The Newest Anti Fun!

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HE IS S I G N I N G HELP!! HE'S TRYING TO GET US TO HELP HIM

Ohhhh FUCK I was NOT ready for that “01″ at the start of the timer today.

alternatively: Dark, rocking up in an open button up that’s half tucked into rumpled suit pants and sitting on top of a very stained undershirt.

Wil: You look like death!

Dark: *looks into the camera like he’s on The Office*

As much as I like the idea of dark wanting to be constantly neat and fancy, I also adore the idea that after the shit he’s been through he just can’t give a fuck and wears and does whatever the hell he wants.

I GOT INSPIRED AGAIN

Mark was in the middle of cleaning his gun when Jack surprised him.

“M...M...?” Mark frowned and looked over to the corner of the room where he’d tied Jack down. It was raining outside and he’d taken shelter, dragging Jack along with him. They’d...or, well, Mark...needed a break, just for a little while. It was hard enough to lose everything without being out in the elements constantly for so many months. Jack never protested being dragged along. He never agreed, though. He never did much of anything these days, he didn’t even seem to be conscious of where he was, or even who he was, anymore. But that was what made Mark look in the first place, and what made him slowly put down the gun, get up, and walk a little closer. The sounds Jack made nowadays didn’t mean much. He grunted when he was hungry, or when he was being dragged. He snarled occasionally when he could smell other zombies, or, very rarely, people. But this noise was intentional. It was a specific “m” sound, as opposed to the usual generic vowel noises. And when Mark looked over...Jack was looking at him. Staring, squinting right at him, and he looked...almost curious. Confused. Did he dare to hope? “Jack?” “M...ma...” he tried again, clearly trying. “Ma...rk?” He could’ve laughed out loud if he wasn’t so shocked. “Yeah...Yeah, man, it’s me.” He paused for a moment. “Do you...know who I am?” “I...” He shook his head very slowly, shakily putting the palm of one hand against his face, rubbing clumsily, as if to get rid of some of the grime and blood. He still seemed very foggy, but for the first time...here. Present. “I...d-don’t...kn-know...D-don’t...kn-know...wh-who...” “Who you are?” Mark supplied, and Jack actually nodded. “Try. What’s your name? Can you remember it?” He spoke quietly, as if to a small child. Jack sat up slightly from where he was slumped on the ground, tilting his head to study Mark again as he thought. After a long pause, he mumbled, “J...Jack...I-I’m...” But then he shook his head. “N-no...S...Se...Sean...” “Take it easy,” Mark moved a little closer, one hand out, almost to pacify him. His heart was in his throat, and he was finding it very hard not to get worked up. “Yeah, that’s you. You’re Sean.“ He smiled a little bit. “Welcome back.” And he never thought he’d been happier to see Jack smile.

post apocalyptic mark & zombie jack –

   “C’mon bud,” Mark pulled at the rope tied around Jack’s waist, leading him away from the dead animal on the side of the road, “Leave that alone.” His friend did nothing but grunt and groan. It was all he ever did these days. Whatever had happened to his brain after the infection had made him incapable of speaking, along with many other things. He was once a loud, outgoing fellow with smiles and laughs for miles. Now, he was a walking corpse with lifeless eyes and sickly grey skin. 

   The best friend that Mark knew and loved was seemingly gone, but he couldn’t let him go. He brought him along on his travels day after day in hopes that he’d find a cure and bring his best friend back to life once again. He just had to make sure Jack didn’t infect him before he could accomplish his goal.

I actually wrote a story about Tentoo getting older.

Bonus:

It’s not that he hadn’t expected the signs of aging - he just hadn’t expected them to happen so soon…

[Part of the TenToo Adventures series] —

(Random fact: I had actually planned to add a third scene where TenToo notices that he’s getting more wrinkles and pulls his face into grimaces at the mirror, but this request has already been taking me quite long and was starting to get a little frustrating when things went wrong, so I decided to cut it out.)

A reminder that this is available now!

I’ve written another book! The Clockwork Figurine is a collection of short stories (some of which are based on fanfics that I first published here!), and it’s available worldwide on Amazon for $.99 as an ebook. It’s also available in paperback!

Original Tweet Link

…this makes me happy

We’re just... Having fun sprEading some wonderfuL Positivity. That’s all.

“We’re just... Having fun sprEading some wonderfuL Positivity. That’s all.”

I’m a humble theorist, my poor lost friend, Can’t see why Anyone wouldn’t waNt thaT in their lives.

Right so I just finished watching “Quit The Game To Win” (stupid busy work schedule), and I’m gonna be honest here, that is the most terrifying Anti footage we’ve ever gotten.

Why?

There’s no glitching. There’s no effect.

This version is realistic.

We called him the Glitch Bitch, so guess what? He’s dropped the trademark giveaways.

“Who do you think you’ve been watching all this time?”

How will we tell?

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.