#self-duplicating

[nelkcats]

Imaginary Friend

Jason Todd had an imaginary friend. Or at least that was his theory, because the other option was not acceptable. His imaginary friend appeared right during the moment of the explosion (in the same place where the fucking Joker had stood) so Jason wondered if what created it was the trauma, maybe his head wished he saw a friendly face before dying.

However that didn't explain why his friend appeared after his resurrection. Jason wondered again if he was going crazy. The day he came out of his grave, with a dizzy head and blurred memories, his friend manifested. The weird thing was that his friend aged (just like him) and his shiny white hair had a floating crown.

Maybe Jason wanted to be friends with royals, who knows. His friend (Danny, because apparently he can talk), showed him where to walk (he seemed to be avoiding something?), unfortunately he didn't listen to Danny, and he ran into Talia. His friend frowned at him in obvious disgust, but how was he supposed to know?

That was how Jason confirmed that Danny was product of his imagination, because Talia couldn't see him. But Danny was strangely helpful, he knew a lot about combat and helped him in the League, when he asked him about it he said that he wanted him to get out of there as soon as possible.

Years later, when he had already left the League and established himself as Red Hood, his friend was still by his side. And Jason was strangely grateful that he'd never left—Danny had helped him so much— his friend had grown up with him. So, the day Dick asked him who he was talking to (Danny, of course), he dodged the question.

In his apartment, he looked at Danny (patient, always attentive) and asked "Are you really imaginary?" Danny smiled sadly, but didn't answer. Jason wondered if it was possible to fall in love with a product from his head.

[eeldritchblast]

Me playing Early Access: Sounds like Gale just doesn't take no for an answer, I feel sorry for Mystra.

Me playing the Full Release: Gale sweetie honey listen to me. That bitch used you like a wet tissue and does not deserve your devotion. Gale sweetie honey listen to me. Fuck Mystra.

[gannonssweetandsuave]

started this a few hours ago, could've spent my time on somn else

[questions-within-questions]

Reblog so you can argue in the tags,

Power clarifications in my tags

[wonder-worker]

this is a Princes in the Tower and Edward of Lancaster stan account btw

[cissa-calls]

Countdown to Agatha: Darkhold Diaries: Day 701

Agatha: “We’re back from the vet!”

Y/N: “How was the appointment? Did Señor Scratchy bite off anyone’s finger again?”

Agatha: “He was so good! No injury or fear in any of the staff!”

Wanda, walking and in holding an identical bunny: “You’re back! I thought you were taking Señor Scratchy to the vet though?”

Agatha: “I was, and I did”

Y/N: “Then who is-?” *looks between bunnies* “ah shit-“

Agatha: “I KNEW HE WAS TOO WELL BEHAVED”

[oculosadvocum]

I'm curious: What's the story with your RAM!Vox? Answer at your own leisure though, no hurry.

Is this about the whole story between Alastor and Vox? Or just the more RAM side of things?

The cool thing about me and Lee—my affiliate and writer for both voxxisms and staticgcne—is that all of our AUs involve the same background with a change here or there to push the story in a particular direction.

So here’s the rundown of how we got here and where Vox ended up:

Vox met Alastor almost immediately after he came to Hell. They became fairly close, and Vox fell hard and fast within months. Alastor helped him set up his business and get his foot in the door. They even lived together—like our flipped dynamic—but this didn’t last long because Vox knew he was in too deep and needed a step back.

The frequency was also created by Alastor here, but with a twist. Alastor told Vox it was a way to keep in touch over great distances, but in reality Vox’s every thought is broadcasted to him. Vox is unaware of this. After a certain point, he likely wouldn’t care, honestly.

Their friendship was easily kept up. Vox would do most of the work, inviting Alastor out or, when things were at their best, on weekend trips. Progressively treating Alastor more and more like a partner, which just led to a stronger obsession. Alastor never reciprocated, instead getting more “playfully violent”, which Vox took as the way that Alastor showed his love.

His business hit its peak during the mid to late 1990’s, with the tech boom and dot com bubble. Only getting more and more intense after Y2K, since he had control over the television networks and could parrot whatever narrative he thought would win over the masses. This caused a lot of distance between them, because Vox wasn’t putting in nearly the level of effort and attention to Alastor that he was used to.

It sort of culminated when Vox missed a long standing appointment with Alastor. Vox’s assumption was that he didn’t ask to meet so it wasn’t happening—Alastor showed up anyway. Neither of them discussed it after the fact, and Vox carried on with the new normal. Getting busier and busier but still canceling anything and everything for the sake of seeing Alastor when given the chance.

In 2017, Vox finally asked Alastor to join him. Alastor agreed, but only if Vox could beat him in a fight. Vox actually won, all the while confessing his love and obsession right to Alastor’s face and demanding they do this dance forever.

In RAM, Vox went far enough to subdue Alastor, and in a moment of gloating and rambling, used his hypnosis on him. Alastor took the moment to recover and grab him, and start the Ordeal.

During the Ordeal, Vox would have fought every single part, leading to a lot of unfortunate consequences.

His mind—brain—soul—sits beneath the glass on his head. It can be separated from the TV itself, and is mostly projected into it. As if the television is the skull containing it.

Getting to it from the screen is nearly impossible. Vox has created the equivalent of crumple zones on his body and his face is no exception. Sugar glass on top of glass on top of bulletproof glass. All can be affected by his power so that he has a proper “face”, but he’s built to be brittle in a lot of places so that nothing does lasting damage.

Accessing his brain from the back of his head would be easier, but would require basically ripping him apart to do so. Disrupting connections that would do a lot of damage to him in any circumstance, but especially here, in a situation where he couldn’t resolve it himself.

Because he was doing everything he could to stop the process during, Alastor did a lot of unnecessary destruction to his body and his brain. Causing him to break down very often, become increasingly violent, and even forget who he is.

On the physical side, Vox suffers a lot. Living with a constant migraine so bad that he will bang his head against the walls to try and get rid of it. He’s also lost almost all of his sight. Having to resort to outside cameras and infrared sensors to see the world around him. He short circuits and shuts down often.

When it comes to mental difficulties, Vox has no sense of self at all. Picking names and identities from whatever signals pass through him. He’s so paranoid due to the loss of his eyes and will lash out at anyone, most of the time without reason. He’s convinced that he’s being followed or chased more often than not, because he can’t actually see a threat, but knows it’s there.

In his time in the Tower, it was hell for anyone involved. My Vox actually had his Vees contracted to him. It likely took Velvette over three years to get him to break those and sign over his contracts to her, because every time she got close he just attacked. Valentino might have had some better luck with him, but Velvette would have been hard pressed to let him be alone with Vox for very long.

He would have been locked up and confined like a wild animal the majority of the time, only allowed out when they made their attempts to fix everything. Which never worked. Once or twice they managed to get his eyes working again, resulting in him being a bit more relaxed, but it wasn’t permanent and he actively got worse over it.

When Alastor came to get him, he recognized him immediately and acted like a kicked puppy at his feet. Begging Alastor to get him out and let him stay. Arms wrapped around Alastor’s waist while on his knees most likely. Clinging to him like he’s the only safe person in the world.

At the Hotel, he’s still volatile and a complete mess. But he knows Husk and Niffty, only through their connection to Alastor, so he’s more comfortable knowing this is “Alastor’s space”. He still can’t fully process the world, the people around him, or even himself, but he doesn’t pick fights as much.

It doesn’t help that Alastor is constantly making “adjustments” to try to fix him the same way that the Vees did. Sometimes they help for a while, but most of the time they just make his paranoia worse for a few days. He’ll self-implement his own imprisonment if it was a particularly bad one. Falling back into habits he doesn’t even know he has.

Bad days involve him destroying his own head, trying to attack Angel or Vaggie, and shutting himself in his room as the circuits fry in the Hotel.

Overall, on good days, he has a tendency to become a different person depending on who he’s interacting with. Committing aspects of personality to memory that work with certain people. An example of this is being more positive and bubbly with Charlie.

The only person he’s consistent with is Alastor, who he will attach to if given any opportunity. He’s whiny and desperate and looking for comfort from him at all times. If Alastor is in the room but not directly interacting with him, he will start to spiral.

If he ever managed full lucidity—he would absolutely lose his mind.

He would be horrified that he attacked Valentino and Velvette unprovoked, and furious that they didn’t kill him on sight. He would despise everyone at the Hotel for the crime of seeing him like that. He wouldn’t even know where to start with Alastor, especially if Alastor made it clear that he liked him better broken.

It probably wouldn’t go well for anyone.

This ended up longer than expected, but there’s the story for his RAM verse.

[phantom-phoenixx]

Fucked up but interesting idea

Everyone thinks that Vlad knows so much about halfa biology and growth due to his years of experience which is partially true.

He had time on his side to figure out powers but his own inner workings? His now completely messed up biology? And he has duplication as one of his main abilities?

All im saying is the man is an ex-scientist, he's got a fully stocked lab with all the fixings and sharp slicey tools and he can make as many copies of himself as he wants for test subjects.

TL;DR Vlad in order to find out more about his halfa biology performed vivisections on himself in the name of science :)

[90percentstudios]

hiya! some random announcements:

🍕nov 21 - nov 28, our games are discounted for the steam autumn sale (decided to discount on google play and itch too)!

🐈the merch store is simultaneously having a 15% off sale!!

🐕lastly we got pa1 and pa2 on android updated with translations. still working on pa3, but in the meantime i really wanted to thank the people who volunteered to test pa1! it was useful data and much appreciated! 💖💖💖

that's all for now. thanks for listening and have an awesome day! :D

[1800titz]

I really need you to see the potential in this Paragon self duplication thing.

“Again,” Harry encourages, nudging at her sternum with a palm that lacks the gentleness of amiable coaching. Deftly, he blocks her weakened onslaught of ice with a forearm radiating deterrent and takes a step back, wriggling with his fingers in a come hither motion, “Again.” 

Arctick attempts to catch him off guard, throwing an underhand aimed for his family jewels, and white radiates from her palm — the expanse of the attack is stifled, instantly, and a pale hue of violet glows translucently ahead of his stature. Ice splinters into shards that fall in crystals. 

“Ooh,” the man dips his chin, pivoting as his brows pinch and his strawberry mouth curls, “Sneaky aim. Low blow, sweetheart. That would’ve hurt.” 

“Are you angry? Y’look angry,” the hero tells her on an open-mouthed beam, then juts at her with his chin, taking another casual step back over the mat, “That’s good — use that.” 

“Are you angry? Y’look angry,” the hero tells her on an open-mouthed beam, then juts at her with his chin, taking another casual step back over the mat, “That’s good — use that.” 

The young woman sends a flurry of chill spiraling, and as the man blocks the first onslaught, as expected, with an effortless burst of power from the tips of his fingers, a second wave erupts, this one aimed for his legs. Arctick can only grimace as Paragon smoothly bars the attempt — what a dickhead. 

“You’re weak — you’re angry because you’re weak,” he goads, irises glinting, “You’re angry because I’m calling you weak. So use that. Show me I’m wrong,” he twists away from her and stretches his arms out — an invitation, his back, and the young woman makes a last ditch effort, her pent up rage rushing out in a torrent of ice aimed to pierce. 

“Better,” Harry exclaims, enthusiasm interweaving the syllables, and he turns his chin, just a bit, over his shoulder. His forearm bends to emit a luminous glow that blocks what would have tagged flesh and muscle. She sees the corner of his mouth visibly twitch. “But not quite.” 

“This is ridiculous — it’s not a fair fight,” Harry sees Arctick buzzing when he turns, an intrigued crease over his brow bone — she stands with her hands at her sides on the opposite side of the room, but every muscle in her body is tensed, like she physically aches to freeze him. 

“No?” Harry cocks his head, venturing toward her on bare soles.

“This isn’t active combat,” she expands, letting the frustration leak into her tone, “You tell me to strike, and you expect it when I do.” 

His mouth quirks, and there’s a lull, like he’s ruminating. Finally, he asks, “You want active combat?” 

Arctick lifts her chin at him, expecting a vivid, violet current of electricity to hurl from his palm, to send her nerve endings on fire. She expects him to vanish, shard by shard, into invisibility that’ll leave her craning her neck and flitting her gaze about the room in apprehension. She expects him to twist and grapple for the weight rack, to fling it at her with superhuman strength.

“Then let’s make this—“

What she doesn’t expect is the crook of his lips, his figure stood ahead, and then the subsequent warm press of a palm over her stomach. It slinks from behind, and she feels his mirror press behind her as his original form illustrates a smirk from across the floor. 

“A fair fight,” croons the voice behind her — the same inflection as the cadence ahead. She stiffens at the touch. It’s soft, unlike his prior ministrations. Her head twists over her shoulder, and irises ogle the reflection in the broad expanse of mirrors on the wall beside her. Paragon stands ahead of her, feet away, his arms crossed, and …Paragon stands behind her, his arm rippling with muscle as it flexes over her. He’s duplicated. 

“Hm?” Harry hums against the shell of her ear. In his original form, he watches the display like a strange sort of voyeur — the whole experience is odd, and he can tell the showcase of ability has caught her off guard. It’s sort of a weird process — acting through different vessels, the coordination of it all. More than anything, it’s an interesting party trick beyond a single split. From there, he feels his powers weaken in their tether when divorced among a plethora of vessels. 

“Get your hands off of me,” Arctick grits out, her own grappling over his forearm, and Paragon’s original form just keeps his arms crossed as the touch of his copy grows sturdier. 

“Oh, but I can’t do that,” Harry says from across the floor. 

“Active combat, remember?” his copy wrangles its arms over her own flailing limbs. The original Paragon nonchalantly watches a warm, glow zap between his fingertips, across the room. The young woman manages to dig an elbow back against the warm body behind her, and the motion incites the priorly steady buzz in his hand to falter. That fucking hurt. 

“You don’t want to play nice?” the man’s head cocks from across the floor, and Arctick sees his duplication clasp over her, in the reflection, before she’s launched through the air with a grip over her wrist. The only thing that keeps her from catapulting against the back wall of brick is her own grip — she maintains it over the copy’s joint as she’s spun through the air. She lands on her feet. 

Now, the copy faces her, and behind that, stands the true Paragon, just idling by like he’s watching a show. 

“Alright,” the copy contends, mouth curling, “Then I won’t play nice.” 

[gingerly-writing]

Prompt #3293

“That’s the thing,” the villain murmured, their hands locked around the hero’s throat. “You are only one person with twenty four hours in a day. I am an infinity. I will always beat you because I will always outnumber you. And there is nothing you can do to change that.”  

[a-v-j]

This place is very random what work do you guys do here?

[blood-orange-juice]

This is the best crack theory I've seen.

Phanes is Trayzzyronth

(explains how he made shades of himself)

Obviously not true but I think /r/Genshin_Lore can pack their things and go home now.

[pochapal]

denying both the 19 people and 18 people theories to instead make way for the more lucrative 17 people (eva was right all along) and 20 people (beatrice exists and so does brain ghost kinzo who is a distinct entity from regular kinzo) theories. this is how you win at umineko.

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than deserts

Was in a clone mood and MTG's doppelgangers are too often negatively-themed so I made a nice one

[kay-selfships]

recently i got a duplicate of his exclusive outfit card so technically natsume is the character i have the most five star cards for. which means he literally loves me so much i guess