uh. made a blog for the darcycoreverse bc why not. meta asks can go here but wonât be answered if they give away too much about the hinted lore. iâll add more info about this. thing. later.
Mod, what happened with Calannemity? I can't seem to see any posts on that account or Heartstomperr
i probably blocked you from those blogs out of habit because you spam liked and that just irks me and i tend to just hit the explosion button if the person clogging my notifs is a stranger
who is the host?! are you possessing someone why is your host a 13 year old WHY are you possessing someone??
- that same anon from earlier
We will not use the host's name as doing so could mean risking her seizing control for a moment, even after the reminder we gave her last time such a slip occurred.
I suppose you could refer to it as a possession; we required a vessel, and Andrias admitted that she would be suitable for us after she proved her intelligence (and worth as a host) to him through Flipwart.
NONONONONONONONI NONO NO THIS CANT BE TJIS CANT BE TELLNME THISN ISNT REAL PLEASEPLEASPLEASE THIS IT SJUT AN BTAD DREAM ITS JUST A NIGTHMARE WHATBTHE CUFKC FUC WHAT THE FUCK WHATBTHE FUCK IT CANT BE HER IT CA NT BE THIS HAS TOB E A COINCIDENCE I REFUSE TO CONSIDER OR BELIEVE OH MY GOD NONONONONONONONO I SAW WHAT HAPPENED ITS NTONEVEN POSSIBLE OH MY FUCKIDBGN GDO NONONO WHY IS HE DOINGBTHIS WHY PLEASE WHY PLEASE DONT TEL L ME YOURE HURTING HER PLEASE DONT PELASE DONT FUCKFUCK FUCK
Ah, did you know the host? I had suspected so. You do remind us of one of the companions we observed in her memories. Anna-banana, she liked to call you?
We regret to inform you that you are not in fact dreaming. Humans are rare in this realm; I doubt you're thinking of someone else. Death is not as permanent as you might think.
And lastly, in regards to your final question: if you do not want to hear that as an answer, I suppose we will simply not reply.
Oh, I don't believe you're in a position to make demands right now.
We required a host, and she was the perfect fit. Intelligent, holder of Wit, but weakened bĚ´yĚ´ ̡hĚ´eĚśrĚľ ̸ÍĚŽĚŚiĚľÍ ĚÍĚnĚľÍĚ̢j̜̝̽u̡̽ĚĚłr̸ÍÍĚiĚľÍĚĚłe̸ÍĚĚsĚśĚĚąĚ.Ě´ĚĚ Í ĚśẸ̳̌̌ĚĮ́WĚľÍĚ ÍÍÍĚe̡ÍÍĚĚžĚÍĚŻÍ ĚĽĚź
WĚľĚĚĚĚĚÍĚÍĚšĚ̳̟̚ÍĚeĚľĚĚÍÍÍĚĚĽĚŽÍ ĚŻĚ¤ Ě´ĚĚťa̡ÍĚłp̸ÍĚ o̸ÍĚšlĚľÍĚŞoĚ´ĚĚ g̡Í̤iĚśÍĚťzĚśĚĚąeĚľÍÍ ĚśfĚľo̡r̡ the interruption.
Andrias injured our host badly enough that she regrettably died shortly after you fled, but was later able to revive her. The delay during which she healed from her wounds was... frustrating.
Is that what you called her? Anna-banana and Mar-mar...
Itâs funny, weâve heard Andrias accidentally refer this body by that nickname as well. It was a greater annoyance when such things could trigger a slip of our control.
You were close to her, werenât you? Such a tragedy, then, what weâve done with her.
Deserving does not factor into it. We deemed her worthy as a vessel for our minds. Besides, did she not betray you?
And in response to your question about how long weâve been using this body, weâve been here since Lady Olivia and General Yunan led a failed attempt to remove the host from the rejuvenation tank and escape, which occurred several weeks after her death. Andrias used that moment to commence our transfer into her body ahead of schedule. So, weâve been using this body for a month now?
wwhat the hell h ave you been doign to marcy all tihs time. nononono;;;;;no:;;; whywhhyWhy why are you doingt his leave her alone leave her ALONE please pleas eplease
youre gonna kill her ag ain at thisr ate this is bad this is bad badbad i don ntk now if she cnan hadnle thi s const ant abuse / tort ur e fortoo long
If it is any reassurance, her response to our latest attempt to silence her has been promising. What is left of her seems to have given up attempts at stirring.
hi!! im marcy or marbles (ask before using other nicknames mm), they/she pronouns!! pfp from vagabondia chronicles.
my username is not a joke, follow them @thegreatgeneralyunan and @lady0livia!!
currently interested in weirdcore, video games, and my gfs :]
(@heartstomperr @calannemity ily <3)
this took so long to type without it being full of typos,,,, also im in the hospital rn due to some. bad stuff that happened. if u have questions about that stuff plz dont bother me or my gfs w it, @darcycore is my old account where there are probably still posts about what happened.
God the temptation to make a npc blog for this anon persona is so high but also I know Iâd want to role-play on it. I know I would. I know me and my anon personas thing are already pretty separate so yeah.
hiii :-] here's that uhmn . angsty prompt from yesterday being worded out by yours truly !!!!!! newt mom olivia centric + posessed marcy aka darcy aka the core bcuz im craving some of that sweet sweet parental affection 4 them .... im moving on 2 a VERY ooc sasha n dad grime fic after this so ya im utterly deranged MWAH
+ this is set in my good friends' @darcycoreverse au made by multiple amazing ppl who i cant name rn bc im SLEEPY and i forgor so im so sry guys but ya anwyays check them out !! alsoooo cw for disordered eating and posession and harm in general so :-] enjoy !
She watches The Coreâs mouth turn into a sneer, staring down at the plate sheâs placed in front of them with distaste.
âFood,â Olivia replies with a shrug, staring back up at it with a stern look on her face. âTo eat. You know what that is, Iâd assume.â
âHm. Eat,â The Core rests its chin on the heel of its palm, looking at the little food on the plate with complete disinterest. âNo.â
âYou havenât eaten for herâthe hostâsâbody for a solid ninety-six hours,â Olivia hisses, trying to hide the utter desperation in her voice, âyou must. I am not standing here offering you a choice.â
âOh?â The Core slightly raises its eyebrows, the corners of its mouth tugging up into a small, teasing smirk. Olivia tries to ignore the pained feeling in her chest as she watches it cackle gently. To see the same half of a face, her face, the same sweet little dimples on each end of her mouth now turned into something malicious without her permission.
âWould you like to know what I think of that, Lady Olivia?â The Core asks, all smug and soft. âI think that youâre forgetting your place here, my lady.â
âOh, am I?â She tries to stand on her ground, staring back at it with at all ten of its eyes ignoring how her body screams that's not Marcy not Marcy not Marcy. âBecause if I remember correctly, it was me who you came to when the host isnât cooperating. It was me who calms her down when sheâs causing you too much distraction, and it was me who cradled her when sheâs hurting too much for you to function.â
There isnât a smug smirk on The Coreâs face anymore, replaced with an unamused frown, straightening its postureâsomething Olivia recognizes as defensive, because olms know sheâs seen it too much with Marcy. Marcy, Marcy, Marcy, all sweet laughs under the clear sky, and sheâd run her fingers along her hair to soothe out her frown but sheâs not here now, sheâs not hereâ
âSo for the sake of your host,â she continues even as her voice quivers, itâs for Marcy, itâs all for Marcy, it always has beenâ âI can swear to you you wonât ever find anyone in this world or in any other half as smart as she is, so olms help me you must make sure her body survives.â
The Core seems to consider it, for a while, running calculations in its head for Marcyâsâthe hostââs chance of survival, and it seems like the clear answer is to give in and provide Marcyâs body with what it needs. The Core might be a stubborn, prideful prickâbut it is, however, not Andrias. Itâs certainly smart enough to give in, at least.
âSo be it,â The Core finally decides, half-grumbled, letting her approach the throne itâs sitting splayed on, and Olivia realizes itâs rather acting like an upset little child. Not Marcy, but⌠not too far from her either, as she watches it cross itâs arms with a huff when she sits down beside it. With a small chuckle, Olivia scoops on what decent food she had scraped from whatâs left of the castleâs kitchens, spooning it towards The Core.
Itâs⌠slightly taller than her. Than the Marcy she remembers. It might be the boots, or the axolotl thorns on itâs helmet, butâit doesnât matter. Marcy is still in there, somewhere, she just knowsâwhen it leans in towards the spoon reached out for her, when itâs fiery red eyes slightly gleam at the sight of sea urchin chunks amongst the porridge, when itâs head settles on her lap, nuzzling against the fabric of her skirt chest after The Core stumbles towards her and grumbles on about a particularly difficult day with their cooperationâshe knows. A mother always knows.
âThere will be consequences for this, you know,â The Core scrunches the lower half of itâs face at the porridge in the bowl. âA rather very inconveniencing one, too. Who do you think will deal with that?â
âI will,â Olivia assures softly, hoping her gentle gaze would seep through the thick helmet plates and reach Marcy, somewhere in there. âDonât you worry. Iâll take good care of you.â
The Core makes another unsatisfied noise, but it lets her feed it anyway, lets her gently scrape on the bits of porridge on itâs chin that didnât quite make it into their mouth. Clumsy, klutzy Marcy, her head recalls, and something in her heart aches.
She reaches out to stroke her hair though she knows there wonât be anyâonly the feeling of smooth metal plates, cold as the empty castle rooms that seems to leave a Marcy-shaped void, longing to be filled with her laughs again, the sound of her boot skipping against the floor tiles, echoing throughout the hallways.
But she knows sheâs still there. Fighting. Surviving. Clinging on every last bits of hope because thatâs her Marcy and olms help her because sheâll make sure with all of a motherâs fury that her little human girl will, too.
The Core subtly leans into her strokes, and she knows.
maybe a kinda hot darcycoreverse take but i feel like this au strayed from its roots and got really dark? like i brought in the plotline of marcy being tortured by the core because itâs fitting to her story and everything since like. shes already been tortured in canon. but now bill is torturing sasha to hold up a deal with andrias? it just feels a bit like pain for painâs sake. disclaimerâno hate to kai btw! /gen. we are besties and this post is not really specifically intended as a criticism of how he runs the bill blog. and i still feel like other plots like the anne murder arc and sasha losing her eye work well! but after the current plot resolves iâm thinking it might be smart to tone things back at least a bitâ@ineffable-gallimaufry @true-colours what are your thoughts on this?
yeah i kinda wanna go back to doing something silly for a while. i want anne to passionately yet ironically rant about the unusual similarities between squid game and the hunger games. i want sasha to say emo things without them actually being her real feelings. I WANNA ACTUALLY USE DR. JAN WITHOUT IT FEELING OUT OF PLACE LIKE DAMN. the angst was fun but i need a break bc i need a balance between pain and funny. i cant rlly take much more rn bc sometimes i dont know how the normal person would react to losing body parts or whatever shit is happening to anne so it feels a little weird as it gets more serious?
tldr: i agree i want to have anne stuff marshmallows in her face and let people ask sasha funny stutf without crying later for once. also i know i already have 4 characters but i just wanna give some tame exposition about multiversal theory headcanons so i may bring terri in at some point. no more blood for now after sasha recovers from this shit. I know i still have to saw off anne's arm at some point but that's wayy later. i wanna have normal fun with this again lol
idk what i was saying actualky i lost my train of thought. Sorry if this makes no sense
I'LL SEE YOU IN WARTWOOD SOON ENOUGH. THERE'S AN OLD BLACK TRAIN A'COMING AND THE BREAKS ARE OUT. YOU MAY HAVE LOST AN EYE BUT NOT TO THE WORLD TREE. YOU BETTER WISEN UP, YOU BETTER TOUGHEN UP BECAUSE I'M NOT GIVING YOU HANDICAP. IF YOU SURVIVE, DON'T TELL ANDRIAS.
LET'S JUST SAY I'VE HAD TO MAKE SOME UNPLEASANT DEALS TO GET HERE. HE WANTED ME TO TAKE CARE OF YOU. I WON'T KILL YOU MOST LIKELY BUT A DEAL'S A DEAL. IT WON'T BE PLEASANT THOUGH SO PREPARE YOURSELF FOR UNENDING AGONY!
OKAY LISTEN CLOSE BECAUSE THIS IS THE LAST TIME I AM GOING TO EXPLAIN THIS. IN ORDER TO LIVE, I MADE A DEAL. DUE TO SAID DEAL I AM GOING TO TORTURE YOU. CAPICHE?
IT'LL ONLY BE EXTREMELY EXCRUCIATING! PLUS, YOU DON'T HAVE A CHOICE.
itâs been almost two months now, as far as you can tell.
keeping track of things is been hard, when youâre phasing in and out of consciousness with little warning, though your body keeps moving regardless. is this really your body, though? no, itâs been claimed by something else, something that is anything but you. it isnât meant to be doing this with your body, though. bones crack when it moves too suddenly. tendons and ligaments tear under its strength. thereâs no escape besides that darkness of your mind, flickering with messages from beyond. you feel it rifle through your memories, examining them, and you shy away. something tells you it doesnât know youâre still awake, and that it wouldnât want you to be. but nonetheless, a message comes through. a word. you attach it to yourself. itâs your name. you shouldâve known that right away. why was there a delay? but no, itâs you.
marcy.
and you spill back into the place you once held in your body.
it hurts to see, to blink behind orange eyes. your own eyes are crusted with tears. you find a way to respond, though your fingers tremble from malnutrition and pain. you donât remember it letting you eat. you shouldnât be alive anymore, but itâs forcing you to stay moving, standing, even as your ribs become visible through the skin-tight bodysuit beneath your armor. you shouldâve been left for dead that night in the throne room.
and oh how you wish you had died that nightafter it seizes control again.
you watch it drag you towards the chair in the basement, unable to resist or pull away as the cuffs lock you in place. and then itâs agony all over again.
you feel it retreat into the back of your head, perhaps so the pain wonât damage its own minds, and then youâre screaming the names of your friends. you know it will use that against you later, even through the haze of pain, but you donât care. theyâre the only ones you want to see right now. you cry, you scream, you try to reach out for the ones who will not come to save you. only it is there now. finally it stops, and with the agony fading in sparks of electricity back down the wires into the chair, you slip into true unconsciousness, your body pushed too far. you dream of them, but the peaceful fantasy shatters and it pulls you back to your feet. you can do nothing, this time.
itâs a long time before you resist again.
but you do, often unintentionally, and each time is met with that electricity once again. a towering figure, the very sight of him filling your chest with burning, heart-splintering phantom pain, (because you know what he did to you, hurt you so horribly and claimed he liked you throughout everything, but you know the truth, how he betrayed you ) barges into the chamber in the middle of one of these rounds, begging it to stop, that what it is doing will kill you eventually. it tells him to leave, taunting him as he turns to the stairs.
you reach a point when the core becomes tired of this cycle of control, rebellion, and torture. one night, it brings you to the basement again. at this point, you no longer care. it will hurt you until you give in, and then you will be back in that almost-blissful state of near-unconsciousness. but oh , it is far, far worse than any of the times before. it starts out like any of the times before, orange electricity jolting your nerves, tearing loose agonized screams from your throat, still raw from your pained cries last time . but that ends, and it moves on to greater pains. by the time itâs done, the body that is no longer yours is bleeding and broken. at least, you think itâs done then. but no, the wires reattach, and the electricity comes back all over again.
itâs enough pain to break the sanity of a full-grown, soldiered toad. itâs far more than enough to do the same to you. you arenât built to endure this. if you wonât die from this, something has to give. cracks are forming in your mind, chipping away at your memories, your thoughts, your very consciousness. this time you donât feel it end. the electricity is still there when you finally give in to the darkness, though the darkness feels so orange, illuminated by those blinding eyes . if your mind was a cracking window, itâs at that moment that the shards fall loose from the frame. you donât get a chance to even have a last coherent thought before your mind breaks. glass shatters across the floor, and you are no more.
saying âeverything went blackâ is cliche, because from the characterâs point of view, everything should just fade to a stop, or flicker away like a dying candle. everything does not go black, because even to perceive a void, you would have to exist to see it. and you no longer exist. you no longer think.
this is the absence of being. you are not here.
you are simply gone.
you are gone , but one day, one day, the weakest call pulls a few shards of you back into place, broken pieces of a shattered mind reassembled in the corner of a frame. you are nowhere near complete. but the feeling feels familiar, something that mightâve been unleashed behind your back, but that you still should remember. you find something resembling thought, enough of it to know youâre waiting. you donât know who you are, or what youâre waiting for, but wait you do nonetheless.
the waiting ends in a flicker of digits. you instinctively interpret them, but no, no, it canât be. more shards fall into place, and you wish theyâd topple loose again, because olmsthey carry too much pain to possibly bear. unexpectedly, you catch it by surprise, and sit in the forefront again. that energy crackles in the air again, thrumming in the branes that divide universes. you beg her to leave you behind. this piece of you is not worth it. your mind shakes, cannot fully function, with so much of what was once you destroyed. every second you tremble with the knowledge that when, not if, when it regains control, the consequences will be far worse than anything itâs put you through before. it starts to reach for control over you once more, but it hadnât expected you to return in any semblance of who youâd once been after what it had done. you have time. you can say goodbye this time. not some broken apology from your dying lungs, though this will be no more coherent. itâs gradually regaining control of the body, and the slightest movement of your fingers is herculean. before long, youâre evenly matched, fighting for control, and in your determination to get them to leave you, to convince them youâre gone, a burst of green comes through, only for a moment. it weakens you further, which is surprising; youâd think that being any weaker than your current state could only mean dying. you tell her not to come, and that you love her, and then youâre gone again, broken fragments tossed back into the wind.
you were right.
it is worse this time.
youâve been stabbed, tortured, puppeted, endured enough to break your mind.
this is far worse than everything itâs done to you before, combined .
somehow, the only thought that graces your consciousness, after it has finally finished and darkness is closing in once more, is that maybe, just maybe, itâs finally overestimated what you can endure. that it will leave you to die here , and you will be free from this pain. youâre not even in the chair this time, youâre just bleeding on the floor of the basement with what itâs done to you. maybe you are too lost . but that hope is ruined when you feel the solid thunks of tubes connecting to the ports implanted in your back, an earthy, herbal, but sterile smell mixing with the iron of the blood spilled across the brassy floor. itâs healing you. somehow that registers, your mind still able to put something together as thoughts. it smells like the tank, water infused with the essence of that captive mossman. finally, though, you do pass out, and the pain vanishes into empty bliss as you slip away.
you catch glimpses, this time. it isnât a void like before, a blip of nothingness before you woke up again. at least youâre more numb to it, like before, farther away from that body. maybe you have some influence, you donât know. you donât know much, anymore. the core runs rampant on neural pathways that had once been your own. youâre confined to the corners and cracks where it doesnât lurk. still, maybe.
maybe thereâs hope.
but everything else is the same, only worse, riddled with greater despair.
moving hurts. rather, it hurts when it moves your body. it isnât just the forced motions anymore. you catch sight of bandages, of the tall blue one looking concerned, maybe even afraid, but trying to hide it from the thing in your head.
it taunts him. it enjoys the pain of others, and perhaps that includes your own. every word that isnât yours from your mouth makes your scarred heart ache.
those two who feel familiar to you are struggling with problems of their own. maybe that means they wonât have a chance to save you. you hope they donât come. you donât know who they are, but you know that nothing would be worse than them dying or being injured at your hand.
you let it use your body, and hope it never does anything like that to you again.
at least youâre not alone, you think madly.
but then again, you are. after all, the concept of you has been gone for two months. something broke the first time it tortured you, entering your pained mind, and then what was broken was shattered, and now those shards have been swept away into the corners.
and youâre so truly, deeply broken, but you are not gone.
