Echoes (A Middle-of-the-Night Drabble)
Echoes (A Middle-of-the-Night Drabble)
Frisk thought they had never seen anything as beautiful as an Echo Flower. It looked almost as if it were a negative image of a sunflower, the colors reversed and strangely fluorescent, blues and whites that seemed to light up the dark marsh around them, otherworldly and wonderful, in the original sense of the word. Their appearance wasn’t even the strangest part of them however. Frisk swore, as they walked past, they heard one of the funny plants talk.
Now, given their previous encounter with talking flowers had been not altogether pleasant, Frisk was understandably cautious about getting too close to the whispering blooms. But Sans had mentioned Echo Flowers, back in Snowdin, and they thought perhaps their caution was unfounded, and that perhaps the echoes might be worth listening to. They had always been a supremely curious child, anyway. So they took a cautious step closer to the nearest flower.
It was surprisingly hard to get to, surrounded by so much vegetation and growth that Frisk was led to believe that it had been a very long time since anyone had stood close to the flower at all. This assumption was reinforced by the faintness of the recording, but it was not impossible to understand what was being said. A young voice spoke up first, the sound of splashing footsteps suggesting two small monsters were passing at the time of the recording. “They say you can make a wish on echo flowers. What’s your wish?” It was hard to tell whether the voice was male or female. Perhaps it was neither, mused Frisk with a chuckle. They wandered on to the next plant, mimicking the long-forgotten conversationalists’ path. “I...don’t wanna tell.” This voice sounded as if it’d come from a young boy. He seemed to be afraid of something. Apparently the other voice had surmised this as well, because they promptly asked what it was he was afraid of. Frisk continued to the next plant, fancying they could see two ghostly figures walking in front of them. In their fantasy, the two figures were silent until they reached the next plant, a few feet down the marsh. “I’m afraid you’ll laugh at me.” “I promise I won’t!” the first voice assured the boy, and in Frisk’s mind, they could practically see the child clap the shoulder of the other confidently. Frisk smiled as they imagined the first voice as a human, like themselves, striped sweater and all. The other, a monster child, Frisk decided, sighed and looked away. “Alright.” He paused for a long moment. “My wish is to see the stars.” The human child seemed to nod, and smile. This turned into a small laugh as they reached the next flower. Another, further on, had the monster child, who had white fur, Frisk thought, annoyed, saying “You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” “Sorry,” the first child said, still smiling, “It’s just funny.” “What?” Frisk seemed to watch them round the corner as the conversation drew to a close, and they ran out of echo flowers. “That’s my wish, too.”
Frisk felt oddly sad, hearing the end of that conversation. It felt faintly familiar to them, as if they’d heard it on some TV show they’d loved when they were younger, barely remembered. But they were sure they’d never heard it before, and wondered at the image they’d seen, the fantasy they’d drawn up. It’d seemed so real, the children seeming like they’d come to life with their voices barely echoed back by the flowers that’d lived up to their names. Had they really imagined it all? Who knew? This whole place was full of magic and strange life. Perhaps more than just their voices had been caught, frozen in time by this strange place.
More Posts from Likepuppetsonastring and Others
Not strictly a story, but it’s a show and a channel that I’m running!
Sopranos Wanted!
The Combustible Pasta Studios team is in need of some sopranos for the chorus for the rest of Undertale The (Unauthorized) Musical and future projects!
If you or someone you know would be interested in auditioning and you’re a soprano, please PM me on Discord through the fan server with a short clip of you singing something in your range, preferably Broadway or Disney. Spread the word! I’d love to have some new folks on the team. :D
The Fan Server: https://discord.gg/d4MVV3F
My tag: @kittycatthang
I was listening to this again, with all the new info...and I just...
Dark, all alone at Ego Inc, hours after everyone else has dispersed. It’s been a long day, they’ve been hard at work. And he’s having an internal conversation, as you do when you’ve got three or more minds to listen to at once, when suddenly he sees or thinks of something from the old days. Something completely benign and silly, and he just...loses it, for a few minutes. For a little bit, he just...remembers. For a moment, he can feel that happiness again, and he’s Damien, and Celine, and the District Attorney, and they’re sat around that poker table and Benjamin is betting that Damien can’t do a keg stand and Damien is just drunk enough to try it. And suddenly all three of them are laughing so hard their shared shell is cracking, and they let themselves splinter into parts for a minute just because though it hurts horribly, they feel more real and alive than they have in ages.
The pain from that is what brings them back to reality, though, and the laughter dies off...only for them to look up and see Wilford standing in the doorway looking utterly dumbstruck. He smiles, and for a second, Damien and Celine pull through a little more strongly, because that smile is the Colonel’s, it’s William’s knowing smirk, not Wilford’s manic grin. But then he’s confused again, and shakes his head, the smirk morphing horribly into the grin. He makes some off color joke about Dark falling apart, and wanders off, shooting the wall as he goes.
And Dark is back. And he is alone again.
best quality: his giggles
quick question why tf did i make this
please give me audio edit requests or something i can’t live like this
ohhhhhh nOW THIS MAKES SENSE!!
SOME OF THESE ARE WILFORD’S ALIASES!
It just doesn’t add up…
okay but Dark and Will reacting to Tyler in our universe???
“OH MY FUCK IT’S THE BUTLER”
“Uh...no. I’m actually Mark’s manager. Rude.”
Years after WKM, Benjamin comes across Dark and Wilford while they are out and about
AND THEY JUST PASS EACH OTHER LIKE TOTAL STRANGERS HFJSAFHDJ
A Mask, My First (Phantom Oneshot)
A/N: Unusual, I know, but I felt inspired by my favorite Opera Ghost.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Phantom/Reader
"Is this what you wanted to see?!" the Phantom growled angrily at the girl sprawled on the floor, watching him. He barely glanced at her face as he tried to cover his own, the mask he'd been wearing having fallen to the floor when she'd pulled it from him. He turned away from her, falling to his knees. All of the fury went out of him at once, and was replaced by defeat. He was tired of this, this face he was trapped behind, this monster.
"What's your name?"
He turned slightly, confused. "What?"
"You must have one. A name, I mean," she said softly, standing and taking a few steps toward him. "And I can't just continue to call you Angel, knowing that you're a man."
He was silent for a moment, studying her through his fingers. She was watching him, not as you would watch a wounded animal, as he was expecting, but as if she really was going to come closer, and comfort him. But she never would...would she? She couldn't...could she?
He answered slowly. "Erik. My name is Erik."
It had been so long since he'd said it aloud.
"Erik." The name sounded nice on her tongue. She smiled a little, then bent and picked up the mask. He flinched, as if to take it from her, but she held up her hand and he stopped, watching, curious and...well, if he was honest, nervous.
She knelt beside him, and offered him the mask. He stared at it.
"If this will make you feel better," she said quietly, "then have it back, and wear it. But just so you know..." She touched his hand, and pulled it gently from his face.
He was too shocked to react other than to stare at her. She smiled again, fully this time.
"Erik, your face, your scars..." Her hand reached toward him, toward his face, and he pulled away harshly. She sighed and dropped it. "They don't scare me. Not at all."
He managed to take the mask shakily then, but instead of putting it back on, he simply studied it. The candlelight played against its contours in a way that made it seem more sinister than a simple white mask should be.
"I've worn this for so long," he muttered, "hidden, in shadows, for all of my life, because of this...thing, this face. I've spent so long in the dark."
Taking his hand she began to sing softly.
"No more talk of darkness
Forget these wide eyed fears
I'm here, nothing can harm you.
My words will warm and calm you."
Taking his hand, she stood, still singing.
"Let me be your freedom.
Let daylight dry your tears.
I'm here, with you, beside you
To guard you and to guide you."
He stood, meeting her, and started to sing as well.
"Say you'll love me every waking moment.
Turn my head with talk of summertime.
Say you need me with you now and always,
Promise me that all you say is true.
That's all I ask of you."
She smiled, and it was like sunshine, pulling him closer to her. Her hand came up again, and this time he managed to stay still, and not to flinch, though his eyes closed. He shuddered as she touched the scarred skin of his face, the broken places and misshapen bones. But she never flinched.
For the first time, in a very long time, he half smiled through the tear tracks on his cheeks.
‘I didn’t kill him.’
And then there’s me:
She looked like sunlight on the water, warm and cold at the same time, eyes like whiskey and hair like ice, a too-soft cardigan over a Metallica t-shirt and ink all over her fingers when she reached for the book in my hand. When she spoke, it was like listening to the ice crack under your feet as you slip through to the freezing depths, or the first chord in a rock song shredded out on the steel strings of an electric guitar.
“Please let go of my book. You’re gonna rip it.”
Are you a “can’t write dialogue” writer or a “can’t describe anything” writer
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.
BITCH MORE WHO KILLED MARKIPLIER LORE I AM SO FUCKING READY
Current theory:
A tulpa, which is a thought form. It’s something created by thoughts, stories, and ideas. As we all know, an idea is hard to kill, and it’s ever changing, never solid, hence the glitching. It also explains why Anti only seems to be physical on recordings, or when he’s possessing Jack.
(Today’s video I’m counting as happening inside coma!Jack’s head.)
Okay but for real???? I wanna know what the actual fuck Anti is
Just a writer obsessed with her characters, from Supernatural and Sherlock to the Dark Side of Youtube. Your source for the Egos of Jacksepticeye and Markiplier, theories thereon, and random oneshots and short series. I take requests!
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