magic side effects, nosebleeds. this but slowly the blood changes color to something new!
thats my personal favorite that i use with my OCs. i would make this a prompt for you but my brain is empty and i cant think of any characters with non-red blood rn. are there any markiplier egos you personally head canon to have blood that isnt red ?
Ok but nosebleeds are such a fun thing to write! Like, character feels a tickle on his upper lip, raises a hand to wipe it away, and finds blood on his finger!
As for your question, Wilford would probably have bubblegum pink blood. Can you imagine that?
Maybe Noir would have greyscale blood, because he’s in greyscale. Also, it would get through the censorship! And I’m pretty sure that black and white films used blue to make red look more prominent? So maybe he’s got blue blood if he goes colour.
I feel like Dark doesn’t really have any blood. Do you?
Thanks for the ask!
3 notes
·
View notes
HALLUCINOGENIC GAS MICHAEL AFTON FIC YIPPEE
Chapter 1
No, no, no no no no no no no no no I’m so sorry I’m so sorry, Evan please- I can’t- I’m sorry- No nonononono-
A hand secures itself around his wrist, grip furious and bruising.
“I’m sorry about my son,” He hears someone say nearby, voice dark and low. An ambulance siren grows louder. He stares at his shoes. There’s blood on them.
Evan’s blood-
He doesn’t really remember what comes after that.
He tries to apologize. He doesn’t know if Evan can hear him. Father doesn’t let him stay in the hospital room for longer than a minute. He wants to scream. It’s not like he can make Evan any worse, he wants to say.
The heart monitor shrieks.
Maybe he was wrong.
Father drags him home. He doesn’t even look at Michael, but it’s for the best. Tears run down Michael’s face in a horrible parody of his younger brother. Michael stumbles to his room and throws himself facefirst down on his bed and cries.
He doesn't hear his bedroom door creak. He doesn’t hear the footsteps.
He feels the pinch against his neck, though, and when he tries to sit up something forces him back down.
“Wh-” He mumbles into the pillow, but everything goes black.
He wakes in a room he’s never seen before, on a bed he doesn’t recognize. A door on the left, a door on the right. A closet in the middle. He sits up.
“Hello?” He calls out. “Where am I?” He doesn’t remember anything since… since…
He gives himself a shake. He was in his bed, he recalls. He was crying. Then… nothing. Maybe he cried himself to sleep? But where was he now?
“How did it feel, Mikey?” a chirpy voice asks behind him, and Michael spins around to find a familiar yellow plush bear sitting on the bed.
“What?” He knows that Evan would claim his bear could talk, but Michael would just laugh and mock him, because stuffed animals can’t talk-
“How. Did. It. Feel.” The bear repeats, its high-pitched, cartoonish voice taking on a sharp edge. “How did it feel to kill your brother? My bestest friend?”
“It felt awful,” Michael’s voice teeters on the edges between incredulous and angry. He can’t believe that he’s having this conversation. It feels like a dream. “I didn’t know it would kill him.”
“Oh, Mikey!” The plush bear laughs. Its mouth doesn’t move, nothing about the bear is moving to suggest that it’s talking. Micheal picks the plush up to inspect it, but nearly drops it as the bear continues.
“I didn’t ask for you to say what you thought I wanted to hear, I asked for the truth!” It scolds. “How did it feel to have blood on your hands, Mikey?”
“I’m not lying!” he exclaims. The sound is definitely coming from the bear, somehow. He’d take it apart to investigate if he wasn’t so uncomfortable at the idea of destroying his younger brother’s most prized possession.
“Tsk tsk tsk,” the bear clicks its tongue, and for a moment the bear sounds like Father. “Come on, Mikey.”
“I did not enjoy killing my own brother,” Michael snarls, and sets the bear back down on the bed to create some distance between the two. “It was horrible. It was an accident.”
“This is a safe place, Mike,” the bear soothes. “You can tell me. It was incredible, wasn’t it? To feel the blood on your hands, to see the life drain out of him. To-”
“Stop.” Michael backs away in horror. If this is what the bear was saying to his brother, no wonder Evan had been so afraid of the animatronics.
“What’s wrong with you?” He demanded. “What kind of sick creature would enjoy killing people?”
The bear was dead silent. The quiet lingered as Michael waited for a response, an indication of something, but none came.
“Hello?”
“So that’s how it is,” The bear said in a cartoonishly sad voice. “I admit I was hoping for a different answer, Michael.” At his name, the bear’s silly voice dropped into a deep British voice that sent shivers of recognition down Michael’s spine.
“Father?” Michael squeaked. “What-?”
“It’s a shame,” The bear squeaked. Michael throws his hands around for a weapon, but his fingers only close around a pillow. He wields it threateningly anyway.
“What is going on?” He demands. “I heard my father! Father? What is going on?”
“What’re you talking about?” The bear giggles.
“I heard Father,” Michael repeats. He tries to address him. “Father, are you speaking through the bear?”
“No one’s speaking through me,” The stuffed animal keeps up its silly facade. “I’m speaking, silly!”
“No, I heard him.” Michael stands firm.
“Nuh-uh!” The plush replies, and the mere idea of his father saying ‘nuh-uh’ nearly crumbles Michael’s resolve.
“But…” He wavers.
“I’m your only friend here, Michael, even if you are a pretty disappointing guy!” The bear sighs dramatically, and Michael raises an eyebrow.
“You’re not my friend.”
“Oh, but I am!” The bear squeals in delight. “Who else is going to help you survive?”
“Survive?” Michael repeats, and one of the two doors behind him creaks.
He spins around to see a clawed hand slowly opening the door.
“What?” He gasps, eyes growing round.
“Better close the door, Mikey!” The bear laughs at him, but the instruction lurches Michael into action. Cringing at the fact that he’s approaching the clawed hand , he throws himself at the door and slams it shut. None of the twisted fingers get caught in the door, and Michael ponders at how the thing (whatever it was) had managed to get its hand out of the way in time.
“Look at the time!” The bear giggles. “Already midnight! You should’ve asked the right questions while you had the time, Mikey.”
“What? What does any of that mean?” Michael snapped, fumbling with the door handle. There’s no lock. Why is there no lock?
“Don’t be mean,” The bear scolds. “I hold all the answers, you know. You have to be nice if you want to learn the rules!”
“Rules? What rules?” Michael throws his back against the door and leans against it. The Thing on the other side wasn’t trying to force the door open, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“The rules to the game. Rule number one, it starts at midnight!” The bear laughs childishly. “Why don’t you check the other door now?”
Michael turns to stare at the other door across the room. It was open a crack, and Michael can’t see past it. He swallows nervously.
“I…”
“And of course, you’ll need your flashlight!” The bear adds.
“What flashlight?” Michael casts his gaze around the room frantically and catches sight of a flashlight on the dresser by the bed. He leaves his post by the door and sprints for it, snatching up the flashlight and turning it on. He heads towards the other door.
He pauses. His grip on the flashlight trembles.
He swings the light up and through the crack in the door.
Yellow. Teeth. Glowing eyes. A bib.
He slams the door shut, then processes what he saw.
“Was that Chica?!” He shouts.
The bear laughs at him.
19 notes
·
View notes