i-am-03

[i-am-03]

The way this is still relevant lmao

mark’s halloween scream stream

[i-am-03]

What-If: Dark Meets Damien and Celine as Children

One little art trope that I’ve really enjoyed seeing is when Dark is drawn interacting with Damien and Celine when they are children in some sort of AU or what-if setting. Examples of this are here and here. I’ve decided to finally contribute in my own way with my own spin on the setting!

I’ve wanted to try new approaches of narrative, in particular first-person and writing from a child perspective. In this case, I decided to combine the two into the exploration of a journal from a forgotten time in the past.

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Word count: 2,590

Warning: there is a strong recurring theme of neglectful parenting throughout the entire piece. Please be mindful if you choose to read this.

—

[The latest addition to the museum is a diary that was found in [redacted]. The diary was written by an eight-year old boy and appears to have been an assignment in creative writing as assigned by a tutor. The journal was a chance for the child to practice cursive in a more casual manner while exploring his creativity with a story that was somewhat unusual for the time period.

For ease of access, we have provided a written transcript of the journal below.]

--- ---

October 12, 10pm

Dear Diary,

My tutor (Mr. Bentley) has told me I have to write a diary to practice my handwriting. He said it would be 'more fun' than other tasks. Because I can talk about myself and my day.

My name is Damien. I am eight years old. I live with my parents and my twin sister Celine in a big house. My father works as a lawyer. I will be a lawyer too when I am grown up. I take lots of classes to make sure I am smart enough to be a lawyer.

Today I woke up and had breakfast and went to school. Then I came home from school. I had a glass of water and then Mr. Bentley arrived to start my tutoring classes. Then I had supper and finished my homework. Then I went to my room before bed to write this diary.

This isn't fun.

I don't want to write a diary. Sorry.

From, Damien.

--- ---

October 13, 11pm

Dear Diary,

I told Mr. Bentley that I didn't want to write a diary. He said I had to if I wanted to have nice handwriting. But then he said that I could write about whatever I wanted instead of what I did for my day. He said it wouldn't be corrected like all my other schoolwork. I didn't have to show him the diary if I didn't want to.

He said that maybe I can find something fun to write about.

I don't know if I do anything fun. I can't think of anything good enough to write about.

Sorry if I never use you again, Diary.

From, Damien.

---

---

October 17, 9pm

Dear Diary,

I saw a man at the bottom of the garden today.

I was sitting in the back parlor with Celine. I wanted to go outside to get some air and take a break from study. It was raining today and Arthur (our butler) said I needed to wait until it was dry.

You are a book and cannot see so I will tell you about the garden. The garden is long and narrow. It has high walls and big bushes beside the walls.. There are steps that go to different higher parts. Arthur said these are 'levels'. The top level is grass. That is where I am allowed to sit if I can go outside. Mark said the garden is too small to run in. But I said this isn't a running garden. It is one for the grown ups to walk in.

But today there was a man standing on the grass near the back. He wore a white suit and his hair was messy. Then he saw me.

I ran to get Celine. But the man was gone by the time we were back at the window. Celine said I was seeing things.

Diary, you are going to help me remember what happened. I know what I saw.

From, Damien.

---

---

October 18, 6am

Dear Diary,

I saw him again!

This time I was in my bedroom! I was getting ready for school and looked out the window. I could see him from upstairs and he was right there at the bottom of the garden! I didn't move this time. I waited. He was looking at something on the ground floor. Then he turned and walked away.

But he walked into the bushes. As I told you in another entry, there is a wall behind the bushes. Is there a secret gate?

Diary, I think we need to look into this after school.

From, Damien.

---

---

October 18, 4pm

Dear Diary,

As soon as I got home I went to the garden. I went up all the steps and looked around. The bush I saw the man walk to is big and I could see a wall behind it. I moved some branches with my hands to look for a gate. I couldn’t find one. The wall is really tall too. I don’t know if any grown up could climb it.

Janet helps with the flowers and she asked me what I was doing. I asked if someone big could climb the wall. She said no. Then she said I might have seen a bird.

Is there a bird that looks like a person?

I should ask Mr. Bentley when he arrives but I don't want him reading you, Diary. Maybe I won't ask.

From, Damien.

---

---

October 18, 10pm

Dear Diary,

I didn't see the man again for the rest of the day. I did not see a big bird. I hope the man is in a house. It's too cold to be outside.

From, Damien.

---

---

October 19, 11pm

Dear Diary,

The man wasn't here today. Maybe he left.

Celine hasn't seen anyone new around the house. But there is a party tomorrow. Maybe the man is a friend of Father's. She said she will help me look at all the guests.

From, Damien.

---

---

October 20, 6pm

Dear Diary,

The man was not at the party. Celine called me stupid. I called her stupid. She pushed me and I kicked her.

We were both sent to bed with no supper.

From, Damien.

---

---

October 21, 7am

Dear Diary,

Father shouted at me today because of yesterday when I woke up. He said I will bring shame to the family if I keep acting out and being rude.

He took away the book I was reading and told me I was not allowed to eat until supper. 

He nearly took you away until I said that this was school work. He sent me into the study and told me to do my weekend homework.

It's not fair. Celine started it and didn't get in trouble…

From, Damien.

---

---

October 21, 12pm

Dear Diary,

I don't feel good. My head feels funny. I stood up to get my history book and I fell. Only that Arthur was beside me I might have hurt myself.

Arthur was angry. I think he was angry that I wasn't working hard enough like Father wants, but he told me to sit outside to get some air.

From, Damien.

---

---

October 21, 2pm

Dear Diary,

The man came into the garden while I was in the garden. I was lying on the grass when I saw someone move behind me.

It was him! The man!

I think he is sick. His skin is grey. Maybe that's why his hair is messy.

I think he was surprised to see me there. I asked him why he was in the garden. He didn't answer and he asked me if I was alright. He knew my name. I never told him my name.

I said I felt a little sick, but I would be better soon because I had homework to finish.

The man sat on the stone step beside me and took a small orange out of his pocket. He peeled it and said I could have it.

How did he get an orange? They are a summer treat.

The man said that I was sick because I was hungry. I forgot I hadn't eaten since the party yesterday. The orange would help me feel a little better. I was told by Arthur never to take things from strangers. The man smiled and said he was a friend.

He did know my name. I said I didn't know his name. But I wanted to be friends. 

He said his name was Dark. I asked why he was called 'Dark' if he had the whitest suit I ever saw.

Dark laughed. He said it's a nickname. That's when someone gives you another name that isn't your name. I asked if it's like how we call William ‘Will’. He said yes.

We talked. He had a really low voice. Sometimes it sounded funny.

He said I'm not a bad son. Brothers and sisters fight. That's what they do. 

I think he wanted to talk more but he saw something in the house and said he had to go. I asked if he would be back. He said he isn’t a bird but it is a secret how he gets into the garden.

He said that he'd be there for me. I would only need to ask for him by name if I didn't see him. I don't know what that means.

He left a few minutes ago and I went inside and I'm trying to write everything before I forget. He was really nice.

The orange is nice too.

From, Damien.

---

---

October 21, 10pm

Dear Diary,

Celine doesn't believe me. She said she saw me in the garden but I was talking to myself. She said Dark was an invisible person and that I was being stupid again.

I pulled her hair and left her room.

From, Damien.

---

---

October 23, 4pm

Dear Diary,

I saw Dark again. 

Mr. Bentley was here today after school so I needed to be fast. I crashed into Celine while running out to the garden.

I gave him this diary and asked him to write something in it so I could prove to Celine that he was real.

He wrote the message that's at the back of this book. There's no way Celine will call me stupid now.

From, Damien.

---

---

[This entry was at the back of the book. As we suspect this is the 'message' mentioned in the previous diary entry, we have elected to include it here.]

October 23rd.

Dear Celine,

I have been told you cannot see me. That's quite alright. Your brother isn't lying when he says that I am here.

Kind regards,

"Dark".

---

---

October 23, 9pm

Dear Diary,

Celine FINALLY said sorry for calling me stupid so many times. She saw me let go of the diary and saw it float in the air. I couldn't show her the message before Mr. Bentley kicked her out before my tutoring class started.

She doesn't know why she can't see him and is angry that Dark is hiding. I don't know why I can see him. 

I said sorry for hitting her and calling her stupid. She accepted the apology and said I needed to help her meet Dark.

I think that is fair. I think Celine will like Dark too.

From, Damien.

---

---

October 25, 11pm

Dear Diary, 

I had too much homework to look for Dark yesterday. I had lots today too. But I could go outside with Celine before it got too cold and dark. 

Dark was surprised to see me and her together. I pointed and told Celine that Dark was right there. She said I was lying. I gave Dark my pencil to hold and she saw it float in the air.

She still can't see him but she could hear him a little better the more we talked. Dark told us that both of us are able to 'see' and ‘hear’ things that others cannot but it takes time to learn how. Celine said it wasn't fair that I could do it without trying. I don't think it isn't fair. Celine can do loads of things better than me and I don't get angry.

Dark asked the two of us to always take care of each other no matter what. No matter if we are happy or angry, we still love each other. He said that's very important.

Celine said that she always looks out for me because she is the big sister. Dark patted the top of her head and said she should keep doing that.

I'm big enough to take care of myself.

We talked for a little while before we had to go back inside. Dark gave me back my pencil and said he won't be able to stay here all the time like he had before. He had something important to do. But he reminded me that I can call on him if I need him.

Mayhaps I will try one day.

From, Damien.

---

---

November 2, 6pm

Dear Diary,

I haven't seen Dark. I called his name and he didn't appear. I hope he is alright.

From, Damien.

---

---

February 3, 1am

Dear Diary,

I didn't do well in my mathematics test. Father was very angry at me. He said that I cannot be a good lawyer if I can't problem-solve fast enough. He said that I was wasting everyone's time and money by not getting the best grades in my tests. He said I was going to have extra mathematics classes on Saturdays until I never do that bad again.

He sent me to bed before supper. I can't sleep.

Celine and Mark have been busy with the school play. William is helping his family after school. I haven't seen Dark.

I wish there was someone I could talk to.

From, Damien.

---

---

6.10am, February 3rd

Dear Damien,

I have finally managed to help you fall asleep. There is not much more I can do to provide you further comfort, but I hope this letter in your journal will suffice.

You are a wonderful, intelligent little boy. I do not think it is reasonable for your father to be disappointed in your grades. I checked the paper that was still on your desk and you only made six mistakes out of fifty: half of them being unanswered questions that you ran out of time for. That is an 88% grade, which is remarkable when you are covering a topic taught to twelve year olds that you are only learning outside of school. 

I am very proud of you, Damien. I know you are capable of so many good things.

You do not deserve to be left up here alone. You should not be allowed to waste your days going from school to tutors to other classes with no time to be yourself. There are so many things in life that aren't judged by how well you perform in a school test or a piano recital. Your life is more important than results.

If I were not restricted by rules that I cannot explain, I would take you and your sister under my wing and bring you somewhere better, where you can play games and see the world beyond carefully curated gardens and stacks of books. Unfortunately… I cannot break these rules. However, it is unjust to simply leave it there.

Though I cannot do what I know is best, I refuse to accept that the 'rules' are more important. I will still find ways to visit you and make sure you are safe. So long as you are still able to see me, I will protect you when I am called upon.

You are much better than what your parents try to tell you, Damien. 

I hear movement in the corridor. I suspect it is Arthur coming to see how you are doing. I will be gone by the time you read this, but know that my absence does not mean a lack of care.

You are loved so much more than I could possibly put into words.

Stay safe.

Warmest regards,

“Dark”.

[i-am-03]

twins

[i-am-03]

I'VE SPACE THIS MARKIPLIER BEFORE

[i-am-03]

does anyone remember the au about a family (messed up)

[i-am-03]

Another messed up family AU I think after WKM, Yancy was raised by Celine, and Murdock was raised by the Actor. And both of them failed miserably at parenting.

[i-am-03]

had a dream last night actor mark was holding me hostage and itwas this weird situation of me trying to not laugh as he was screaming in my face asking me where Dark hid something idk what he wanted then Dark broke the door down and Actor was like "you bitch wheres my tamagotchi!" so i was just like "dark give it back" and Dark held it up then Actor started crying bc Dark made his tamagotchi 'emo'

[i-am-03]

{{This popped into my head on a whim, I'm not apologizing.}}

[i-am-03]

{{Life needs a bit of madness.}}

[i-am-03]

Reading

This is set in specifically pre-WKM days. For extra angst. :P

Damien x GN!DA!Reader, TW: fire, mentions of hunting processes Words: 600

“Read to me, won’t you?”

“Of course, love.”

You’re curled up together with Damien by the window sill, looking over his arm at the book in his hands. It’s a simple mystery novel that he’s been wanting to read, and you went and bought it for him yesterday. When he unwrapped it from the brown paper they decorated it with at the store, you saw as his eyes lit up the genuine excitement he has for a new book. You made him promise to read it to you since you got it for him, and he said he’d do it once the two of you got up to his cabin. 

He has the fire going in the wood stove somewhere behind the chair, and a quilt covering you to protect you from the chill from the window. It’s snowing outside, soft white flecks resting on the ground to create a blanket of silence to the outside world. A record player plays just out of reach, a collection of well used records leaned against it in a haphazard pile.

When they aren’t reading the words on the pages, Damien’s lips are pressed to your temple, just enjoying holding you close like this. It’s rare when the two of you are able to get away for a weekend or so, finding solace in the silence.

“Part of me wishes that we’d get snowed in up here, not have to go back to our boring jobs.”

“I mean… not like anyone would be able to check on us anyways that we wouldn’t want here with us.”

Your hand spiders up his chest, cupping his cheek as you press a kiss under his jaw. Tempting as you always are, he quickly put a bookmark in his place and pulls you further up his chest, taking your lips in his, only parting to speak.

“Mayhaps, but I also want you all to myself.”

“I’m sure William wants no part with either of us, and would happily be a third wheel if he ventured out here.”

“True, that’s what I get for having him for a best friend. Knowing him he’d go out “hunting” so we could get some alone time together.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that. Maybe you’ll finally teach me how to break down an animal.”

He smirks, kissing your nose.

“Another time, darling. I want to treasure this innocence of yours for as long as I can. There’s something inside you that changes when you break down an animal for the first time. I don’t wish to be the reason that twinkle in your eye fades for the last time.”

There’s actual concern in his voice, something underlying his tone, threatening to break. You reach up to hold his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs against the beard he’s been growing out this winter. He relents into your hands after a few soothing motions, letting out a long, low sigh. His eyes are closed and he looks at peace with you in his lap, holding him close and dear to you. You kiss his nose, grabbing his book and opening it back up to the page you paused at. Damien tries to take it from you, but you pull it away before he can grasp it. 

“Nope, my turn to read. You just listen and sip your tea.’

“Darling, I can read my bo-”

“Damien, you aren’t the only one who wants to see the other happy. Just relax.”

He goes to protest again, chuckling with a shake of his head as he relents. 

“Alright, read to me, my muse.”

[i-am-03]

Still waiting to make it global to watch :'))

live laugh sleedge @markiplier

[i-am-03]

Wish i could see the movie but its not available in my country

Mark "Markiplier" Fischbach as Dave Torres The Edge of Sleep, S01E06

[i-am-03]

The way you wrote how dark looks at the reader??? The way thr DA cornered dark to answer the question?? The way the DA'd thought subtly hints of the past??? JUST EVERYTHING- it is so goodddd-

It makes me curious of darks POV of this interaction and also what is he thibking about when the reader acts like the DA time to time?

This would be one of the type of fanfics that i would certainly read again and again and wont get bored out if it--

Only Mortals Catch the Sniffles

Summary: You decided to go shopping while it was raining. But you forgot your umbrella. So of course you end up getting sick (you have a really poor immune system, don’t you?). What’s unexpected is who exactly decides to take care of you and what discoveries it leads to.

Pairing: Darkiplier x DA!Reader

Tags: sfw, the flu, argument and misunderstanding (gets resolved), proximity, tension

A/N: I have almost no time to write. (Who would’ve said I’d be reading lots in a linguistic course—) But hopefully you’ll enjoy this little thing I’ve been cooking up for quite a while now ^^

Word Count: 4.5k

——

You rummaged through the cupboard to find some of your favorite snacks but were met with empty space instead. You sighed and shook your head. Your secret stash of snacks has been disappearing at a suspiciously fast pace, so it was safe to assume someone was eating it. But eating all of it without notice? You’d have to have a stern word when you found the culprit. If at all.

This shortage has happened multiple times already. At first, you let it slide, but it was really beginning to get on your nerves. Scratch the beginning. You were mad. You were going to get your snack. Now.

Breathing slowly to clear your head a little, you decided to go for a late-night shopping run while you were at it. After all, there were some other things you wanted to buy, along with the snack. And then you’d catch whoever had been stealing them.

You walked down the corridor and noticed the time on the grandfather clock. You winced. If you wanted to go shopping you needed to get ready and fast.

You grabbed everything without thinking too much about the details. Your phone, purse, and a shopping bag and bolted for the door. You managed to faintly hear something Google was trying to say, but you had no time to listen. Off to the shop it was.

—

By the time you returned, it was pouring. And you hadn't brought an umbrella.

The door opened with a creak, and you stepped in, clothes dripping with water all over the carpet.

Out of the corner of your vision, Google raised an eyebrow before coughing silently: “I did attempt to tell you the forecast was saying it would rain.”

You pushed your wet hair out of your face. “Yeah. I don’t think that'll help now.”

“Well, if you had given me admin privileges, I would have been able to contact you even while you were away—“

You walked away irritated, not bothering to hear his ‘Giving me admin privileges is the solution to all your problems’ speech.

While sprinting to your room, you almost crashed into someone, but you were able to steady yourself and not make his suit wet. Suit. Only one man would wear a suit well into the evening.

Darkiplier eyed your very much drenched form from head to toe. Before you could say anything, he spoke, no visible emotion on his face. “Your clothes are wet.” It sounded as if he was merely making an observation.

A scoff escaped your lips. “Haven’t noticed.”

“Did Google not tell you about the weather?”

He who stayed mostly cooped up in his office most of the time had the audacity to lecture you for going out when it was raining?!

“Well, obviously I didn’t have the time to get an umbrella!” You threw your hands around, irritated, and stormed off into your room.

—

You woke up still tired. Your throat felt dry. You swallowed. Sharp stabbing pain. You groaned and turned around to check the time. You slept for 10 hours?!

The sun was already high in the sky, an unusual sight for an early bird like you. Weird, but you supposed it was better to get started for the day, you said to yourself, trying to sit up. Emphasis on trying.

You clutched the side of your head to dull the throbbing pain that emerged from your movement and flopped back onto your pillow. Well, this was a problem. Everyone would start wondering where you were sooner or later since you routinely woke up first.

The pain was almost enough for you to consider just staying in bed. And yet you couldn’t do that.

You’ve never allowed yourself to rest even while tired or under the weather. The work helped you focus on other things. Without it, your mind started to wander into territories it shouldn’t. Like those recurring dreams of a strange mansion or a poker game with people you didn't recognize… and it was doing it again. Which is exactly why you needed to get back to work.

You weren’t able to attempt to get out of bed again when your door handle swung open violently, almost slamming into the wall. There was almost no time to register the urgent steps stop as Wilford put his hands on your shoulders and began shaking you.

“Oh, my word, we thought you died!”

Wilford was a mess. Eyes shot wide, clothes untucked, hair unkempt, like he was running around and forgot to fix himself up.

“Wilford…” you said lethargically, Wilford’s shaking making your hoarse voice sound even quieter.

“Illinois said he hadn’t seen you at breakfast, so I thought you must have eaten already, but when I went to check, you weren't at your office and you’re always at your office, so we all thought you got kidnapped…” he continued ranting, almost like he was stuck in panic mode with no regards to the fact that you were actually safe and sound in your bed.

“Wilford, I’m fine!” you yelled as loudly as you could muster, which was not much but it seemed to break the loop he was in. He stopped shaking you. “I’m just not feeling well, that’s all…”

“Oh…” he said softly, slowly pulling his arms away.

His eyebrows scrunched up in almost a comical fashion. “You’re sick,” he stated, as if for some sort of confirmation.

“I’m not that sick—”

“But you never get sick.” He shook his head, looking positively baffled.

“Again, I’m not that sick. Just woke up a little later than usual, nothing to be worried about…”

“You are ill?” you heard his voice before you saw him appear. Darkiplier was standing in your doorway. Who knows for how long. His face looked neutral, except for the smallest furrow of his eyebrows.

You sighed, exasperated. This was too much to deal with in your current state. Which was not that bad, mind you. Besides, how and why was Darkiplier even in your room? Wilford, you could understand. You were acquaintances—friends even, but it was different with Darkiplier.

Sure, you had mutual respect, but your relationship had always been on the more formal side, seeing as you were one of the few people he could rely on to complete the tasks you agreed on. But he would have never struck you as a person to be worried about someone’s physical state.

“I am fine. It’s just a cold. Nothing I can’t handle—“

He interrupted you before you could finish your sentence.

“A cold? A cold that leaves you unable to get out of your room until noon? Is just a cold the reason you are left bedridden and shivering despite being underneath a duvet?” He walked until he was near your bed. There was a cold sort of fury hidden behind his eyes.

That irked you. Of course he never cared about your well-being. He only cared about how the search for Mark continued. And no matter who helped him along the way, as long as he got his revenge, nothing else mattered.

You weren’t able to yell, but your gruff voice was teeming with anger. “Well, I’m sorry I had the gall to fall ill. But not all of us have the ability to work for days on end. Some of us are human!”

You hadn’t meant to say that last sentence. Pain flashed in his eyes. You’ve always had a suspicion that he used to be human. At least at some point in time. You got your confirmation now. You would’ve regretted saying it any other time, but not now. Not now when you finally found out the thing he cared about most was your productivity.

“I think you should leave,” you said coldly.

You’ve honestly forgotten Wilford was also in the room as he hasn’t butted into your conversation like he usually did. Darkiplier’s face was stunned, maybe even regretful, but he did nothing, as Wilford took him by the shoulder and led him away from your room.

As they left, you turned to the wall and closed your eyes. Tired from the emotional exchange and your current sickness, slumber soon overtook you.

—

You woke up still tired, your mouth dry as if you hadn’t drank water in forever. Which, you hadn’t. Your stomach ached, but you highly doubted you could muster up enough strength to make yourself something. Another grumble of your stomach convinced you otherwise.

You looked around for a bathrobe to put on over your pajamas when your eyes got caught on your bedside table. There, lay a tray with a plate full of chicken noodle soup along with a spoon.

Did someone…. make you food? You have eaten along with some of them, such as breakfasts with Illinois or Yancy, and sometimes Wilford liked to join you for lunch. Then there were the late dinners in Darkiplier's office. But this? You weren't used to that. You leaned over and put the tray on your lap, careful not to spill anything.

You wondered who would do such a thoughtful thing for you. It looked homemade, so that ruled Yancy out. He approached you a few weeks ago if you could re-teach him some simple recipes since he's been in prison for so long that he's forgotten how to cook.

You were familiar with Illinois’ cooking skills, but you doubted he would find the time to make you soup. He’s always joked that he can’t give anyone special treatment or else they’d fall in love with him.

And Darkiplier… you threw that thought away before you could even start thinking about it properly. As if he’d be all nice to you after treating you no less than an expendable employee.

Wilford, you couldn’t be sure about. You’ve seen him cook occasionally, not soup, but he seemed to have both skill and like you enough to be so considerate.

Satisfied with your thought process, you set to eating the surprisingly still warm soup that you deduced Wilford had made for you.

After about twenty minutes, you already having finished your soup and cuddled up facing the wall to sleep the cold off some more, a quiet click of the door handle filled the silence of your room. Soft tentative steps tapped on the floor, seemingly so as not to wake you up.

You turned around.

“Hey Wil, thanks for the soup…” You trailed off when you realized the one who entered your room was, in fact, not Wilford but a rather startled Darkiplier. You have never seen him with that much exposed emotion. He was frozen reaching for the empty plate, his eyes slightly wide, as if he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. It, however, didn’t last long. He promptly straightened his back, wiping imaginary dust from his jacket, his expression back to being deadpan as usual.

“Why are you taking that plate?” You eyed him warily. Was he here to chastise you for not working? Or perhaps—

“Because I made the soup. I figured you’d have finished it by now.” He moved to pick the tray up.

“You made the soup? You made me soup?” you blurted out before you could really think about what you were saying.

“You’ve seen me cook,” he said in the most matter-of-fact voice.

“Well, yes, but…” You sat up and tried to gather your thoughts. It all lead down to just one thing. “Why?”

“You are ill. You need rest and warm food. So I made you soup. Is that enough of a reason for you?” There was a hint of humor in his voice, his expression mostly unchanged, except for the faintest sparkle in his eyes.

You were absolutely baffled. He gets angry at you for getting sick and not working and then makes you soup?

He seemed to notice your irritation increasing and opened his mouth to speak. You crossed your arms and leaned on the pillow.

“Listen. I know a plate of soup isn’t enough to make up for what I had said. And I didn’t just make the soup to make amends. I want you to get better. I know what’s done is done but you need to know the truth.” He looked away momentarily as if he had to find strength to continue. “I wasn’t angry with you for not being able to work. I was angry… with myself.”

“What?”

He sighed, looking away.

“What I had said and the way that I had said it was harsh. There is no excuse for it. I was just…” He took a deep breath and shook his head absentmindedly. “I was worried. When you didn't show up in the morning. I thought something had happened. That maybe you had left or perhaps needed some time off. You work too hard all the time. And I did not want to intrude even if I was worried. A part of me was glad you finally decided to take some time for yourself. But when I was passing by and heard Wil say you were ill…” He looked off to the side for a moment.

“I have never seen you ill. Ever. So I said things without thinking them over. And for what it's worth, I am sorry.”

Your eyebrows only scrunched up more. Many emotions of increasingly more confusing variations started bubbling up in your brain. You didn’t say a thing. Just kept looking at him as if that would help you comprehend what exactly he had just said.

He sighed.

“Do with that what you will. But believe me when I say, I am being completely sincere that I truly hope you do get better.” With that, he grabbed the tray with the plate and left your room.

A part of you wanted to say something. To tell him to come back. But you couldn’t will your tongue to move. And not because you were sick.

With a closing of the door, you were left alone once again. This time, with many more things to think about.

—

Evening rolled around faster than you expected it to. You spent most of the time sleeping. You even felt good enough to make some light dinner for yourself. It seemed none of the residents were up to their usual antics of annoying you today. Lovingly, of course, but you had thought when they came to know you weren’t dying, they’d come to visit you. But that didn’t seem to be the case as no-one has been in your room since your… exchange with Darkiplier.

But as all sickness goes, it gets worse in the evening. And so you were lying in your bed, as lethargic as ever, unable to even sleep.

Your door creaked, the sound so quiet you wouldn’t have been able to hear it if you hadn’t been lying in dead silence.

Darkiplier opened the door and looked over into the room. Your eyes met. And even through your hazy state, it felt like you locked eyes just a second too long. Not like any other time.

“I... came to check up on you.” He looked away, cutting the silence.

“That's awfully nice of you.” You weren’t really thinking about what you were saying. It seemed to a side effect of your illness. Or maybe you weren’t so guarded with him anymore.

His eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. It looked oddly adorable.

“Are you feeling alright?”

You didn't know if he meant healthwise or your current state of mind, and you didn’t care.

“Absolutely.”

He walked over closer, right up to your bed. You watched him curiously, a bit more attentive even despite your heavy mood.

“No fever or anything of the sorts?”

You scoffed lightly. “No, nothing of the sort. Really, I’m fine. Never been better. See?”

You moved to sit up when he gently grabbed your shoulders and pushed you back onto the pillow.

Breathing became a foreign concept. Even your sickness existed only in the back of your mind. Your body was faintly pressed against the plush of your pillow, yet everything paled in comparison to all but one sensation.

Him.

So close.

And yet not close enough.

His hands on your shoulders were secure and just a bit insistent. But not necessarily painful.

“Don’t get up, you need to rest,” he said firmly but softly just the same.

Your eyebrows raised. He leaned closer. And closer. You closed your eyes.

The touch of his lips on your forehead was feather light.

After seconds which seemed like hours, he pulled away just a little, deep in thought. “Your forehead isn’t warm so it seems like you really don't have a fever…”

It sounded like an inner monologue or a passing thought, but your brain froze from the moment he kissed your forehead. It was so soft you weren’t sure you weren’t actually having a fever dream. Your eyes moved on their own accord, studying his face. His eyes caught yours. You have never seen him from this close. Your mouth was slightly open as a shallow shaky breath escaped it. It was as if the Earth itself stopped spinning and all you could feel were his eyes. Staring. Pensive. As if he himself was also frozen.

“You… you shouldn’t be so close to me,” you said quietly, almost indiscernibly. Your mouth was dry. A few seconds passed. Silence. Just him and you. And his eyes. Oh, those dark eyes. They went deeper than you thought. Like they were their own little galaxies. Did he even hear what you said? Did he—.

“Why?” His voice was quiet, similarly to yours, with a slight purr that you’d never heard from him. You could feel his chest rise and fall, dangerously close to your own. Your heart was beating so quickly that you wondered if he could feel it. A shiver ran up your spine. Your brain desperately searched for an excuse. But did you really want him to stop?

“I’ll get you sick,” you tried. Oddly enough, you weren’t feeling all that unwell at the moment. You were, however, feeling something else you couldn’t describe. And his closeness only heightened the tingling in your stomach.

“I’m not human. I can’t get sick,” he said without missing a beat, almost matter-of-factly.

Curses, he’s always been good at quick responses. But— Hang on. How would you know such a thing about him? You’ve spent some time together, yes but… Not enough to know an obscure detail like that.

“But you were.” The words left your lips almost by themselves. And yet, something in you knows that it’s the truth. Somehow, someway you feel he used to be something else before this.

His face darkened, his expression shifting to the all too familiar one you knew from working together late into the night.

“I… used to,” he admitted. You had to keep your mouth from falling open. This was the clearest confirmation of their past you’ve gotten out of any of the residents of this mansion. And to get it from Darkiplier first… If anybody told you a few days ago that such a thing would happen, you would’ve laughed straight into their face. But now… Him sharing something vulnerable with you felt strangely familiar. Like it happened before.

“I can see that brilliant mind of yours working. But whatever questions you want to ask, save them. There is time and place for such conversation and this is not it.” This was his way of saying no to talking about this topic. Rather tactfully from how you’ve seen him snap at Google when he is genuinely angry for a sensible reason. There was, however, something in the sentence that you could use to gauge him. You could consider yourself fairly well-versed in a few things in life but for Darkiplier to call you brilliant? And with such casualty. Like he has already said it before. But he hasn’t. There had to be something more behind it.

“’Brilliant mind’?” you repeated his words inquisitively.

His eyebrows furrowed apprehensively and you knew then you struck gold. He pulled back from leaning over you but you followed suit, sitting up on your bed.

“Forget it,” he said, his voice clipped.

“No.” You surprised yourself by how fast you replied. And it seemed to have the same effect on Darkiplier since he didn’t move from the spot. Encouraged by this, you continued: “… No. Why did you say that?”

“I…” There it was—he hesitated. You waited with bated breath for him to reveal whatever it was he kept trying to hide. You knew it was something that weighed heavy on his soul.

“It is none of your concern,” he said after a few tense seconds of your waiting. Ever the diplomat. Was he a politician in his past life or what?

“Considering the fact that you said something about me, I think it very much concerns me.”

“Look, you are ill and there are things that are beyond your understanding—”

“Then tell me something I can know.” That was it. Your last ditch effort to get to know something more. More about this man who went from only a colleague to someone who has actually, and much to your surprise, proved to care for you. As much as a man with seemingly so little external emotion such as Darkiplier was. But only seemingly. You have seen him smile before this even if it was scarce. But now you could finally admit — it did suit him.

Darkiplier looked at you, brows furrowed, seeming almost perplexed. “You truly wish to know more about me?” he asked, to which you nodded quickly before he could change his mind and decide to leave right then and there.

He sighed.

Then begrudgingly sat back down on your bed.

Bingo.

You made yourself more comfortable, propping your back on the wall behind you. It felt like a child getting ready to hear a bedtime story. Darkiplier raised an eyebrow and let out a soft breath through his nose, the corner of his mouth raising almost imperceptibly.

He looked to the side thoughtfully for a few moments before turning back to you.

“I don’t have to breathe.”

Well, that was unexpected. You thought he would talk about his life experiences or the people that he met. Then again, you should have known better than to think he would actually tell you anything about his past or elaborate on the whole “brilliant mind” comment. Nonetheless, this new information was quite intriguing.

“What do you mean you don't have to breathe?”

”It’s… more of a habit than anything physiologically needed.”

“But— your chest raises and falls so regularly...” you said, more musing out loud than actually meaning to share any information.

“Do you watch me?” he asked. If you didn’t know him well, you’d think he’s irritated, his tone slightly accusatory. But when you looked at him, there was that familiar tug of the corner of his lips. He was playing. He didn’t sport that look often but he pulled it off quite well.

Apparently, you had drifted off again because his lopsided smirk had only gotten wider and he was closer than before.

“Do I have the privilege of your presence now?”

He was close. Really close. Like when he kissed your forehead to check for a fever kind of close. Your heartbeat picked up, and you could only hope he couldn't hear it. Heartbeat... does he have one? You must have spoken out loud because a thoughtful look spread across his features.

“I’m not too sure myself. Want to check?”

Did he really mean to say that? You blinked. His expression hasn’t changed. So he did.

You placed your hand on his chest matter-of-factly. That’s all it was. A checkup. You weren’t doing anything weird. It’s not like you felt his dichromatic aura bristle slightly at your touch before returning to a faint buzz, albeit a bit louder than a few moments ago. With him wearing only a dress shirt, you could feel his skin and the lack of a heartbeat.

“You know I’m only letting you feel me up like this because you’re ill.”

“Stop being cheeky.” You clicked your tongue in irritation when he disrupted your concentration. There was a faint huff of laughter before you refocused on what lay beneath your palm.

“There’s nothing,” you said quietly.

“You won’t be able to feel it like this.” And with that, you found your hand pressed even closer to his ribcage, covered by his. You felt his chest rise and fall more deeply, almost like you’d feel a regular person breathe. That’s when you felt it. A faint heartbeat right under your fingertips.

Badump badump

Even with his palm on top of yours being extremely distracting, it was clearly discernible. Orderly. A sign of life where there really wasn’t one.

His hand lifted from yours but you kept it there, utterly entranced by aseathe sensation of his heartbeat. He didn’t comment on it and spoke up, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard him be.

“There has to be oxygen for it to beat strongly. And that happens when I breathe more. Not that I need to per se, it’s more of a habit.”

“How is that even possible? How can you function without air?”

“There are no... rules for the amalgamation that I have become.”

That was one genuine bit of emotion you’ve seen him express. Frustration maybe? You’d have thought Darkiplier had come to terms with what he had turned into but it seems time can’t heal all wounds.

“I have been... this way for a very very long time. And yet I don’t know the constraints of myself.”

You hummed in understanding, mind racing with thoughts of what exactly he can and can’t do, absent-mindedly tracing the buttons of his shirt.

You felt his heart speed up, his chest jerking in as air hit your fingers. Your eyes flicked back up to his face.

Burning heat. Molten lava and blistering cold of his aura. His eyes searched yours for something. You weren’t sure what. Maybe he—The cracking of a mirror...

The intensity of his gaze made your hand twitch back, your whole body freezing up.

After a few seconds, he exhaled and smiled softly, bittersweet yet understanding, tender even — have you ever seen him smiling like that? — and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Rest. You need it.” He stood up and headed towards the door. Just when he was about to reach the door handle, you called out:

“Dark?”

He turned around, a look akin to hope in his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Will you… make me soup again?”

The tender smile was there again, devoid of all previous bittersweetness.

“Of course. Anytime, darling.”

It was only when he left that you realized, you called him ‘Dark’ instead of Darkiplier. And that Dark apparently resorts to pet names.

——

Fun fact I wanted to write it but could not manage to insert anywhere: Dark was the one who told the others not to disturb the reader :)) Oh and either Wilford or Yancy is stealing your snacks. Which one do you think it is?

Also, if anyone wants to be part of a taglist for future fics, let me know :)

[i-am-03]

Happy Birthday WKM >:3

[i-am-03]

How can this character be dead, if there are 40k stories on AO3 telling me otherwise?

[i-am-03]

bloodtober day 1, darkiplier.