#odysseus: NO- *coughs* i mean… that won’t be needed! i don’t want to take away any potential training time from my son

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

okay here's part 3! (still no dinner scene sorry, but we're slowly getting there!) (this is a long one heads up)

the post/thread that started this whole au

dinner scene: part 1 | part 2

*back at the palace*

penelope: i wonder how it went…

penelope: *starts walking toward the entrance for the palace gardens*

penelope: *notices odysseus running through the gardens towards the very same entrance*

penelope: *was concerned until she could clearly see a joyful look on her husband’s face*

odysseus: *sees penelope and heads towards her*

penelope: *notices and opens her arms for an embrace*

odysseus: *grabs penelope by the waist and twirls her around in the air* good morning wife, did you miss me?

penelope: *holding onto odysseus’ shoulders laughing*

penelope: good morning husband *leans down to kiss odysseus*

penelope: *looks him in the eyes with a smile* more than you know.

odysseus: *smiles back with eyes full of adoration*

odysseus: *goes in for another kiss*

*a while later after many more morning kisses between the two*

*penelope & odysseus now walking arm in arm back into the palace*

penelope: so, i’m assuming by the look i saw on your face, your friend agreed to dinner?

odysseus: uh yeah, surprisingly he did. no forcing or threats needed.

penelope: *hums and holds a finger to her chin in slight thought*

odysseus: *wondering what she’s thinking of* penelope?

penelope: *giggles and looks at odysseus* maybe you’re already more friends than you thought?

odysseus: *blinks repeatedly and then shakes his head*

odysseus: my love, trust me… the god of the seas and i are not friends

odysseus: *looks down in thought* after everything that’s happened, i don’t think we could ever be

penelope: *stops walking and turns to odysseus who has also stopped walking*

penelope: *holds her hand to odysseus’ cheek* i thought you said after all these incidents on the sailing trips with our son, that you had put that behind you?

odysseus: *leans into her hand and reaches to hold it with his own*

odysseus: *sighs* i- i have. i admit that while it’s a lot of fun being able to mess with him… all that anger & resentment i held has left me.

penelope: *gives a small smile*  

penelope: how do you know that lord poseidon hasn’t too? maybe he’s learnt to forgive?

odysseus: *thinks back to the moment he held his hand out to poseidon while on his raft, asking him the same question*

odysseus: … *blinks the memory away*

odysseus: yeah… i don’t think so, i tried that once already…

odysseus: *grabs both penelope’s hands* anyway! that doesn’t matter-

odysseus: *lets go of her hands and once again links his arm with hers*  what matters is… what the cooks have planned for breakfast!

penelope: *letting the subject drop for now*

penelope: *smiles* i don’t know about breakfast… but i’m sure that after you and our son’s fishing trip, i would say fish is the plan again for lunch *laughs*

odysseus: *laughs with her* yes, we certainly brought enough back.

odysseus: though speaking of our son. just how excited do you think he’ll be when i tell him the good news?

penelope: oh, i am sure he’ll be delighted! why don’t you go wake him for breakfast and let him know?

penelope: *unlinks their arms, turns and gives odysseus another quick kiss* i shall see you soon my dear husband

odysseus: yes soon, my lovely wife *watches her go down the hall until she out of sight*

odysseus: *turns to head the way to his son’s bedroom*

*odysseus arrives at the door leading to telemachus’ room*

odysseus: *knocks on the door*

odysseus: telemachus? are you awake yet?

*after hearing no response & no noise to signal movement*

odysseus: *gently opens the door and heads inside*

odysseus: *looks across the room to the bed and sees his son still fast asleep*

odysseus: *makes his way over, while looking at the walls covered tapestries of monsters, -also seeing ones he himself has faced- all slightly starting to fray from the years they’ve been hanging there*

odysseus: *sees the newest tapestry above telemachus’ bed -one he knows that penelope and athena had weaved together- the tapestry of him, penelope & telemachus also including a owl sitting on telemachus’ shoulder*

odysseus: *smiles* *gently sits down on the edge of his son’s bed*

odysseus: *reaches his hand out to stroke telemachus’ hair, like he would do when he was just a baby*

odysseus: *in a soft voice* telemachus, son it’s time to wake up

telemachus: *makes a small groan at being woken up*

telemachus: *voice heavy with sleep* father?

odysseus: *pulls his hand back & chuckles to himself at his son’s sleepy confusion* yes, it’s me, did you sleep well?

telemachus: *now slightly more awake* yeah, i dreamt of the dolphins we saw a while ago-

telemachus: *sleepiness long gone and now slightly excited* -did you manage to speak to lord poseidon?!

odysseus: *smiling at his son’s excitement* i did indeed

telemachus: annnnnd?

odysseus: he will be at dinner tomorrow

telemachus: *leaps forward at his father and hugs him* yes! thank you for asking him!

odysseus: *hugs his son back* i promised i would didn’t i?

telemachus: *lets his father go and gets ready to get of bed* i need to start planning for tomorrow-

odysseus: *laughs and stops his son from running off* yes you can, but later. first you need to wash yourself up and get down to dining hall

telemachus: how come?

odysseus: it’s morning remember? the cooks have made us breakfast and your mother is waiting for us to join her

telemachus: oh yeah! that makes sense.

telemachus: *gets out of bed more calmly* okay well i’ll wash up quick and be there shortly

odysseus: okay i’ll see you there *watches his son leave*

odysseus: *to himself* i guess i’d better make my way there mysel-

*a small breeze hits him and then a soft hoot of an owl sounds out*

odysseus: *turns to see athena in owl form sitting on the perch by the balcony, that odysseus had made for telemachus’ room*

odysseus: *hands on hips* so how come when i was young, you had me up for training everyday before sunrise, yet my son gets to lay in?

athena: *turns back into her normal appearance* good morning to you too odysseus

odysseus: don’t change the subject ‘thena

athena: *shrugs* what can i say? times have changed

odysseus: *drops his arms and laughs*

odysseus: *looks back to the (family photo) tapestry* indeed they have

odysseus: *looks back to athena* so, breakfast?

athena: *smiles* let’s go.. my friend

odysseus: *smiles back and then heads out telemachus’ room with athena*

[mythologyfolklore]

Ares and Athena through the years - Ch. 16

Chapter Sixteen: Meanwhile ... 

.

When Ares had chosen to leave for a world journey, Aphrodite and his children had tearfully said goodbye.

Hephaistos had been there too, although he given his older brother a warm grip of the hand, rather than shedding tears.

The rest of his family had also come to say goodbye.

“Take care of yourself”, Artemis had said, while giving him a firm hug.

Ares had laughed: “I'll do my best.”

“Don't get caught by giants and locked in a jar”, Hermes had grinned.

“Oh shut up, squirt!”, the war god had snorted and lightly slapped the Messenger's shoulder.

Hera had given her son an awkward hug; after the Trojan War things were more tense between them than usual.

Zeus had been more affectionate, giving his son a firm embrace and a kiss to the forehead (an extremely rare gesture of fatherly love from the King of the Gods).

“I suppose you will be gone for a few Olympian decades?”

“Yes, father. Seeing the world and getting to know new people takes a while.”

“Goodbye then, my son. Take care of yourself, as Artemis said. Don't forget to write. We want to know how you are doing and how it is, where you're staying.”

“Unless the place I get to doesn't have a writing system, sure!”

With that, Ares had spurred on his horses and left Olympos.

First he had gone to Thrace to say goodbye to his twin and his friends.

Enyo had tearfully begged him to stay or at least take her along, same as Eris.

But Ares had insisted, that he needed some alone time (although it had hurt him to leave his twin behind).

“I need someone to do my duties”, he had told her. “You're the only one who can, Enyo. Your domain is the same as mine. You guys just take care of my home, okay?”

Then he had left.

.

At first he toured around Hellas. It couldn't hurt to see what was going on and maybe check how the survivors of the Trojan War were doing.

Many of the Trojan women had died or worse, were living a miserable life as concubines.

Aineias, the son of Aphrodite, had gathered a few survivors and was now sailing the seas.

To his great delight, most of the Achaeans had met a bitter end: Agamemnon had been killed by his wife and her lover, Ajax the Lesser was dead, so were many others. And the best thing was, that his old enemy Diomedes had gone through some shit, only to come home to a nasty surprise.

Now the hero who had once wounded him and Aphrodite, was wandering the lands and seas in search of a place to live.

Ares couldn't resist the temptation and descended onto the earth.

.

Diomedes was done with everything.

He had almost drowned in a massive thunderstorm, then been washed ashore on the coast of Libya, only to nearly be sacrificed to Ares. Then he had landed in Attica, where the local king had mistaken him and his crew for pirates and had attacked them. And when he had finally come home to Argos, he had found his wife not only unfaithful to him, but also ready to kill him.

Now he had nowhere to go.

This moment he was walking through a forest, when he spotted a small river. Tired from the long march, he sat down, let his feet dangle in the water and sighed contentedly at the sensation.

“Feels nice, doesn't it?”

He jumped at the sound of the voice and hastily grabbed his spear.

But it was just a little girl sitting on a branch of a nearby tree, dangling a leg.

Except it wasn't.

Diomedes still had his enhanced sight and knew a god, when he saw one.

The girl twirled her auburn hair and eyed him with twisted curiosity.

“You look like life wasn't kind to you, sir”, she noted.

He shrugged. “Is life kind to anyone?”

“To some”, she replied. “You look like someone glorious. A hero. Isn't that a kindness of life?”

“I'm not so certain anymore.”

The child giggled.

“You seem pretty happy”, he remarked.

“Likely happier than you”, the other teased. “Then again, heroes almost never get to live happily ever after, huh?”

Diomedes resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

“Your disguise isn't very subtle, Lord Ares Polydakros¹.”

The other snickered and leapt off the branch. When his feet touched the ground, he had turned from a little girl to what was basically a human form of his divine shape.

It made the Argive shudder. He almost averted his eyes, but managed to steel his nerves and hold the other's burning gaze (though his body refused to stop trembling).

“So Glaukópis² let you keep your enhanced sight”, Ares noted. “Interesting. Not that it's of much use to you now.”

“Have you come to gloat?”

“Yes, actually. After your stunt back at Ilion³, it is really satisfying to see you this humbled. And I don't even need to have revenge, because Aphrodite already had hers. Betrayal is a nasty thing, isn't it?”

The god's grin was twisted and way too broad. Obviously he was revelling in the other's discomfort and misfortune.

Diomedes refused to dignify the god's remark anyhow.

“But don't feel bad”, Ares chuckled, “It could be much worse. Most of the Achaeans drowned, Agamemnon was murdered and that psychopathic brat Neoptolemos was slain by Apollon's priests for some blasphemy a few days ago. Also, Menélaos, my half-sister Helene and Odysseus are all stuck far away from home. Compared to that, you got off easy!”

His smirk vanished. “You should be grateful, son of Tydeus. Considering the shit ton of murder attempts you escaped, you're actually really, really lucky.”

Diomedes bit his lip.

So he isn't going to kill me, then.

“No”, Ares answered his thought. “I'm not.”

Diomedes took a deep breath and forced himself to stop trembling, before putting his spear down.

“You can't blame me for being afraid of you”, he told the god bluntly.

The Man-Slayer laughed: “I don't. Only a fool wouldn't fear war.”

“What do you want then – apart from gloating, obviously.”

“Give you a piece of my mind”, the war god replied bluntly. “Remember how my granddaughter Kallirhoë saved you from being sacrificed to me by my son? You could at least have thanked her.”

Diomedes blinked in confusion. “But I left her a letter?”

“Kallirhoë couldn't read, Diomedes.”

Oh. Oh shit.

“The Libyans don't have a writing system”, Ares explained, “And even if they did, she was mentally disabled. It would have been extremely hard for her to learn how to read, if at all. Not that it matters now; she's dead. Hanged herself, because you broke her heart.”

Shit times two.

“Of course killing you sounds tempting”, the god went on. “But luckily for you, my family has other plans for you. Don't think Athena has forgot you. After all, you and Odysseus have always been her favourites. So before I leave, one last piece of advice: take the next ship to Italy, find the last surviving Trojans, lead by Aphrodite's son Aineias and return the Palladion to them. Only then will your misfortune end, for even though you had Athena's approval, that doesn't change the fact that you robbed it.”

For a few seconds Diomedes considered, if this was a trap. But it sounded logical enough, so he memorised it anyways.

Ares stood up and unfolded a pair of huge red wings. Then he took to the air and was gone, leaving behind only a single red feather.

Diomedes knew better than to consider this a sign of goodwill.

.

Ares, having gained just a bit of closure, continued his tour.

He had seen what he had wanted to see. Now it was time to leave Hellas and explore the rest of the world.

He hadn't been to Aigyptos in quite a while. He had a few friends there, who would be delighted to see him.

.

“ARES! EYYY!”, Sekhmet roared in delight.

“EYYY, SEKHMET! SO GOOD TO SEE YA!”, Ares yelled back and they engulfed each other in a bone-crushing hug.

“IT'S BEEN SO LONG, MOTHERFUCKER! HOW ARE YOU DOING?”

“DOIN' GREAT, YOU BOSS ASS BITCH! AND YOU?”

“GREAT! THE OTHERS ARE TOO!”

“AWESOME!”

A dignified cough interrupted them.

“Can you two please stop yelling?”, Thoth asked. “It's headache-inducing. Apart from that, welcome, Ares. What brings you here?”

“I'm travelling the world!”, Ares beamed at the ibis-headed god. “Just started my journey and I wanted to see old friends, before I discover the rest. My presence won't be needed in the next centuries, so why not get away from it all and do something new?”

“That's fair”, Thoth agreed. “Sadly, none of us can leave Ta Meri⁴ right now; the earthly world is quite a mess.”

Ares frowned: “Yeah, back in Europa too.”

.

---

.

1) Polydakros: "Of Many Tears/Of Much Weeping", an epithet of Ares, referring to the woe and grief, which war brings. 2) Glaukópis: "Bright-Eyed/Owl-Eyed", an epithet of Athena, because of her bright eyes, which depending on the source are either grey or blue (in my version they're blue). 3) Ilion = Troy 4) Ta Meri: "Beloved Land", one of the ancient Egyptian terms for ... well, ancient Egypt, as the word Egypt is Greek in origin. The Egyptians also called their country Kemet, "Black (Land)", referring to the fertile soil along the river Nile, which was very dark because of the yearly inundations. The desert parts of Egypt were referred to as "Ta Desheret", which means "Red Land" and was the domain of the goddess Sekhmet and the god Set (and some other deities associated with the desert.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

The Day it Almost Ended

Septics Inverted

A JSE Fanfic

A little bit shorter than the other stories, but it’s a pretty simple one so eh. It started out as “what’s a normal day in this household like?” and then I threw the Pax Anti video in there because that needs an explanation in this AU. And, uh, yeah, that’s it. Stuff happens because of that

Read the intro story: Part One | Part Two

Various other AU-related stuff found here

Taglist: @evyptids​ @awkward-bullshit​ @watermelonsinmyattic​ @asunachinadoll @a-humble-narcissus @metautske​ @odysseus-is-best-boi​ @acuriousquail @beerecordings

Jack woke up with a pounding headache. For a moment, he tried to remember if there was a reason for that, but when he couldn’t come up with anything he gave up. Must just be a bad day. He groaned, and rolled over to look at the clock. It was nine-thirty. That meant it was time to get up. He sighed, then managed to pry himself away from his bed. He stumbled toward the dresser, grabbed some clothes, then considered taking a shower. He decided against it; he was too tired and the water would just wash out the color in his hair. After getting dressed he climbed down the stairs to the kitchen. And then he realized he could hear the shouting. Already? It was so early.

“Some of us have a personal life, unlike you, discount Punisher!”

“I have a personal life, bitch, I think the word you’re looking for is ‘limits,’ and in that case you’re the one lacking!”

“Well I’m fucking sorry that I want to do more with my life than jump around in spandex beating the shit out of criminals!”

“Do more with your life?! I’d say that—”

Jack walked into the kitchen, and everything immediately stopped. “Morning guys,” he yawned. “Glad to see we’re off to a fantastic start today.”

Nobody said anything. Jackie was standing by the toaster, glaring at Marvin, who was in turn standing behind the counter and glaring right back. Chase was sitting at the dining table, picking at his scrambled eggs. After an awkward silence, he looked up and said, “Hey Jack. Didja sleep well?”

“Yeah. I have a headache, though, so maybe I slept too long. Did someone make breakfast or is it a free-for-all?”

Chase pointed towards the fridge with his fork. “There’s still some leftover eggs from yesterday in there, but if you don’t want those you’re gonna have to fend for yourself.”

The toaster popped. Everyone jumped. The atmosphere in the room was way too tense for sudden noises. Jackie sighed, the plucked the two bagel halves out of the slots, then strolled over to the silverware drawer, grabbed a butter knife, grabbed some butter from the cupboard, and began applying said butter to the bagel. He did this all while not looking away from Marvin, who was standing still as a statue.

“You know what? I’m just gonna...grab some cereal.” Jack edged around the staring contest, quickly getting the box from the cupboard and some milk from the fridge before power-walking over to the table and sitting down next to Chase. “Where are the others?” he asked.

“Still asleep,” Chase explained.

“Yeah, I figured Schneep would be.” The doctor’s clinic was usually open all night, so his sleep schedule was pretty off. “But Jameson?”

“He was out late. You know that, uh...fuck I can’t remember what it’s called. The, like, police charity gala? He got an invitation and went.”

“Huh. Didn’t know he knew anyone in the police.”

“Apparently it’s a new thing.” Chase shrugged. He glanced over towards Jackie and Marvin. “Jesus, they’re still...hey, are you two losers goin’ to actually eat or are you too busy having a Mexican stand-off but with eyes?”

“Fuck off, Chase,” Marvin said automatically. “You know what? I have better things to do. See you guys later, unhopefully.” He turned and left.

“That’s not a word!” Jackie called after him, causing a flurry of purple sparks to shoot towards his head. He barely ducked in time.

“What is with you two?” Jack griped. “Why are you always about to tear each other’s throats out?”

Jackie sighed. “It’s just...he’s a dick, but he thinks I’m one.”

“Don’t worry about it, man.” Chase said. “It’s not like they’re out to murder each other or anything. It’s...well, maybe I should have done a personality assessment for potential roommates. They’re too different.” He shoved a bit of breakfast into his mouth before continuing. “Anyway, what were you planning on doing today? More recording, or do you want to go down to the shop with me?”

“Probably just the first thing.” Jack sighed. “But god, that’s gonna be hard with this headache.”

“You can do it, man! I believe you can power through it!”

“Thanks, dude.” Jack rubbed his head. “Guess I’ll have to, huh?”

“Yeah. But it’ll be okay. I promise.”

After a bit, Jack went back upstairs. Chase immediately turned to Jackie. “Dude, if you’re going to shout at Marvin, can you shout things that won’t clue Jack in?” he hissed.

“What? What did I say?”

“It was what you were about to say. You were like, ‘more out of life, I’ll say that’ and then you stopped when Jack came in and I just know if he hadn’t you were gonna end up mentioning Marvin’s...you know.”

“Oh, you mean murdering people and worse in the basement?!”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean!” Chase coughed, uncomfortable. “Look, I get it, Marvin’s...yeah...but Jack can’t find out! He’ll freak, and you know that! Plus, you’re giving Jameson extra work and he has a life outside of us. I don’t think it’s a good idea to piss him off when he could decide to leave at any time.”

Jackie thought about this, then sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. But if I have to listen to him brag about his ‘discoveries’ one more time...” He didn’t finish the threat, just clenched his fist like he was dramatically squashing a bug.

Chase rolled his eyes. “You don’t have this problem with Schneep,” he muttered.

“Th-that—that’s different! Henrik’s a doctor, we need him. And he’s all...well...y’know, so I can’t blame him. Plus, he doesn’t call me a no-good do-gooder under his breath every time he sees me.” Jackie took a bite out of his bagel. “I’m goin’ upstairs to check the web, text me if you need anything.”

Chase gave a little salute. “Will do, Mr. Boy Man.”

Jack took a break from recording around noon, coming back downstairs for a quick lunch before heading on to the next game. He passed Schneep and Jameson in the living room, the former curled up on a couch with headphones and his phone and the latter sitting in an armchair with a book. They weren’t talking, though for all he knew Jameson actually was but he was projecting to Schneep alone. Jack waved to them, but neither responded. That was okay. He made himself a quick sandwich/chips combo, ate fast, then went back upstairs.

“Jack! Wait a moment.”

Jack stopped where he was on the staircase, looking back down. “Yeah, doc?”

“You were not planning on going to the Pax this year, were you?”

“Uh...” Jack bit his lip, trying to remember. “No, I...I think I decided there was too much to do here, and travel was too hard.” He gripped the banister tightly. He was feeling dizzy all of a sudden, his vision going in spirals. “Anyway, why?”

“Well..” Schneep held his phone up for Jack to see. “...because there is now a video on your channel called ‘Pax Special Announcement/Surprise.’”

Jack felt his heart stop. “I...didn’t upload that. You don’t think...?”

“It is possible. I have not watched it yet. Do you want to join me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’ll be good.” Jack climbed back down the stairs, settling on the couch next to Schneep, leaning over his shoulder to stare at the tiny screen of the phone.

The video started out...normal. Jack, or someone who looked like Jack, began by saying “Well hello there! Before we get right into this, I just want to come right out and say I won’t be going to Pax this year. I’m really sorry guys, but unfortunately life is...being a bitch right now...” A small giggle. “And I just can’t make it. There’s so much planning that you need to put into travelling, and I’m still sort of behind on videos from the time I was sick—”

“When was I sick?” Jack blurted out.

{Back in January.} Both Schneep and Jack startled at the mental interjection. They looked over to Jameson. {Don’t you remember? It was after that disturbing dream you had, right before Marvin strengthened the wards. You were bedridden for a week, it was horrible.}

“Oh. Yeah, uh, now I remember. Thanks, dude.”

The “Jack” onscreen was still talking. “—actually originally planned on going, and I filmed a speci-sp̵e͏ci̧a̕l̀ vide͏o͞ for you guys, to show there.” That glitch didn’t go unnoticed by Jack. “I figured it wouldn’t do anyone any good just sitting on my hard drive, so I might as well post it. But first, you guys have to do something. You know how much I love audience interaction, so what I need you to do is all take out your phones. Or, you know, your iPad, anything with a camera. I’ll just...wait a minute. This is—it’s kinda awkward, isn’t it? But you’re all ready now? Okay, so what you hav͟e͟ tó ̧d͢o iś—̢” The video was interrupted by a horrible, electronic breaking sound as the screen went black. But the visual came back, severely lowered in quality and lagging. “—place ̸yo̕ur̕ p̶h̡o̡ne̢ in͟ you̷r̕ ͝han̡d͝,̡ ̴an͝d̀ ͝j͏ust—” another glitch to black.

Jack glanced at Schneep, who only gave him a worried look. Then, the video returned, red and green pixels flashing across the screen, partially hiding images that...they looked familiar to Jack. Maybe he played games like that? But they seemed more real than anything. Then, black. Nothing except for a question, echoing. “A͡re you ̷th̢ere?” Jack found he was nodding. Why was he nodding?

And then he was there. His appearance was slightly different, more align with Jack’s than his own, most noticeable in the green hair and the lack of an eye-patch. But there was no mistaking the knife, or the bloody bandages around his neck. “Lo͢o̕k ͞a̵t you al͝l̴! ́J͏u͢st sittiņg͟ ͟t̴heŕe—y̷o̧u͝ t́ho̶u͢g̨ht it̵ wa͠s ov̶e̶r̛—no̶t͟ ̷w͝o̸rryi͏n͢g̨ a̵b̢o͝ùt ͞a͝ny̧t͏h̵i̵ng͝. Yòu a͝ll͞ t̢h͟ought I ̀wa̶s ̶gon͞e͡...̵b͢ut̡ I͏'͟ve b̨e̸e͡ń ḩere̴ this͡ ͏entire ̕t͡im͟e!͡ ̢Kee͏pi͢n̷g an—̶ e͏͖͖͉̗̞y͇̭̞͓̗̰͡è̫ ̮̥̜͖̞͕o̼̗̪̬̻̰̳̕n͖̥̫͍̫̝ ̤̣͟t͎hi͖̥̱n̡̻̞̭͉̲̱̖g̱̰̤̬̫̥ș̜. Yơu͢ s̀t̀opped̨ pa̡yi̵ng ̡a͢t̶te̡nti͟on!̕ We͡l̶l, I̧ ho͏pe yo͏u'ŕe̛ happ̸y. Ỳou ca̡n't͢ se͏e t́he͞ ̛s͠ig͞ǹs.̛ ̀Thręw m͢ȩ asidè! Did̶n't̴ r̡e̵ad͏ t͢he ͝warn͝i̸n̛gs.̸ I'm̨ ͞not g̷o̸ing̕—͠a̢n̷yw̢he̵r͝e̕!̷ ͡I̸'m̨ ͡alwa̢y͡s ͝the̶re, Aļ́w̨ą͠ys̶ Wa͠t̀͟c̵h͞͞in̴̡g.̀ They ca̶n̸'̛t͝ ̡get ri͢d ̧o͞f͞ m͟e.” One final cut, and...“E̕nj͏o̴y your ̴'v̀id̷e̢os͟.'̷” The words sounded bitter.

A few more seconds of dark silence, and then the video ended. Jack leaned back. “What...what does it mean?” he asked, a tremble in his voice.

“I think it is a warning.” Schneep turned off his phone. “To your viewers, saying he is still there, and to us, saying he can get inside the channel whenever he wants. He could make how many fake videos and ruin your life.”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Jack didn’t know where the words had come from. Yes, of course he would, he was a monster, he was a demon...and yet...he had the strangest, niggling feeling in the back of his mind.

{Jack, I think your eye friend wants your attention.}

“Wh—Sam!” Jack looked over to the tank in the corner of the room. They’d made it relatively recently, because he hadn’t really...trusted them with the secret of Sam’s existence. But he’d decided they were safe. So he told them. He couldn’t remember the actual moment he did so, but how else would they have found out about Sam?

Jack rushed over to the tank. Sam had been bonking on the lid, looking at him. “What is it, bud?” Sam wanted to see the video. “Well, Schneep can bring his phone over—” No, that wouldn’t work. He scared Sam. “C’mon, Sam, you gotta get over this.” Sam would not. They knew something was off, they didn’t like the way he looked at them. “Well, if you insist. Hang on, I’ll open the tank and you can come upstairs, I’ll show you on my computer.” Sam thought that was a good idea.

With a little effort, Jack pried the lid off the tank and Sam burst out in a spurt of green liquid. They immediately settled on Jack’s shoulder. “Comfortable?” They were. “Alright. Hang on, then.” Jack dashed upstairs. Jameson and Schneep watched him go in silence.

“How do they talk?” Schneep asked. “It has no mouth but Jack understands it just fine!”

{I’m...not quite sure, to be honest,} Jameson admitted. {If it’s a form of telepathy it’s not one I can detect. Jack just seems to know what Sam is feeling. They are definitely connected somehow.}

“Fascinating...” Schneep turned his phone back on, opening up the YouTube video again. “I think we will have to go over this with the others, yes?”

{Indeed.} Jameson stood up, then took Jack’s vacant spot on the couch. {I could feel a definite shift in Jack during that video. I believe Anti thought it would help jog his memory.}

“But how did he do this? How did he reach into Jack’s channel? And how did he change his appearance to match closer to Jack’s? Can he shift shape?”

{My good doctor, I think you need to calm down and focus on the more immediately problem. Jack cannot remember.}

“True, true...but someday I want to find the answers to these questions. And maybe I can answer my questions about Jack’s eye as well. Anyway, will you need to undo his mess?”

{Hmm...perhaps not. I’ll wait until the end of the day to see if there’s any lasting effect. But if there is...I think I may need to strengthen my approach, if one glitch’s video can break through it without too much difficulty.}

Jack was starting to get uneasy. After he showed Sam the video, he’d scrolled down through the comments, reading the viewers’ reactions. He thought he’d done something like this before...looking for the viewers freaking out in reaction to a video he posted. But when would that have happened? He was a gamer, he never uploaded anything this level of shocking. The closest it got was Halloween, but he’d been scared then because Anti was taking over...that...was how it went down, wasn’t it? He just couldn’t shake the feeling of the glitch over his shoulder, but not...in a hostile way...

Most of the comments were very typical. Along the lines of  “Aaaaaaah oh my god Anti is here!!! Aaaaaaa!!!” But there were a couple theories, comparing this sudden dropped video to the Halloween one, which had been built up.

Well, if he was looking for theories, he needed to be on a different website. On a whim, he switched over and searched up the jacksepticeye tab, scrolling through the results. Lots more of the “Ohmigodanti” reactions. He kept refreshing the search, looking for new...yeah, he definitely remembered doing this before. Only now there was Sam with him, instead of...but that wasn’t possible.

Then, he came across a post. Just a single question: “Does anyone else think that Anti isn’t, well, particularly evil?” Reading that, Jack felt...he didn’t know how he felt. Like he’d just remembered something, but there was nothing there. Most of the responses to the post were like “He possessed Jack and slit his throat, how is that not evil?” and that seemed the rational response...it was, wasn’t it? 

Boop. The sound of his text alert startled Jack out of his...whatever this was. He picked up his phone from where he’d dropped it on his desk and read the text from Chase: Dude, are you coming down for dinner or what?

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered to himself. “Sam, you ready to go back in the tank or do you want to hang around a bit more? I...miss hanging out with you. We don’t do it as much.” Sam missed it too, but they wanted to return to the tank. It was safe, and they didn’t think his friends were. “They’re fine, Sam. If they wanted to, like, murder me they would have done it by now.” Sam was worried about him. “...thanks, bud. I appreciate it, but everything is okay.” Sam wasn’t sure about that, but if Jack insisted.

Dinner was the only time when everyone was home and awake to eat at the same time, so it was usually an event. Jackie or Jameson usually cooked, and they all sat at the table and made (sometimes awkward) conversation. There wasn’t really a defined seating arrangement, but they all sort of fell into the same pattern. Jackie and Marvin sat as far away as possible from each other, Jack usually sat next to Chase, or sometimes Jameson or Jackie, Schneep usually sat near Jackie or occasionally Chase, and Jameson sat near Marvin. There were only so many ways to sit with those requirements.

It was spaghetti night, because neither Jackie nor Jameson felt like cooking and spaghetti was easy. Jack was hungry, but he couldn’t bring himself to do more than pick at the noodles. He had too many thoughts, and they all contradicted each other.

“You okay, Jack?” Jackie asked.

“Uh...yeah, I’m just...thinking.”

“About what?”

“Well...I don’t know.” Jack dropped the fork. “You all saw that video on the channel today?”

Everyone nodded. “Are you going to delete it?” Chase asked.

“Maybe. But...after watching it, I feel...” Jack put his head in his hands. “I feel...like I’m forgetting something. Or that something is wrong. And I keep thinking about Anti, and I think I have weird memories...and Sam is worried about me...”

“Okay, that’s cool.” Marvin didn’t seem to be paying attention. He kept glancing toward Jameson.

“Maybe your headache is just playing tricks on your brain, Jack!” Schneep suggested. “That is a thing that can happen if it is bad enough.”

“Really?” Jack was skeptical. He would know about that, wouldn’t he?

“I think you need to get your mind off things,” Marvin said. “Hey, Jameson and I are working on something, and we need a third person. You wanna help?”

“I...literally don’t know anything about magic.”

“Well, that’s okay. We just need you to observe what happens, take notes, tell us if you feel anything, like, psychically. Not too hard.”

“I don’t...” Jack paused. It wouldn’t hurt to help them out, would it? {No, it wouldn’t.} And it could help him forget this whole mess of a day...{it seemed like a good idea.} “Alright, if you insist. After dinner.”

And indeed, after they’d all finished Jack followed Marvin and Jameson down into the basement. The other three, stuck cleaning up, exchanged looks.

“You don’t think...this will have any side effects, do you?” Chase asked.

“I hope not,” Jackie muttered.

“What kind of side effects?” Schneep asked.

“I don’t know! Just!” Chase glared in the general direction of the basement door. “That’s my friend! And I don’t know if this new thing will work. Doesn’t it seem kind of risky to have two people doing the spell at the same time? Like, they’d distract each other?”

“I think it will be fine,” Schneep said dismissively. “Jameson is knowledgeable, and Marvin is very skilled. They will be fine together.”

“Well...I guess this is our best option,” Jackie said reluctantly. “Still never liked this whole...thing, but...”

“It will be fine.” Schneep’s voice left no room for argument. “You will see.”

Jack woke up with purple at the edges of his vision. It faded away. He wondered why that was, and then he forgot what he was wondering about. He felt great.

To his surprise, when he came downstairs to get something to eat before starting the day, everyone was awake. That was something he’d only seen maybe twice since joining the household. Schneep, Jameson, and Marvin were all in the living room, and Chase and Jackie were sitting at the table eating in the kitchen/dining room. “Is there an event or something?” he asked. “Why is everyone awake? Did all our sleep schedules just align?”

“Oh hi Jack!” Chase said. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, actually. Pretty good! I might do some VR games today, full of that energy.”

“Nice, dude. Here, I got you some toast.”

“Aw, thanks.” As he sat at the table, munching, he felt...like he was forgetting something. “Hey, uh, what day is it?”

“Friday,” Marvin called from the living room.

“Uh, actually I meant date. I think my phone’s off.”

“It’s the tenth of March,” Jackie said. “Why?”

“I just felt like there was...something I was supposed to be doing. But I think it must be because I’m not at Pax this year. I had my panel scheduled for today until I had to cancel it.”

Chase shrugged. “Well, unfortunately travel difficulties don’t just go away.”

“Yeah.” Jack finished off the toast. “I’m goin’ back up now. You guys know where to find me.” He disappeared up the stairs.

Everyone left collectively relaxed. “Either he is a better actor than he thought, or he really does not remember what happened the day before yesterday.” Schneep breathed a sigh or relief.

“And...you’re sure I’ll never have to do that again?” Marvin asked, turning to Jameson. “I have more important stuff to do with my day.”

{Relax, Marvin.} Jameson waved away his concern. {Now that the spell’s set in motion, it can run on its own energy. It just needs to be kicked into gear every week or so, and that is something I can do on my own.}

“Alright. Okay. Good, we’re all good.” Chase laughed nervously. “God, that was close. We almost lost him.”

Across the city, a screen was smashed. Then the smasher immediately regretted it. That security monitor was an important window into what the hell was going on in that house, he really needed to stop this.

Anti forced himself to breathe, the strange, steadying motion bringing him back down to earth. It was okay. He’d just adapt. First, he’d see if he could still reach Jack through the combination of the house’s wards and the mind spell, whichever spell it may be. Then, he’d get a new screen. Then, he’d figure out what, exactly, this new and improved method was. It was fine. It was fine. He just had to try again. Some of the keener fans were starting to catch on, though they still thought this was all a game. So that was a helpful thing that came out of this.

But still, it stung knowing he’d almost had him back.

[davidastbury]

The Bookshop in The Strand

I didn’t see much of The Publisher. I wish I’d got to know him a bit better. It was obvious he was going through a bad time - quarrelling all day on the phone with people - upset and struggling to get his magazine kicked-off - upset that his latest relationship had flopped and he was alone again - upset that he was losing his looks and his efforts with make-up caused people to snicker ...and yet he was courageous and optimistic. He was also astonishingly kind.

Once, when Roger was out getting the coffees, he forced a rolled up £5 note into my jacket pocket.

He said - ‘Take it! You’re young - you mustn’t go short.’

Caroline and Sharon

I may not have been the most appreciative or appreciated guest at Russell’s house; I may not have been the most frequent visitor - I may even not have been Caroline’s most devoted admirer.

Let me introduce Sharon - an old friend of Caroline’s mother, who happened to live nearby, within ‘pop round for a quick chat’ distance. I saw her many times. She was a teacher - not at a school, I think it was at a higher-education college in Manchester. She was rangy and had a tough-guy manner; giving the impression that she wasn’t someone to mess with. She wore tight tops and baggy trousers. There had once been a husband but was gone - disposed of, or divorced, or murdered. I liked her eyes - they were icy and fantastically alert - she had eyes like film-star, eyes like Lauren Bacall.

One afternoon - Russell had gone out with his mother, but wouldn’t be long - I went into the kitchen and found Sharon alone with Caroline.

Oh the white-hot perceptiveness of an awkward, unhappy thirteen-year-old boy!

I had walked into something totally new and unknown - the intensity of female friendship. The crinkly-eyed smiles. The clutching of tea mugs in both hands. The standing cross-legged and swaying. The tartish leaning. The elbow cupped in the palm. The unbelieving head tossing. The sticking out stomach. The spontaneous, best-friend hugs. The innocent pats!

All this came at me in that bright modern kitchen. I backed out, away from the angry eyes, the bright appliances and the air crackling with lust.

Father: ‘What’s that you’re reading?’

Son: ‘A book father. It is called ‘My Life In Art’ by a

Russian named Konstantin Sergeievich Stanislavski.’

Father: ‘It’s about time you got some bloody work done.’

This morning

Breakfast in the garden! A lot of rain last night and everything was soaked and dripping. High above me, bunched together, a gang of crows. I call them crows but people who know more than I do, tell me that they are jackdaws; my reply is ‘they are still members of the crow family’.

They watched me, wobbling on the branches, opaque black shapes, sour black, to use Dylan Thomas’ words ‘bible black’; solid and chunky, eyes shuttering. Each time I moved one of them called out, a shriek of some sort, a swear word - crows only know swear words. If I remained motionless they became silent, but the slightest movement, like reaching for my coffee, provoked echoing shouts of abuse.

Eventually I collected my plates and newspaper and headed indoors. One of them called out and all the others joined in.

To me, heavy and land-locked and short-sighted, it sounded like laughter.

This morning

Breakfast in the garden! A lot of rain last night and everything was soaked and dripping. High above me, bunched together, a gang of crows. I call them crows but people who know more than I do, tell me that they are jackdaws; my reply is ‘they are still members of the crow family’.

They watched me, wobbling on the branches, opaque black shapes, sour black, to use Dylan Thomas’ words ‘bible black’; solid and chunky, eyes shuttering. Each time I moved one of them called out, a shriek of some sort, a swear word - crows only know swear words. If I remained motionless they became silent, but the slightest movement, like reaching for my coffee, provoked echoing shouts of abuse.

Eventually I collected my plates and newspaper and headed indoors. One of them called out and all the others joined in.

To me, heavy and land-locked and short-sighted, it sounded like laughter.

Two Russians

Nabokov did not much care for Solzhenitsyn’s style of writing but he very much cared for what he had to say. He contacted the dissident writer in 1974, shortly after his dismissal from the Soviet Union, saying that they should meet. Solzhenitsyn was released into West Germany but then travelled to Switzerland. Letters were exchanged - Solzhenitsyn accepted the invitation. Nabokov and his wife Vera prepared their apartment in the Montreux alace Hotel for the visit.

A date was set and Sol arrived at the front of the hotel. But it then occurred to him that when he asked for a time, Nabokov had not replied. There had not been a finalisation of details, as if the last letter had been lost. Or perhaps there was something else?

He began to think that Nabokov may not have wished to meet him at all - that he wasn’t being sincere and hadn’t meant to be taken at his word.

He stopped a taxi and got in.

On The Train.....Entomology

She sits, pensive over her devise, fingers dancing over the illuminated screen. And then suddenly a convulsive movement! Both hand clawing at the air in front of her face; she has been troubled by a fly, a tiny fly, perhaps a mosquito. She’s quite startled; she’s trying to gather her thoughts - and then the mosquito attacks again.

The mosquito is ferociously, fatally, promiscuously attracted to her. No amount of hand flapping will deter or divert his compulsion - he has found what he really wants. Her head jerks back, repulsed, and I see for the first time the astonishing colbat-blue of her irides - pools of nectar for his pulsing labellum, his flailing flagellomere, his aching proboscis.

Donald Coggan, who went on to become the Archbishop of Canterbury, was told by a toastmaster at a dinner to speak close to the microphone because - ‘the agnostics here are terrible’.

Ian And Lorna ... 1965

Ian was as innocent as a child, always believing people were what they seemed; Lorna was far more worldly and concealed her knowledge behind a smile - the smile of her mouth only.

Ian was as happy as a puppy - happy to be working with Lorna in such a big organisation - loving the gossip, the drinks after work, the friendly malice of the older men, the envy in their eyes.

Watching Ian laughing and joking made her feel like snapping him out of his silliness, but she never said a word, knowing that some things are better unspoken.

Hotel Lift ... London

Early morning and the lift fills up; all of us standing stiffly, eyes buzzing, all of us with not-quite-fully-awake faces. Me - jammed just inside, next to the control panel and pressing the buttons as called out - with the inevitable humorous confusion the hard-of-hearing seem to cause.

Family bunched together - dad resting hands on small boy’s shoulders - tall, early teen daughter, eyes closed, mortified with embarrassment, chin quivering with sheer self-consciousness. Hating being with mum and dad and spoilt-brat brother. Hating the shared room, her dad’s cheerfulness, her own free fall between childhood and the future - but hating most of all the cluster of spots around her mouth. The only possible response is to close her eyes and shut it all out.

But the really great figure in this little drama is the mother. She’s facing the girl and looking slightly up at her - looking at her with the most searching, sympathetic and loving expression. She isn’t the slightest concerned about all these strangers pressed around them; she is lost in the rapturous view of her miraculous and beautiful daughter.

Everything was said better by the ancients. Show me any modern author who can match this ....

‘This was Argos, trained as a puppy by Odysseus, but never taken on a hunt before his master sailed for Troy. The young men, afterward, hunted wild goats with him, and hare, and deer, but he had grown old in his master’s absence. Treated as rubbish now, he lay at last upon a mass of dung before the gates – manure of mules and cows, piled there until fieldhands could spread it on the king’s estate. Abandoned there, and half destroyed with flies, old Argos lay. But when he knew he heard Odysseus’ voice nearby, he did his best to wag his tail, nose down, with flattened ears, having no strength to move nearer his master. And man looked away, wiping the tears from his face.

Early Sunday morning ... 1965

Noises. Morning noises of someone moving about downstairs. Lying in bed and waking up slowly. Drank a lot but no hangover - throat a bit sore with all that shouting over the music.

And who is the girl in bed with him? A single sheet showing her shape. She has her back to him; short dark hair tapering to a point at the nape of her neck and then the whiteness of her bare back. Gently he cups her shoulder and she turns to face him, smiling. It was an awkward moment - two strangers in bed together, wide-eyed, confused.

‘Shouldn’t we introduce ourselves?’ - he asked.

‘You mean ... like shake hands?’

‘I honestly don’t remember much about last night.’

‘You don’t remember?’ She put her face closer.

‘Well - just a bit.’

She slid her hand under the sheet - ‘so - you need reminding.’

Morning noises faded. The car that won’t start - next-door’s dog barking - someone running water in the kitchen - someone in the bathroom, coughing panting and moaning.

Boris W.

I must be one of the last people to be issued with a letter of introduction. This quaint practice of the European bourgeoisie - and American too for all I know - where a person about to visit another country is given letters of introduction addressed to people who may be of help to him. So there I was, like a figure in 19th century fiction, with an introduction to Boris W. - and what an address - Boulevard Clichy.

Boris had once written poetry which had been praised - unforgivably I hadn’t read any - and he knew the French writers. He had married an older wealthy woman but it wasn’t a good marriage and she divorced him - and harassed him for money; which he didn’t have. Then came the Germans, forcing him into hiding and he spent the entire occupation behind a grill, surviving on food from friends. Afterwards he was a patient in mental hospitals. It took him years to regain stability.

He was polite and friendly. His flat was tiny - it had a high ceiling but it was oppressive. He probably sensed the way I felt - he seemed to twitch and his hands trembled when lighting cigarettes - so he decided to take me to the ‘literary’ cafes.

I wish I remembered more - I wish I’d taken notes. He would have been sent to a death camp; they would have killed him. He was small and gentle and I was upset at the idea of anyone hurting him. I hated the neon lights and the shiny cobblestones - the streets where people had been rounded up - the low-level grill and Boris looking out.

He was rich, but he wasn’t idle rich - in fact he was always rushing about on business. One incident sums him up.

He was managing director of a consultant engineering company and he interviewed several people in various cities. They had to be prepared to move to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia - not everyone’s cup of tea, but the salary was good. One applicant, in London, who came across very well, mentioned that his wife was a landscape designer and Abi said that there was a vacancy for someone to scheme out garden etc on completed projects.

The outcome was that both the man and his wife accepted jobs with Abi’s company. Accommodation was arranged - schools sorted out for their children - the couple sold their house near London and made the move.

Not long afterwards the man asked to see Abi. He was given an appointment in Abi’s office - which you can imagine was spectacular, radiating the wealth and success of only the most prestigious contracts. The man was was pale and near to tears. Abi asked what on earth was wrong. The man, choking, said that he was giving notice of quitting - the two of them would be returning to the UK immediately. His wife had been diagnosed with cancer.

Abi stood up and said - ‘You frightened me! You come into my office looking as if your children were dead! You come in dictating terms to me! This is what will happen. You will not leave your job; you will not go back homeless to England. You will continue in your work and your children will stay in the school in which they are settled. As for your wife - she is going to get the best treatment in the world. Whatever is needed she will get - if she has to go to New York or Chicago so be it, it will be provided. Everything will be looked after. You must not let the world collapse around you. We will look after you.’

... That’s my portrait of Abi.

Coffee Bar ... (1965)

She was sitting at the next table and all he had to do was speak to her! He had been anguishing for a long time - he knew her friends - he had asked about her and learned that she didn’t have a boyfriend - his great moment was once holding a door back for her; her half-smile nearly overbalanced him - when alone he tried hard to recreate her face, but couldn’t - each day was a struggle, would he see her or not?

He was dry mouthed, but he had finished his coffee. Nervousness at screaming point - eyes flickering across her face - she pretending to be unaware. He had to speak to her ... and he did.

Much later he would remember that particular episode. He remembered his white-hot excitement and her astonishing loveliness. But it took him a long time to understand that he would never have made his opening remark had he not seen a very small hole - perhaps damage from a coat-hanger - on the neck of her jumper