I’m A Fan Of Both, And I Kinda See Them As An Evolution? Like Anti Started Out Wild And Glitchy, But

The Good Doctor.

((A/N: TRIGGER WARNING FOR GORE AND NEEDLES!! Well, Anti made a reappearance, and now we have more lore. Specifically, about Schneeplestein! I was excited, so I thought I’d write a quick fic about the aftermath of Say Goodbye. Enjoy!))

"Oh god..." Henrik jerked into motion, nearly barreling over the table as he fell into place beside Jack, dropping his medical bag open on the floor beside him. The blood, oh god, the blood, there was so much of it. Snapping himself out of his shock, he scrambled through the bag with one hand as the other desperately tried to stem the flow of blood from the deep gash in his old friend's neck. "Where is it? Where is it?! Dammit...hold in there, Jack, just hold on...you don't get to die on me, no, no, no, not on the watch of Dr. Schneeplestein!" He glanced over at Jack, with half a weak smile as he nearly anticipated the usual laugh and eye-roll he'd get whenever he was as grandiose as that. But there was nothing, no flicker of life from the cold form. He jerked the needle, thread, and towel free of the bag and began desperately trying to stitch Jack's neck together and stop the blood at the same time. Where were his medicines to thicken blood? Where were his gauze and bandaging? Where was his antiseptic spray?

"DON'T YOU DIE ON ME!" Henrik's panic was getting the best of him now. He was working quickly, sloppily. There were moments where he thought he missed time passing, his sight seeming to skip from one second to the next. He almost thought he was...twitching. Nerves, it must be nerves. Jack was dying, right there in front of him, and he wasn't doing enough, he couldn't do enough, it ͞ẃa͡s̢ ͝n̡evèr͏ eno̕ug͢h.͠ He doubled over, twitching once, violently. He thought he heard a high-pitched ringing. Looking at his shaking hands, he thought for a second he saw them go around Jack's neck, as if to choke him. No, no that couldn't be right. He blinked, gasping, and saw his hands, jerked up beside him, nowhere near Jack at all. No. No, he couldn't lose it now. He couldn't lose control now, Jack needed him. Get it together, Doctor! The ringing got louder, and under it, some noise. Some...pattern. High, cold, uneven...almost like a laugh. Henrik shook his head.

Ĝ͈ͥͥͨ́ͮ͒õ̳̰̣͕͔̼ͦ̄̓̾ȭ͎̩̦͓̱̣̟d̬̪̝͕͔̤̣͌̎ͪͩ ͙̞̜̜̱̜̽̿͛́ḍ̞̣͉̞̯͋͛ö͕̤̬͕͕͈ͬc̹̘͙͚̗̥͍̕t̶̰̯ͯ̓̊̇̋̓͌o̧͉̘͚̻͌̌̄̎͋͐r͍͕̗̼̤̯̹͋.̇͛̓͘.̺̖͖͈́ͧ͒ͣ.͔̩̼͓̗͙͙ͤ̇͐̚y̵̗͖̱̘̝̻ͣo̩̯̼̫̠͕̖ͣ̇ͩ́̔̇ͫú͔̳͇̥̪̞̦̾͊̇ ͖̹͎̆̂̑̇̏̍̕c̗̞͈̻ͭ͐̐̎̋̽̚oͨu͔͠l̊͛̾̉̌҉̥͈͎͎͓̩d̻͗̇̈ ͙̝̫͇͂̏ͪ̚b̸͐̿ͪe ̦͓̳̥̮͛͑͘f̻͇͔̱̘͕̊ͩ̑̅̓͆̓u̩n͓̚.̔̓̈́ͮͩͤ̚.̖͉ͭͩ́.̪͇̖̗̀ͮ̒̉̆͛ͣͅ

"No. No, no, no," he muttered, covering his ears with his hands. How could he be losing control at a time like this? He had never been prone to panic attacks, why now, of all times? Perhaps it was insanity? People had always said he was on the verge of it. He shook his head. No. He needed his mind clear to help Jack, he needed to stop the bleeding...the bleeding...

The bleeding had stopped. Henrik stared, uncomprehending. He checked for a pulse. There was no way... He felt one. Very, very faint, but present. Jack was alive.

Jack woke up, only hours later, and seemed to feel no ill effects, other than being a bit weak. He didn't seem to even remember what had happened. When he asked the doctor, he couldn't bring himself to tell, so instead, he made up some cock-and-bull story about pumpkin fumes knocking him out. It was a very weak reason, and clearly, Jack didn't believe him, but he didn't question it. Even when later, he looked in the mirror and saw the red stains on his neck. Even when he saw the blood on the carpet, and in the carved pumpkin he didn't remember finishing.

Dr. Schneeplestein never mentioned the "panic attack". He never talked about what had really happened. He never talked about the voice.

Neither of them wanted to think about what had done it...and how that thing was still out there. Neither wanted to think about when he might come back.

@justsamantha19 mentioned this on my post and I thought I’d reblog it here.

Interesting...

Okay guys. I tried posting this once for some reason it didn’t go on but I played around with the picture.

All I did was lighten the picture in my regular phone settings then I took it into VSCO cam and darkened it and turned the contrast, saturation and clarity all the way up. And here’s the final product.

So here’s my theory. The mark in the picture isn’t Dark but Dark is in the room. The red and blue is his light reflecting on the window, because you can see it on “Mark’s” face and the mysterious figure’ shoulder. Dark has teamed up with another ego.

Wandering (A Robbie the Zombie drabble). Feat. Post-Apocalypse Robin!

A/N: I’ve never written Robbie in his own story before, but he’s a sweetheart and I thought I’d give it a try, and also try to explain his name, maybe. Enjoy!

He doesn't know how he died. All he knows is that one day, he woke up, and he was staring at the open blue sky. He sat up, looked around at the lonely street he was on, stood slowly, and wandered off. That's what he does best; he wanders. He's not much for deep thought, and trying to plan out where you're going, trying to find things or do things that take a long time, they take too much of his energy. But wandering? It lets him enjoy the quiet. Sunshine in a forest. An empty highway at night. A beach in the off season. Well, he supposed every season was the off season now.

He doesn't remember who he was before he died. Doesn't even know if he had a name, not that there's anyone to call him by it anyway. He supposes he was young; the glances he's gotten of his reflection make him think twenties, but he could've been in his thirties. A little bit of facial hair is eternally stuck at the same length on his face, a short scruffy beard and mustache, and two bushy eyebrows that've all turned an ashy brown with death. Pale, grey skin sits tight over a smaller, fairly slim frame. Grey eyes stare at the grey-scale world through a thin white film (it doesn't affect his vision that much). A striped white and black shirt and black jeans cover him with relative modesty, though they’re ripped and dirtied with who knew what. No shoes. It’s not too bad, but he is easily pleased. Something he very much likes about the way he looks, however, is that he's got a mop of unruly, electric purple hair on the top of his head. It's the only bit of bright color in his appearance, and he feels like maybe Living-him would've liked that. He sometimes wonders who Living-him was. What did he do for a living? He isn't particularly muscular, or big, so nothing sporty or physical. His clothes are very casual. Had he worked from home? Been off-duty when he died? He doesn't know.

He discovers he's in Brighton, and that he can read still (though not very quickly), when he finds a yellowing newspaper on a bench by the pebbly beach. An old copy of the local news, warning about the deadly outbreak of something, and somewhere testing nuclear weapons, and other sad things. He puts it down again and walks away. He's glad he remembers where Brighton is, and that he has a vague impression of what the city would've looked like way back then: a woman's laugh and the pressure of her hand in his, the sound of cars driving by on his quiet street. He wonders if Living-him had lived here all his life, or if he'd come from somewhere far away. He turns slowly toward the sound of something moving, which wasn't his imagination.

A man is staring at him, standing, frozen, on the other side of the street. He is fairly tall, with short brown hair and wide-open eyes, the blue of which are overwhelmed by the black of his pupils. He has a gun slung over his shoulder, and seems to be considering reaching for it. Surely he's not afraid of him? One dead man against a living man isn't much of a match; guns have quite a reach, and rigor mortis tends to slow down your running speed significantly. He doesn’t see any other option for it. Might as well be polite. He waves. The man frowns, confused. Stares at him for a few moments longer.

Waves back.

He smiles, glad that his gesture has been returned, and turns to move on down an alley. "Wait!" He raises his eyebrows and turns back to look at the man, who is now crossing the street toward him cautiously. He stops a few feet away and considers him. "Can...can you understand me?" It amuses him that he remembers enough to know that this is not an English accent, but is disappointed that he can't remember what accent exactly that it is. "You don't have to talk," the man continues as he receives no response from the purple-haired stranger, "you can just...y'know, nod, or shake your head?" He thinks for a moment, then nods. The man smiles. "Really? Cool." They watch each other for a moment. "Do you have a name?" He shrugs, slowly. "Okay," the man nods, folding his arms with a smirk. "Well. You don't look like you're in a big rush to kill me, which is nice." He extends a hand. "I'm Robin." He stares at Robin's hand. "You're...supposed to shake it?" Oh. He shakes Robin's hand, and is surprised that he doesn't flinch away from the cold of his skin or the unnatural stiffness of his movements. He does note that Robin's easy-going smile quirks slightly at the contact. Their hands drop back to their sides, and he decides to try something new.

"R...R..." His voice is rusty and crackly from disuse, but apparently still functional, much to both of their surprise. Robin huffs out a laugh. "You can talk! Why didn't you tell me?" He frowns slightly and tilts his head. "I'm kidding, man, relax," Robin grins. "Were you trying to say my name?" "R..Ro...b..." He nods as he tries again. Robin puts a hand over his heart as if he's touched by the gesture, then chuckles again as he starts to walk. "You wanna come with me? I've never met a zom' that  can talk to me. Let's see if we can't get your voice to work." "Y...eah." Robin looks so proud of his first proper word that he can't help but smile back, the muscles in his face tight with the movement. "C'mon then, uh..." He falters slightly, and the purple-haired man shrugs. "Well...pick a new name then. I have to call you something." "Ro...b...?" "You want me to pick?" "Mm...hm..." "Hm..." He thinks for a minute, then smirks. "Well, the only thing you seem to be able to pronounce is the first half of my name. So let's call you Robbie!" "R...Ro...b...bie.." "See, you're getting better already!" Robin moves off down the street, still laughing and swinging his arms at his sides. Robbie (he likes the ring of it) stumbles after him, listening to him ramble. It's a nice change from the usual silence.

See something I really really adore about Chase (the video) is that it’s incredibly big and cinematic, but also fascinatingly personal. Chase (the character) is so well acted, Jack does some genius things with his characterization! The car scene gives us a good idea on how he handles stress (bottling up and deflecting until it’s overwhelming and he breaks) and the scene at the cairn gives us a look into why he handles it that way (mother died when he was young and so he is left struggling for affection and in relationships...at least that’s how I took it). 

But this scene? The rooftop? It gives us Chase in an entirely new crisis. When he has no idea what’s happening and no agency over his situation. Does he immediately start running? Hide? Shout for someone to hear him? No. He looks. Assesses the situation, getting as much info as he can. Chase isn’t good with emotional conflict, relationships, everyday life, but he’s got a handle on the strange and bizarre. Why? 

What happened to Chase to make him so calm in the face of something so strange?

CHASE was a such a beautiful cinematic piece. I love geeking out about direction, movement and framing in movies, and the way CHASE is shot, especially the scene right after he’s teleported, is just so great.

Like? Look!! At this!!

Also his face just kills me 😭

And Another One!

And with that, we have Day 1!

Source: Mark’s tumblr

When you brighten this one up, there’s a looot to talk about, so let’s do that:

No. 1: “Kill”, apparently an omnipresent now. I’m almost sure at this point we’re dealing with Google, at least in some capacity.

No. 2: That’s the same floor as the last picture, which I assumed was a kitchen floor in my last post, but apparently it’s just the normal floor of the foyer. So again, same location. This is all taking place in one house/mansion/castle/thing.

No. 3: The light from this lamp drew my eyes immediately, with it’s red-and-blue tinge, a calling sign of Darkiplier. Coincidence? I highly doubt it.

No. 4: The statues. They look very typical of what we see in horror games, so is this a nod to Amnesia and others like it? Is it a hint that we’re getting a sort of horror game in the coming video? Or are they simply fortunate decorations? Whatever the case, the owner of this mansion is definitely rich and powerful. Is it Dark? Maybe the Host?

No. 5: Timestamp. Again, real time, and happening at 1 am. So all of these pictures were taking approximately 24 hours apart, and then released exactly 24 hours apart. This is a ransom note, and we’re the ransom. To save Mark, we’re going to have to travel here.

If Mark’s posted anything on youtube, or anywhere else, I don’t know it yet. Please enlighten me. And I’m so curious as to what you guys think is happening. Does this new picture change your thoughts, or add to them? Have I missed anything you see? Do you see anything differently than I do? Talk to me! I’m so excited about this, and I’m having so much fun.

I always feel so bad for wilf cause you can just see him slowly lose his grip throughout wkm and it’s really sad

He’s always been one of my favorites, and seeing him slowly lose it is just so heartbreaking. But I’ve gotta give Mark props for his acting in WKM, it was phenomenal.

Forget All You Know (on Wattpad) http://my.w.tt/UiNb/HwzajNbWGv Think of all the things we've shared and seen But don't think about the way things might have been... What might have been? The Angel in Hell is given another chance.

Nice catch!

The last bit of knocking had 7 knocks

one for each ego plus jack

:)

I got nothing else to say but if ISWM doesn’t get merch I’m gonna cry.

You know what I want? A temporary, heartbreaking Damien return. Dark’s about to kill us but is stopped by the part of him that is still Damien. Before he can kill it for good, Damien regains control briefly and saves us, promising that he really did want to help us, and that he knows he is losing/has lost himself, and he’s so so sorry, old friend, he won’t ask for your forgiveness. But he will spare you now. He tells us to run.

Because he cares.

he cares