#MARK MY WORDS MORP

[quanblovk]

:)

MOOOOORRRRPPPpp

[hardly-an-escape]

snippet: The Trenches Have Vanished Under the Plough

Square: B2 - Crying During Sex Rating: E Word Count: 789 Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Warnings: No archive warnings apply Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - human, Alternate Universe - no powers, 1910s, World War I, PTSD, scars, discussion of trench warfare, soldier Hob Gadling, period-typical homophobia, mutual pining, oral sex, anal fingering, anal sex, implied eating disorder Summary: In France in 1917, amidst the mud of the trenches and the bloody battles of the Great War, Captain Morpheus de Endelas and Corporal Robert “Hob” Gadling meet and are drawn irrevocably together. They begin an affair that ultimately threatens their hearts, their careers, and their very lives. It is not until after the war is over that the two broken men can even begin to think of picking up the shattered pieces of their lives and moving forward. But will they move toward one another, or away? Fill for @dreamlingbingo

When this excerpt begins, Armistice Day is several months behind them. Morpheus has found Hob in the cottage on the Sussex coast where, shellshocked and still recovering from his wounds, he has retreated from the world. After an argument about their parting and an emotionally charged confrontation, they fall into bed together, unable to deny the strength of their feelings for one another.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you naked before.”

“No,” says Morpheus. “No, I suppose not.”

Their trysts, Hob remembers all too well, were always hurried. Hidden. Clothing shoved aside just enough to reach what they needed in order to clutch at what pleasure they could. Now Hob looks his fill, eyes roving over the shapes he’s memorized by feel, if not by sight.

“You’re beautiful.”

Morpheus snorts, an ungentle and caustic sound that Hob doesn’t like at all.

“Look at me,” he says, gesturing down his body with a sweep of his arm.

“I am looking,” Hob says quietly.

Morpheus’s skin glows in the low light of the kerosene lamp. Even from across the room, Hob can pick out the scars – pale skin marred by even paler marks, except where some still show an angry red in places. It’s only been seven months since Armistice Day, after all. Not so much time to heal. A particularly bad one winds around Morpheus’s left knee like a vine. Hob has a matching one on his right. He’s surprised Morpheus doesn’t walk with a limp. He does, a bit, when it’s damp or when his leg has been strained.

Hob only realizes he’s still staring when he sees the pink flush creeping over Morpheus’s cheeks and chest, and registers his prick valiantly plumping a bit against his white thigh.

His tobacco pouch falls forgotten atop the table as he returns to the bed, drawn like a moth to a flame.

“You are. Beautiful,” Hob says, placing a knee on the mattress. “Beautiful,” he says, as he lies down beside Morpheus and runs a hand down his ribs, skims across his hip and his narrow flank. “Beautiful,” he whispers, tenderly urging the wasted thighs to straddle his chest. He fits his thumbs into the too-deep divots at his hips and gently pulls Morpheus forward, until his knees are snugged up into Hob’s armpits and his hardened prick can nudge against his waiting lips. Morpheus’s eyes are squeezed shut.

“Come, love,” he whispers into the silence between them, “let me show you. My beautiful man.”

He lifts his head, lets his mouth fall open, makes it as soft as he knows how, lolls his tongue out like a warm, red carpet welcoming his lover home. And carefully, Morpheus ruts forward into Hob’s mouth.

He moves slowly at first, so slowly, thighs tense, one hand braced on the simple wooden frame of Hob’s bed. Hob can see the scant muscles in his belly fluttering with the effort to stay upright, to keep his movements shallow; so he squeezes Morpheus’s hips and takes as much of his weight as he dares, encouraging him to move, desperate to feel every inch, every twitch.

When his prick bumps against the back of Hob’s throat Morpheus moans above him, loud and obscene in the quiet of the cottage, and Hob feels the vibration down into his chest, feels his own cock stir between his legs at the sound, the proof of Morpheus’s pleasure. When Morpheus’s thrusts quicken, Hob moans in turn.

Morpheus’s eyes fly open, piercing blue even in the dim light of the kerosene lamp, and his free hand, which had been flexing against his own thigh, steals tentatively into Hob’s hair. Their eyes are locked, now. Hob cannot look away. He will never be able to look away from Morpheus again. Beautiful, beautiful, he thinks, trying to broadcast his thoughts like a radio signal. My love, my beautiful man, stay, stay, be mine, my love, stay.

It is absurd, to think that Morpheus can hear him, and Hob is neither a mystic nor an occultist. But something happens, some spark catches between them; perhaps it is but physical passion, but Morpheus’s kiss-bitten lips part in astonishment, and those pristine eyes fill with tears and overflow, twin crystal streams that run down his thin face and drip onto Hob’s chin.

Hob wishes wildly that he could taste Morpheus’s tears, but then his hips are stuttering, and he is crying out again, and all Hob can taste is his own spit and Morpheus’s spend on the back of his tongue, and that is enough; that is a beauty all its own.

“I may wake in the night,” mutters Morpheus, “especially if the storm is bad. I do not sleep well, these days.”

“You? Really? That’s a bit hard to believe,” says Hob. “You know… we used to call you ‘the cat.’ Because you could curl up and doze off anywhere.”

“I know. I know you did,” says Morpheus. “Things are different, now.” His voice is rough, and so tired.

“Yeah,” says Hob. “Yeah, I know.” He clutches Morpheus a little closer and kisses his temple. “I know.”

Historical note: The title of this fic is from the song “No Man’s Land” (also known as  “The Green Fields of France” or “Willie McBride”) by Eric Bogle. I recommend this 1980 recording by the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, which makes me cry literally every time I hear it. It's one of the great anti-war songs of the 20th century.

This fic is almost complete! If you enjoyed this excerpt, subscribe to me on AO3 to get notified when the finished work is posted!

green = complete, orange = WIP

[montybadun]

THE HAPPENING → PARTY

TAGGING → Monty Badun & Pari Nasir (@perfectlypari)

TIMELINE → May 19, 2018

SETTING → Walt High Gymnasium

SUMMARY → Monty does his best impersonation of a ‘prince’ to try and give his friend Pari the perfect night at morp.

Pari couldn't believe how well the morp was going. She had said sophomore year was going to be her year, and here she was, starting a whole new tradition in the school and making her mark. It felt pretty great. And it definitely helped that she felt super cute in her outfit and was getting compliments left and right for the decorations. After making her rounds on the dance floor, taking selfies with friends and such, she spotted Monty off to the side, very characteristically standing in a corner with his Freddie Kreuger outfit on. With a smirk, Pari took up some bloody punch in two plastic cups and approached him. "So? Are you like slayed, O M G murdered, O M G hashtag-dying in a good way, or totally hashtag-kill-me in a bad way about this dance? It's okay if it's the latter, I'm open to criticism!"

Monty had been spending so much of this evening avoiding his cousin and any weird prodding about girls he should be dancing with that he’d accidentally ended up avoiding everyone. It wasn’t bad, though; there were few people he really liked talking to anyway, and the less people that got near him, the less likely he was to be called out for having taken off the finger-knife component of his costume. Still, Pari’s excited face was a welcome change from the watcher-on-the-wall act, and he offered her a half-smile, better than anyone else had gotten all night. “Can I create a new hashtag? I don’t want to have to share with Brandon,” Monty grumbled, even though he’d been having his own version of fun. “Hashtag-Pari looks like she’s having an awesome time so Monty’s glad she convinced him to come? Or is that too long?”

Pari couldn't contain the little squeal that rose up in her throat from learning that Monty was having fun. If he was able to enjoy himself, this dance must have really been a success. "Ah, you're having fun!" she exclaimed, clutching him by the bicep out of excitement. "That's great, though, I'm so glad this thing is really coming together." She bit her lip and glanced around the gym, unrecognizable in all its horror-y goodness. "And I'm glad that you're glad you came -- and dressed up. You look really good!" she eyed his Freddie Kreuger getup with a nod of approval, and crossed her arms over her chest.

Monty looked around. He didn't go to a lot of parties, but it seemed like it was a good one. Better than the cheesy Valentine's decorations and how nervous and weird he'd felt when he'd gotten paired with Ember after his dumb secret admirer gifts, at least. "Yeah, the decorations are cool. I hope they give people nightmares, how totally real would that be?" he asked her, wondering if he started to sound too much like Brandon around her. But oh well. She was his friend; she made it easy to get kind of excited and almost care about stuff. "Yeah! Also part of the whole nightmare thing, not just me being mean," he promised, tipping his Freddy hat towards her. "I mean, your costume's like you just walked out of a bucket of blood, the least I could do was wear a sweater and say '1, 2, Freddy's coming for you' when I want people to go away." He stood a little straighter at the compliment, still not used to them even after almost two whole years in Walt. "So did it turn out the way you wanted it to? I mean, it doesn't look like anything's missing, right? Except maybe your Boo-shadow, but I'm sure he'll find you again soon."

Pari laughed at Monty’s idea, knowing better than to be fooled by his costume and think that he was suddenly some social butterfly. He was still telling people to go away, and for some reason she was glad he hadn’t changed. It just meant she could keep trying to get him to come out of his shell, and even if he never did, at least this little game was fun. She shrugged at his question, beaming at the entirety of the dance. “I mean....I dunno! It’s horror and stuff, and it’s a huge success so I’m so grateful, but — and I wasn’t gonna tell anyone — but it’s also my birthday...? So I was kind of hoping for something a little more....magical. No matter how off-Brand and counterintuitive that would make this whole thing.” Pari shook her head, laughing at herself. She was just never satisfied, that was all.

Crap . Monty should have known when her birthday was, but he'd been completely unprepared for that. And he'd proven firsthand how rotten he was at gift-giving, but if he'd remembered he would have at least tried to do something nice for her. Now all he could do was be nice with his words, and that was always awkward for him; nice things didn't just flow out of his mouth without any effort the way they did for other people. "That's cool! So it's like, an unofficial party for you, everytime you see someone having fun you can think that it's in your honor," he tried tentatively, but the words felt clumsy and off-brand coming out of his mouth. Monty cleared his throat and tried again. "That's not dumb. I mean, if you said you wanted like, someone to carry you around while you sat on a throne or something and strangers showered you with presents, that would be dumb. But what, you just... want morp to be more like prom? With like, someone to give you flowers and dance with you and kiss you and tell you look pretty and stuff? Seems normal," Monty shrugged.

Pari scrunched up her nose at the idea of it being like a party for her -- that was so bougie, throwing an entire dance just to feel like people were celebrating her birthday. "I mean, kind of? Not really? I honestly forgot my own birthday when I planned this," she shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Okay, getting carried around on a throne and showered with presents doesn't sound bad..." she chuckled, "I'm totally joking. But yeah! I was so anti-prom but I guess since the Valentine's Ball went so bad for me, I feel kind of robbed of a magical night or something." She loved it all, but totally wished she could be wearing her pretty red dress and sparkly flats at an event that was so successful, not her bloody everything. Twiddling her thumbs, Pari looked up at Monty and gave a sigh as the song that was playing on the dance floor slowed down to a haunting balld. "Will you dance with me, Monty? I know I like to force you to do things out of your comfort zone but that isn't the reason I'm asking this time. It could be like a birthday present."

Monty scrunched his face up in disgust. "Nope, no way, if you're putting me on a portable throne you better be taking me to an alligator pit, because all the attention will make me want to get ripped apart by a bunch of chomping gators or something," Monty informed her matter of factly. "You're also just a sophomore and not allowed to go to prom anyway, so like... screw the system. But mostly screw the jerk who ditched you on Valentine's Day. Did you ever figure out who it was?" Monty tried to ask the question casually, but if Pari did know... well, Boo probably would have beaten him up already, but for Pari? Monty would definitely go back and beat him up again. Or at least pee in his shoes or something. Monty got distracted by Pari's question instead, though, and he swallowed the lump that instantly formed in his throat. He was a terrible dancer, and Pari would just end up disappointed... but even as he started to shake his head no, his words betrayed him. "You're not going to have fun, Brandon would be way better at this, but uh..." Monty rubbed his gloved hands together, giving Pari a second to change her mind, but when she actually seemed serious, he said, "But yeah, of course I'll dance with you. I got a little practice on Valentine's Day, so at least it was good for like, one thing." Monty extended his arm to her, using his free arm for a one-shouldered shrug. "Most magical dancing I can muster, here we go."

Pari laughed quietly at Monty's joke. "Attention isn't bad!" she smiled, "Except when it is bad. But most of the time, it's fun." That was one thing she'd learned this year -- that attention sucked when everyone was making fun of you, but was great when everyone was wanting to be your friend. "Yeah, screw him I guess -- and no. And I kind of never want to find out, for his own safety," she chuckled. Not that she would do anything, but Valentine's Day proved that she had some very dedicated friends and she didn't put it past Ember or Boo to fight for her honor or something. She shrugged when Monty responded to her request, having expected some kind of resistance from him. "I don't want to dance with Brandon, I want to dance with you," she chuckled, taking his arm and leading him out to the dance floor. "Oh yeah, you and Ember! How'd that go? Your secret admirer thing was super cute -- I hope it paid off," she smirked, putting her arms up on the boy's shoulders.

Monty pretended to gag, even though Pari was right. Monty just wasn't used to attention, at least not in any sort of normal way; and even if he started getting it now, he doubted it would be the good kind like Pari wanted and deserved. It wasn't about him, though; it was about her, and he was totally happy to step up and help her out whenever she needed him. "Hey! If you really didn't want us to hurt him, I'd just send Brandon to annoy him to death, that would probably be worse anyway," Monty grinned, amused by his own terrible ideas. "Okay, if I have to," Monty added, but he was still smiling; Pari would know he didn't mean it. Even if he'd been scowling, he had a feeling she knew he liked her enough that he didn't mean it. "Oh -- uh, she didn't think I was a total creep? She just also didn't like me, which is fine. I like, temporarily lost my mind anyway, I'm not like the secret admirer type," Monty shrugged as he gently put his hands on Pari's waist, hoping he was doing this right. It was what he'd done before, and for some reason, he was just as nervous tonight as he'd been at Valentine's Day, dancing with a pretty girl who was totally way too cool for him but who was like, willing to hang around him anyway. "Besides, if it had gone well, I'd probably be here with her tonight and then I wouldn't be able to be your poser-prince."

Pari stifled a laugh at the boy's jab at his cousin. She loved Brandon, really, she did, so that's why she didn't want to outwardly LOL at Monty's comment, but she also very much understood where Monty was coming from. "That really does sound like a better plan!" she mused, nodding with a giggle. Once they were dancing, Pari settled her arms around his neck and gave a contented sigh. This was nice -- exactly what she'd hoped for out of prom night (er...morp night). "She didn't like you?!" she asked, admittedly a little shocked -- Ember was so cool and so was Monty so like, why not? "That sucks, but at least she didn't think you were a creep. That's good," she chuckled, holding him a bit closer once his hands found her hips. "Yeah, I guess that's true! But I mean, there's nothing bad about being a poser prince. Aladdin posed as a prince and he got his princess and a whole kingdom," Pari shrugged. She'd always loved listening to her dad tell that story of how he helped a street rat woo the princess. "So you could totally be Aladdin in this scenario."

Monty pursed his lips. "Close enough," he admitted. He wasn't sure if Ember had actually said those words directly, but it had felt a lot like an I don't like you to his fragile ears. Enough like one to where he'd managed to put the other girl out of his head almost entirely since Valentine's Day had happened, at least, and just focus on the friends thing. He didn't want to be gross and extra like Brandon was about that Liam boy, anyway; if something ever did work out between Monty and a girl, he had every intention of being more cool and chill about it. Or at least, he thought he did, but hearing Pari talk about how he could be cool like Aladdin gave him a weird surge of confidence. Aladdin was cool, Aladdin got the princess, Aladdin was all kinds of stuff Monty usually was not. But tonight, maybe Monty could be. He seemed to be doing a good job of giving her the fantasy night she wanted, dancing with her and complimenting her and stuff, but didn't prom movies always have kisses? Without overthinking it too much, Monty ducked his head down and pressed his lips to Pari's, like cool guys always seemed to do at the end of the stories she liked so much.

Pari gave a small, sad sigh when Monty admitted to Ember not liking him. That must have really sucked — he went through so much effort just to get kind of rejected, and on Valentine’a Day, no less! And she had been so engrossed in her own drama that night that she didn’t even notice. Planning this morp had really taken a lot out of her — she was so out of the loop from her friends’ lives. Giving him a little ego boost with the Aladdin talk seemed like the best she could do. But then, suddenly, Monty’s Head dipped down and his lips were on hers. Pari’s eyes widened at first, glancing around to be sure this was really happening. She’d never been kissed before, and once she got over the initial shock, it felt...great. She kissed back for just a second before pulling away. “Whoa,” Pari gulped, looking up at Monty’s eyes with a little bit of confusion and fear in her own. She was speechless. Part of her wanted to know what possessed him to do that, and the other part of her didn’t care — she just wanted to kiss him again. But the first side was winning, and she continued to stand there, staring at him, frozen.

Monty hadn't really been reading any logical, decipherable signs to get to deciding he was going to kiss Pari; he'd just sort of lost his mind and let it happen. At least this mind loss was more spontaneous than his weird gifts for Ember, although he'd been scared it was about to have the same results. But then Pari kissed back, and Monty stopped worrying if he was doing it wrong or if his friend totally wanted to slap him or get Boo to murder him instead and just went with it, for as long as she seemed like he wanted to. It felt good, and he almost wished he'd thought of kissing people as like, a thing he could actually do way sooner... Except a part of him sort of thought kissing other girls wouldn't be as good. Pari was his favorite one, even if he'd never thought about just how much better he liked her than the other's before. "Oh, uh -- was that a good prince impersonation, or would I have been a better prince if I'd asked if it was okay first?"

Pari gulped, gazing up at Monty. She was unsure of what was supposed to come next. She'd never kissed anyone, let alone a good friend. Where were they supposed to go from here? In movies, this was where the credits would roll -- but then again, if this were a movie, there would've been some kind of epic narrative that all led up to this. As Pari started recounting what had to have been romantic moments with Monty that she'd somehow missed in their time together as friends, he asked some kind of cute and funny question and her mind went blank. A smile grew on her lips and she stood on her toes to kiss him again before deciding this would be a good time to 'go check things' as the organizer of the dance. But really, she just wanted to leave things on a positive note without them getting too awkward. "No, you were a perfect prince," she nodded, before kissing him firmly one last time. She pulled away and started backing up into the crowd. "I'm gonna go check around. See you at school on Monday!" And with that, Pari ran off into the crowd with the biggest, dopiest smile on her face while she tried to process what could've possibly just happened.

[gilly-jilly]

Flight: Markiplier Egos

Guess who’s back from vacation! 

The flight was a bit of a drag so I wrote a short story inspired by @reverseblackholeofwords. Her blog is amazing and one of my absolute favorites so you should definitely check her out!

Just a heads up though, the story contains details from her AU so it might be a bit confusing at points, but not enough to be completely lost. Besides, just gives you even more reason to check out her blog ;) 

Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoy :D 

“I’ve made a terrible mistake.“ 

Mark looked hesitantly at the egos as they ran excitedly around the airport. There was no stopping them now.

Wilford crouched happily in front of one of the airport store’s counters, all the while giggling crazily to himself. He tapped his fingers on the crowded countertop and watched with sparkling eyes as the cashier swiped one candy item after another. And another. And another. And another. 

The Host, wearing a pair of bubblegum pink earmuffs Wilford had lent him for his sensitive ears, stood by a small bookshelf not too far away waiting for him to finish. The bustling environment of the airport left him disoriented and overwhelmed, but Wilford insisted he come along to keep him company. He gently ran his fingers along the ridges of the books to calm himself down, hoping that Wilford would finish up soon. Despite his nervousness, however, he still found the occasional splutters of disbelief from the cashier humorous, sensing their dumbfounded expression as they continued to scan his items.

Dr. Iplier stood outside the same store with a large paper bag and a half-eaten apple in hand. The bag contained a variety of healthy food items for the egos in case they got hungry on the plane. He’d done some research the night before and was horrified at the poor quality of the plane’s food options. He was especially put off by the peanut snacks that he knew had probably been sitting at the back of the plane for weeks, if not months, that served as its main choice of cuisine. Unwilling to stand the thought of the egos consuming such monstrosities, he took it upon himself to buy the most nutritional food items he could find to ensure they didn’t die of food poisoning on the way.

The three of the four Google brothers watched Oliver as he socialized with a group of young musicians waiting in the same gate as them. There were no seats available so he and the group had opted to sit criss-cross on the floor in an enclosed circle. Ed was there too, acoustic guitar in hand and sitting next to a man playing “You’re Welcome” on the ukulele. Oliver beamed quite literally as Ed joined in with the man in a makeshift duet of the song, all of them swaying in unison to the upbeat rhythm. Google simply rolled his eyes at the sight.

Bim and Silver had just finished visiting their eleventh store, running excitedly out the entrance and gushing over all of the new items they had seen inside. None of them had actually bought anything in fear of wasting all of their saved money for the trip (though a certain other ego seemed to have no qualms whatsoever buying every sort of sweet he set his sights on), but just seeing all of the things to choose from made their heads spin with awe. It baffled their minds knowing that there was more to see once they boarded the flight.

Seeing them all roaming freely amongst the public, Mark let out a mix between a sigh and a groan, dragging a hand down the side of his cheek. He could feel a headache coming on. Amy, sensing his distress, came up from behind and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“You’ve got to relax babe, you look like you’re about to have an aneurysm.“ 

Mark’s eyes never left the egos. “I am about to have an aneurysm,” he said flatly. Amy shook her head and chuckled, turning to look towards the egos as well. They both stood in silence as they watched their antics from afar. 

While they weren’t doing anything too out of the ordinary the bunch were still quite the sight. It wasn’t everyday that you saw a man with a blindfold over his eyes or a similar looking man wearing a silver body suit with oversized gloves. Not that you could see either of their faces clearly to begin with.

Amy was the first to break the silence by letting out a thoughtful hum. “Well, they haven’t burned anything to ground so that’s a start,” she said cheerfully. Mark let out another sigh of distress. 

“Please don’t joke about that,” he groaned. “You know they could take out this entire airport if they felt up to it.” Tearing his gaze away from the egos he was met with a deadpan stare from Amy, eyebrows raised and her arms crossed over her chest. He looked meekly to the side. “…well, most of them anyways,” he added quietly. She rolled her eyes at him.

“Give the guys a little credit, Mark, they’re hardly causing a ruckus. Just look at them.” She gestured to Oliver and Ed in the distance who continued to sway along to the music, they and the group having drawn in a crowd of people who were just as eager to listen. “They’re having the time of their lives in an airport of all places. You really think they’d ruin the fun by blowing something up?”

“It was an exaggeration,” Mark mumbled to himself, kicking an imaginary pile of dirt.

Ignoring him, she continued. “Look, my point is, they’re not as bad as you think they are. A little eccentric sure but being so is hardly a crime. They just want to enjoy life and socialize like normal, human beings.” She turned to where Oliver and Ed were situated by their gate and let a small smile grace its way onto her features.

Noticing her softened expression, Mark glanced to them as well and took notice of the way both seemed to glow with joy. For Oliver the expression was quite literal. The light that emulated from the large G on his t-shirt could be seen from where Mark was standing, albeit faintly. Mark frowned.

She was right. They weren’t a threat to anyone at the moment. If it weren’t for the fact that he knew they were egos he could have easily mistaken them for people. They all looked so natural in this environment. But, even with how harmless they appeared now his mind couldn’t help but wander to a certain someone that wasn’t so harmless.

The image of Darkiplier soon flooded his mind, along with another unwanted onslaught of memories. He thought back to how Dark manipulated everyone to turn against him and Amy. The way he tortured him for hours on end to hurt not only him, but Amy as well as he forced her to sit and wait for him to finish. And the way he made him hurt Amy by taking his memories away…he felt the all too familiar wave of guilt and disgust wash over him. He thought back to all of the pain and suffering Dark had caused them all, what he’d do again if given the chance, and he couldn’t help the feeling of fear that crept up his spine. He felt sick.

Taking in a deep breath to try and compose himself, he reminded himself that Dark wasn’t here at the moment. He was locked in a cell back at Ego Incorporated far from where he and Amy were. Google double, triple, even quadruple checked all of the security systems to ensure that Dark couldn’t escape. He was chained to a chair. He was behind bars. He was wearing the muzzle. He couldn’t hurt either of them here.

Rubbing the side of his neck uncomfortably, he glanced towards the egos one more and saw how happy they were to be free, even if just for a couple of days. He bit his lip.

He wanted to trust them, he really did. He wanted so badly to think of the egos as these harmless individuals who wouldn’t hurt anyone; to see them as normal people trying to enjoy life and not just figments of his own creation who exist solely to hurt him. But knowing what many of them could do, what he could do, he couldn’t help the fear that gnawed at the back of his mind every time he saw them.

And he hated himself for it.

He turned to look at Amy, dreading the next words that were to come. “…but they aren’t normal, human beings.” Amy’s jaw locked as the content expression fell from her face, making Mark wince internally. He knew what those words meant to her.

As she turned to bleakly face him, he raised his hands in a weak defense. “Amy, I know how much you care for the egos. You’ve been through literal hell and back together, so it’s no surprise that you’ve grown close with them all.” Amy frowned at his words.

“But…?” she said stiffly, letting her question trail off. Mark opened his mouth to respond but felt himself hesitate before he said anything more.

“They just…you know…” he started. “And I…” He stumbled heavily over his words as he tried to keep a proper train of thought going. He didn’t know what was wrong with him or why he couldn’t get a proper response out, it was like his brain just shut down. Amy waited expectantly for him to finish.

Suddenly, Mark felt a rush of anger consume him. He grit his teeth. Why did this bother him so much? Did the egos really piss him off that much? Running his fingers aggressively through his hair he let out a low growl of frustration.

Amy saw how hard he was struggling and her expression wavered. She reached out a hand and began to say his name but was cut off as Mark suddenly exploded, “Fuck, I can’t let them hurt you again, okay?!”

He gasped out the words as if he held his breath for too long, feeling the nausea rising in his throat again. He swallowed thickly. He didn’t want to yell at Amy. He didn’t want to think about the egos. He didn’t want to think about anything. He just wanted all of this to go away.

Thoughts of Dark began to flood his mind once more, thoughts of him hurting her again or doing something worse, it all made his head pound with anger and fear. He could see his dichromatic face and malicious smile every time he blinked. The way he towered over Amy with the intent to hurt her. To kill her. He couldn’t stop seeing it. But it wasn’t just his face.

Soon enough, images of Wilford, the Host, Google, every one of the egos replaced Dark with the same outcome. Their faces all morphed into that of Dark’s, the look of desire to hurt not only Amy, but himself. They were all out to get them. They were all going to hurt them.

Just as he felt himself sinking further into his delusions, Amy gently cupped the side of his face and turned it towards her own, breaking his train of thought. His breath hitched in his throat.

“You’re scared,” she whispered softly, rubbing her thumb over his cheek.

Mark’s eyes widened in surprise, feeling something stir within his chest. Knowing she hit the mark, Amy’s eyes softened and she gave him a kind smile.

Mark could feel his throat begin to tighten. He didn’t know if it was the look she gave him or the way she spoke, but suddenly it became much harder to keep his composure. He had to bite his lip to keep from letting out a choked sob. Tilting his head towards the sky, he blinked a few times to fight back his tears and let out a watery chuckle. “Yeah…” he confessed, “I guess I am." 

He leaned into her palm, relishing in the coolness of her skin against his face. He let out a deep sigh and allowed the tension leave his body knowing that she wasn’t angry at him, even more so that she was safe and sound with him. Amy placed her other hand on the right side of his face.

"It’s okay to be scared,” she said tenderly, her voice no louder than a whisper. She gazed deeply into his chocolate colored orbs and wiped his bangs from them. “For all that’s happened I don’t blame you for feeling that way about them, but you know it isn’t their fault they act the way they do. You made them that way, after all. The the least you can do is give them a chance to prove themselves to you.”

Mark stared back at her and let her words sink in. He let out another sigh and rest his forehead against hers, feeling her arms snake their way around his neck. In return, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

He knew deep down that she was right. It wasn’t their fault they were the way they are. If anything it was his. They were brought to life by him and his fans, and though they originated from both his and other YouTubers’ channels, that didn’t make them any less real. They were living beings that felt the same things he did, if not more.

Mark let his eyes flutter shut, and soon after Amy did the same, letting the serene moment wash over them. “I know, Liebling…I know.”

The two of them stood together in silence for a few more moments before Mark decided to pull away from her. Their arms never left where they rested.

“You have no idea how much I needed that,” he breathed to her, giving her a loving gaze. Amy let out a light chuckle.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, tilting her head to look up at him. Mark leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the forehead and thanked whatever god above for having someone like Amy in his life. He watched as she turned her head towards the direction of the egos, taking note of the way the edge of her lip quirked upwards.

“You know,” she started, watching them socialize amongst themselves, “they may not be human, but…” Mark followed suit and turned to face the egos.

They both saw Wilford and the Host exit the store with literal bags of candy at their disposal, them greeting Dr. Iplier at the entrance with a smile and him having a near stroke over the amount of sweets they bought. They saw Oliver and Ed taking part in the musicians’ Disney medley with the rest of the Google brothers watching them with subtle fondness. They saw how Bim and Silver chatted eagerly over knick knacks and souvenirs of all sorts, practically bounding across the areas with how excited they were at the prospect of new sights and experiences. They saw the way they all smiled and laughed with each other outside of the confines of the corporation, enjoying freedom for the first time in, well, ever.

Mark took the time to look at them, really look at them, and pushed all of his fears and doubts about them to the back of his mind. He knew it was going to take awhile, a lifetime even, to fully trust them. For a certain someone it would probably never happen. It would be hard but…he was going to try. For Amy. And for them.

“I know,“ he said softly, a content smile falling over his face. "They’re trying to be.”