Work Text
Static
It started with the ringing.It wasn't all that unusual; years of playing drums and listening to things too loudly left him with a bit of tinnitus. He was used to the odd, tin-y sound of it plaguing him occasionally.But this was also very different, Jack thought. It was a deeper thrum, vaguely electronic. Like when you left the TV on too long.He ignored it though. There were videos to make, after all, amongst his other things to do and people to see. Next came the numbness.It'd be in certain places, certain patches; the very tips and edges of his fingers, sometimes the bottom of his heels or pads of his toes. He just chalked it up to his finger biting habit (it wasn't just the nails that he tore at, after all), and sitting in a way that pushed on his feet at a funny angle.But then it'd be in weird places - like his arms, or the knobs of his spine, even the roof of his mouth, and, briefly, but lightly there, his eyes.Maybe it was fatigue catching up with him? Jack mayn't have the best sleep schedule, but he did sleep. But even an energetic guy like him grew tired after awhile - sometimes crashing for a nap in between recordings or before going out for the day.He was sure Wiishu would have noticed, pushing him to rest; but she had gone to visit family for a little while (someone was ill, he remembered her mentioning), and he'd be damned if he was going to worry Signe more than she already was. Their phone calls were evidence of that, anyhow.But Jack couldn't placate the nagging feeling that something wasn't right. Sleep came in disarmingly heavy bursts. It would drift away, elusive, than slam down to claim him. His dreams were heavy, tingling, wrong; static fuzzing green in his sleepscape, and giggling echoing at rough, different pitches.Then he'd jolt awake, no transition between deep sleep and consciousness, mind active yet incoherent. The days began to take their toll; Jack's energy was a little bit chipped, his smile a little slow, the twinkle in his eyes dimmer. He ignored it, though, because honestly, he was tired, but he was fine.Even when the comments section flooded with concerns, he told them he was fine.It was one particular morning that Jack found he had to drag himself from bed - unusual in that he was happy to start his day, getting things done, but usual in that hey, once he did give in to sleep, he relished in it.But his usual enthusiasm was dampened, and he had to admit it to himself: something was wrong.Jack was surprised when he realized that he had been ignoring the problem for so long - he was an action-taker, a go-getter."What's wrong with me lately?" He muttered, rinsing his face and meeting his own tired eyes in the mirror. His hair was disheveled, dark circles ever-so faintly appearing under his green eyes-Wait.He shot up, standing straight in bewilderment. His hands gripped the edge of he sink to the point that they were white with tension.And then his reflection gradually began to smirk.It was unsettling - his own face but not his own smile - and eyes clearly colored differently than his own. The image, before so clear, was blurred on the edges, bits and pieces beginning to fizz and pixelate, as though glitching."What-" Jack gaped.A snigger, his doppelgänger tilting forward oh-so slightly. "Oh, Jackaboy. I was wondering when you would finally notice~""What even - why do you look like me?" He sputtered, managing a coherent sentence despite his jumbled thoughts."Isn't it obvious? I'm you," the figure said, voice echoing and doubled. The pitch wavered, usually higher but just as easily dipping low."I-" he shut his mouth, squeezing his eyes and shaking his head. "You know what? No. Nope. I'm out." He turned to leave the bathroom, pointedly not meeting his reflection's eyes, and missing out on its sharp scowl."It's - it's probably nothing," he mumbled. "I'm - it's the sleep deprivation getting to me. The community is right, I'll try to ease up. Maybe shorter let's plays - I'll tweet about it. They'll understand. And - and I'm sure once I catch up on some proper sleep I'll be fine."He rubbed his temples, ignoring the tingling static in his fingers.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Ringing
He was not fine.At least, not as fine as he convinced himself he was.The . . . other him (?) took to following him upon reflective surfaces, though it had yet to speak again. It just watched. Waited. It left an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Jack's stomach - he just knew that there was something wrong with it.But still, he chose not to acknowledge it - as much as he hated to ignore a problem, admitting this thing existed just confirmed that there was something wrong with him.So he continued on, acting normal as he could, and starting to not notice the staticy numbness anymore.His community had been very supportive - when he tweeted that he needed some rest, they all rushed him with kind messages to 'feel better', 'rest up!', and that they all 'hope he's okay'. There were, of course, impatient and rude people, but those words were drowned out by all the other caring ones.Of course, all his pals called to check on him. Robin, Mark, Bob, Wade, Ethan, Tyler, Felix; it warmed his heart how much they all cared, and he couldn't help the twinge of guilt for worrying everyone so much. Even Dan and Phil sent quick little messages, despite not being particularly close to Jack. He was quick to reassure everyone that it really just was his sleeping issues, and he spent a few long hours reassuring Signe and convincing her to stay and look after her ill family member.It was definitely difficult, having her gone; he wouldn't go so far as to say he had separation anxiety, but he could definitely feel her absence in the startling quiet of the night, made oh-so more prominent in his recent paranoia. Their little gestures for one another were halted, and it ached in his heart. But he knew it was only temporary.Though his increasingly dodgy sleep made him long for her more.One particular night, his sleep changed - his dream was vivid and violent, (laying on the floor, bleeding out from the sharp slit through his throat, torn flesh throbbing and burning as he tried to breathe through his screaming), startling him from sleep with choked, ragged gasps and skin itching from his patchy "sweating"."Well, well, well~ . . still trying to ignore me now, Seán?" A voice hissed from the darkness.Jack tried to calm his racing heart, fumbling to turn on the bedside lamp.But an empty room greeted him, the presence on the end of his bed, gone.He swore, breathlessly. Digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, he muttered, "I really need to lay off the horror games past midnight." Jack woke up the next morning, dark circles beneath his eyes. His skin was paler than usual, enunciating them. Even his baby blues had a duller tint of shale to them."Not sure what to do now," he muttered, as he sipped his fourth cup of coffee. He had promised his friends and community that he'd be taking it easy for a bit, which meant either a long video every two days, or a short video every day - and not just whittled down from editing. Robin had been very stern.That didn't mean he couldn't play for fun - he was planning on playing some Prop Hunt and Uno with the guys later, without recording purposes. But until then, he wasn't sure what to do or play. Maybe he'd. . . clean or something?But, glancing around, there wasn't much to do; he was pretty good about cleaning up after himself, and there wasn't a need to do a heavy cleaning very often around his apartment. He could definitely take his mug to the sink, but besides that, there wasn't much else to do.Jack ended up passing the hours watching tv; he ignored the irritated face glaring at him from the blank screen - it disappeared as soon as the device flickered to life. His mind kept wanting to draw back to the . . . döppleganger, which he kept dismissing immediately. There was no point in thinking about it when it wasn't real."It's the lack of sleep, Seán," he muttered to himself, finding that talking out loud helped ease his nerves. "Too many psychological horror games, and too little sleep."Eventually, Jack lost himself into the set. A few hours passed. When he noticed the time he scrambled to get himself a late meal from the kitchen. As soon as he was done with that, he realized that the others would be messaging him in his recording room to play in a matter of minutes.He was actually a little late when he made it, and he sheepishly grinned, fingers running through his hair as he clicked 'accept' and apologized."I'm soo sorry, you guys. Got caught up with the tv.""Don't you mean, 'the telly'.""Really, Mark? If anything, I'd call it 'the set'.""What got you so enraptured? Were your soaps on?""Hey, Bob, now I'm offended; I'll have you know that soap operas are great, and-""Of course Mark watches soap operas."Jack smiled easily at their bickering, the group dynamic of his friends filling him with warmth. It made him realize how lonely he'd been feeling with Signe gone. And he'd never been one for loneliness or isolation.He yelled back just as loud and boisterous as Mark and Bob's "argument" escalated - in their tirade, they'd been paired together, while Jack got Wade. The Irishman chattered back and forth happily with his friend, while the other two didn't notice the timer ticking down."G-dangit, where are you?!" Mark hit some high tone with minimal squeaking, which even Jack could appreciate."I dunno, Wade," Jack said cheekily. "Do they deserve a hint?""I dunno; will these two lug heads even get it?"Jack laughed. "Well, when they get tired of running around like idiots. . ."". . .they'll see what they're looking for. I mean, I know I've been on my bath behavior so far."Jack bit his lip as Mark screeched in incoherent frustration and realization, Bob following with a shout of his own. It wasn't their best hints, by far, but even if it gave them away it was worth it to solicit those sorts of reactions from them.Man, he loves his friends."Oh you do, don't you? But you've been hiding something from them~"Jack's eyes widened and he froze, mouth partially opened. No. Oh no no no no.He heard ringing, faint, subtle, but picking up in volume way too fast, and drowning out all senses except for hands griping his own shoulders, the sensation foreignly familiar, and breath ghosting against his ear."Lying," it hissed. "Lying to your friends, your fans, yourself; what are you going to do when they finally find out?"Jack didn't hear the confused voices of his friends as he sat frozen, unresponsive. He was unaware of their quickly turned, worried shouting, as he teetered to one side, spasming slightly as he hit the floor.All he knew was the presence inside? beside him, and the ringing in his ears as he was encompassed with tingling darkness.Unconsciousness claimed him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Disconnection
Jack regained consciousness gradually.And it hurt. It was like his whole body had lost circulation; stabbing gray needles of feeling return, agonizingly slow, yet too fast. He just stared at the ceiling, blinking. A face - his face - leered down at him with sharp green eyes, and an even sharper grin. It giggled, then sniggered, glitching out from his view. "Whoopsie daisy, Seán ~ Better get up before your friends call an ambulance." Jack furrowed his brow in confusion, the frantic voices coming from his headphones getting louder. He gave a groan as he tried to sit up, the headphones dangling oddly from around his neck (the cord wrapped around once, although it couldn't have-). He rubbed a hand across his forehead, swallowing thickly and calling out, "I'm okay - guys, I'm okay-"The voices chimed out more fervently, demanding answers. Jack waved a hand from where he was sitting on the floor, hoping the camera would catch it, and gave a 'one minute' gesture.He was really glad they weren't recording for a video.When Jack was able to, he stood, gingerly, and sat himself back into his green and black chair, swiveling and pulling himself to his desk. His vision was smeared, oddly, unable to focus properly. But he could see the game diverted to its menu screen, and the vague shape of his friends' faces in their windows.(There was faint, faint buzzing in the back of his mind, the sound of it in his ears, and his tongue felt heavy and rough)"I'm fine guys - I just, I dunno? Had a fainting spell?""Fainting spell? Jack-" Mark sounded incredulous, faintly appalled at his friend's flat dismissal. "You fell off your chair out of the blue-" "You sorta looked like you spasmsed-" Wade chimed in."-and that, so don't you dare pretend like you're fine-""Yeah man, it was really weird-" Bob, this time."-or I will effing get on a plane and fly over there so I can drag your scrawny behind to the hospital and get your head scanned."It was a quiet clamor for a moment as Jack winced; he knew Mark was really worried when his voice rose to that octave, as well as Wade's babbling, and Bob's tripping over words indicated the same thing. Did it really look that bad?Jack took a deep breath."Okay, okay; you're right," all three of his friends shut up then, watching and listening as he spoke slowly, carefully, "I did just have a weird spaz attack; I definitely blacked out, and I felt pins'n'needles when I woke up. But," he looked down, almost in shame. Then looked up sheepishly and shrugged. "I don't think it's that big of a deal. I just had cereal for dinner, which probably wasn't my best idea, and. . ."Jack trailed off, fidgeting a little. He resisted the urge to bite his fingers. ('Not like I can explain this whole evil self thing going on.') He really didn't want to. But. . ."I-" he drummed his fingers on the top of his desk. "I still haven't been sleeping well, okay? I woke up a lot last night - maybe got three or four hours of sleep. Restless sleep. So I'm sure I'm just low on energy.""The JackSepticEye? Low on energy?" Bob's tone was teasing. Trying to ease the tension.But "mommy Markimoo" wasn't going to let it drop, even if he did relax a little. "Look. Seán."Jack started when he heard Mark address him by his name."Ooh, someone's in trouble-""I swear to god, Bob-""Well he can't help it if you're going all 'mom mode', Mark-""-Wade, shut up."Mark, though thousands of miles away, made eye contact through the cameras that Jack couldn't break. "Look. I know you're hiding something. I don't know if you're worse than you've been saying, or what. But you need to talk to someone. One of us. Robin. Signe. Godamit Jack, call your own mom if you have to! We're your friends and you should trust us. Okay? I know I'm not alone when I say I'm really worried" - and he was, Jack could see it in his eyes - "just. Someone. Okay? Can you promise me that? That you'll talk to someone?"Jack looked down. Thought. Smiled softly. "Okay. Yeah. I- I'm sorry I haven't been really up front about stuff. I just didn't want to bother anyone, y'know?""Pffft, you obviously don't know us if you think we'd think you're a problem Jack," Bob was sure to say."I know."Mark gave Jack one last long, hard look. "I'm holding you to that. And you better tell me you talked to someone in a week, or else.""Yes, mom.""Hey! Don't take that time with me mister, I mean it." (He didn't. Not when using that voice.) He smiled at him. "Now get some rest. I know it's effing late out there.""Goodnight, Jack!""Night, buddy!""Night, guys," Jack said, smiling as he logged off.As soon as he disconnected the video feed and mike, he slid down in his chair with a heavy puff, closing his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the mocking laughter.. . .Who the hell was he supposed to talk to about this?
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Distortions
Jack really did think about what Mark had said, he did. But it wasn't that simple. He weighed the pros and cons of who to talk to - Signe was the very first to come to mind. His other half, cheesy at it sounded. But he really did trust her with all his heart. That didn't stop the faint thought of worry worry worry that came up, drawing him away from her. He couldn't - he didn't even want to imagine her thinking he was crazy, or leaving. It was illogical, he knew that, but the paranoia that has been accompanying his sleepless nights and arrival of his same-faced companion only fueled it. He respected his YouTube friends so much, who could he even begin to think about talking to? Jack rubbed his face, sighing. So far, Robin and Mark seemed to be his best options, but he couldn't quite bring himself to choose one. "Just get some sleep, Jackaboy," he muttered to himself. "Mark's givin' you a week anyways."But even as he lay there, he couldn't sleep. His mind kept turning, from döpplegangers to concerned friends; echoing darkness and hazy wakefulness; distortions and dreams and reality nothing but a knotted ball of thoughts and worries.Jack was used to his hyper-activity; his brain firing at odd hours in the night. But not to this degree - not with such worrisome thoughts and troubles.He huffed a sigh, groaning as he rubbed his palms down his face. "Ugh! I'm not gonna get any sleep at this rate, am I?""Well, why didn't you ask? I could always help you with that~"*** Jack's eyes shot open, blue eyes wide as he felt a presence above him. He struggled to get up as the added weight dipped his bed, but a hand shoved him down, hard enough to bruise.Green eyes all too bright in the gloom smiled down at him, teeth glinting in the dimness. "Didjya miss me?"Jack started to speak, trying to get up, but two hands curled around his throat, familiar fingers clawing into the skin."Don't be that way - after all, I'm just trying to help. You did want to get some sleep, didn't you?"Jack couldn't breathe - he couldn't breathe! Panic settled in as he clawed and tugged at the arms holding him down, trying to kick the figure that pinned him to the bed. His chest burned and spasmsed; the hands tightened their grip, a soft chuckle echoing in the dark."Aw, you're going to struggle? That'll only make it more fun for me."The room was getting darker; his limbs heavier. Jack couldn't tell if it was his chest seizing up that was stopping him from breathing, or the hands themselves. Was he having a panic attack?All he could focus on was that he couldn't breathe - the voice and weight seemed to fade away, his struggles grew fainter. He kept clinging, struggling, to stay awake, feeling dread that he would die and couldn't do a thing about it.Before the darkness, darker than that of the night-encompasses room, could drown him, he heard the perversion of his own voice whisper, "Nighty-night, Seán." ***Bird song flittered, heavy and low through the glass of his window. Jack's eyes fluttered open, as he groggily took in his surroundings. Almost immediately he flew up, breathing heavily, too heavily, and too fast, blue eyes darting and searching searching searching for the figure that had been in his room last night.Hadn't it?His hand reached of its own accord to feel his throat, the skin aching sorely, but he flinched as a too-familiar hand brushes against his skin. He dropped it in fearful shock.His own hands.He was-He was frightened of his own hands.He swallowed sharply."No," he whispered to himself. "No, it was that - that, Anti-me. Not- not me. I'm - vivid nightmares. Mark's right, I need to talk to someone," he hopped out of bed as he said it, swiping his phone off of the dresser.The bathroom door slammed open and bounced off the wall as Jack rushed in, eyes trained on the mirror. For a brief, fleeting moment, his neck had dark, purple bruises encasing it. Then, with a few blinks, it was gone, though the flesh still hurt as though bruised.He went to touch it again, but even just his fingers brushing sent his heart rate rocketing.Not taking his eyes off of his reflection, he swiped through his contacts, and clicked call.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
A break in the static
It only took two rings before they picked up, voice groggy. "Jack? What's up? You never call this late unless it's for a collab or something." Jack opened his mouth, but couldn't even get a rasping whimper out. Mark must have been alerted by his silence; he heard sheets ruffle as his friend sat up, voice suddenly clearer. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Did you call Signe?" Jack finally found words - well a word - that came out a soft whisper. "No." Mark was silent a moment, then said, "Is . . .is it about your whatever that's been going on lately?" ". . .yes." More silence. "I- Mark, look," Jack's voice suddenly returned. "Maybe I shouldn't have called. Sorry to wake you." Before he could even attempt to hang up, he heard his friend growl out, "That's bull, Jack, and you know it. Look," he heard Mark sigh, "I can understand that it might be hard, whatever it is, but you already called me - I know you feel like you need the help, no matter how much you're trying not to inconvenience someone - and shut your mouth, don't even deny it - so just. Please, Jack. I'm here. You know I'm willing to listen." Jack winced, cursing himself for calling Mark of all people. His friend had too big of a heart; wouldn't let something like this go easily, even if he was avoiding being pushy. Suddenly, as the doubt crept in his mind, a set of hands curled around his shoulders, and breath ghosted against his ear as though someone where about to speak- He sucked in a sharp, startled breath, darting out of the bathroom. He didn't stop until he was on the front patio, in a patch of sunlight. He forgot about the phone, as he tried to control his panicked breathing. Forgot, until he heard a timid, ". . .Jack?" "Uhm," he scrambled for the phone, bringing it back to his ear and leveling out his heaving breaths best as he could. "Sorry, just - thought I saw something. I'm - I've been . . . not sleeping much lately," he added, voicing dropping as though it were an admission of guilt. Mark's silence was obviously a prompt to continue, so after a hesitant moment of thought, he finished with, "I've been having really vivid nightmares for a while now." "How long?" No judgement, no rush. "Maybe," Seán scrunched his eyes in thought, "I dunno, a few weeks? It started sometime before Signe left. Though it wasn't as bad; just one or two a week." ". . . and was it when you heard Signe was leaving, or before that?" Jack wished he had a corded phone, so that he could mess with the twirls on it. "Sometime before." "Hm, so probably not separation anxiety. Are they - have they been worse since you've been alone? And what do they focus on? Friends, family? Certain events? Is it heights?" Mark's tone was calm, patient. Jack felt himself feeling more at ease; it felt good to finally get the weight off of his chest. "They've definitely gotten worse since Woosh has been gone" - he could imagine Mark giving a smile at hearing Jack's fond nickname for his girlfriend; most of his friends found it adorable - "um, usually really violent, not heights. They're actually usually about . . .me," he could imagine Mark frowning now, "and they've started to affect me when I'm awake pretty badly." ". . .seeing stuff?" Jack nodded, then remembered Mark couldn't see. "Uh, yeah. And hearing stuff." And feeling stuff, though he didn't add that part. Not yet. It was silent, for a long while. Jack fidgeted, ignoring the green, glitching eyes peering from the window on the side of his apartment. When Mark finally spoke, it startled him. "Okay, so hear me out: I don't think you're going to go talk to a doctor, no matter how much any of us persist, and I doubt you've talked to Signe about this. So, what we're going to do is, that I'm going to come out for a visit for awhile, provided that you at least tell Wiishu that you're having trouble sleeping. Got it?" Jack tried not to wheeze. "But - You have your own work and busy life schedule! You can't just drop it and come out here! Besides-!" "Jack," Mark cut him off, tone brimming with dark finality. "You didn't let me finish. If you don't agree to this, I'm going to call Signe so effing fast, that she'll have your a** in a doctors office before you can say 'Boss', got it?" "But-" "No," Jack shut his mouth as Mark continued, "no 'buts'. Just let me help my friend - please." "I. . ." Jack sighed, ignoring the grinning figure in the window, "okay. Just, just don't worry anyone else over this, okay? And . . .take a day or two to get ready before coming out here." "Deal - now go call Signe, let her know the basics. I get you don't want to worry her when she has that dying family member, but she's your partner Seán. You need to keep being honest." "Ok. See you in a few days." "See you then." Jack stared down at the phone as it shut off. A shape made of static peered back, grin wide as the slit on its throat. "Well, well, well~ this should be fun."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mockery
The first thing Jack did was call Signe, like he had agreed. She was definitely worried; worried, but understanding. He could also hear the relief in her voice knowing that Mark would be there to help him, and that she could take care of her family member. Then he posted on social media: just saying he caught a bug, and couldn't record for a few days. He'd make an effort, but couldn't promise his normal update schedule. The flood of get-well messages began to flow, and he shut off his phone, sighing. His community was too kind, really. (In the morning he would see that Mark posted a message about helping a friend, who wished to remain anonymous, with a problem of theirs, so he would be on a break for a bit - most people guessed he was meeting up with Jack for various reasons, but overall they were respectful and understanding of Mark's absence. After all, he would be prerecording tons of material for them.) But with that all said and done, it left Jack alone with the empty quiet of the house, and the buzzing of his own thoughts. (there was also the dim, distant sound of static.) He was at a loss of what to do. Jack felt scared, and nervous, almost sending him into a fit of paranoia. What was this - this Anti-him thing? He had never had a strong conviction in the supernatural, or any belief system, but his mind kept grasping at the thought that whatever this thing was, it was real. Or, at least felt real. Even if it didn't leave lasting damage, or he just healed faster or whatever it. . .it still hurt him. It could still hurt him. "Oh? Getting the idea now Jackaboy?" He reacted instantly; trying to run, but a pair of familiar hands clamped down uncomfortably onto his shoulders, and his body froze in fear. He heard it chuckle, as he tried to find his voice but could not. It waited patiently though, until he could dryly crackle, "Wha-what do you even want?" "Aww," it crooned, voice ghosting against his ear, "isn't it obvious?" He hands tightened into fists. Through the haze of fear he felt . . . distantly angry. Jack's words came out bolder than he felt (he couldn't understand why he had become so weak, so quickly.) "No, it isn't." A snigger. "Oh? You're actually growing a pair? I'm surprised," the hands softened slightly, almost comforting, until they slid down and grasped his arms, jerking him around to look at it. He tried to fight against it - he didn't want to look. He couldn't - he couldn't face some perversion of himself; his face, his voice, his eyes, all darker and crueler than himself. "After all, you've been avoiding me all this time~ I thought maybe you were afraid of me." Jack grit his teeth - he was scared of him. He was paranoid, and sleep-deprived, and tired, dammit, but he was starting to get angry. Angry at this thing for tormenting him, angry at himself for letting it not only get to him so bad, but for avoiding his problems for so long. Whatever this thing was - a part of himself, or some hallucination brought on because of sleep deprivation, he wasn't going to let it control him. "Afraid? Please," he huffed. It was painfully obvious he didn't sound as convincing as he wanted to, but the tremor in his voice steadied a little bit. "You're about as scary as a poorly-made horror game." He didn't mention that quite a few poorly made horror games had still given him decent jumpscares. "I mean, you're pretty much me with green eyes, and according to most people, I'm adorable, not scary." He looked past the glitching figure's face, ignoring the sharp, green eyes, and the gaping shred through the flesh of its throat. The hands griping his wrists, keeping him in place, loosened a little bit. Anti-Jack's (Anti's?) face was blank, green eyes just boring into him. And then he smirked, his form glitching more frantically as he began to snigger, hands suddenly gripping enough to bruise. "Ah, you're funny! Hilarious, even. But you and I both know that's a bunch of bull. Buuuuut," he flickered out of existence, and was suddenly behind Jack, hands creeping up and snaking around his neck, as his pulse sky-rocketed and he stiffened in absolute terror, "since you're trying so hard to be a brave boy, I'll be a little nicer. Just for today." A pause, then, voice dipped lower than its normal shrill tone, he said warningly, "But don't think that means I'm done with you." The hands left his neck, but Jack still didn't move, even when he felt that the presence had left the room; he saw the tv screen flicker with green static momentarily, out of the corner of his eye. Then it went dark. Only then did he loosen, shaking and falling to the couch, fighting the urge to reach up and touch his neck. How was he going to wait more than 24 hours for Mark to get there? And even then, what could Mark even do? "This is so effed up," he whispered to himself. The static in his ears only seemed to ring louder.
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Faulty Reception Anti kept his word. The döppleganger didn't even show a trace of his green eyes for the rest of the day. Honestly, it made Jack more paranoid. Did it expect him to trust what it said? Because that was never going to happen. His dreams that night had returned to the vague, green-glowing fuzz of disconnected thoughts and feelings; fear and terror and anger in a numbing bumble of tumbling thoughts and feelings. All day the next day, Anti-Jack merely followed him in reflective surfaces, even giving him a 'good morning' from the bathroom mirror. Jack kept his eyes down, focused away, and pretended to ignore him. (Not that he could, anymore.) He was practically tearing into his fingers the next morning, shaking with nervous energy while he waited for Mark to arrive. His plane had been a night flight, so he should be there around five or so in the morning. A knock on the door, firm and calm. Jack threw it open wide and felt tension drain from him as he saw Mark. "Glad you made it safe. C'mon in." Mark stepped through the doorway, looked at Jack in concern. "Damn. You look worse than I thought." Jack chuckled. Ran his fingers through his hair. "Well it's nice to see you to, ya bastard." They shared a hug briefly, after Mark set his suitcase by the couch. "So," he said, sitting down heavily. "What do you want to do first? We can play some games, order a pizza later tonight. Maybe watch some tv for now. Or, well," he rubbed the back of his neck, "we can talk about this problem you've been having." Jack fidgeted, unsure. He had begun feeling loads better, just by having him here, but he knew he couldn't just ignore the issue all over again. But he also wasn't sure where to start, or even how. Mark, the great friend he was, noticed his hesitance and instantly softened his voice. "Hey, we don't have to talk about anything yet. I'm here for a little while at least, and there'll be plenty of time to talk when you're ready. But we won't completely avoid it, yeah?" Jack nodded, gathering the courage to meet his friend's eyes. "Okay." Mark grinned, and clapped his fingers together. "Okay, first things first then! You're going to go shower, and I'll whip up some breakfast." "Wha-?" He pushed Jack towards the hallway. "No buts! Your hair is a greasy mess, and you look like you've been dragged through the dirt. So, shower time for you." Jack watched him in bafflement as he was left there, and Mark turned around, humming cheerfully. After a moment, he shook his head and smiled in fond exasperation. "You're such a mom friend," he whispered. Jack managed to take his shower - no evil self in the mirror, for once. He wouldn't lie; he had avoided showering the last two days after the nightmare, because of the feeling of someone watching, and not wanting to be vulnerable. But he could hear Mark in the kitchen, cursing as he dropped an egg(?), and singing made-up songs. Even through the pitter-pattering of the shower it was loud and present. When he was finished, he felt a whole lot better. He even peaked at himself in the mirror - though there was a brief flash of mottled, dark prints around his neck, it vanished quickly. His eyes remained the same brilliant blue. The day played out in much the same fashion; though it was obvious that Jack was very overtired, and a little off, Mark was patient and his usual, falsely-egotistical self. They took the day slow - leisurely watching movies and either commenting goofily or seriously as it played on-screen. It was probably around five pm that they finally ordered a pizza (half cheese and half pineapple-ham). It was after a rough competition of Mario Kart that Mark fell back on the couch despite Jack's protesting squeak, groaning, "I'm tiiiirreeed." Jack laughed, trying to shove his friend off of him. "Gerrof! It's barely," he turned to glance at the clock. ". . .oh, I guess it's almost eight. But that's kinda early for bed, ain't it?" Mark merely let his weight settle heavier. "I've been awake since yesterday, Jack. I want to sleeeeep." He squeezed out from under him, landing with a thud on the floor. "Fiiiiine. You wet blanket." "Does anyone even say that anymore?" "Shut up. You're acting like an old man anyways." "Am not." He stuck out his tongue. "Am too," his Irish friend retorted. The stared at one another, trying to remain serious. But nothing could stop them from dissolving into laugher, Mark's deep, reverberating chuckles spurning Jack on, and Jack's own full-throated laugh making Mark laugh even harder. When they finally got ahold of themselves, Jack stood up. "I'll go get you some pillows and a blanket. I think I'll grab my stuff and sleep on the floor." The last part was half-heartedly muttered, like an afterthought. Mark immediately sat half-way up. "Do you want the couch?" He asked, concerned. "Because it's your house - I don't mind the floor." Jack waved his hand, tone filled with its famous Irish stubbornness. "Nah. You're the guest. And besides, I'm the one who's being weird about being alone. The floor's no problem." He was out and down the hall before Mark could protest, though the American did give a heavy sigh. By time they got all set up for bed, it was about nine thirty pm. The appartment was still, and hushed - the sounds of traffic muted, and the streetlights that shone through the blinds were dim. Mark was asleep, snoring softly. Jack was beginning to drift off, when he heard soft footsteps on the carpet. Oh no.***His eyes shot open, mouth unclamped and ready to call for the help that was right next to him, but a familiar weight pinned him down and a hand clamped over his mouth. In the dim lighting he couln't see much except the glint in the white of his eyes, and the glimmer of teeth as he spoke. "Shhh, wouldn't want to wake up your friend, now would you?" Jack wrapped his fingers around the arm, trying to pry it off, but Anti was the same strength as him - it got him nowhere. In fact, he was pushed down harder for his efforts, eyes wide in the dark and trained on the figure above. (The glitching was deceptive to how truly solid the being was.) Anti-Jack's voice was soft, even in his higher pitch, almost as though sharing a secret. Jack saw the glint of a knife as his other hand came into view, and he was shaking as Anti ran it under his right eye. "I told you, didn't I? I kept my promise - I didn't bother you all day. For more than a day even. But you didn't really think I was done with you, did you?" Jack was frozen, almost hyperventilating, though the hand covering his mouth helped prevent that. He couldn't move - didn't even think to move, until Anti pointed the blade straight at his eye, and growling once more, "did you?" He shook his head, the movement minuscule. But Anti noticed. He grinned, and Seán once more felt overwhelmingly sick. This was him, even if it wasn't. Even the voice was his own, just at a strained pitch. "Now," Anti said tapping his chin with the knife. His voice stayed low, as though he was trying not to wake Mark. That worried Jack, because if Mark could- Anti's voice cut through his thoughts. Green eyes bore into him, as his döppleganger spoke almost happily, "I think it's time I had a little fun." He giggled maniacally, eyes squinting in a way reminiscent of Jack, but under the circumstances gave him nothing but foreboding. That was when Anti plunged the knife into his stomach. Jack arched, the hand over his mouth muffling the scream. He dimly heard Mark turn over in his sleep, but all he could focus on was the feeling of metal protruding through his lower abdomen, and blood welling up icy-hot. Anti was sniggering now, pulling the blade free, and Jack felt nothing but all-consuming terror. He was crying, sobbing, the second time the blade shredded through his flesh. It was the third when he remembered his own hands, and wrapped them around the knife wielding hand, trying to claw the at the skin. But it was slick with hot blood - his own blood - and his strength was failing him as he bled out on his appartment floor. "Hmm," Anti grumbled, though Jack barely heard it through the shrill ringing in his ears. "Maybe I should take things slower next time. You're fading far too fast." it was maybe the seventh? Or was it the twelfth time? Either way, the blade was in his stomach again, closer to the torso - he could see his hands overlapping the other as he tried to rip it free and get up. The hand over his mouth slackened as he fell back a final time, darkness enroaching his vision. He was panting, pain wracking across his stomach, and he couldn't find the strength to move his head when it keeled to the side. The weight moved off of him, tentatively, though he barely felt it as his life bled away. He barely heard Anti's departing words, though he did catch sight of him crawling into the tv, form dissolving into pure static and melding with the screen.*** "Until next time Seánny boy~ I'm sure we'll have lots of fun." And everything faded out. And then, there was nothing.
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noise
It's nothing but dark unconsciousness. No dreams. Awareness trickles in, cushioning around him like the electronic noise of a tv screen. A voice tried to grasp for him through it, dim and distant. When he wakes up, the first thing Jack sees is Mark hovering over him, worry painfully clear on his face. And then it all comes crashing back. Jack scrambled upright, hyperventilating; eyes darting around in a wild fervor, so much so that his vision is blurry. Hands grab at his shoulders and at first he tries to wrench himself out of their hold. But then, he realizes they feel different - they're wider than his own. Warmer. Mark's voice pierced through the muffling ring of his hearing. "-ack? Jack! Jack, calm down, okay? Deep breaths, follow me; in for four. . . hold for seven . . .okay, out for eight. . .and again. . .uh huh, good, keep going. In for four. . ." He keeps Jack going like that for a good five minutes; it helps considerably, though the memory keeps replaying again and again, whirlwinding in a circle. When he's been breathing normally for a bit, Mark gently helps sit him up against the couch. Jack's sure he'd rather get him on the couch, but he's trembling too much to stand. Mark speaks first, probably hoping it'll prompt Jack to share. "I woke up 'cause I was thirsty and you were whining in your sleep; it looked like you were struggling to breathe. Dude, you're like really pale - paler than normal - and I thought I saw. . . I thought. . .," he shook his head. "Nevermind. Can you . . .are you up to telling me what happened? Was it a bad dream?" Jack found himself nodding, and although fearful, there was an overwhelming relief that he could finally talk to someone about this. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap as he worked up the courage, and he was sure Mark noticed. "I-" he licked his lips, finding his mouth dry, throat constricting his voice to a rasping squeak, "I . . .think it was a dream. It's," he paused, rubbing his eyes with his wrists (didn't want his hands anywhere near his face) and breathing heavily. "It was . . . about the, uh, the Anti-me again," he began, slowly. "H-he- he held me down, and was saying some messed up stuff about wanting to have fun, and he - he," Jack bit back a sob, and Mark's arm around him tightened comfortingly. "He stabbed me in the stomach, over and over and over, I-" a shudder, "eff, I think I bled out," he finally whispered. He heard Mark mutter a vehement curse. It was silent for a few moments, and Jack tried to calm his racing nerves, but he couldn't stop thinking about his own hands wrapped around his neck, tight, and then his own hand kept over his mouth to stop him from screaming as the blade- When his friend seemed to gather himself, he gave Seán's shoulder a firm squeeze, dragging him from the traumatic memory. "I'm - I don't really want to scare you," Mark started, voice low and thick with concern, "But I - when I woke up, Seán. . .your shirt was soaked in blood." Jack sucked in a sharp breath. "It was just for a quick second - and then it was gone. I - I just figured, maybe I was having a bad dream after tasting your devil pineapple pizza last night," he chuckled, but the joke fell flat. After an unsteady inhale, he continued, "but something - this is too weird. Especially with what you drea- with whatever happened last night." Jack's still trembling, his fear cloying and clinging. How did everything turn so horrible, so fast? He couldn't deny that there was something going on, nor could he deny that it was more than just vivid nightmares or hallucinations - not if Mark saw the blood. "I-," he sucked in too sharply, voice cutting out for a moment. He knew he had brought Mark out of his own daze, so when he felt the ability to speak come back, he pushed himself to say, "When I . . .when I called you the other day, about my p-problem," he held back a whine when he tripped over his words, opting to keep his voice softer than normal, "I - he had. . ." ". . .This other you did something else, didn't he?" Mark guessed. Jack nodded. "Effed up motherfluffer - he pretty much. . .choked me until I was unconscious. Said he was helping me, since I couldn't sleep." The fear was beginning to fade as he caught ahold of his self once more, though it still lingered. He looked pointedly away from Mark, accent thicker with emotion. "Woke up the next morning and I couldn't - couldn't even touch my own neck. It looked all bruised up in the mirror, but faded after a bit." He shuddered, bringing his knees up to his chest. "So," Mark said, dully, "we're dealing with something that may or may not be able to actually hurt you - because I know what I saw, that was blood - and we probably can't just go to someone for help because they'll either lock you into a psych ward or flood you with meds, dammit, so- so-" his voice had risen higher, pitch and tone and octave climbing as he let anger on his friend's behalf course through him. Jack saw as Mark's fists clenched, and gave him a nudge until the American released the pent-up emotion. Mark slumped next to him, hands going up to his hair as he muttered through his arms, "We're alone in this." Jack let his eyes wander, catching the tv flicker static. ". . .yeah," he mumbled. "Probably shouldn't tell the girls, or any of our friends, 'cause they'll insist on you seeing a doctor, which probably won't end well." "Probably." After a few more moments of silence, Mark took a few deep breathes, and moved out from behind his hands, making sure to look at Jack fully. "Seán." Jack turned, meeting his gaze. He saw worry, and helplessness in those brown eyes, but also strong resolve. "We're gonna figure this out, okay? Whether be it that I stay up all night with you, or if I meet this Anti-you, we'll figure it out, got it?" Jack found himself nodding along, warmth of friendship and determination blossoming in his chest. It felt good, the support. "Effing got it." (But he also felt the coldness of foreboding, coiling and clawing its way up his spine, ready to dig into him once more.)
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Channel
As much as Jack knew Mark was sincere in what he said, he knew there wasn't much hope in it. All they could really do was stay up together for awhile, or Mark stay awake while Jack slept. They didn't know enough about this Anti-Seán's influence - just that whatever he did, Jack could see and hear and feel. But Mark would eventually need to sleep, too. And leaving the appartment wouldn't help; Jack knew it would follow him wherever he went. It's just better to keep him in a - well, controlled wouldn't be exactly the right word, but - controlled environment. "So," Mark began. "What's our next ste-" The ringing of a phone caught both of their attention. Mark's brow furrowed as he pulled it from his pocket. It soon morphed into recognition as he saw the Caller ID. He answered the phone. "Hey, Ethan; what's up?" Jack watched him as they conversed, faintly catching Ethan's voice through the receiver. "Chica's being a good girl? That's great." . . . "Yeah, let her know that's fine." . . . "How's Jack? He's. . ." Mark's eyes flickered to the Irishman. Jack gave him a nod, gesturing so-so. He knew that Mark had told his housemates that he was going to Jack's - neither had expected a call so soon. "He's, eh, you know." Mark fought to keep his voice from trembling. He hated hiding things, but. . . "Still having. . .sleep trouble. But we're . . . we're figuring things out." . . . "Uh-huh?" . . . "Oh okay, I will. Send the girls my love - that includes Tyler," he giggled, and Ethan could be heard snorting on the other end. "Okay, buh-bye." "They all send their love and hope you feel better," Mark says after hanging up, fondness evident in his tone. Jack let's the warmth of that little family settle with him for the moment. "I'll give them a call later," he promises. They go right back to their cold reality, Mark finally saying, "So what's the next step? We have an idea of what to do, but not much beyond that." "I guess. . .let's just take it a day at a time, maybe?" It's the best they can hope for, at least. Jack's trying to stay positive, he really is. Mark nods, complying to the idea. "I guess we'll just start with staying up for the next twenty-four hours. Stay in the same room no matter what - if someone needs to use the toilet then the other can stand outside the door, and we'll keep up conversation." Jack hadn't even really thought that far ahead, actually; he'd been more focused the previous night, and when Mark would inevitably fall asleep. "Okay, sounds good so far." "Seán?" Jack looks up. He hadn't even realized he had been staring down, at his hands tightly clasped, arms scooted close to his stomach. "Are you. . . are you okay? I mean, sorry, that's stupid to ask." A sigh as the American runs his fingers through his dark hair. "What I meant to ask is - does it still. . .does it still hurt?" Jack notices him gesturing to his stomach. "It's fine - I mean, it hurt like a beech earlier, but it's - it's mostly fine now." His voice dropped softly towards the end. Then there were arms around him, gently encasing him. Mark didn't squeeze him too tightly - Jack knew he could easily slip out if he wanted to - but there was enough pressure to let Jack know that Mark was here for him. "Sorry; just felt you might need it," Mark mumbled. Seán, recovering from the brief surprise, hugged him back. It seemed like their greeting hug the previous morning was eons ago. "Yeah, I did," he murmured back. "Thanks." After a few more moments, they let go, and began to prepare for the long, twenty-four hours ahead.
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File
They went about their day, keeping an eye out for Anti. Seán was reasonably jumpy, especially when the tv fizzed to life. Mark muttered a quick apology, having forgotten that Anti had last "left" through there. "I just thought we could watch a movie to take our mind off things," Mark said. "Well I think that sounds like a great idea." Jack noticed that Mark was avoiding anything with violence or horror for his benefit - and while normally Jack would protest, for once, he really didn't feel like watching either genre. They settled on infomercials for awhile - eventually they put their bathroom plan into action, which, while awkward to converse while the other was going, it did alleviate some of Jack's fear. And Anti didn't show up once. Honestly, I'm surprised. And a little concerned, he thought. But, despite the recent tension. . .he felt himself beginning to relax. Just a little bit. Things naturally flowed so that they seemed vaguely normal. They both made the same, stupid, idiotic jokes and commentary about the tv. In some corner of Jack's mind, he wondered when Anti would strike, but it eventually grew quieter. It wasn't that he had forgotten; rather, he had begun to feel safe. The seconds that had been previously crawling by rolled into hours that calmly faded into one another. After infomercials, they watched movies on some channel dedicated to comedy movies. They both laughed - pointing out the old, early 2000s film quality, while praising it's ridiculous writing. " A 'slapping dummy'? Really?" Mark asked with a laugh. "Why would he need that to become a Master Of Disguise?" Jack was chuckling too as the main character got owned by the wooden figure. "More importantly, how is it beating him?" Mark just shook his head. After a few more minutes, Jack noticed him glancing over into the kitchen. " . . .Mark?" "Hmm?" He had been biting his lip, and looked back at Jack. "What? Oh." Mark seemed a little twitchy. "I was thinking of getting some popcorn. Just. . ." didn't want to leave you here alone, was what went unsaid. Jack glanced over once more; it was easy to see into the kitchen from where he was sitting - a gap between a counter/bar and some cabinets. Honestly, Jack could go with him, but it was right there. Mark could easily see and hear him - more so than through the bathroom door. After another moment's debate, he inclined his head. "Go." "You sure?" Mark was frowning. Jack nods. "Yeah. I can see right into the kitchen from here, which means you can see and hear me. I mean, it's no less safe from the bathroom idea. Right?" Mark nods, though with some reluctance. "Okay then. I'll be right back. Anything specific you want on your popcorn?" Jack gives a cheeky grin. "A whole stick of butter?" Mark laughs as he gets up. "I thought you were trying to eat healthier?" He shrugs, "Eh, not today." Mark's chuckling dies off as he leaves, and Jack let's himself get absorbed into the movie. He can clearly hear Mark whistling in the kitchen, getting a pot and oil to pop some popcorn kernels, since Jack is out of the microwaveable stuff. Ugh, he really needed to go shopping, didn't he? But as his attention locks back onto the screen, he feels an arm drape around his shoulders, almost friendly like. He knows it isn't. (Is this what his friends feel, when he drapes his own arm around their shoulders, on days where the group is pulling one another closer as they laugh and laugh, as though they can share their joy any more?) "I said I would be back, didn't I?" The question is sharply spoken. The arm drawing a little tighter. Seán's mouth is dry, throat clamped and strained as he tried to make a noise, any noise. He turns in fear, his own face clear, close, green eyes twinkling. He looks past Anti and sees Mark, oblivious, and hears the popcorn popping loudly. He should have gone with him. His döppleganger shrugs, mouth quirked in a smile. "Maybe? But now you can spend some time with little ol' me. You didn't even try to say hi today." Jack is trembling now, scared, terrified, after what happened the last time he acknowledged Anti's existence. Everything he and Mark talked about before feels useless at best - Mark is right there, unaware that Anti is here. That Anti could easily choke him or stab him again before Mark is even done cooking. Anti, who seems to know his thoughts, smiles, patting his shoulder roughly. It's all fake, an act; a facsimile of friendly interaction. "Oh, don't worry Jackaboy. I'm not gonna do anything. Yet." He chuckles, pulling Jack close so that he can whisper in his ear. "After all, what happens next is up to you." Jack wasn't sure when the static became such a normal occurance. But he really wished it would drown out Anti's (his) voice.
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Crossroad "Wh- what do you mean," Jack managed to rasp. Anti tilts his head, a sick smile splitting across his face. "I'm going to let you make a choice, understand?" Jack's confusion must show, because Anti quietly chuckles. "This time, I'm going to let you decide: Do you want to tell little Markimoo about our chat, or keep it a secret? I don't care, personally. . . .But do you?" His hand shifts to the back of Jack's neck, fingers clawing into the skin. "You better think carefully, because this is the only time I'm going to let you make a choice. Got it?" What? Jack flinched as the arm slithered off of him, and Anti stood, stretching. He could hear every vertebrate pop. "Think very, very carefully, Seán. See you soon~" there was a sniggering giggle from the döppleganger, and then he was gone, form glitching from sight. Static noise filling the void, underlying the sound from the tv, and Mark's cooking. Seán sat there, tense, as his mind raced. What did he mean, he was letting him make a choice? Jack wasn't stupid; he understood the underlying threat. He just was having a hard time processing it. Was Anti insinuating that in the future, there would be consequences for telling Mark? But surely he couldn't do any worse than he already had? Yes, Jack was scared - terrified, even - but like hell he was going to let that psychopath control him that way. His hands tightened their grip on his knees, and he felt irrationally angry. He took a deep breath and loosened his hands. He knew he was more frustrated and upset than actually angry - anger, genuine anger, had never fit him. Plus, there was still a choice to make. Jack wasn't a liar, never had been. Not even by obscurification. But honestly, Anti hadn't done much. Just popped up and threatened him. He had never told Mark the full details of the earlier, non-violent encounters. His friend never pushed. But. . .keeping silent is probably what Anti wanted. He probably wanted to divide Jack and Mark; subconsciously make Jack think he couldn't trust one of his best friends. Right? Why did he feel reluctant to tell Mark, anyways? Jack's brain felt cloudy with confusion. He could always mention that Anti popped up and threatened him, right? He didn't have to give features of what he said if he felt uncomfortable. Mark was understanding like that. But if Mark felt that it was more important to know, he might push a little. And Jack didn't really want to share, though he didn't know why. But he couldn't lie to his friend, either. He sat there, staring blankly at the carpeted floor, thoughts drifting in a circle of yes-no-maybe. He was startled as he felt the couch dip next to him, and turned to see Mark had returned, a big, plastic bowl heaped with buttery popcorn. He was holding the bowl out towards Seán, the other hand already grasping a good portion of the snack. Mark was frowning. "Is everything okay?" He asked. And Jack knew then what choice to make. He took a deep, shaky breath. "I just saw Anti again."
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I-This is really hard to do.I’m really, really beyond sorry, but I’m not sure if I can continue writing Static at this time.Don’t worry, this isn’t a domino effect that will affect my other Dissociation pieces. Only Static.I don’t know why, but anytime I think about writing or continuing this piece, I feel guilty. Like, gut-wrenchingly guilty.Is it because it’s been so long since I updated, and I feel sorry for leaving you guys hanging? Did I unintentionally trigger something from my shoved-down memories? Conflict with my beliefs?Alexthymia. I’m not sure why I feel this way. I just do. And I. . .I can’t force myself to write if I’m not feeling it and especially not if it’s making me feel any negative emotions.I Love Static. I Love writing Static.But I also feel guilty whenever the fic comes to mind.I honestly want to cry even telling you guys this, but I can’t keep being torn between two emotions like this.As of October 1, 2018 Sunday, Static is in Indefinite Hiatus.Thank you for all the support on this fic thus far.
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Whew, okay, finally got around to doing this. This fic. . .I don’t want to hold out hope for people, so I think it’s officially time to say it’s discontinued. There’s . . .a lot of reasons for this, that I won’t get into. But I do want to talk about some of what I had had planned. I owe y’all that much. So, the only concrete thing planned was the ending. Mark originally wasn’t going to get involved, but it felt illogical for him to notice his friend hurting and not come help - he has too big of a heart. And I did eventually want to get Signe involved but didn’t know how to write her (this was written before they seperated/broke up, and also ultimately adding the final nail for why I’m stopping this story). But, I didn’t know much beyond that. I added more elements than intended, and was left juggling more than I could. I haven’t lost my love for this story or concept. I’ve decided to leave it up instead of deleting. Now, the ending I had planned was along these lines: Seàn, in front of a mirror and looking at Anti, shattering the mirror after realizing the truth - Anti has no power over him if he believes he doesn’t. Anti literally could only touch Jack because he made him believe he could. Now, while this story will not be continuing, this isn’t the end of Static!Anti. I will still be using this ‘version’ of him (I’m actually going to write a tumblr post about my two versions of Anti and canon Anti) in one-shots and unassociated pieces, so keep watch for that tag. Anyways, sorry if this is incoherent; I’ve been sick for over a week but wanted to get this out before I let myself procrastinate again. I wish you all the best in reading and writing!