Latest Posts by likepuppetsonastring - Page 6

I JUST GOT HOME WHAT IS HAPPENING ARE WE ACTUALLY PLAYING FIVE NIGHTS AT ANTI’S RIGHT NOW BECAUSE IF SO I AM ALL FOR IT.

Ah good idea! Thank you! I’m trying to think of what to ask you about headcannon wise hmm do you have any ideas for maybe what the egos do for Christmas?

Aww Christmas Egos!

So I’m thinking that Schneep and Chase get super into it, decorate everything to the nines! the others just kinda deal, are generally chill with the whole Christmas thing. Anti haaates it. XD

(I’ve only been to two lmao I think it’s cool!) I’m trying to write a fic rn for a character I came up with and I am struggling to decide if it should be fluff or angst or neutral like yikes idk how writers do it

Hmmm, maybe try writing a synopsis for each genre and seeing which one you like best?

(Yeah! US is cool! I think it’s cool that there’s so many states) hm that’s cool! Do you prefer to write angst or fluff or just like whatever comes to mind?

(soooo manyyyyy. I’ve only been to like...five different ones? I think? lol)

I do like writing angst because there’s just so much to do, and it’s so intense. But fluff is just too cute!

(Snows gone :( back to good old Irish rain) who would you say is your favourite character to write about and who would be the easiest to write about?

Ooooh you’re in Ireland?! That’s awesome! I’m in the boring USA. lol

Hmm, my favorite to write about...I think my favorites are Dark and Anti, because there’s just so much to say, especially since WKM came out. Anti has a special place in my heart because it was the first Antipocalypse that I actually joined the JSE fandom and really got into it, and that’s led to a lot of really good things. And Dark is super interesting and terrifying, unpredictable. A social manipulator will always be fun to write.

But I do love figuring out the voices of all the different characters, and writing for real people is interesting (for instance, writing Jack or Robin, that’s super fun!). So yeah! I have a good time with writing these people!

(It’s really cool! I hope it snows for you!) Oh I loved those, they were so funny!

^u^

Part of me wants to rewatch t cause I was on cold and flu medication when I first watched it so it’s all a bit foggy but part of me is to worried about how sad it’ll be (It started snowing again! I got caught in it walking home and it looks like I dyed white streaks in my hair)

(aaahhh!!! I wish it would snow here, that sounds awesome!!!)

Dude it’s sad as hell but amazing. Honestly, and you’ve gotta watch the jims videos with it as well, makes it 10x better.

Like I’ll take all of that, just less tears pls and thank

Hehehe.

Same.

He did an amazing job, I hope he does more kinda backstories like that but maybe with less heart ache

Bruh yes.

At times I actually forgot that the colonel, Damien and dark were different people he played them so well and so clearly

Right? Mark did such a good job separating the characters and their little quirks and mannerisms that you forget they’re all the same person, even though they all have the same face.

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.

Yeah like it’s one of the few times he actually starts to loose grip of his shell. Other times he’ll threaten to, but nobody had ever actually see him crack fully until that happened (Yeah snow was mad! My school got closed n stuff it was crazy!)

(that’s so awesome yessss)

And poor Wilf is just lost. I’m so sad.

(Sorry I disappeared the snow really messed up my WiFi!) like dark will never talk about wkm unless he’s really angry and is going on a revenge rant

(You got snow??? Lucky! I wish it snowed here.)

Mhm, and even then, he tries not to do that when Wilf is in the room. Sometimes he slips up, though, and he’ll rant about having his body stolen, or he’ll rant about “what happened to Will”, and he’ll just clam up suddenly and panic. Which is not good for anyone else in the room.

I like to think that sometimes dark will get these twangs of guilt or regret and he can never work out why, but there’s a reason he’s never got rid of that cracked mirror in his office. Or maybe he is just as broken as Wilford except wilfords response to being torn apart was to just spiral into it while dark tried to fight back and regain agency over himself? Like that’s why he’s so determined to get revenge, he’s just as hurt by wkm as wilf, he’s just dealing with it differently

I think Dark retains all the memories of WKM, and all of Damien’s memories, but the person/people that he was are forever changed (but maybe not completely gone), and that the dark entity that powers him led him to a different kind of insanity, one that’s hyper-focused and obsessive rather than sporadic and hyperactive and stereotypically “mad”.

Maybe because after wkm Wilford was a lot more broken than dark he kind of understands what it’s like to be trapped or controlled by him and that’s why he tries to help? Do you haven any ideas for why dark is keeping cc prisoner or is it just because he’s already been threatened by a new comer who he didn’t immediately deal with (anti) and he doesn’t want to make the same mistake twice?

I cri, thank you for that. lol

And I think that line of reasoning is good, and I think his imprisonment does stem from Dark needing to control and manipulate his environment. Dark is psychologically impaired (obviously) by his one-track mind and singular, obsessive objective. He will do anything and everything to hold power and control over Mark, and if that means holding captive and manipulating any remotely powerful being to work for him, he’ll do it. He has no more remorse or grief, hasn’t for a long time; he is fueled by rage alone. So torturing this young android? Totally in his ballpark.

I believe that Dark still has a softspot for Wilf, but only for him. And not enough of one to honor big requests, for instance, for the freedom of a captive. But Wilf’s influence does make CC’s stay a little easier.

I almost feel like Wilford would be the one who doesn’t necessarily look out for cc considering he doesn’t want to cross dark, but he’ll do little things to try and make things a little more bearable

He slips him sweets and stuff (which is a nice thought but he doesn’t eat. he still appreciates it though), he chats with him when Dark’s out of the house, sends Google to take care of upgrades and things, always very specific about his instructions so that Google can’t mess with him. He also talks to Dark occasionally about letting him go, but hasn’t succeeded on that front yet.

Sometimes some of the softer egos will steal the heated blankets if they aren’t feeling well or the power goes out during winter

I have a feeling that Wilford casually steals them all the time and buys him a new one every month or so to replace the ones he takes. lol

Oh my god yeah and from that point cc is kind of like draped in blankets all the time so he doesn’t singe any of the furniture or wooden tables etc so like you’ll just kind of hear him mumbling from the next room and you’ll just hear the swishing of the blankets as he makes his way about the house

Awwwww.

“Dude, CC, why are you wearing a blanket? You’re like a million degrees.”“Bing. Two things. First, don’t call me CC. Second, shut up.”

My favorite part of a character like Anti is the fact that he’s legitimately scary and strange. I love to theorize about him and to wait on the edge of my seat, analyzing videos frame by frame, never knowing when he’s going to show up next, what he’s going to do, and it still makes me nervous every time.

But I also love the silly little memes and gifs that happen between times, the stuff that I know is not canon to his character, just because it’s fun. Those are side things, fun stuff from the community side that’s not meant to be taken seriously. That in no way detracts from the love I have for the actual, legitimately terrifying, psychopathic virus that is Anti.

Whatever you want to do with your character, Jack, is fine by me. I love seeing him, and I love watching what you do. Your acting is incredible and Robin’s editing is top notch, and everything you’ve done so far has been super fun. I love how seriously you take his character and I love how seriously you take your community and your love for them. <3

@therealjacksepticeye

I have to find Anti scary, I write him, and it’s always more fun to write someone truly evil or twisted.

This needs to be said

I do take anti seriously I really do I get spooked when he shows up and I enjoy it. I love this super serious theory’s about anti that are paragraphs long I live for that kind of stuff. But I also enjoy the anti memes that we as a community make like glitch bitch. Jack I’m sorry that it seems like no ones taking anti seriously anymore but we are and we still love him

Hm so see with corroded crank (sorry he’s my favourite right now haha) do you think that because he’s kinda of like a robot kind of like a virus, he’s always be super warm? Like you know how machinery over heats n stuff and like he’s a furnace and it bugs dark to no end because dark is so cold cause he’s technically dead?

Omg yes.

like imagine CC getting really annoyed about something and overheating, and Dark goes to put his hand on his shoulder and just starts streaming out curses and expletives and all that, shaking his burned hand while Wilf and the others howl with laughter.

About feedback and sending me headcannons, questions, submissions, prompts, etc.

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

I love this?! I love seeing this kind of thing?! I’m glad you like my silly writing?! I would love it if you sent me headcannons?!

I don’t care if you’ve never spoken to me before, I’m totally chill with chatting with you guys, on and off anon! It makes me super, super happy when people like my stories or theories and ideas (it boggles my mind that some of my posts have 200-400+ notes, like how, and there’s 126 of you guys following me here?! why?! I love you?!), and I love being a part of the community and having conversations with people who love the same internet nerds and characters that I do. Send me all the things, ask me all the things, submit stories and theories and prompts and anything and everything, tag me in things, all of it, yes please! I love this.

Could you maybe pretty please write even like a short idea on how you think corroded crank would realise they like somebody romantically and how they would deal with finding out their feelings were reciprocated?

Ohhh, interesting! I haven’t thought about CC in ages, I’m glad you brought him up. :)

(I’m going with him IDing as male because he’s modeled after Ethan, in the same way that Google IDs as male because he’s modeled after Mark, just so you get my reasoning there.)

I think Corroded Crank would be confused at first, because he doesn’t think he’s capable of attraction. He’d probably go to Google to ask about it, and Google would explain that androids are generally programmed to replicate and imitate human emotion in order to blend in to society more fully.

He’d probably be attracted to someone who’s kind to him, because he’s so unused to that, being under Dark’s control. He’d like someone who’s clever and witty, and doesn’t mind that he’s broken. Someone who isn’t scared of him when he breaks further or his programming malfunctions and he becomes dangerous. But I think he’d be terrified, because he wouldn’t want to hurt them. He’d probably end up pushing them away, trying to protect them.

When he found out that they liked him back, I think he’d be shocked. He’d ask them why they liked something like him, he wouldn’t understand. He would think that because he’s not human, no human should like him in that way, or in any way at all. But that person would probably tell him that he’s close enough to human, and just as nice as any human could be. He’s a person in all the ways that count.

I think that would be the day he discovers that not only can he feel, but he can cry, oil leaking from his eyes in a slightly disturbing but overall endearing display.

This is giving me one shot ideas hmmmmm.

More on Anti and Flowey.

Okay the recent appearances are making me lean more and more toward the idea of Anti being similar to Flowey in some way, what with all the determination references (especially the look given today during DDLC), and with the recent game (Heartbound or something like that?) that bore a lot of similarities to Undertale. I would love for us to get sympathetic Anti that’s still done horrible things, that kind of character is hard to pull off and I love it.

Things are heating up!!

b ju o st h mo f ni u k s a

just monika

both of us

The “t” is shared. Why? Convenience? Or connection?

@fear-is-nameless @egosurveillance @chase-brody-protection-squad @ego-protection-squad Does the last bit mean anything to you in this URL?

it’s the “Can you hear me?” post

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.

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.

Visitor Pt. 3

A/N: I’m having fun with this story, more fun than I originally thought I would have, and a couple of you still seem to like it ( @alix-the-skeleton I’m looking at you, pal. ;) ). So I wrote another bit! Enjoy! Part 1 and Part 2.

The air was cold, tonight, and filled with gentle music from the party still going on inside. William laughed as Celine pulled him along by the sleeves of his uncharacteristically dapper suit, running with him in tow to the edge of the balcony and only letting him go so that she could jump gracefully to sit on the stone railings. She looked beautiful, a bright red ballgown that hugged her in all the right places and flowed, light as a butterfly's wings, away from her at the hips, her short hair swept neatly underneath a scarlet hairclip. She kicked off her heels and swung her feet, patting the railing beside her. "Really, now, Cel, you want me to try that in this getup? I'll rip something in this bloody monkey suit." "Oh, live a little, Wil," she laughed as he hopped up anyway. "You're reckless any other time, why care about some cloth now?" "Well, it's a loan, first of all, if Mark knew I was running about in his suit-" "Oh please, as if he doesn't run around in it enough." He laughed, shaking his head. They went quiet for a moment, listening to the music swell inside, and Wil watched the smile slide off of her face. "It's hard to believe you're leaving tomorrow. How long will you be gone?" "Well," he sighed, taking her hand and staring up at the stars. They were so bright tonight. "It's only basic training, so only a few weeks." A few too many weeks, anyway. "I'll be home again before you know it." He chanced a glace. "And you've got Dames and Mark to keep you company." "Yes..." She bobbed along to the start of the new song, smoothing her dress with one hand. "Wil?" "Yes?" "What do you think is out there?" "Out there? As in, in space?" "Yes." He studied the sky for a moment. "Well...stars and planets and all that, of course...some ice, so Mark tells me..." "Other life?" "You're asking if I believe in aliens?" He chuckled, and she swatted him playfully. "Don't make it sound silly. It's totally plausible." He rubbed his arm, feigning offence, but she brushed him off. "But, no, that's not what I was asking. I was thinking more...I don't know. Spirits, or...or powers, or something." "So...God?" "Maybe not capital-G God. But yes, something along that line." William took a long time to answer, getting back to his feet as he finally spoke. "I...don't know, honestly. But I like to think that perhaps there's more to this universe than we know." Celine smiled, and stood as well. As the music swelled again, she suddenly took his hands, putting one around her waist, pulling him to her as she started to dance. He gaped at her for a second before settling into it as she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm really going to miss you, Wil." He pulled her a little closer. "I'm...I'm going to miss you too, Celine. So much." If Wil could've frozen a moment in time, he would have lived right there, with her in his arms, dancing under the stars, forever.

"I think I'm going to ask her to marry me." William was slow to respond. "You're...you mean...Celine?" "Yes, of course I do," Mark laughed, "who else?" He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head as he looked over at Damien. "What do you think, Dames? Have I got your approval?" Damien smiled brightly. "Mark...of course you have my blessing. God, of course you do." He stood and embraced him, clapping him on the back as both men laughed. Wil smiled tightly as Mark turned back to him. "C'mon then, gents, let's celebrate." "She hasn't even said yes yet," Wil said quietly, but followed the other two to the bar, which Mark leapt over, grabbing three tumblers and a bottle of Fireball and setting them down on the bar. That made him smile a bit as he slapped Damien's back. "Think you can handle a shot or two of this, this time?" "Of course I can, don't be ridiculous," Damien muttered, smiling slightly as Mark laughed loudly, pouring them each a generous shot. They each grabbed a glass and raised it. "To a yes," Mark said. "To a new brother in law," Damien added. "To...us," Wil said, and the other two grinned at him, Mark nodding and throwing an arm around his would-be brother, agreeing, "to us." They downed their shots and immediately started giggling as Damien choked.

"Wil?" "Go away." "Wil, please, talk to me." "No." "William, be sensible. You can't lock yourself away forever." He shoved the door open roughly, swaying slightly as he glared through his blackened eye at a disheveled Damien, cane twisting in his hands. He huffed and turned away, stumbling back to the quickly emptying liquor cabinet in the corner of his hotel room. "And what do you want?" "To talk to you, to work things out! Dammit, man, you left so quickly-" "OF COURSE I DID!" he roared, and Damien flinched. "THAT BASTARD WAS TRYING TO KILL ME! HE WOULD HAVE, IF HE'D BEEN GIVEN THE CHANCE!" "You slept with his wife! My sister!" Damien yelled desperately, and Wil grabbed him by the lapels. "You've seen what he's become! What a selfish, pompous son of a bitch he is now! He's not the man she married! He's not the same Mark that I grew up with! And she loves me, Dames, she loves me! Not him!" "Then let her get-!" "Get what, Dames, a divorce? Make her wait, and wait, trapped with him in that godforsaken house-?" "BETTER THAN RUINING HER LIFE!" Crack. Wil stumbled back with a grunt, clutching his face as Damien stared at him, wide eyed. "Wil...Wil, no, I didn't mean..." "What the bloody hell was that for?" He ran forward, grabbing Damien's lapel again with one hand, raising the other as if to hit him. "What the actual hell, Damien?" "I-It was an accident, Wil, I didn't mean to hurt you-" "Get. Out." Wil shoved Damien into the door with a dull thud. Damien looked as if he wanted to say more, but decided against it. He sighed heavily, resignedly, and pulled it open, stepping out. "I don't blame you Wil. And...and I'm sorry." "Go!" A bottle smashed against the closing door, and Wil finally broke down, sobbing silently as he curled up on the floor of the vacant, anonymous hotel room, far away from home.

Wilford gasped, bolting upright. He'd fallen asleep at his desk, apparently, which wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. He breathed heavily for a moment, shoving aside some empty bottles as he tried to remember where he was, who he was, what he was doing. The usual checklist. His dreams, tonight, they'd felt so...real. So vivid. He tried desperately to remember what they were about, but...no. They were already gone. Still, he was shaken. All he could recall was the name Damien. Damien. That name again, the one he'd called Dark. Who was Damien, to him? Had he ever even known a Damien? He couldn't recall one. All the name brought to his mind was a vague sadness, a vague nostalgia. As if he should know who is was, but didn't. He shook his head, standing and grunting as he stretched, old bones clicking. How old was he, he wondered? He wasn't sure anymore. Frowning, he tried to think of a time when he had known his age, or even his birthday. Further from that...where had he come from? He was sure he'd been born somewhere, he'd had a family, but, much to his mounting alarm, he found he couldn't remember them at all. He started to panic. Wilford Warfstache, he was Wilford Warfstache, world famous ace reporter, right? Wasn't that right? That's what everyone called him, that's how the others here knew him. So of course, he came from the Warfstache family, didn't he? But the more he said it in his head, the worse it sounded, the more...fake. Who had the last name of Warfstache, honestly? And even his first name, his perfectly normal first name, Wilford, the one he'd known for so long, felt...wrong, now. Felt rushed. The more he thought, the more it sounded like two different words. Wilford. Wil Ford. He jumped sharply as someone knocked loudly on his door. "Wilford? Hey, Wilford, dude, you up yet?" "Jesus, Bing, let a man have his beauty sleep!" Wil snapped angrily. "Go away! Tell the studio we're on hiatus!" There was a pause. "...seriously? Hiatus? Like, since when do you ever wanna go on-?" "GO!" Wil shouted, and he heard scuffling as Bing stumbled down the hall, probably wearing his Heeleys and tripping over them. On any other day, that would've made him laugh. Today, he scowled at his desk and pulled a flask out from under it, spinning the cap off in a smooth, practiced motion, but he paused before taking a sip. If he drank...would he forget again? Forget more than he already had? Why hadn't it occured to him sooner that he couldn't remember...anything? Wil put the flask back down, without taking a sip, and instead pulled out a legal pad and a pencil, beginning to write furiously.

About the recent Dark happenings on Mark’s channel and my lack of theorizing.

I think this time, I’m just gonna watch the fandom explode and enjoy it, I’m almost never on the outside of the theorizing thing. I’ll chip in to other theories if anyone wants my input, though. :)

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?

Visitor. (A WKM Drabble)

 A/N: So someone came up with the idea of Will and Celine having a kid, and my heart got really sad. So have some word vomit. (Credit to @turquoisemagpie for the neato drawing that gave Winnie her look and gave me the idea.)

Dark was mid-meeting when he felt it.

Someone was in the house. After all this time...he was here now, it'd been so long since he'd been back...but the feeling was familiar. He frowned, standing suddenly, earning a curious look from Google, who’d been trying to explain analytics to his uninterested audience. "Where's Wilford?" "He's in his studio, as always," Google replied, narrowing his eyes, "Why the sudden interest? We were discussing the primary-" "Excuse me." Dark moved quickly out of the room, slamming the door behind him. His aura was agitated, greying out the walls of the hallway, making Bim duck into a doorway to avoid it (it was unpleasant to pass through, to say the least) as he strode toward Wil's sound stage. He didn't bother to knock as he shoved the door open roughly. "Warfstache!" Wilford sighed heavily from his position in front of the green screen. "Dammit, man, can't you learn to knock? Jesus." He rolled his eyes and waved his gun at Jim, behind the camera, who quickly cut the take and scurried out of the room. Everyone in Ego Inc. knew what Dark slamming into a room would lead to. "Have you been back to the house?" "Are you out of your mind? Why would I go to Mark's house at this hour? I've been here, recording my new show all day. It's a real winner this time, Dark-" "You know damn well I don't mean Mark's house, idiot, have you been back to that house?" "What are you talking about?" Dark scowled at Wilford for a long moment. The fool couldn't remember, of course he couldn't. But that meant it hadn't been him. Of course it wasn't him, mumbled an annoyed voice in the back of his mind, how would he have gotten there and back so quickly? Besides, I still feel it so it can't be him. This bothered Dark even further. He hadn't heard that voice in years. Shut up. Dark turned on his heel and walked out, much to Wilford's confusion. He walked quickly, until he found an empty hall, and reached for one of the doors, concentrating. When he opened it, he found himself on the second floor landing. He stared at the railing for half a second, before huffing and walking down the stairs, looking around him for the intruder.

He found her in the foyer, looking...looking in the mirror.

The shattered reflection showed a pair of large, round lenses in bent black frames over two wide brown eyes, the arms curled under bobbed black hair. Her face was angular, but not particularly sharp, and she was smiling curiously. A small slip of a thing, really, her red collared shirt and high waisted black slacks clearly a few sizes too big for her, and the fact that she was lugging a massive leather carrier bag with the strap slung across her body didn't help with the delicate image. Definitely not your typical looter. She looked so much like him, the same silly smile and bearing, hands clasped behind her back as she inspected the antique before her, that Dark stumbled back a step as the old voice in his head yelled out in surprise. The noise alerted her to his presence and she whipped around, slapping a hand to the cover flap of the bag as if to grab something from it. "Oh my-! Oh, jesus, I-I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone still...but I mean the-the woman in the library said no one had lived here for...no, but that's no excuse, I'm sorry, I-I'll just go-" "Shut up," Dark said calmly, having collected himself a bit, but still reeling from the shock. She nearly bit her lip to stop herself, looking down at the ground and clasping her hands behind her back again. God, the resemblance...how...? "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" "I-I'm Winnie Ford, sir, a-and I'm researching for a school project, about abandoned buildings-" "Don't lie to me." The stairs below him went grey, and Winnie's face paled, but he was too distracted to notice. Ford? Her name was Ford? "Why are you here?" He repeated, more quietly. The air seemed to buzz between them. "I...I..." She seemed to be looking for an escape, but sighed as she found none, standing up a little straighter, as if to accept her fate. The confidence is impressive. No. Stop that. "I'm looking for information about my parents." She said it with false calm, the illusion of which was shattered as she retreated a few steps into the room as Dark descended the stairs and approached her. She bumped into the wall behind her, still trying to appear casual. "And why would you come here for that?" "Because this was the last place they were seen alive." He froze. Something must have registered in his face, becaues the girl frowned at him. "You...you live here, don't you? Do you...do you know what happened?" "What happened in 2017. The poker party." "Yes," she said, nodding slowly, taking a step closer. He flinched and she reflexively stepped back. "Yes, so you do know about that." He couldn't seem to move. "Your parents were...there, that night?" "So the newspapers say. So the orphanage said." "My god..." The voice coming out of his mouth was one he hadn't used in a very long time. He hadn't known he could use it anymore, hadn't known that the feelings now exploding in his chest, could still exist within this corpse of his. "Did...did you know them?" "I...no." He glanced over at the mirror, then back up at the stairs, then looked back at her, barely able to hold himself together. Being here, seeing her, it was too much, he wasn't going to be able to sustain himself, he should leave, shut down these feelings, eliminate the cause of them...no, that thought made a spike of pain shoot through his chest, and he gripped the table suddenly. Winnie took a few steps toward him, moving as if to put her hand on his arm. "Are you-?" "Don't," he said harshly, and she stopped, still looking concerned. She was stood right on the edge of his aura, couldn't she see it? If she touched it...but why did he care? "Don't...don't touch me. Don't come any closer. Please." The word sounded awkward, unfamiliar on this tongue. "Okay...Alright, I won't." Her tone was one you would use with a wounded animal. She's not afraid of me. Yes, she is. Shut up. "What do you know?" She leaned against the wall again, still trying to look casual. Why was he relieved when she stepped away? "Well...I know my mother's name was Celine Noir. But I don't know who my father was. That's the only name the orphanage had on file, and," she quirked a small smile, "that was hard enough to find. I was some kind of cover up, apparently." His eyes were blown wide, he could see them in the mirror, he could feel it. One hand twitched toward her, and he could see himself touching her face, cradling it, hugging her tightly and not having to lose them all over again. He could see himself taking her back with him away from this house, he could see Wil seeing her, coming back to him, he could see himself and this young girl and his best friend, a family once more, remembering, moving on, forgetting this place, forgetting what...what he'd... What he was. It came rushing back to him, but...but for this brief moment, he was still himself. He was here, and he was looking at her, and she looked so much like her mother, stood like her father, and god he missed them so much. Suddenly, he was talking, before he could stop himself. Stupid, stupid boy, what are you doing? "Your father's name was William Ford. You're a bastard, that's why she gave you up. She hated herself for it, wanted desperately to keep you, but..." But Mark, when he found out he wasn't the father, went berserk, nearly killed Will right then and there, if he hadn't stopped him... He took an unnecessary, deep breath. She was staring at him, the bluntness of his answer apparently surprising her. "William Ford...that's where the last name comes from, I guess. I wondered about that, why it wasn't Fischbach..." "No...no, she'd never let you take his name." Why were his eyes stinging? They shouldn't be able to do that anymore. "What...happened to him? To both of them?" Her voice was very quiet, but god she sounded just like Celine. "Who are you?" "I'm...not important." He took a few steps back. He couldn't be here anymore. "You should go. Get away from here." Get away from me. "But-" "Get. Out." He spoke quietly but the glass divider nearby cracked loudly. It didn't seem to phase the girl. "You haven't told me who you-" "You don't need to know that." She frowned, giving him a determined look. "Yes. I do. I want to know what the hell is going on. I want to know who I am. I want to know who you are." She put her hand on the table, it was too close to his, the grey was touching her fingertips. "At least tell me your name." He stared at the hand, trying desperately to pull his aura back into himself, but it wasn't easy to control when his emotions flared up, and it hadn't happened in so long he had nearly forgotten how. His eyes slowly moved to meet hers properly for the first time, and... He was face to face with a teenage boy with a goofy grin and a gun license and a draft haircut, asking this stupid kid with a sweater vest and too many political science books on the table in front of him in the lunchroom why he was sat on his own. He was looking at his sister as she asked him for help, tears in her eyes, she was begging him not to let Mark find out, one hand on her stomach, where a bulge would soon grow. He was looking at this girl, maybe twenty years old, who'd grown up in an orphanage, never knowing anything but her own name and her mother’s, and never even knowing her father’s name, who had his confidence and her smile and god, she even looked a bit like him, and his mouth was opening without his consent. "Damien." She smiled, a little confused. "Damien." Why did that name sound so natural in her voice? "Well, it's...it's nice to meet you." She offered him her hand again. Why was his hand moving toward hers? He stopped it, pulling it back sharply as he retreated. "You should go." "But..." "Winnie...I...you need to leave this place, it's..." Not safe. He was here. "It's not where you need to be. You need to go. I've told you all I can." His voice dropped in volume, but not the same way it usually does. This time, there was only one layer, and he sounded so much like...himself. "Please go." He wasn't sure what she heard in his voice, but it seemed to convince her. Maybe she was finally noticing his aura, maybe she was too afraid to stay with him any longer. She stepped toward the door. Pulled the handle. Took a step. Looked back over her shoulder. "It really was good to meet you, Damien." She had more questions than answers, he knew. She'd probably be back to this place. Her little frown, and the look in her eyes...he remembered seeing that look on another young girl's face. "You know, there's something terribly familiar about you." He didn't answer. Instead, he turned back to the stairs, and climbed back up them, and it was as if he were stepping back in time. He heard the door slam behind him, and paused. He was alone again. "It was nice to meet you, Winnie." But there was no one to hear the darkness return to his voice. No one to witness as he left this place, empty again.