this out there somehow

The Archivist: I see.. well. Whenever you're ready, we can begin

Chase: (deep breath) okay. Yeah I'm ready.

The Archivist: Alright. Statement of Chase Brody regarding the entity referred to as ALTR 114209. Statement taken directly from sub- from Mr. Brody himself. Statement overseen and recorded by Jonathan Sims. The Archivist. Statement begins:

Chase: [statement]

I feel like I can't really talk about this without some context first? I grew up in Ireland- you- you probably already guessed that because of the accent- but yeah. I'm from Ireland. My life there was miserable. I grew up in a small town. One of those classic "everyone knows everyone" schticks. Mostly because my Ma insisted on going to the local church to do all her socialising- I went there too consistently 'til she passed. I was 15 at the time.

Before she did I was convinced I wanted her out of my life, we never got along- I'm not saying that I completely change my mind now it's just- when someone like that leaves your life forever you start thinking about "what could have been" far more often. When she did pass I knew I wanted out- I needed to get away so I saved up my scraps of money to go to college in Britain. Maybe I wanted to get away or run from my feelings- I just. The way everyone would look at me, knowing what I was going through, giving me these- disgusting looks of pity- I needed out. I needed a get away.

So I moved. My Father didn't care too much, the man was out half the time for work and when he wasn't his hand was glued to his ale. I told myself I wouldn't end up like that- miserable sack of shit but- (chuckles sadly) I- I guess things don't always go to plan, huh?

Anyway- My life did start turnin' around when I got to the UK. The college I went too was pretty mediocre but the people I met were some of the most incredible- the person who changed my life forever in ways I couldn't have ever imagined was Jack.

Jack was my first friend- after realising we where both Irish and kinda had a really uncanny similarity to us, everyone always joked that we had to be twins because of how similar we looked. Despite the fact I'm nearly four years older than him- anyway uh- he got me into gaming.

I'd played games before of course but, this was the first time I played proper video games, especially the horror games, my Ma tried convincin me anything to do with horror was born out of evil and well- actually playing them for the first time was really eye opening as to how stupid that idea was.

I know this all sounds like useless information but I promise it's important- what you need to know is that Jack was my best friend. He introduced me to things that would be some of my favourite things ever, he was there when I got with and broke up with my first boyfriend and through everything, all of those disgusting sides of how bad my mental health got, Jack was one of the only ones who stuck by my side. So when he asked me to be his editor when his YouTube career took off I didn't think twice about saying yes.

I don't think I need to tell you about the successful YouTuber Jacksepticeye- and how he's the largest ever YouTuber from Ireland- how he managed to accumulate millions of subscribers before his disappearance on Halloween of 2016.

Of course, now I know that video that was put up on his channel that wasn't uploaded by me or him and definitely wasn't edited by myself wasn't actually a fake.

No one knew what to make of "Say Goodbye" when it first released. For me I was confused- Jack obviously can edit videos on his own, in fact its pretty common for him to do so- but he always lets me know if he does. There's never been an occasion in which he didn't in the entire time I was working for him. So when that video dropped with no warning I immediately felt off about it.

I won't tell you what happened in that video. You don't need to hear the details of Jack seemingly hurting himself to the point that he was placed in a medically induced coma- I was watching the video itself when I got the call- his doctor- German if I had to guess from his accent, calling me to let me know and to ask me some questions, due to the nature of his injury.

I don't care who comes in to tell you. Jack did not try to kill himself. I refuse to believe he ever would. Jack like I mentioned, was more than my boss, he was my closest friend and we told each other everything. There was just. Nothing. Not a single thing to indicate in his life that he would ever want to hurt himself like that.

I ended up staying in contact with the German doctor, his name's Henrik Schneeplestien- really nice actually. And it was talking to him that I got an email from Jack's account. Not his business "Jacksepticeye" account- his personal one, the one I knew he used exclusively for things that where for his personal life.

When I got that email my blood froze over. It was a video. It was that video. But it was longer. There was more to it. Instead of Jack's body lying there- lifeless and bleeding out. It jerked. It jerked upwards- like his muscles and joints where all connected to strings and being hoisted up against his will, like a fucking puppet.

The thing wearing Jacks dying body laughed. It laughed tormenting us- Henrik started believeing me after watching it with me the first time.

I'll spare you the details of how my life derailed after that. The months of waiting for Jack to wake up. Of Henrik losing his mind trying to understand what's going on. The disappearance of both Jack's body and Henrik himself. Me finding the most beautiful woman on the planet and finally feeling like a person again with her. Only for her and our child to be ripped away from me by that fucking thing that insisted on destroying everything in my life that gave living meaning.

Every time something bad happened it was there, still wearing Jack's face. Puppeting him around with this wicked smirk it had some crude inside joke I wasn't apart of.

I lost everything. My friend was gone, my wife and child where dead, the only person who ever cared to hear me out was missing and to top it all off I had some demon wannabe kicking my skull into rock bottom. Just so I knew that my misery wasn't over.

I had enough. I drove myself to a forest, it was our favourite place to go to as a family in the short 3 years we got to be a family. I wasn't planning on leaving that day. I decided then and there that I wasn't having it anymore. I was done. That thing won. I gave in and I just wanted it to be over.

I still can't tell you what happened to me. But I was in the forest one second and the next I was on top of a parking garage miles away. Whatever happened to me, I knew it was the only weird thing that wasn't brought to me because of that fucking monster. I still don't know what- but I just. I just KNOW alright. I just. Know.

Anyway, not long after that I'm detained by IRIS. Your institute already have all the information you need on that fucking place. I was there for questioning about what happened to me that day. And my experiences with the thing thats been destroying my life. There wasn't anything more to say other than what I've already told you.

They where about to put me under "special containment" dragging me against my will further in the building. The whole building felt like it was screaming at me to leave- that something bad was going to happen- I wished I was wrong.

That thing came back. It was still wearing my friends face and it killed any and all workers that came close to it. All it said to me was "hello, Chase" before I blacked out. I don't remember how I somehow managed to wake up in London- or how this nagging voice in my brain told me to come here. I don't know what "ALTR 114209" is, why it decided I was going to be it's plaything or what it even is. I just....

I just need someone to know that this thing is out there and more people will die if IRIS continues the way it has done for years now.

[Statement Ends]

Chase: (deep sigh) Jesus- I- How'd you- how did you get me to do that-

The Archivist: trust me, that's a long story- I just. I'm sorry are you insinuating that IRIS is somehow- responsible? For the actions of this entity?

Chase: yeah I thought I made that pretty fucking obvious man. IRIS has done nothing but hide the truth from me, borderline torture me and do absolute jack shit when something bad happens to anyone- including their own workers mind you.

The Archivist: Okay well... Fair enough. But please be cautious, if IRIS is behind all of this. You don't want to talk about it here, not in a place like this

Chase: oh just because your boss is watching doesn't mean I have to worry about him snitching to the SCP ripoff

The Archivist: wait- what did you jus- how did you- do you. (Whispering) Do you know that Elias Bouchard is listening and can see everyone in the building- there's no way for you to of....

The Archivist: Oh..... I see.. Chase I- I think I know why you might be a target-

Chase: (quietly) wh.. what- what do you mean by that..?

The Archivist: let me get you a drink. This will take a long time to explain.

[Tape Recorder clicks off]

That's all!! Thank you SM if you read through this, I'm very new to writing fanfic so I hope that this is alright!! A lot of people really liked the idea of a crossover between JSE lore and TMA so of course I had to write up how I imagine Chase Brody's Statement.

Again thank you SM for all the support and I hope to get some more drawing/writing done soon!! <333

[sonicrainicorn]

Kevin’s Babysitting Service

"You doing alright, Kev?" Seán raised a brow. "I don't think I've ever seen you work your brain cell this hard before."

Kevin dropped in the white lilac petals. "I think we would all prefer it if I didn't poison Dan with this."

Seán’s brow raised higher. "This is for Dan?" His eyes raked over the ingredients. "He asked you to make this?"

"Not exactly."

"Okay..."

Alright, Kevin knew that tone of voice. He set down the dandelion to look Seán in the eye. "I'm not going to kill Dan."

Seán put his hands up in defense. "I didn't say anything." He took a tiny step back and placed his hands in his jeans pockets. "You're just… not the best when it comes to free-styling."

"And you jump straight to murder?" He dropped the dandelion into the potion.

"Accidents happen."

~~~

After a potion backfires, Kevin thought his biggest obstacle would be responsibility.

As it turns out, that's the easiest thing on a long, long list of arising problems.

(click here for the fic!)

[pxxppet]

Making Happy (Part 1)

Teeth AU Chapter 3

The morning Marvin comes home; peace and strife all in just 8 hours.

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

Jackie is gloved and sad once more. It's 5 a.m. when Chase finds him in the kitchen.

"B? Not sleeping again?" Chase approaches where he sits on the floor. "Jackie?"

Jackie isn't looking up at him, just curled up. Chase rubs his neck, mouth thin. He's uncomfortable seeing his brother look so small.

He sits across from him. Stares at him. His hands are twitching, but he tries to be strong for Jackie just as Jackie is for him. Red hoodie, grey hoodie. The same scar on their eyebrow.

"Remember when I was the youngest?" Chase smiles, Jackie looks over to him for a second or two. "You and Marv were so freaked out, man, you'd just lost Anti, Jack was so paranoid that he moved you all across England, and my dumbass certainly wasn't helping. Ha. Are you feeling that kind of fear again, bro?"

Jackie huffs out a laugh. "Worse this time."

"Worse than an attempt?!"

"Wha- Fuck you man you know I don't mean that!" Jackie reaches over and grabs him, pulling Chase under his arm and mussing his hair. Chase tries to stay quiet and shoves his big brother off, laughing.

"Does he really scare you that bad?"  Chase quiets even more and frowns.

"I..." Jackie pauses, curls up again, breathes. "He's just- Jameson looks like him. And I even smell him sometimes around him. It's freaky." He laughs dazedly. "I keep finding new bloodstains on his sheets too. He could be self harmful like you were-"

Chase winces, blushing. He tugs at his hoodie sleeve to further cover the burn scars along his forearm. "Jameson doesn't seem like that type. He's really polite, I don't think he'd bleed on things if it was in his control." Chase speaks lightheartedly, despite his horrible words. The casuality on horror that only fathers and suicide survivors can show.

Jackie tugs his hood over his eyes as the sun begins rising through the kitchen window, staining the brown tile floor orange and gold. "You made it though, Chaser. I suppose he will too. Somehow- he has to."

Chase claps him on the shoulder softly. "Yeah, big man. He'll make it."

"Sorry for all the fighting when it all started," Jackie mumbles. "I just was scared."

"Jackie..." Chase sighs, running a hand down his tired face. "You've apologized three times already."

"I mean it though," Jackie insists.

"I know you do. You always mean it." Chase smiles at him soft, the sun lighting his gentle freckles. Jackie smiles back shyly, then dives at him and wraps him into a big brother hug. Chase laughs and cuddles in. "Let's go to June's Cafe and get pastries."

---

Henrik knocks on Jameson's door around 11 AM. Jameson lifts his head from his pillows, his hair stuck to them by blood. His vision is so blurry. Even more than usual, to the point he can't make out even his own hands. He coughs. Henrik takes that as a sign to come in, only to freeze at the sight of him.

"Maus!" He exclaims in shock, rushing towards him. "What happened, what happened?!"

Jameson doesn't respond, his eyes flickering sightlessly. Henrik stares at his emptiness for only moments before it clicks.

"Did you... Magic? Jameson, you shouldn't. Oh, Jameson, your nose must have practically hemorrhaged."

JJ feels himself cry. He can still smell Anti's arms, and judging by the goosebumps he feels on Henrik, he knows he can too. Yet his brother says nothing. Oh- His brother? Jameson blinks distantly. That's the first time he's had a thought like that. He can only make out the blur of peach white skin and thick, dark glasses of his friend. Henrik has been nothing but kind, nothing but thoughtful. But a bitter acid rests on Jameson's tongue as golden flowers wave in his mind's eye.

But then Henrik is tutting and pulling him close, and Jamie wraps shaking hands on the small of his back, eyes glassy.

"Jameson, come have a bath. I will cook some eggs for you with toast. Tea if you want. You look like you need big break."

JJ let's himself be helped out of bed, half limping half being dragged. He uses Chase's shower chair, and bathes fairly easily. A soft looking bar of cloud soap scents roses and thyme at him. He hasn't smelled it on any of the others, so he figures it belongs to the missing brother. Sibling? He has absolutely no clue.

He uses a tiny bit of it on his chest, breaking it off neatly to use just a bit. It covers the smell of his monster in flowers, just like his grave. The static is playing still in his ear, so faint it scares him. He's losing so many pieces of Anti. It makes him shake, a few silent tears mixing into the water.

He changes into one of Chase's sweaters, and some of Henrik's pants. The broadest shoulders and the thinnest waist are what fit him best. Slightly different from the others. He runs a hand through his drying hair, wondering if he has anything particularly unique. He can faintly see that Jackie is very tall, Henrik's body feels so slim, and Chase is a bit fatter and healthier due to comfort eating. Perhaps Jack gave him something of his own- Or perhaps he's a carbon copy. He trims his mustache with the first scissors he can feel out. He uses water to curl it on instinct, like he always has.

Henrik flips a mushroom and spiced omelet onto the plate with the buttery toast, a cup of English Breakfast laid out with the milk and sugar so Jameson can make it himself. Jameson raps on the wall to the kitchen, and Henrik turns to him with a smile he knows his friend can't see. Formalities, though.

Jameson let's himself be guided to his tea cup, and grasps at the milk. Oddly he doesn't add a hint of sugar at all. Henrik is honestly shocked, Jameson has the face of a man who takes his tea sweet.

They sit at the kitchen bar on the brown stools. Afternoon sun shines on the remaining grains of black sand, and yet Henrik is silent. Mercifully and understandingly silent.

---

Marvin is wearing Jace's orange hoodie, the one with a rose on the breast that smells like his clove oil cologne and Marvin's own smell. They sigh, staring up at the ceiling with a pinched tight face.

"Hey beetle?" they murmur. Jace gives a small, sleepy mumble, his blue hair poking in every direction. Marvin smiles softly, but it turns sad. "I think I need to go home. Today."

Jace sits up, suddenly fully awake. "Baby are you sure?! I thought you needed the break, y'know?"

"Mmm..." Marvin screws their eyes shut. "I need to face it eventually. I... I need to." Their voice is hollow, tired. Jace worriedly roams his eyes over their gaunt body.

"I trust you, but you're taking my hoodie for comfort."

Marvin chuckles and snuggles against him sleepily. They have to be brave somehow after all.

---

Jackie is in the woods. Again. Again and again. He killed him on a Friday. Now he gardens at his grave on that same day. The flowers are healthy, and only his family knows the guilty reason why they're doing so well.

His hands feel grounded and steady for the first time in weeks, buried in dirt and pulling weeds. His sweaty hair is in his face stubbornly despite a headband attempting desperately to hold it back.

Once everything is well, Jackie just... sits. The wind tousles the flowers in shinning waves. Jackie stares at the stick headstone, worn and afraid. He is so afraid. He wonders if Anti would be scared right now, if he had been that cheeky smiled teal haired kid. But Anti, green hued and so afraid he looks broken, floats over his vision of peace. Jackie reaches out and runs his hand over the carvings.

Footsteps crackle up the trail, and Jackie tenses. But when he turns, it's just Marvin. Just his beautiful, amazing sibling; back home to him. He smiles, standing. He raises and orange glowing hand and Marvin raises a blue, as they take each other in their magics softly, tugging on each other like they did as young folk.

Marvin laughs, nervous yet happy. "Jacksie!"

"Marvy!" Jackie laughs and runs over to them. He bounces in place from excitement, placing his hands on Marvin's shoulders. "You actually came home?"

"Of course, love." Marvin tries to smile casually, but Jackie can feel their tense muscles. "Why would I ever stay away?"

They walk back to the house, leaving the swaying golden grave behind.

----

"You let it used my soap?" Marvin feels hot, fists clenched. Jameson sits tensely at the table, not looking at them, face red. "Like it can just come in here and fucking smell like us all?! Like our scents are toys?"

"Marvin," Henrik warns. "Be. Nice."

Marvin flushes hotter, shaking. They thought they could do this. They really thought they could. But the fucking kid used his soap, his soap infused with his own magical scenting. Just took it for himself. They stare hard at Henrik, before releasing a loud "ugh!" and going to their room. The door doesn't slam, which is somehow worse.

"I- I'm sorry Jameson, I'm sorry." Jackie says, hurrying after them. "I'll talk to them, I'm sorry." JJ clings to fruit punch wafts to try drowning the guilty smell off of him.

Henrik looks back and forth, then pinches his temples. This is going to be rough.

[winterfeeling1]

For those interested in Anti stuff, I'm rewriting one of my olds fics in AO3

X----X

Curse of Empathy by silly me.

Summary: Anti gets cursed by Marvin and for the first time he feels... guilt.

or

(Marvin curses Anti with an "empathy curse" and it all unfolds as him and the other egos try to survive Iris and what not. (Plot got updated since Iris project came out).

X-----X

I recommend reading the rewritten version since the old one is a mess, so there's that.

Besides, I'll post fanart in the future about it ;D