#anothermarkiplierfan

Also as a bonus, here’s my actual attempt to draw him, I actually like the way he looks but I wasn’t in the mood to draw his entire outfit rn (especially since I’m drawing this in my sketchbook instead of MS Paint)

I feel the only place Jack would get drunk enough for this to be an issue is after hours at PAX with his friends. Or maybe after the Revelmode Charity stream in Brighton in December.  

Imagine him sitting in a room with Mark and Felix, playing shot Cards Against Humanity or shot Would You Rather with the camera rolling in the corner for later editing.  The girls in another, more adult room, drinking and sharing funny stories about lamenting their lives with Youtubers.

Initially Jack’s buzzing and getting increasingly funny as his social filter slowly erodes with the alcohol killing off signals from his frontal lobe; his conscience. Felix and he are roasting Mark for not being able to drink, but he hasn’t realised that the Viking in the room has challenged his Irish Celt pride. They’re competing.

There comes a point - and Jack feels it happen - that tilts his perception.  A stage jump into the next level of drunk. Tunnel vision.  He knows this one, it’s his cue to stop drinking, but his inhibitions are down, there’s a Viking to compete with and he’s not making the best decisions right now. Despite his vision being blurred around the edges he’s still having a riot with his friends. Sober Mark’s running circles around the pair of them and Felix is so drunk that he’s more of a car crash than usual and it’s the funniest fucking shit.  He’s sore from laughing so hard. He’s blaming the itchy eye on his blurred vision.

The tipping point only happens when he moves.  He reaches forward to pour himself another drink and the room lurches around him.  Everything greys as he fights a sudden hot rush of nausea.  He tells himself not to vomit, but this is different.  It’s not the drink that’s rising, it’s something worse.  He tries to fight it back and gain control, but he’s fucking paralytic so control isn’t his strong point. He’s fucked and he knows it.  It’s stronger, it’s claiming control and he’s weak from the alcohol.  He belts out a panicked “God, I’m sorry!” to his friends then laughs.

The laugh is gut churning and Mark is instantly on his feet.  Felix explodes into laughter at the absurdity of what just happened, but Mark’s not laughing. Mark’s not even smiling.  He’s slowly backing away from Jack’s seat and trying to silently hand gesture Felix to be quiet.  Felix is too drunk to figure it out until Mark asks Jack where Jack is.  

“Jack’s taking a timeout.”  He pops up into a crouch, pounce-ready, and giggles maniacally, “I’m here now.”

“Anti?” Mark asks.

“Bullshit!” Felix snorts, but the joke dies in his mind as he finally gets his eyes to focus enough to see that Jack isn’t simply a sickly shade, but the air around him is… muddy, it’s dark, swimming somehow.  But he knows he’s drunk so refuses to trust what he’s seeing. How can he trust his brain’s interpretation of Jack’s eyes?  They can’t be real.  They can’t be!

Mark’s voice breaks his descent into panic. “Waddya want Anti?”

“Fun.”  Anti leaps at Mark like a fucking velociraptor, all teeth and claws, but Mark’s sober.  He dodges just enough and uses Anti’s momentum to hurl him into the wall behind.  Anti’s not even fazed, he’s straight back to a sneering crouch.  “See?” he laughs, “Fun.”  He’s upright in a second, grinning and glaring at Mark with his head dipped.  His focus shifts to a drunk, wide-eyed Felix on the sofa and his head snaps almost ninety degrees to his shoulder. He lurches towards Felix and Mark lunges at him to intercept, but Anti dodges, staggers sideways and loses his footing, crashing to the floor in a snarled yelp of surprise.  “FUCK!”

Felix descends into flat-out panic mode, his drunken mind cyclically trying and failing to understand what he’s seeing, to grasp that Anti is here and just tried to attack him. His broken whispered chant that Anti isn’t real.  He’s a prank, a fan service.  Anti can’t be real.  

Anti hauls himself back to his feet, but momentum takes him forward and he staggers again, buckling down to the floor.  Marks stands over him and folds his arms triumphantly.  “Go home, Anti. You’re drunk”

“He’s not even REAL!” Felix yells.

Mark risks taking his eyes off Anti for a moment to offer Felix a slight sympathetic smile.  “Yeah… I advised Jack not to tell you, you wouldn’t understand.  You don’t have one.”

“One what?  What the fuck IS that thing?”

Mark shrugs lightly.  “I dunno.  A …moth, I guess.  The brighter some people are, the darker the moth they attract.  Anti’s the fuckin’ worst!”

Anti giggles. “Good analogy.   Does it help you sleep?”

Mark sighs at the creature on the floor.  “No,” he admits, “but if it helps Jack sleep…”

“Oh, he’s awake.” Anti sneers,  “I’m making him watch.” He pulls himself up again, leaping at Felix with teeth bared, but Mark reacts just in time, grabbing the back of Anti’s collar mid-air and yanking him back to the floor.  Anti screams in frustration, scrambles up, falls and screams again.  He manages to sit up, rocking and growling while gnawing at his fingers in temper.

Mark crouches before him, well out of arm’s reach.  “Sleep it off, Anti. Don’t make me call Him up.”

Anti pauses and grins.  “Your ‘moth’” he air-quotes, “is weak.”

Mark’s not stupid.  Dark’s strong, he’s capable, but Anti is something straight from Lovecraft’s nightmares.  He can feel Dark’s threats not to involve him, he’s refusing to admit he’s scared, but he’s cautious.  Drunken Anti is at a definite disadvantage though, so Mark calls his bluff instead.  “And you’re too drunk to stand, let alone fight.  You’re not winning this one.  Sleep it off.”

The rocking intensifies, a low growl pitches into a long wailing whine and, inexplicably, Anti burst into tears. “I don’t wanna! You can’t make me…”

Felix sits up, “Is he-?”  

Mark frantically gestures him to shut up.  He changes his tone to deal with Anti’s drunken moodswing. “No one can make you do anything.  But you know… You can exist alongside Jack.  You can-”

“No!” he snaps, twitching in frustration,  “You don’t. F-fucking. Understand. It hurts! He’s too fucking bright.  He burns.”

“Then leave him.”

“I’m trapped!” Anti’s shoulders sag in defeat, suddenly more desperate to talk than destroy.  “It’s like…” his eyes rake the room and Mark reaches for the vodka bottle, handing it to him, shuddering a little as long, thin, bloodied fingers slowly curl around the bottle. Anti takes a long, gulping swig and realises that he’s too drunk and relaxed to twitch so much.  It’s an odd relief.  “It’s like… I’m not a moth to a flame… I’m fucken’ Icarus! He was SO bright. And… n’ like… The Sun’s a prison… I mean, the drink weakened his bars… his conscience, and… and him, so I’m out n’ shit, but it’s just fucken day release, ya know?  I’m back behind fucken bars when he sobers up tomorrow.  Am I making sense?  I don’t feel like I’m making sense.”

Mark understands.  “You’re trapped behind his conscience.”

“S’too strong!” he slurs, succumbing to a twitch, “S’a prison.”

“He’s a good guy.” Mark confirms.

“Prison.” Anti nods, taking another gulp of Vodka.  “Doesn’t e-even know I’m there.”

“He knows.”

“Nope.  I talk at him all the time.  Give him ideas n’ shit. Urges. Fucken… radio silence.  Every time. Nothin’.”

“He knows. He gave you air time at Halloween.”

“Pretended… to cover up my appearances. Now there’s silence.  He’s shiny and bright and s-silent.  I just… I just want…” he takes a swig and waves the bottle in a grand drunken gesture, the twitches peaking again in his anger, “something! Some hint, some f-fucken indication that I’m n-not a-alone.  It’s bright and it burns and I’m so alone!  I’m alone in my own p-personal Hell!  He won’t even acknowledge me! I’m NOT going back to silence!”

Mark takes a large composing inhale and sighs.  There’s a tragedy in this and it’s not just Jack who’s suffering.  He pulls his phone from his pocket and dials Amy.  He tries to keep his voice calm and light while carefully explaining that he needs Wiishu to come check on her drunk boyfriend.  He has to explain that no, it’s not a drunken prank for the video and it’s not something to panic over.  

She’s on her way.  He has no idea how she’s going to react.

“Stop chewing your fingers!” Felix snaps, “Make him stop eating his fingers, it’s making me sick!”

Mark looks to Anti who’s still rocking, managing to look both devastated and horrific while gnawing on bloody fingers.  “Jack’s gonna need those, buddy.”

Anti pauses and studies the mess he’s made of his fingertips from different angles.  “These are MY fingers.” he states flatly, “Jack’s are inside. Safe. Whenever I retreat, mine are inside Jack’s, so I can use him like a puppet.” he chuckles sadly, “‘Cept it never works.”  He takes another drink and stretches his arms out.  “You ever notice how long Jack’s arms are?  Like… seriously… I had to stretch to fit.  He’s sooo long!”  He flexes his bloodied, spindly fingers and drunkenly grins to himself.  “I’m longer.”

Anti’s now at the terrifying monster equivalent of the ‘I love you’ stage of drunk. He’s muttering to himself and smiling at the vodka bottle. He poses minimal threat now and it’s oddly endearing. Mark has already decided he pities Anti by the time Wiishu knocks on the door.  

She doesn’t react to the news the way he’d expect, displaying more annoyance than anything else.  She approaches the slumped entity and kicks his foot.  “How drunk are you?”

“That’s not Jack.” Felix warns.

“I know.” she replies, kicking Anti’s foot again.  Anti looks up and curls his blood stained lips into a snarl.  “Have you been crying?” she asks with a grimace, “You’re fucking pathetic.”  Mark and Felix exchange worried glances.  

Mark tries to explain what Anti had confessed about being lonely and Jack not acknowledging his existence.  He told her that he’d hoped she could help in some way.

She folds her arms and glares at the drunken, bloodied mess on the floor.  “Why should I help you?  After all the nightmares?  After everything you’ve tried to make him do? Tried to put him through?  Fuck you!”

“Tried!” Anti snapped back.  “I tried!  And every time that he ig-ignores me I have to try harder cos he doesn’t even notice! I get louder and louder to be heard.  He doesn’t hear me!”

“He fucking hears you!  He thought he was going insane before Halloween.  Thankfully you fucked up enough to manifest and prove those urges weren’t his.  You’re an insidious little creep and fuck you for hurting him.”

“He’s fuckin’ f-fine!”

“Is he conscious?”

“Barely.  We’re drunk.”  He lets his head fall back, smiling up at her in satisfaction.  “But he can hear me now.  He’s drunk, but… he’s willing to bargain… cos I got the wheel and you’re pretty…”

Mark grips a handful of green hair. “You’re too drunk to hurt her, but if he hears you, he hears me.  Hang in there, buddy, we got this.”

Anti rips his head away leaving a few hairs in Mark’s grip and hisses at him. “You got shit!”

Mark, in his anger, leans in, “And what have YOU got?”

Anti’s grip on the vodka bottle tightens and Mark sees his error too late, but before Anti has chance to smash it into his face, Wiishu touches his arm, smiling kindly when he looks at her in shock.  She sits next to him and silently gestures for the bottle.  Cautiously he hands it to her.  She takes a small swig and hands it back.  “He only ignores you when you try to convince him to hurt someone.”

“It’s my n-nature.”

“I know.” she replies softly, “but he’d acknowledge you whenever it’s safe.  He actually has a soft spot for you.”

Anti doesn’t respond to this, his head twitching to the side as he tries to detect the lie.  

“You know it’s true,” she smiles, “he thinks you’re cool.  His community think you’re cool.  You just gotta… let him sleep. Tone it down. He hears you.”

“I n-need…  I… I’m so alone.”

Wiishu raises her hand subconsciously to stroke his hair in comfort and he jolts violently towards her fingers, juddering into the caress.  She only flinches for a second, then actually guides his head down onto her lap, running her fingers through his polarised green hair.  “This is better.” she whispers, “You’re not alone.”  Anti’s eyes close and he drunkenly releases the bottle to curl his bloody fingers at his throat.  “I’ll do you a deal,” she whispers, “Sleep now and when he wakes I’ll convince him to listen for you.  Maybe even find a horror game you can help him play…”  

Anti’s eyes remain closed as he drowsily murmurs, “Promise.”

“No promises, but I’ll talk to him.  Remember all the adoration you got from the community?  You can have that again.  You can communicate ideas with him. Get them all shitting themselves.  That’d be fun, right?”  Anti nods and smiles.  “Now sleep.  Let him rest.  “We got you.”

Anti twitches violently and Jack inhales sharply, murmuring, frowning against a nightmare, his clean, unbloodied fingers flexing beneath his chin.  “I got you.” his girlfriend whispers, stroking his faded green hair.

“Are we done?” Felix asks, “Can I breathe now?  Holy fuck!”

“Honestly forgot you were there.” Mark quips.  “You’re never that quiet.”

“And Jack’s never that scary.  I wasn’t hitting his radar. Too fucking drunk for this shit.”

“Go to bed. And for fuck’s sake, don’t tell Marzia.”

“Are they okay?” Felix asks, “Are you okay, Wiish, need a hand?”

“I’ll do it, you’re drunk. Get off the sofa.” He crouches before them, “Let me help you.”  Jack’s heavier than he looks, but Mark gets him onto the newly vacated sofa without waking him.

He fetches water while Wiishu makes him comfortable.  When he returns she’s writing a note.  

You were too drunk to wake, so I left you here I love you W

“That wasn’t your first encounter, was it?” he asks.