Oh Damn, I Can’t Find My Other Profile Picture For This Blog. :/ That’s Annoying.

Ok people have been so nice about Last Words. I’m so happy. :)

Visitor Pt. 2

A/N: Alright so a surprising amount of people actually liked the first part of this (thank you @alix-the-skeleton for asking for more!), so I decided to do a follow up. Lemme know if you guys wanna see some more of this! I think it’s an interesting story to explore. Anyway, let’s see what happens when Dark gets home, shall we?

He was still shaking, physically shaking, when he returned to Ego Inc. His shell was cracking horribly, and his aura was all over the place, cyan and scarlet spikes shooting left and right, cracking the walls and bursting lights. Everyone that saw him come down the hallway ducked away as fast as they could. Everyone, that is...except the one person Dark did not need to see right now. "I saw, old man, where'd you scamper off to in such a hurry? Google's been doing nothing but complain since you left, he's insufferable." Wilford laughed as he tried to clap an arm around Dark's shoulders, but raised an eyebrow in amusement when he shrank away, sucking in a sharp breath as the pain of the sudden movement hit him. The pain of his shell cracking was enough without the extra weight of someone else. "Don't touch me-" he attempted to snarl, but cut himself off. No. Oh God, no, he still sounded like- "What's wrong with your voice?" Wil blinked, looking puzzled. He couldn't not speak to Wil, that would raise too many questions, but the more he talked, the more he knew he was running into dangerous territory, and why did he suddenly care so much, after years and years of feeling nothing but deep-seated anger and frustration? No, he knew why, but still, the sudden shift was unsettling, and he was spiraling. "I...nothing. Nothing, just leave me-" "I didn't know you could turn off the echoes, that's a clever trick. Have you always been able to do that?" He laughed again, twirling his mustache thoughtfully, seemingly oblivious to Dark's rising panic. "You know, without the effects, you almost sound like Mar-" “Shut up.” “Well, I was only saying, I know you hate him, but still, the resemblance is uncanny-” I know you hated him. His own voice rang in his ears and he shut his eyes, trying to block it out. “Shut. Up.” “You’re really not looking well, are you sure you’re-?” "Shut up, William!" Before he could think, his hand was shooting out from his side, and Wil grunted in surprise as he banged into the opposite wall, sliding down to the ground with a dull thud.

Dark's eyes widened. "Wil...Wil, no, I didn't mean..." "What the bloody hell was that for?" Wil snapped furiously, clambering back to his feet and rushing to grab Dark by the lapel, his other hand coming up in a fist. Dark braced for a hit. "What the actual hell, Damien?" Both men froze. Wil's eyes widened to match Dark's, seemingily more out of surprise than anything else. "Wait...no, your name isn't...why would I...?" "Wil," Dark said slowly, "let me go. Please." Wil glanced down at his hand, which had a death grip on Dark still, and dropped him as if he were being burned. Dark grunted as he stumbled back, bumping into the wall. Cracks appeared immediately. Wil backed up a few steps, still staring at him. "Thank you," Dark muttered, voice shaking nearly as much as he was, "Now, please, I have to-" "Yes. Yes, of course." Wil gestured off down the hall, shaking his head as if he were trying to clear it. There was an uncharacteristic frown on his face, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "You're...you're a busy man, after all, and...and of course, I am too. I should...I'll...I'll see you later." He walked away so quickly he was nearly jogging.

Dark stared after him. So he did remember, at least subconsciously. There was still some of the Colonel behind the bubblegum facade. But...if forgetting had done this to him, what would remembering do? And if he found out about her...

What have I done?

The newest Anti fun!

So! DDLC is going well! *cue panicking*

I’ve got a funny feeling this Anti appearance is going to go differently than the others we’ve witnessed, in that I think we’ll get more direct interaction between Jack and Anti, Jekyll and Hyde style. Anti’s using the game’s already fourth wall breaking mechanics to get to us, by breaking the wall between us and Jack: he’s talking about YouTube directly. Or, Jack is, anyway. Which seems suspicious to me. He’s telling us to go frame by frame, find things, keep watching. Now, lots of other theorists have already covered the fact that there’ve been hints to the next victim the whole time, hints to the doctor, hints toward Chase maybe, or Jackieboy. So what’re the hints we’re getting from Doki Doki?

The breaks are directed at a player (either Jack or us). They are made by two different entities: Monika/The Game Maker and Sayori/The Hostage(s). This can mean one of two things: either Anti is making up the rules of this game we play, and trying to start us back at the beginning of the cycle (”circles” comment, link to SL at the end of the video, small glitches and next to no vocals today, etc.); or, Anti is the one trapped, or being erased (the lines he glitched over, about forgetting or erasing someone). Or, possibly, he’s playing both parts. He’s pissed at Jack for forgetting about him, trying to erase him, and he’s pissed at us for being against him every time he returns.

I’m really interested in seeing where this goes next.

Can we talk about how well this Coraline-”Mother”-esk style compliments Dark’s canon characteristics? A manipulator who will make everything “perfect” for you in order to get you to do what he wants, in return for a “small” concession (ie, letting him in, as opposed to the eye-sewing thing).

Also I just really love this art style.

You could stay here forever . . .i͚͑́͛̓̃͝f̎̓͆̀̔̄̕ y̡̙̙̪̻͆̇̾͒͢͝o̰̍̀̈́̀͠ͅǘ̵͍̭͙͉̻͒̔̃̈̉̈́̚ ẘ̛̰͔̖̥̙̍͋͐̑͑̌̚͢͡ȁ̱͓̳̬̘͓̓͆̈̂̀n̉̒͡t́̄̔͂͗ ť̺͙̠̠͍͆̔̎̄̇͟͢o̴̬̪͖̘̍͂̂̀͝ͅͅ .̨̢̡̭͍̤̦̬̞̺̽͗͆̔̆͂̈́̕ .̷̡̡̞̘̱͉̪̱͚̍͗͂͑̈́̚͘͝

(sorry for the nightmares.)

Henlo this gave me ideas.

-

His voice was much croakier than it used to be. It was at the same time far too low, and just right. It was raspy and rough from disuse, or from strain, because all he ever did now was scream.

“Let’s go in the garden, you’ll find something waiting, Right there where you left it, lying upside down...”

He discovered that the old song’s lyrics were still stuck somewhere in his mind, and when he tried to pin down where it came from, he came up with an odd mix of faded memories; he was playing an acoustic guitar on the patio, badly, and his best friend was laughing and calling him a sap; she was dancing with the man she should never have fallen for, and he was singing in her ear, in the dark, far away from all the trouble that seemed to follow them constantly.

Most of the time, when he remembered them, the names he’d once owned and the faces that went with them, it would hurt. It would burn every fiber of his being until nothing remained but fury and hatred. He would be himself and no one at once, and it would tear him to pieces over and over again.

But today...

Today, he was just...sad. Not in pain. Not furious. Just sad. He was a boy who wanted to make his great city proud of him. She was a girl caught up in romance, with a ring on her finger and a rose in her room.

And in the hands of an old friend who’d just wanted to hear everyone laugh, and see justice served, was an old, nearly illegible ribbon, grey where it had once been black. They’d given it to him the night of the election,a joke then, but less so than the cruel one it had become.

“In little ways, Everything...stays...”

The voice that was all three of theirs, and no one’s, trailed off and went quiet. For once, his world was quiet.

FUCK this will never not hurt.

Doodles

Pairing: Nine/Rose

Rating: PG for slight angst

The library was always fun. You'd loved ever since you'd first stepped foot in it, on your first day in the TARDIS, wandering lost and confused looking for a bathroom at two am your time. But you'd found this place, and suddenly forgotten your need to pee in favor of running down the aisles, fingertips brushing the beautiful books around you. Until you'd really needed to go, then the TARDIS had been polite enough to point you on your way.

Now, you still loved running down the aisles, picking books at random and reading them as you wandered. You mostly avoided stuff from your future, but you loved everything else. There were books from distant planets with fairytales you'd never heard of, there were ancient leatherbound volumes from Earth, there were children's picture books from odd interstellar markets, even your favorite stories from your childhood. And the best part was that the TARDIS translation circuit worked on these books too, so you could read whatever you wanted, from whenever you wanted. It was one of the most wonderful things about traveling with the Doctor.

You were in the middle of reading a signed special edition copy of the seventh Harry Potter book- "To my favorite Doctor, love from JK Rowling" . Crying your eyes out, you didn't notice that you'd wandered to a new part of the ever-changing room. It wasn't until you ran book-first into a huge, elaborately carved shelf (something that didn't happen often, as you were a reading-while-running champ) that you realized where you were. The annoyed glower on your face faded to slack-jawed shock as you took in the beautiful little alcove.

Towering shelves dominated the walls in the inset, each carved with lovely, swirling circular patterns in gold leaf on the dark wood. The floor was thickly carpeted in rich, dark red, and an overstuffed deep red couch faced a cozy little white marble fireplace, also decorated with the circular symbols. The books on the walls were in various dark shades, from midnight blue to blood red and ebony to mahogany. There were odd little white-glowing cubes spaced randomly all over the shelves, lending the corner a dim, mysterious glow.

A few items seemed out of place in this wondrous place. An empty pink tea cup sat on a saucer on a rickety table in the corner by the fireplace, and a single fluffy pink slipper lay abandoned under it, on top of a forgotten large, green jumper. The smell was odd too, not just old books, but two different men's colognes (one of which was vaguely familiar) and some flowery store-brand body wash. 

The Harry Potter book slipped from your limp hand and landed with a dull thud. You moved forward without a thought and grazed fingertips across the volumes, stopping over a smaller one that was bound in black leather inlaid with gold. Pulling it out and sinking into the couch with a sigh, you curled in on yourself and let it fall open in your lap.

Odd, the first things you notice. The first thing that registered about this book was that the TARDIS wasn't translating the circles that you soon deciphered were writing. The next was a Polaroid picture, stuck carelessly in the front of the book. The man in the picture was leaning against the TARDIS, arms crossed and an annoyed but happy expression on his face. He was wearing all black: black boots, black pants, black shirt, black leather jacket, which, you noted, matched the front of the book. His dark hair was cropped short and close to his head, exposing almost comically large ears, which matched his rather large nose and huge grin well. But the thing that intrigued you most about this picture was his eyes. Bright, laughing blue eyes that looked vaguely familiar, as if they belonged to a friend you hadn't seen in years and years...

Setting the Polaroid aside, you returned your attention to the book, skimming through the enigmatic pages until you found more pictures: a few more Polaroids, taped in, of various creatures and places, a few pencil sketches done with mechanical precision, a few feminine doodles in pen. Suddenly you smiled. There were a few lines in English on this page! Two different sets of handwriting seemed to be having a conversation beside a caricature sketch of the man in the first picture.

I don't look anything like that! Yeah you do! It's like a mirror! No, it really isn't! Here, I'll draw you! Go on then, Picasso!

Here there was a little caricature of a woman, with big eyes and big lips pulled in a smile and light hair framing her face. It was done in pencil, probably by the same person who'd drawn the precise sketches, but in a softer style.

That one looks like you, see! At least I was nice about it. Fine, fine, remind me to fix yours later, when we're done with Raxacri (that was scratched out) Raxoco (more scratching) Raxicoricofallapatorius. Right. Fantastic.

You giggled to yourself. Who had written and drawn here? And why in this book? Looking back through, you thought maybe the whole thing was written into it, a bit like a journal. You sighed, wishing you could read more, and flipped the page past where you'd been.

It was blank. Frowning, you counted the remaining pages. There was more than half a book left, but the rest was empty except for what looked like a small footnote on the very last page. Letting out a frustrated snort, you closed the book and looked back over to the rickety table. There was something sad about it, the cup and slipper and jumper, like they were keepsakes from happy days long gone. Sighing again, feeling oddly saddened by the lost girl and man who'd left these here, you stood, put the book back on the shelf, and wandered out, glancing back one last time at the homey little nook before moving on. 

You never found that part of the room again, and figuring that it must have been some sort of fluke that let you find it, you never asked the Doctor about it. About the one language the TARDIS didn't feel the need to translate, and the little table's keepsakes, and the girl and the man, and whether they'd ever made it back from Raxicoricofallapatorius.

He never mentioned it.

Anti is a Tulpa: An Infodump.

“A tulpa is an entity created in the mind, acting independently of, and parallel to your own consciousness...a tulpa is like a sentient person living in your head, separate from you.”

“Note that the form doesn’t have to just be a visual image; the word is often used as umbrella term for a tulpa’s looks, voice, their smell, the feeling of their skin—everything that you can sense of their imaginary form.“

“A clearer way of sensing your tulpa before you can communicate with them directly is through emotional responses, which can be described as feeling emotions that aren’t your own.”

Brought to you by: https://www.tulpa.info/what-is-a-tulpa/

all i can think of is a vampire stopping suddenly in front of a mirror in a store, and their human friend, who isn’t aware of their condition, just gets very confused.

“Craig? You good? Why are you staring at yourself like that? ...Dude you’re crying, are you okay?”

And the vampire is just crying bc it’s bittersweet. They look just like they remember looking, but now they’re so pale and their hair is so different and the clothes don’t match the face anymore, and it suddenly makes them realize how very old they are, and how very alone.

Fun Vampire Fact; the reason that Vampires traditionally cannot see their reflections in a mirror is because mirrors used to be backed with a reflective layer of silver — which, as the metal of purity, would not ‘interact’ with Vampires, who are the Devil’s work.

However, modern mirrors have used aluminum as their reflective backing for many years now — and aluminum is not a ‘picky’ metal at all. So Vampires are able to see their reflections in modern mirrors.

wilford: i have made robot me: you fucked up a perfectly good wilford is what you did. look at it. it’s got overwhelming guilt and remorse for its actions