#and wilford gets to wear his glasses and not contacts!

[iamvegorott]

Magicians Don't Need Superheros Pt26

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“Looks like you two had a productive chat,” Wilford said as Jackie and Marvin went down the hall. He stood outside the examination room, door closed as if he knew they were due to arrive soon. 

“We’ll say that,” Marvin said. “Everyone still in there?” He gestured to the door. 

“Yep. It’s starting to run out of space in there with Maddy, Mare, and Phan showing up. 

“That sounds like a crowded nightmare.” Marvin scrunched his nose. 

“Oh, it is.” Wilford clicked his tongue. “I give ol’ Google about a minute until it becomes too much and he’s out here with me. So, before he comes in and shuts my idea down, I’d like to make a suggestion for our current problem.” 

“I didn’t hurt them, right?” Jackie asked, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“The only thing you bruised was Dark’s ego.” Wilford chuckled.

“What a shame,” Marvin said. 

“You and Dark will get along eventually. Braid hair and talk about cute boys as you had put it.” Wilford twirled his mustache with a finger.

“You weren’t there when I said that. Did Illinois tell you?” 

“Wasn’t I?” Wilford poked his cheek with a hum, lost in thought for a second before just shrugging. “So, my idea-”

“Wait, Did Illinois-”

“-I’m thinking of having Jackie take a nap so he won’t get scared,” Wilford spoke over Marvin as if he hadn’t in the first place. Marvin decided to bite his tongue and save that question for later. 

“Take a nap? You mean knock me out?” Jackie’s face showed that he wasn’t the most fond of that idea. “I mean, if you think it’ll make sure no one’s hurt. We’ve had some really close calls before. Like when I nearly kicked Google’s face but his glasses fell off and they got stepped on or the time Anti tried to get my shoulders and I headbutted his-” 

“I have an idea as well.” Marvin blurted out. Jackie’s rambling getting the thought to come to mind. “It doesn’t involve cotton candy anesthesia, but if it works, Chase is probably going to kick his own ass for not thinking of it himself.” 

“If it doesn’t work, I still vote on letting him nap,” Wilford said. 

“Calling it a nap doesn’t make it less scary,” Jackie muttered. The three of them stopped and turned when the door opened. Google stepped out, holding his phone to his ear and pausing at the sight of the others.

“Who ya calling there, Google?” Wilford nearly sang his question. 

“No one.” Google quickly answered. 

“Hey, Googs!” Bing’s distinctive tone came from the phone. 

“Calling Bing?” Wilford continued his singing voice.

“I’m catching him up,” Google stated before walking off, whispering into the phone so he couldn’t be heard. 

“How many cans of worms are there with this group?” Marvin asked. 

“I don’t have enough fingers to count,” Jackie said. “But that one is actually new to me.” 

“I can fill you in later,” Wilford said with a wink. 

“Yes, later, because I’m about to tear my own skin off with this dried mud on me.” Marvin walked past Wilford and into the room, hearing footsteps behind him and knowing that it was Jackie following him. 

“How are you still moving around caked in that shit?” Phantom asked. 

“Pure spite at this point,” Marvin answered. “Now, do we still need blood from me and Jackie?” 

“We have several running theories but in order to confirm or disprove them, we’d need a closer look at…” Mad’s sentence trailed off when he just got looked at. “Yes. We do.”

Marvin wasn’t staring at Mad because he was talking too much, he was looking because he noticed something was different about him. He could have sworn Mad’s eyes were a light brown but they were a dark purple and as he changed his sentence, his eye color changed as well, turning to a light orange. 

“Your eyes changed,” Marvin said. 

“Oh, yeah, they do that. I’ve been wearing brown contacts around you. Everyone else panicked when they saw them the first time and I didn’t want you to do the same. We came over here so fast that I didn’t have time to put them in.” Mad explained, the orange in his eyes getting brighter the more he spoke. 

“No need to hide them from me, I think they’re pretty cool,” Marvin said with a kind smile, seeing how the orange started having a redder hue to them as a tint of pink appeared on Mad’s cheeks. 

“We should focus on how to fix your and Jackie’s eyes.” Mad was clearly trying to turn the topic away from himself. 

“I have a plan. Henrik, do your usual thing to get what you need from Jackie.” Marvin looked over to where Jackie was talking with Illinois and Yancy. 

“I’m sorry for freaking out like that,” Jackie said. 

“Yous don’t gotta apologize.” Yancy waved a hand. 

“Everyone, well almost everyone, has their fears,” Illinois said. 

“Quit actin’ like you ain’t scared of something.” Yancy lightly slapped Illinois’ arm with the back of his hand. 

“It’s not an act.” Illinois grinned. 

“We’ll scare you one day.” Jackie chuckled. 

“Ready to try my idea?” Marvin asked, joining the group. 

“Oh, yeah, sure. Do I need to like do anything special?” Jackie already looked a bit worried. 

“Just sit on the end of the chair, facing that wall.” Marvin gestured to the spot he was talking about. 

“Okay?” Jackie followed the direction, watching as Marvin ushered the others to move, getting half of them out of the room and the other half to stay at the edge of the room. Dark looked like he wanted to protest but a quick whispered comment from Wilford got him to just roll his eyes and step aside as instructed. 

“I got this part.” Marvin took the disinfecting wipe from Henrik and started cleaning off the crook of Jackie’s arm. “So you know how you’ve been getting me to watch those superhero movies?” He asked Jackie.

“Yeah, we’re gonna watch Into The Spiderverse next.” Jackie sounded confused as he watched Marvin clean him off, toss the wipe aside, and then stand directly in front of him. 

“There’s a question I’ve seen online and I need your opinion. Tobey, Andrew, Tom. Who’s the best Spider-Man?” Marvin hoped the question would do what he assumed it would. 

“Oh! I’ve seen that talk before!” Jackie perked right up. “Like how sometimes there’s being a really good Spider-Man and being a really good Peter Parker and trying to find a way to do the other way since, like, yeah Peter and Spider-Man are the same person but there’s always the-” He went right into an excited ramble like Marvin had planned. Marvin shot a look at Henrik who thankfully caught on and got to work getting a blood sample while Jackie was distracted. Chase slapped his palm to his forehead, also proving Marvin right that he knew he should have thought of this sooner. 

“I think Tom does a younger Spider-Man really well and-”

“This is ridiculous,” Dark muttered as he left the room. “All it took was that.” His mutters continued until he was out of hearing range. 

“I think it’s like super cool how he actually has the webbing coming out of him while the others make their own webbing.” Jackie’s spiel continued without missing a beat, Henrik already halfway done with the blood draw at this point. 

“I could probably make that stuff,” Mad said. 

“You could!?” Jackie turned to look at Mad and Marvin quickly caught his head, both hands on his face and he guided him to look forward again. He was not about to risk him seeing the needle and panicking. Jackie had to take a second to recover from the gesture as Marvin grabbed Mad’s arm and pulled him over to stand beside him. 

“How would you make the webbing?” Marvin prompted. Mad perked up just like Jackie had done.

“There’s a lot of different methods we could use. We’d have to account for some variables if Jackie wishes to swing on the webbing.”

“I totally want to swing!” Jackie bounced a bit on his rear while Mad bounced on his feet. 

“I’d need your weight to make sure the webbing is at least strong enough to hold that and-” Mad rambled on with Jackie adding his ideas and thoughts. Marvin sighed in relief and sat himself in one of the chairs in the room. Anti chuckled as he moved to stand next to him.

“Looks like you’ve used his rambling to your advantage,” Anti said. 

“He’s a lot happier talking about his movie stuff.” Marvin had a smile while watching the two excited men planning a Spider-Man-themed experiment. 

“You like seeing him happy.”

“Of course.” 

“Isn’t that cute?”

“I will shave your head.” 

“All done,” Henrik said, cleaning off the spot and seeing that the small wound already healed by the time it was clean. 

“All done?” Jackie echoed, seeing Henrik holding a vial of blood. “All done?” He said again, looking at his arm and then at Marvin. 

“All done,” Marvin confirmed, giving Jackie a thumbs-up. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Illinois chuckled. “All it took was a new head to figure this out.”

“Nothing looks different at a surface level.” Henrik committed, beginning his observations. “We’ll need a sample from Marvin next.” 

“Could you get that one hair mask you mentioned?” Marvin asked Jackie, seeing him tense up. 

“Yep!” Jackie didn’t miss a beat and took off. 

“I’ll go bring him some juice.” JJ chuckled, already in the fridge and leaving the room, flashing a quick smile to Wilford as he passed.

“Let me help you.” Wilford offered and followed him. 

x~x~x

Marvin used Henrik’s bathroom to wash up while Henrik and Mad studied his and Jackie’s blood. He had to keep the door open and the others kept an ear out just in case there was a problem, thankfully, the shower had gone smoothly. 

Marvin didn’t feel any different. Yes, his eyes were still red but nothing felt wrong or off or anything that would raise alarms for him. During the peace of the shower, he did focus on his internal being, and while he felt his own magic, some other magic was in there as well. Maybe that was causing the redness in their eyes. 

Right now Marvin and Jackie sat together on the examination chair once more. Jackie needed to do something with his hands or, to quote him, ‘he’d die of boredom’, so he helped Marvin with applying the hair mask. Using a comb to make sure the product got to the roots of his hair. Marvin just went with it since it always felt nice to have someone playing with his hair but also knowing Jackie really needed something soothing to do after all he’s been through today. Physically and mentally. 

The other Ipliers were sent home. Dark stayed behind to relay any vital information once everything was done. The crowd was no longer needed since there weren’t any immediate signs of danger. Anti got bored and left and JJ excused himself to finish a task he had been working on before Marvin and Jackie returned. 

So it was Jackie, Marvin, Henrik, Chase, Mare, Phantom, Mad, and Dark left in the room. Still plenty of people but at least the crowd shrank somewhat. Marvin was just ready for all this to be done and over with. He was running out of time to get some proper reading done before bed. 

“Now can we confirm it was what I said it was since the beginning?” Phantom asked with a huff. 

“We have tested everything, so yes,” Henrik said. 

“What’s up with us?” Jackie asked, putting the comb down.

“It’s a curse,” Phantom stated.

“A-mother fucker.” Marvin grunted and rubbed his face. “Of course, it’s a curse.”

“Our eyes are cursed?” Jackie scrubbed his eyes with closed fists. 

“In a way.” Mare said. “It’s likely a warning of what the new Ego could do. The magic seems similar to what me and Phantom use. Chaos-based with a focus on illusion. We can dispel the curse right now or it’ll fade naturally within a day or two.” 

“I should have known it was just a visual curse.” Marvin was annoyed at himself for not catching it sooner. He could probably break the curse on his own but didn’t want to risk misreading it and causing permanent damage. “This is beyond anticlimatic.” 

“I’d rather it be something boring than a big problem,” Chase said. 

“I wouldn’t say boring,” Mad said. “Like Mare had said, the eyes were simply a warning. A sign that he is capable of altering our bodies. We don’t know the extent that he is capable of.” 

“Sorry, but-um-can we fix the eyes while we talk about this?” Jackie asked. 

“Dibs on the himbo,” Phantom said before going to Jackie while Mare rolled his eyes and went to Marvin. 

“It’ll take no more than ten seconds,” Mare said, holding his hands up and silently asking permission to use his magic on Marvin. Marvin just nodded his understanding and closed his eyes when Mare’s hands held his head, thumbs on his temples, and the rest of his fingers on the sides of his neck. 

Dark said something but Marvin couldn’t hear him, focusing on the magic surging through his head. Chaos magic felt like its name. Erratic, loud, fuzzy but there was a strange sense of control to it. A control that had to be formed or the magic would break anything and everything it could reach. The magic danced around before finding the string that connected to the curse and it snapped it. Marvin blinked hard a few times when Mare lowered his hands. 

“All clear,” Mare stated. 

“I keep forgetting how blue your eyes are.” Phantom chuckled. “Marvin’s got some blue ones too but his are more like sapphire while yours are ocean.” 

“Thanks?” Jackie tilted his head.

“That’s interesting,” Mad said softly to himself, his gaze on Marvin and a hint of green showing in his eyes. Marvin was going to ask what Mad meant but was cut off by Dark.

“Now, since that is all done.” Dark picked up his blazer and draped it over his arm. “Myself and the other Ipliers will handle our newest member.” 

“But Host said it’s supposed to be Jackie and Marvin.” Chase protested.

“I will need to speak with him about that. We do not crossover like this unless we are creating a new branch. Something is wrong and I will find the solution to it.” Dark turned his neck and cracked it. “Until then. Marvin and Jackie are not to make contact with this new Iplier.” 

“We can’t go against-you son-of-a-bitch.” Chase cursed when Dark left without another word. “I am going to shoot his dick off, I swear to God.” 

[rosetintedgunman]

Oh! You Must be New.

Not that that's a bad thing, mind you. Everyone is new at some point. Even me! But it can be a bit of a problem when you find a blog that's been around in some capacity since 2018. There's a lot of gaps to fill in, and hopefully this post will help be a starting point.

While this is a Wilford rp and ask blog, no matter how busy or quiet it may be, it has been around for a long time. M.otherloving came out about a month or two after the blog was set up, and the accuracy of what I was writing meant this blog was on the right track - I was the only person in my circle at the time who didn't need to either make major headcanon changes or opt to abandon canon and go divergent. With every appearance, there's been no major tweaks that have been required to adjust the portrayal. To toot my own horn, it's been fairly spot on.

Between that and natural character development, this can mean that the blog could be a little... 'inaccurate' to expectations, and can cause a lot of confusion for those who aren't 'in the know'. So! Consider this a 101 on the character without needing to trawl through the gauntlet of a two-part bio (the second part isn't even finished yet....)

In brief, I kindly ask that you leave expectations of a reckless madman who fully personifies the "LOL XD RANDUM" and has no clue about anything going on at the door, please. If you want to compare him to a canon appearance, look more toward M.otherloving or Space.

For a lot more info to help get you started, read on.

-

While this Wilf (also known as 'Rose' when interacting with variants) is still eccentric and kooky, he is more grounded in nature. Chances to interact with others and maintain a somewhat normal sense of time flowing in the correct manner have started to help him feel more connected. Not only that, he's starting to get glimpses of his original life as William, and a later life of Wilson Jackson Bartholomew (or just 'Jack'). The latter I haven't gone into much detail yet in general, so don't worry about that. If you see him getting glimpses of these memories, he doesn't go into hysterics. That's important.

He is six foot three, and heavy built. The evidence of his past life as a soldier is there in his broad shoulders, a barrel chest and strong arms, as well as how he can hold himself. However, he's got a proper tubby belly, and this softness almost counteracts the threat of the almost unnatural strength that lies within. His moustache is either pure pink or black with pink tips depending on the day. He's got a curly mop of black hair that has a slight red-pink tint when the light shines on it just right. The only genuine traces of pink in his hair can be found in his fringe, which curls over his right eye. There's usually faint stubble across his jawline, and he flat-out refuses to wear glasses (he'll say it's because he doesn't want anyone missing out on his 'cute chocolate eyes'. Don't believe him. He just doesn't like them and won't humour the idea of contacts). Despite this, he's still athletic, and can move surprisingly fast if you aren't prepared.

He's still a reporter, though these days he's taken a bit of a back seat. His work in the studio is helping the Jims and others who are making their presence known on camera. When he does interview, that reckless, gun-wielding side comes out in full force... But it's more akin to an act than anything truthful to who he is.

Instead, his priority is the Moonlight Roller. It's the reclaimed disco setting of M.otherloving that was redecorated and given a whole new lease of life. I go into a LOT more detail here, but in brief: it is a roller rink, amusement arcade, diner, and bar that is located both in a real location and in between the worlds and stories. If a character needs a break, they'll find a door to the Roller.

Personality-wise, Wilf is still eccentric, but it's closer to a 'weird uncle' mixed with a cartoon character. He's normally upbeat and childish, though he does have his more serious moments. He'll still take time to voice whatever odd thought crosses his mind on the dash, or go directly to another blog if he wants an answer or opinion on something. And to my surprise, he's even tried to be the stereotypical 'bartender who listens to others' woes'. I never thought that would happen! How did that happen?? He used to be notorious for putting his foot in his mouth!

As for his abilities? He's got the abilities to lift things in and out of pocket dimensions. He always has a weapon on his person, even if there's little reason for it these days. He can blink out of existence or disappear if eyes are off him, and use doors as a way to teleport/take shortcuts. This can sometimes land him in different timelines or eras, not that he minds. He's got impeccable aim, and he usually only misses if he chooses to. That's not mentioning his ability to use any weapon after a brief examination with startlingly good skill.

By the way. You can kill him, but he won't stay dead. He'll come back to pester you about it in a few days.

-

This blog also has William, but I don't need to talk about any potential differences. What you saw in WKM is what you get, essentially. His height was rather unusual for his time, and he absolutely used this to his advantage to add to the intimidation factor. He was a loyal friend, but also not the nicest person to be friends with. And if he didn't know you? Good luck!

Sometimes, you may see someone called Liam. This is a 'what-if' timeline where Celine never arrived, resulting in William's death and him taking the role of 'the villain'. Despite the 'what-if', this was actually the intended plan, where William would die, and everyone else would leave, alive and safe. This goes into more detail about that. In brief, his main distinguishing factor is his paralysed left arm as a result of the fatal injury he received during the gun confrontation with the Detective.

[foxtamer113]

Casual Darkstache Holding Hands :D - I always wanted to draw Dark in a sweater :D

[theprinceofflies]

have you ever thought about the Egos in glasses before (aside from Schneep)? Mark and Jack both wear glasses, but the Egos wearing glasses.

Oh hell yeah.

i can see Anti hating them and wearing contacts instead.

Wilford gets wierd pink heart glasses.

dark needs reading glasses.

I love the headcannnon that JJ can’t see very well in one eye and needs a monical

chase, Jackie and Marvin wear them. Marvin isn’t very happy with them because they fog up but doesn’t wear contacts. Jackie does wear contacts for heroing. just Clark Kent with his glasses

google and Bing dont need them but Bing likes to wear sunglasses. Google also likes to wear glasses because the thinks they make him look smart.

Edward wears reading glasses as well

[faecaribou]

Broken Glasses and Bonding Sessions

Erik Derekson & Dr. Iplier have a moment where Erik gets hurt and Dr. Iplier doesn’t understand how. Based off a personal experience no one can relate to at all lol. Placed on ao3 as well:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618878

“Dr. Iplier?”

The doctor turns around, smiling as he greets the other ego.

“Erik! What can I do for-” Dr. Iplier stops suddenly, catching sight of Erik’s face.

The younger ego shuffles his feet nervously as Dr. Iplier leaps forward, fingers tracing but not touching the large growing bruise on Erik’s face.

“Oh, dear! What happened!” Dr. Iplier gasps, examining the injury. The skin was not broken, but the bruise was fresh and painful looking.

“It was an accident,” Erik says, twitching away from the doctor’s touch. “I was wondering if you could fix my glasses. Dr. Iplier’s eyes grow wide as Erik holds out his glasses, completely snapped in half. Dr. Iplier reaches out and takes them gently and examines them, surprised.

“You snapped these perfectly in half,” He says, holding the symmetrical pieces in his hands. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling: awe, maybe? Shock? Erik isn’t the type to break his glasses on purpose, but surely such an even break, combined with a bruise, couldn’t have been an accident?

“Did someone break these on purpose?” He asks, voice low and gentle, trying to calm Erik down from his anxious state. Dr.Iplier hopes that no one has been bullying Erik, but if one of the egos were, then he would alert Dark without any hesitation. But Erik only flushes, face bright red, and avoids eye contact.

“It was an accident,” he mumbles, twisting his yellow cloth in his hands nervously. Dr. Iplier frowns, eyes drawn to the movement, and catches sight of small bruises on Erik’s hands.

“What’s this?” He asks, reaching out and gently taking Erik’s hands. Erik twitches, like a suppressed flinch, but lets the doctor take a look at his hands.

“It’s nothing,” Erik says, but the doctor only frowns. The bruises were minuscule compared to Erik’s face, and fainter too, so there is nothing for the older ego to do. He lets go of Erik’s hands reluctantly. He glances at Erik’s face, but there was little he could do there, and Erik looks a little panicked, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, so the doctor slowly returns his attention to the glasses.

Ignoring the fact that the glasses were entirely snapped, in the center of the nose bridge, the glasses would seem fine, intact save for small scrapes. But certainly, now unusable. And beyond repair.

“These will need a new frame,” Dr. Iplier says reluctantly. “Would you like to make sure your prescription is up to date before we make new ones?” Erik thinks about it, then nods, so Dr. Iplier takes out an eye chart and some of Erik’s old glasses. Over the years, the doctor’s equipment had grown to fit the needs of the various egos, as they seemed to think that they wouldn’t need any other doctor as long as they Dr. Iplier, but the fact was that Dr. Iplier was good for checkups, some emergency room action, and therapy. He did not start into existence specializing in Dark’s broken back, he did not know the optometry needed for The Host’s eyes or Erik’s glasses, and he did not memorize every mental illness available or how to cure Wilford of his obvious insanity. No, all of Dr. Iplier’s much-needed knowledge came from hard studying, late nights, and The Host’s help. The doctor sighs and calls out loud for the Host, confident that the blind ego would know he was being asked for, and what the powerful ego could do to help.

Surely enough, not a full minute passed before the equipment appears in the doctor’s office. Erik startles slightly, but Dr. Iplier only thanks The Host with an easy smile. He gestures for Erik to step forward. As Dr. Iplier leans forward towards Erik’s face, he catches sight of a thin red line across the bridge of Erik’s nose and frowns. It was just where Erik’s glasses sat, skin red and angry but unharmed. The ego in question only watches Dr. Iplier with a curious and nervous expression.

“Were you wearing your glasses when they broke?” The doctor asks, worried.

“It was an accident,” Erik repeats. Dr. Iplier frowns, creases on his forehead growing deeper. He couldn’t see how falling would’ve broken the younger ego’s glasses like that, unless, perhaps, he fell on something. The idea of Erik being bullied seemed more like a possibility, and Dr. Iplier finds himself growing angry. Erik catches sight of the doctor’s expression and looks slightly afraid, but offers up another piece of information.

“I fell.”

Dr. Iplier frowns, acknowledging his other idea besides bullies.

“On something?” He asks, and Erik flushes again, and Dr. Iplier recognizes it as embarrassment.

“Into a corner.”

Dr. Iplier makes a worried noise.

“Into a corner?” He repeats, and reaches out to Erik’s head, searching for any bumps under the younger ego’s hair. He finds nothing, to some relief, but Erik pulls himself out of the doctor’s grasp.

“I just stood up too fast,” Erik says, shifting in his chair uncomfortably, and Dr. Iplier pauses, confused.

“You just stood up too fast.” He repeats, and Erik nods. “Like vertigo?” Erik doesn’t have vertigo.

But the sweater-wearing ego nods anyway, and the older ego narrows his eyes.

“Describe the experience.” He commands, and Erik looks worried but complies.

“I stood up, took a couple of steps, and my vision went black,” Erik starts. “I was in the middle of the hallway, I think, I couldn’t see, but King asked if he could get by, so I tried to step to the side even though my balance felt weird, and the next thing I know, I’m on the floor and my glasses aren’t on my face.”

Dr. Iplier looks at Erik. There was no way that was vertigo.

“Erik,” he says slowly, “That sounds like you blacked out for a moment. You don’t remember falling?” Erik shakes his head.

“I was standing and then I was on the ground and my face hurt.”

Genuinely concerned now, the doctor reached out and checked Erik’s head again, making sure he didn’t miss any bumps last time, but the result was the same. Quickly, the doctor grabbed a pen and held it in front of Erik.

“Follow with your eyes,” he commands, and Erik does so. Nothing. The doctor holds back a growl of frustration and worry.

“Have you felt nauseous? Head hurts?’ He asks, but Erik shakes his head, acting like everything is fine. He doesn’t seem to regret shaking his head either, which the doctor notes.

“Only my face hurts, here,” He gestures to the bruise, and Dr. Iplier nods.

“You got a nasty bruise there,” he agrees. He frowns. He didn’t seem to have a concussion, which is both relieving and worrying. What had caused Erik to blackout?

“You said King was there?” Erik nods. “Can you go get him?”

Erik nods and stands with ease. He leaves the room steadily, and Dr. Iplier watches him go.

“Host,” he says slowly, “I think I need to give a blood test to Erik.”

The equipment appears by Dr. Iplier’s side quickly, a blood-stained note accompanying it.

“Do you need help diagnosing him?” It says in a sloppy scrawl, and Dr. Iplier bites his lip.

“I might,” he admits.

King and Erik enter the room a second later, and Dr. Iplier gestures them to sit.

“King,” he greets. “I don’t suppose you can tell me what you saw when-”

A flash of cold enters the room, and out of the corner of Dr. Iplier’s eyes his spots a black blur. He turns to face Dark as the grayscale ego enters with The Host in tow.

“I hear someone was injured?” Dark says gruffly, glitching sporadically in a way that suggests nervousness.

“I’m sure King’s story will catch us all up,” Dr. Iplier says, turning back to King, who looks paler as he realizes that something might be wrong.

“What happened when Erik fell?” The doctor asks, ignoring the two most powerful egos behind him.

“Sure,” King says, looking worried as well. “I entered the hallway, and he was just standing there at the other end, staring off into the distance, or so I thought. I asked if I could get by and he didn’t reply. He just stood there for another moment and then just fell over.”

“He just fell over,” Dr. Iplier repeats, and King nods and stands up to demonstrate.

“Yeah, he was like this-” King stands stiffly with his arms at his sides and legs together- “and then he just fell forward!” King leans forward, letting gravity pull him forward until he automatically sticks a foot out to steady himself. “Except he didn’t catch himself. Just fell, like a statue knocked over.”

Dr. Iplier looks at Erik carefully, noting the tight grip the youngest ego had on his yellow cloth.

“Thanks, King,” he says finally. “That’s all.” King stands reluctantly, glancing at Dark and Erik before Dr. Iplier catches his eyes. He tries to smile reassuringly at King, but the truth is, he is worried. He doesn’t know what’s wrong. He must do a good job at hiding it, though, because King seems to relax and darts out the door.

“What is it?” Dark asks, voice low, and the doctor could only shrug.

“I need to do a blood test,” he says, admitting his confusion. He turns to grab a needle.

“The Host will repair Erik’s glasses,” The Host declares, and turns his back determinedly as Dr. Iplier draws Erik’s blood. Honestly, the number of egos afraid of needles in this mansion was staggering, and not at all helpful for the doctor’s job.

As soon as Dr. Iplier sets up the machine, the Host turns around again, holding Erik’s glasses, now intact. The Host offers them to the youngest ego wordlessly, and once they are taken back, the Host turns to the machine.

“The machine hums, finishing its diagnosis, and begins to spell out the results,” The Host narrates, and Dr. Iplier realizes the Host is speeding up the results.

“Can you not tell what is wrong with Erik using your narrations?” Dark snaps irritably and The Host frowns in Dark’s direction.

‘The Host does not want to risk narrating wrong and giving Erik a second problem on top of what is wrong with him now,” The Host snaps back, and Dark steps back a little, the closest thing to an apology that the demonic ego would offer right now, and the Host turns back to the machine wordlessly. Enough time spent with the blind ego grants the doctor the knowledge that the Host has forgiven Dark, but Erik glances between the two worriedly, so Dr. Iplier pats his shoulder in silent reassurance.

The machine beeps to announce its completion of analyzing Erik’s blood, and the tension in the room ramps up. Dr. Iplier leans forward and reads the results, making a noise when he sees what’s wrong.

“Low iron,” he says out loud, and some of the tension dissipates. The doctor reaches into his cabinet and pulls out some iron supplements.

“Take two a day, and no more, or else you’re going to get badly sick, and no less, or you’re going to keep passing out.” The doctor instructs and frowns less. “And drink more water. I noticed your hands were rather dry.”

Erik takes the supplements with no small amount of relief and then exits the room quickly, leaving the other three egos behind.

“The Host is glad it was not something worse,” The Host says finally.

“Low iron is still pretty bad, you know how he looked,” Dr. Iplier counters and The Host shrugs slightly, shoulders tense, and the doctor accepts the apology for what it is. Dr. Iplier takes the health of all his family seriously, no matter how easily fixable, and The Host knows this.

“If I could grow gray hair, this would’ve given me quite a few,” Dark grumbles, voice less glitchy than before. He runs a hand through his hair, looking suddenly exhausted.

Our family can be so stressful,” The doctor commiserates. He pokes Dark for emphasis, unafraid of the eldest ego. “Like you. Get some sleep.”

The powerful ego only sighs, a moment of weakness reserved for the pair of older egos. 

“Maybe I will,” he allows, and then glitches away, hopefully teleporting to his room.

“The Doctor will need a bigger office if he is going to keep all of this equipment,” The Host notes, and Dr. Iplier nods in agreement.

“Definitely,” He agrees, then hums and pats the chair next to him. “While you’re here, you should get your bandages changed.” “Absolutely not!” The Host yelps, making his way towards the door. “They aren’t that filthy yet!”

Dr. Iplier watches him scramble off, annoyance growing.

“It seems my job is never finished,” he complains to no one, and a fond smile threatens to tug his lips up, but he pushes it down.

“Oh well.” He grabs a clean roll of bandages and leaves the room, turning the light off as he goes.

[inkribbon796]

Like a House of Cards Ch. 5: Robots and Frogs

Summary: Logan is done playing around.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Outside of the dome, Logan had gone from agitated to outright furious as he tried to attack the dome but Google and Bing had teamed up with the Dark Sides to fight against him and so his attention was split. Google’s other three extensions had also shown up to help.

The other three Suits were starting to back up away from Logan as his glitching and fury was becoming more apparent.

Then, after five minutes of having to fend his combatants of, Logan had enough. He screamed, “Fine! You all wish to be difficult about it, then fine!”

The box that Ethan and Chase had taken from the base and put in the backseat of the Sides’ car, started violently shaking and put a dent in the door before smashing through the window and flying towards Logan. It hit him square in the back and he was engulfed by a cloud of nanites.

There was a cheery DING and Patton’s voice announced, “Nanite production at 5000%.”

In a fraction of a second the nanites began multiplying in number and they were forming thick ropes of wires and metallic plates. Logan’s nanite body exploded and there stood a dark blue figure made of light and code as they started to arrange themselves inside of a suit of metal as the other heroes were trying to stop what was happening.

“Ohhh, ****[1] yeah,” Bing realized and turned to Google. “Googs! Get the extensions! We’re making a Megazord!”

At first Google was confused, but after a bit and a little bit of arguing, and Logan was quickly building himself a giant metal exoskeleton, Google relented.

Bing and the Googles made a segmented colossal robot with their nanites, Google helping to multiply the nanites as quickly as possible as Bing’s nanites gave them direction and form. Oliver got a leg. Green got another leg. Red got the two arms. Bing’s orange nanites mostly condensed in the center where they could be redistributed as needed. And Google stayed up in the head area where his cameras could see everything better.

Logan’s colossal robot was a dark blue, the metal hard lines clearly more designed for attack than defense. There were two massive tubes on the backs of his shoulders, one with a viscous red gas, and the other a deep frothing purple.

Right before the center hatch closed, Bing and Google were able to catch sight of Logan as he normally looked, giving a smug smile and Patton was sitting right next to him. Patton gave a huge smile and waved his fingers at them.

With a pressurized hiss the gas in both the tubes began turning a cloudy white as Logan’s robot braced for an attack, swatting away at Silver who tried to fly in and pry the center hatch back open.

Google was already arming everyone for an attack as the tubes propped open and two figures jumped out of the tubes and landed on the ground.

The figures looked like Roman and Virgil, not wearing their masks and almost completely made of light.

Roman’s hologram drew out a sword and pixie-like wings materialized on his back. Like a fly against an elephant, Roman advanced too quickly for the Googles to catch, and he flew against them and began severing wires around Oliver’s leg addition.

Silver, seeing what was going on, tried to fly towards Roman and get him away but was almost hit in the face by magical projectiles thrown by the holographic Virgil. Several of which hit the dome as Logan advanced on it. He slammed the large robotic hand into the dome and it rocked the protective shield and those inside of it. The entire ship inside shook as if it had made contact with a rock or an iceberg.

A long crack appeared down the length of it, which Clubs had been waiting for and slipped in, before the Host could suture the crack back up with magic.

The Suit slipped from concrete and rubble streets into the well air conditioned interior of a cruise liner’s hallway.

At that point any hero that wasn’t necessary to hold back Diamonds or Hearts, converged on the Logan robot.

Janus made short work of the Roman hologram, the creation of light exploding into red dust and dissipating as Remus went for the Virgil hologram. Marvin and the Google working to keep Logan pinned as Silver gathered up as much speed as he could and used his strength to push through the chest plate of the robot to try and pull Logan out.

And then he missed.

The superhero sliced through the metal and before he could hit the blue solid state drive that carried Logan, it moved to a more defensible area but Silver nicked something: the protective casing enveloping the golden lock tore like wet tissue paper and snapped in half.

Instantly Logan realized what had happened and started pulling all the nanites together to fix the locket as light blue dust and mist emerged from it.

His more “human” form came back into being and he tried to cup the locket with his hands, forcing his aura towards it in a desperate attempt to keep the being housed inside contained and tried to force it to go back to sleep. “No! No! Sleep! It’s not safe here. Go back to sleep.”

Google shot out of the conjoined robot, the thing almost crumbling apart as the android hit Logan and ripped him away from the breaking locket, the android sending pulsing waves to kill the nanites and try and get to whatever core or drive Logan had to power Logan down so he could get him away safely.

“Cease, let me power you down so I can take you away from the humans,” Google tried to reason with him, but Logan kept kicking and struggling as Nate rushed over and started firing magic as the nanites to try and kill them.

Janus saw the commotion and walked over to the little mass of nanites that this Logan had put above his own safety, and the deceitful Side was looking for a bargaining chip. He wanted answers and a little bit of revenge.

So with a firm tap on the ground with his staff, the nanites fell off the broken locket and Janus moved to pick it up.

But as his hand got halfway down, a fierce light blue glow came from the locket and a figure was kneeling on the ground in front of Janus.

It was Patton. He let out a distressed whimper and the look Logan gave him was one of heartbreak.

Patton’s eyes opened and he looked at the scene directly in front of him. “Lolo?” Patton asked before his eyes tracked up to look at Nate.

The more emotional Side flinched and Nate and Janus could see the aura ripping off of him.

“No!” Patton screamed in fury, his freckles growing in size and darkening as his eyes glowed yellow but still had a blue color to them.

Slamming his fists on the ground, Patton’s light blue color flashed twice all throughout his body and what had once been a human was now a hulking green frog monster, Patton’s glasses perched on top his snout and the grey cat hoodie he liked to wear at home tied around his neck.

He slammed his fist on the ground and huge cracks formed fanned out and he jumped on Google, tearing him away to grab Logan. A huge beanstalk started to shoot out of the ground as Patton kept up into the air and started jumping up leaf after leaf. The damage from the growing beanstalk and the fights finally snapping the dome in half and instead of shattering and materializing out of existence, the magic shrunk into a smaller space the size of a house, curved around two individuals.

Illinois screamed as he faced over to the dome and started beating on it, as Wilford picked himself up from the ground, bleeding from the temple where a bullet had tried to pierce his skull but his magic had deflected it.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. fuck

[horrorhumorandcoffee]

Okay so I made a thing-

(There’s some headcannons in here btw)

SCP-~~~~ - Wilford Motherloving Warfstache

Item #: SCP-~~~~

Object Class: Euclid Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-~~~~ is to held at Site-██ within a standard humanoid containment cell. Subject has not yet been proved dangerous, and may roam the site freely. Subject is to be kept in containment, only allowed to roam the site if monitored by at least a dozen level 3 containment staff, and all weapons kept far from his grasp. All staff members are reminded to avoid the use of the word “kill” around SCP-~~~~. See Addendum ~~~~-1. SCP-~~~~ and his whereabouts are currently unknown. All attempts to contain SCP-~~~~ have failed, subject escaping containment within a week to 3 months. He is believed to be with another SCP; SCP-||||, but the whereabouts of this SCP are unknown as well. See Addendum ~~~~-4.

Description: SCP-~~~~ appears to be a Asian American male aged between twenty-eight and thirty-one. Naturally black hair dyed pink, pinkish-red eyes, and 1.78m (5’ 10”) tall. He also has a pink mustache, seemingly naturally pink, having changed from black to pink naturally over time. Wears overtly colorful clothing, usually themed pink and yellow, and usually wears suspenders matched with a bow tie. Occasionally will wear glasses, as this SCP is legally blind without glasses, but prefers contacts. Speaks with an unknown accent, overtly dramatized and over exaggerated, almost slightly sounding as if he were intoxicated. Subjects real name is William J. Barnum, but insists on being called “Wilford Warfstache”, an alias created while on the run.

SCP-~~~~ has reality warping abilities, believed to originate from SCP-####. The full extent of his abilities is unknown. These abilities have assisted in causing him to live much longer than the normal human life span, seemingly not aging more than a few years since the year 1922, despite being born in 1894. Subject has been shot in fatal places before, yet the wound seems to heal if fatal. If not fatal, any wounds require medical attention. Other than this seeming immortality, he still has a physical need to eat, sleep, and physically functions like a normal human being.

Staff interacting with SCP-~~~~ have reported him trying to question them about the foundation, taking notes and claiming that it’s for his “television show” (no record of this so called show have been found, despite him insisting on its existence), all attempts to “interview” staff have been met with less than satisfactory answers, as he has pointed out. Staff describe him as “polite yet strange” often times confusing staff by speaking of events that haven’t happened yet, sometimes speaking to them telepathically and seemingly teleporting. He has also been recorded to flirt with many of the staff members, despite gender. SCP-~~~~ also doesn’t seem to understand death, saying that the deceased will just simply “get up”. This delusion has not yet broken. See Addendum ~~~~-1.

SCP-~~~~ has requested to visit SCP-||||. Requests may be considered and visits are allowed but remind staff to stay cautious, as the two are extremely powerful together. All requests are to be denied. See Addendum ~~~~-4. He has also asked about SCP-••••. Any requests to visit •••• are to be met and monitored appropriately. Any requests to visit •••• are to be denied as well. See Addendum ~~~~-3 and ~~~~-4. If SCP-==== is seen roaming the site, any interactions between the two are to be monitored closely are prohibited. See Addendums ~~~~-2 and ~~~~-4. If SCP-%%%% is seen roaming the site, any interactions are allowed, with no need for monitoring and to be monitored appropriately. See Addendums ~~~~-2 and ~~~~-4. If SCP-^^^^ is seen roaming the site, interaction are allowed, with no need for monitoring and are to be monitored lightly. See Addendum ~~~~-4.

SCP-~~~~ was discovered on 7/10/████ in an police investigation, in SCP-#### along with SCP-||||, SCP-••••, SCP-====, SCP-%%%%, and SCP-^^^^. They were discovered living in the manor, using it as some sort of headquarters. They seemed to have created an organization, the main goal of this organization still unknown. All non-anomalous members of the organization had escaped before administered amnestics. They were found after SCP-~~~~ had killed multiple people in public, with a revolver. After SCP authorities arrived at the scene, all witnesses of the group were given amnestics and released.

Addendum ~~~~-1:

Incident report 1- SCP-~~~~ was roaming the site freely while staff worked. A staff member, working on a particularly difficult assignment, said “God, just kill me now”. SCP-~~~~ then responded by summoning a revolver and shooting the staff member. Luckily, they received immediate medical attention and survived the incident, and later requested to be moved to a different site. When questioned, SCP-~~~~ insisted that they would be fine, and continuously made the excuse that the staff member had told him to kill them, referencing the quote above.

Incident report 2- A new researcher, making an attempt at humor, stated that he’d “rather die then be put on Keter duty” and SCP-~~~~, hearing this, remembered this quote and a month later, when he heard that the staff member in particular had been put on Keter duty, immediately stabbed him, killing the staff member in question. When questioned, his answer was the same as in incident report 1. When SCP-~~~~ realized that the staff member was not coming back, he seemed to go in a dissociative state, his eyes turning into pink and yellow spirals with pink and yellow tears to match, and began to mutter things under his breath such as “No, they always come back” and “You’re lying”. This lasted the rest of the day, and the next day he retained no memory of this, continuing to believe that the staff member was alive.

Addendum ~~~~2:

Incident report 3- SCP-~~~~ and SCP-%%%% were “messing around” with ==== when a fight broke out amongst them. When questioned about why the fight broke out, ~~~~ claimed that %%%%, who he calls “Bing”, and him were “poking fun at Google (SCP-====)” to the point that ==== snapped at them, multiplying. ~~~~ and %%%% immediately ran away, which caused a chase through the site. They ran through the site, SCP-%%%% on a skateboard, SCP-~~~~ shooting at SCP-====, SCP-====-1, SCP-====-2 and SCP-====-3, who were all being chased by multiple faculty members. The chase ended when ====-1 was shot in a place that punctured his wiring, causing him to shut down and the other instances of ==== to stop the chase to repair him.

Addendum ~~~~3:

Incident report 4- SCP-~~~~ decided to visit •••• and they talked for a few minutes without being monitored. Then they caused a containment breach, where they worked together to break out ||||. The situation was handed quickly, but seven staff were still injured.

Addendum ~~~~-4:

Incident report 5- SCP-~~~~ was involved in a massive containment breach, started by him, SCP-||||, SCP-••••, SCP-====, SCP-%%%% and SCP-^^^^, and involving multiple others. Twenty-three staff were injured, eight more killed. All SCPs referenced above escaped.

(I did symbols instead of numbers lol, guess who ||||, •••• and ^^^^ are)

[spookyold-saintjm]

4 AND 18 FOR DARK X READER MY DEAR!

4: Excuse me—where is my Christmas kiss?

18: Merry Christmas, motherfuckers!

From this prompt list.

Me? Finally finishing up some requests? More likely than you’d think. Thanks @avenged-nightmare and sorry it took ten years.

This seemed like potential for absolute ego shit-show content so sign me UP. Also, something about Dark saying “motherfuckers” just doesn’t compute in my brain as believable but GUESS WHAT.

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol consumption.

Darkiplier x reader

The night had finally come, and it was all the chaos you’d expected it to be, and then some.

Getting all the egos together outside of a meeting wasn’t always an easy task, but somehow you, with your best friend Wilford at your side as your co-conspirator, had made it happen just in time for the holidays. A Christmas party to end all Christmas parties, Wilford had exclaimed in excitement once the plans had been finalized. 

You’d basically had to pry his gun from his flailing hands, and the party was still weeks away at the time.

Now it was here, and in full swing. The music, the drinks, the Christmas cookies and other treats, decorating the massive tree in the lobby, party games and catching up with each other’s lives…there was a lot going on, all the more fun to be had around every corner of the house.

Well, almost. 

Dark had yet to show, to your disappointment. Not that you were really, truly expecting him to make an appearance…but deep down, you’d hoped just maybe he’d come out of his damned study for the night, at least for you. But there was no indication of his appearance any time soon.

The thought occurred to you halfway through a card game with Wilford, Illinois, and Bing. Your head foggy from champagne and whatever else you’d been drinking throughout the night, you suddenly stood up from your spot on the couch and glanced over to the staircase leading up to the long hallway where Dark’s study was located.

“Hey, I’m gonna go talk to Dark,” you stated, finally pushing your hair away from your face.

“That miiiight not be the best idea…”  Bing started, but you ignored him, completely abandoning the game and making your way up the stairs, both hands grasping the railing so that you wouldn’t lose balance as you climbed to the top.

Dark’s study was silent, however the thudding of music and shouts and laughter from below were creeping in through the floorboards, to Dark’s dismay. 

He was reading from a stack of papers on his desk when he heard your sporadic, somewhat aggressive knocking on the door. He let out a long sigh, but didn’t bother to look up until you had decided to just let yourself into the room. 

Normally, someone coming into his space uninvited would result in serious consequences, but he made exceptions for you. Only you.

He could have gone, however, without seeing you in your current state. You stumbled in wearing a god-awful red and green fuzzy sweater and reindeer antlers haphazardly stuck onto your head, while still carrying the glass that had only briefly contained some sort of strong alcoholic beverage.

“y/n…” Dark started, but you held up a hand to silence him. Which, oddly enough, he did not protest.

“Excuse me, mister—” you slurred, stepping toward his desk. You sat down on the edge, plopping down the glass in your hand and leaning forward to meet his eyes, your face only inches from his. “Where is my Christmas kiss? And why won’t you come downstairs?”

Dark pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes with a sigh. “y/n, how much have you had to drink tonight?”

“Well, you’d know if you would have been spending the evening with me instead of—“ a hiccup and a dismissive wave of your hand, “whatever you’re doing up here.”

Dark swiped the champagne glass away from your arm’s reach when you almost knocked off his desk, and held it between his fingers. You tried to meet his stare again, but you couldn’t figure out which set of eyes you were seeing were the real ones at first. He was silent, unmoving. 

“You’re such a fucking grinch,” you finally muttered, easing yourself back up off the desk and into a standing position, although you kept your hands on the desk.

“I don’t know what that means,” Dark replied, his face falling flat, “But I’m assuming you’re insulting me.”

“Whatever, Dark, have fun by yourself.” You turned and made your way toward the door. Just before your hand touched the doorknob, you looked back at him.

 “You know, I gave up a lot to stay here with you. You could at least try to respect the things I miss.”

Dark made no effort to respond as you slammed the door shut. You stumbled your way back down the stairs, and found Wilford waiting for you at the bottom.

“Didn’t go well, huh?” he asked, noticing you suddenly rushing to wipe away the fogginess that had formed in your eyes as you reached the bottom steps. He laid a hand on your shoulder to steady the both of you once you landed from the final step. You knew it was just…Dark could just be that way, but the fuzziness in your brain was making your emotions all wonky.

“No, not exactly,” you replied quickly with a shake of your head, suddenly more agitated than sad. “Screw him anyway. Wanna get back to our game?”

Wilford grinned nervously, looking toward the next room over. “Well, we COULD, but…"

His voice was quickly drowned out by the sound of the music in the house getting significantly louder, and a very distinguishable  singing voice rising over all the others. When the first “youse” sounded through to the foot of the stairs, you rolled your head back and groaned.

“You gotta be kidding me…”

“We held it off for as long as we could…” Wilford sighed, but you both soon burst into fits of laughter. Yancy was at it again.

“Dammit, let’s just go see what kind of disaster it turns into this time,” you resigned, walking into the next room alongside Wilford, who was yanked away from you by one of the other egos before you could blink. You shrugged and weaved your way through to the kitchen to find the nearest bottle of something, anything. You sighed shortly as you popped off the lid of an unopened beer on one of the long countertops and took a long sip of whatever happened to be inside. You stopped briefly to talk to Eric, who had decided he was perfectly okay with not leaving the kitchen at all and just making sure everyone got some Christmas cookies, and maybe some water every now and then…? D-don’t you think that’s a good idea, y/n?

You hung around Eric a bit longer, his demeanor a pleasant contrast to whatever the hell was going on in the main room. So much dancing, so much sound, so much excitement…and suddenly you weren’t feeling up to any of it any more. 

You were leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, smiling as you listened to Eric tell you a story about a past Christmas with his brothers, when suddenly he fell silent, his eyes locked on something, or someone, over your shoulder.

“H-hey, ahh, hi, Mr. Dark!” 

You spun around to find Dark standing in the doorway to the kitchen, the air growing colder around you at his presence. He was no longer wearing his jacket and tie, but stood as straight, stiff, and as regal as he ever did in your eyes.

“What.” You spat your demand. Eric suddenly found something very important to do in the dining room and scuttled away, wanting nothing to do with whatever was going to happen between the two of you.

Dark’s eyes were like magnets, pulling you in with no choice but to stare back at him, as much as you didn’t even want to look in his direction in that moment. His arms folded over his chest and he let out a short sigh. 

“You really like this sort of thing?” he asked, his voice low.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink. “I enjoy being with my friends, with people I care about. They all…make me feel like I have a family again. Like I can forget about reality for a while and just…be happy.”

Dark’s eyes dimmed, his head lowering although he didn’t break eye contact. “I don’t make you happy.”

“I didn’t say that,” your voice rose slightly, revealing your desperation. Dammit. You quickly huffed and rolled your eyes. “I mean, you’re not exactly winning any brownie points tonight, that’s for damn sure.”

You knew it wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair to treat him like this, it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t feel things the way he should anymore. That he had to re-learn so much from a life he had long before, a past that he could never get back. So much had been taken from him, too.

“Don’t you remember what it’s like to just…have fun?” you finally asked. A dangerous question, asking him about remembering.

He was silent a moment longer, studying you, considering. Your heart had picked up its pace. You immediately wanting to take it back, but your mouth wouldn’t form the words. You started to shake your head, taking a step towards him, silently pleading he’d just forget it and go back upstairs, you could talk about it in the morning— 

Dark hummed lowly, uncrossing his arms and dusting himself off before you could reach him. You stopped the second he moved, now only a couple feet away from him, your bones like ice.

He slowly reached for you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His thumb glided along your skin like a whisper. He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. A low, deep, rumbling sound came from him, something so unusual you almost jumped from his touch. Was that…was he…laughing? Maybe more of a chuckle, but…oh, he was.

“You are poisonous, y/n…in all the ways that I think I need sometimes.” His hand dropped to gently rest on the back of your neck, urging you closer. In a haze you followed the pull, closing the gap between you and allowing his lips to press softly against yours. Short, simple, but spreading warmth through your entire body.

“If you can convince me in three minutes that this isn’t an abhorrent waste of my time, I will stay with you until the night is over,” he offered, that devilish half-grin of his creeping up along his face.

Your own beaming smile outmatched his easily, and you were pulling him by his arm into the next room faster than he could blink. “Challenge accepted.”

Wilford immediately noticed Dark’s presence in the room and pushed through the crowd to meet you, his pink hair splayed wildly atop his head. 

“Darky boy!! You came out of your cave for us?!” 

Dark rolled his eyes, but the grin remained. “Hello, Wilford.”

“Wilford, did you just say Dark?!”

 “HEY THERE BUDDY!“

“Well, well, well, look who it is!” 

A small group of the egos had suddenly formed around you, welcoming Dark amidst the noise and chaos, patting him on the back, offering him drinks and holiday candy or a spot in the next round of a game. His body initially curled inward, his presence cooling around you as if he were ready to fling himself straight into the void. He glared at you, unresponsive to any of their efforts to speak to him, and at first you were worried this really wasn’t going to end well.He pulled himself away from Wilford’s sudden embrace, and you stiffened as you saw his hand clench into a fist at his side. Oh, no.

But then, he glanced at you once more from the corner of his eye, and you saw the faintest of light glinting behind his eyes.

“Alright, alright. Yes, I’m here. Merry Christmas, motherfuckers. Give me that.” He yanked a full glass of liquid from Bim that matched the one you’d been carrying earlier, studying the contents only briefly before pressing it to his lips and taking a long sip.

You wondered if you were ever going to be able to pick your jaw up from the floor. This was going to be quite the night, after all.

[orange-waterfalls]

Sleeping Beauty

Darkiplier x Wilford Warfstache

@grey-b0y ty for the request!(im sorry it took so long lol)

A/N: ight so. first time doin a ship. literally the best thing ive ever written. may like to do more. uhhhh Dark being an overworked bastard. Wilford being the caring boyf that he would be. Disney movies. If you couldn't already tell. Uhhhhh finished this in an hour, re-read it, may actually be the best thing I've ever made I'm ngl. Dark may be a bit OOC, but that's just cause he's a lil bit tired. uhhhhh yeah. Enjoy!

Requests are open

--

Dark let out a quiet sigh as he opened the door to his and Wilford’s house. He threw his suit jacket to the side with absolutely no fucks to give about where it landed. He stumbled through the house until he eventually landed in his office, plopping down in his chair and leaning back with a groan.

He had so much work he still had left to do, and it was already 9:00. He was so, so, so very tired. The egos had been especially annoying that week, all having the stupidest comments during meetings and refusing to shut up once they got started. Dark had noticed Wilford gave him a “look” whenever he saw the entity annoyed or angry. He didn’t want Wilford to worry, so he always brushed it off. In hindsight, it might have been a good idea to let Wil help him. They were in a relationship, after all. People are supposed to help those that they love. Dark never gave Wil much of a chance to do that. He felt bad for it at times.

Dark rubbed the bridge of his nose and yawned. He shook his head and cracked his neck and flexed his hands, trying to make himself more awake. “Trying” being the keyword here. He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out his laptop and computer mouse. He opened the laptop and opened a document of everything he was supposed to schedule, approve, and deny. He went through everything, the blue light illuminating his pale face, the bags under his eyes looking very prominent. Any person with eyesight and half a brain could see he was sleep-deprived and overworked.

He heard a noise come from somewhere in the house. He stopped clicking and raised his head a bit, trying to listen. Nothing else came. He shrugged lightly. He was probably just imagining things…

Probably…

Another noise. A THUMP. Louder this time. He took his hand away from the mouse and leaned back in his chair, watching the closed door of the office. He stared at it, waiting for another noise to show up.

The sound of shattered glass and Wilford cursing caused Dark to jump up out of his chair. He threw the door open and ran to the source of the noise.

“Wil!” He called as he stopped in the living room. The panicked look on his face died down into indifference and mild annoyance.

Wilford was laying on his back in the middle of the room, margarita glass in hand, with the window shattered and shards of glass surrounding him. He turned to Dark and smiled.

“Good evening, pumpkin!” He greeted joyfully. Dark exhaled deeply and walked over to Wilford. He had no problem with the glass because his shoes were still on. Wilford, apparently having some sort of supervision when it came to Dark, noticed this small fact. “Why do you have your shoes on? When did you get home?” Dark, ignoring the question, pulled Wilford to his feet.

“Where’s your key?” He asked, exasperated.

“Now, hold on. I asked you first. It’s not fair that I have to answer questions when you haven’t answered mine!” The reporter pouted. Dark rolled his eyes.

“Stuck in a meeting. Stuck in traffic. Got home a couple of minutes ago,” He sighed, “Where is your key, Wil?” Wilford looked around for a moment before his eyes landed on a clock. He let out an exaggerated gasp.

“Dark! It’s so late! You must be exhausted!” He said, cupping Dark’s face in his hands. He can’t help from melting into the touch of his favorite person.

“No, no, I’m fine, really,” Dark mumbled, obviously lying. Wilford frowned.

“Come along now, darling, you know you can’t lie to me,” He said, stepping a bit closer to him. He looked into Dark’s eyes while the entity avoided eye contact. Wilford huffed before his eyebrows raised and a smile formed on his lips. Dark noticed and furrowed his eyebrows

“What?” He asked, slightly worried. Wilford grabbed his hand and led him to their bedroom. Dark sighed.

“Wil, I don’t-” He was cut off by a T-shirt being thrown at his face. Dark, being extremely tired, didn’t process what had happened until he looked down and saw the shirt. He looked back up at Wilford, squinting a bit. Wilford had somehow already changed. He was wearing pink shorts and a white shirt with a rainbow on the front. Dark glanced down at the shirt and raised an eyebrow. Wilford cleared his throat.

“My eyes are up here, Darky-poo,” He teased. Dark would have blushed if he were less proud. Would have.

Dark rolled his eyes and picked up the shirt, ushering Wilford out. God knows how long into their relationship and Dark still refused to change in front of his boyfriend. Wilford shook his head and chuckled, heading into the kitchen.

--

He made two bowls of popcorn, knowing for a fact he would scarf down his in a matter of minutes. He walked into the living room. He heard creaking and looked back to see Dark walk in after him. The pale entity wore black boxers and the grey shirt that was thrown at him. Wilford smiled.

“What took so long, darling?” He asked sweetly. Dark scoffed at the third pet name that night.

“Resting my eyes,” he claimed. Wilford hummed, knowing it was a lie. He wouldn’t push it, though. Dark sighed. “What are we doing, Wil?”

“Watching Disney movies. Only the musicals, though,” Dark groaned.

“Wil-”

“Listen,” Wilford said, suddenly sounding serious. Dark closed his mouth. “I know you won’t listen to me when I tell you to rest. So, if you’re gonna stay awake, you might as well do something vaguely fun, right?” Dark smiled softly.

This person. This person loved him. This person cared about him more than anyone else did. And this person that cared about him was trying to help. Dark sighed, but not in an exasperated way. In an “I really can’t argue because a) I have nothing to argue and b) I kinda sorta really don’t wanna argue but I still wanna act like I do” kinda way. He shuffled his way over to the couch and plopped down next to Wilford, scooting as close to him as possible. Wilford grinned and settled himself.

“But do we have to do all of them?” Dark complained. Wilford stroked his mustache a bit.

“Well, no, but we gotta start somewhere.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you get to tell me which year to start from.”

“Last year.” That earned a small glare from Wilford. “Fine, fine… uh… 19...8...9?”

“The Little Mermaid it is!” Wilford said excitedly.

“Wait, you know all the years?”

“Of course I do! What do you think I am? Some sort of commoner?!” Dark slowly blinked at that wreck of a sentence and turned back to the TV screen. Wilford put an arm around Dark, who snuggled into the touch. Then, Wilford hit the play button on his remote.

--

Two movies later, Dark was out cold. They’d barely gotten through a third of “Newsies” before Wilford looked over and saw the entity sleeping. Wilford had been mindful enough to keep his singing voice to a minimum, and so Dark hadn’t woken up. Wilford wasn’t even sure how long he’d been asleep. When did he last look? Halfway through “Beauty and the Beast?” Aw, too bad. 30 more minutes and they would’ve started on “Aladdin”! Wilford shrugged and paused the film.

He gently shifted in his spot and lifted Dark into his arms. He slowly carried the “Sleeping Beauty”(shut up I’m funny) to their room. He gently laid Dark down on the bed, covering him with the blankets. Dark almost instantly cuddled into them. Wilford bit his lip as he stared down at his lover. Well, since they didn’t watch Sleeping Beauty…

Wilford gently leaned down and brushed a small curl out of Dark’s face. He gazed at his sleeping figure in admiration before leaning down further to connect their lips in a small kiss. Very small, more of a peck than a “kiss” kiss, but still. Dark slowly opened his eyes and blinked a few times as Wilford pulled away.

“Aw, Dark,” Wilford whispered, “I woke you with true love’s kiss!”

“You woke me, period,” Dark grumbled but stretched out his arms, tempting Wilford to go to bed.

Wilford climbed in next to Dark, spooning him. He held his arms tight around his partner’s torso, burying his nose into the entity’s hair and inhaling deeply.

“What are you doing?” Dark almost chuckled. Wilford smiled.

“I like your smell…”

“Oh?” Dark twisted around to look at Wilford. “And what do I smell like?”

“Home…” Wilford answered with a lovestruck look on his face. He could’ve sworn he saw a blush before getting hit in the face with a pillow. He laughed as Dark turned back around.

“You are the cheesiest person in the galaxy,” Dark said. Wilford’s lips curled into a grin as he snuggled up behind Dark again.

“Maybe…” He answered. Both of them sighed contently. “I love you…”

“I love you too...” Dark mumbled, still very tired, “Goodnight, Wil.” Wilford smiled as he tightened his grip ever-so-slightly.

“Good night, Sleeping Beauty…”

[anotherdarkiboi]

Warnings: blood, eye horror, medical themes, bandages, blindfold, mild cursing, mild nudity, innuendo and sexual references, references to murder.

Dr. Iplier changed out of his mildly bloody medical scrub shirt and formerly-white lab coat, discarding them onto the floor. His mind has been wandering lately. One of his regular patients seemed to occupy himself in his brain like a cancerous tumor or Taenia solium larvae might. He was frequently distracted and excitable, getting flustered uncharacteristically easily. That and the overall warmth he felt coursing through his body and the achey tightness in his chest concerned him to no end.

What's worse was that the doctor couldn't diagnose exactly what sickness he had. Dr. Iplier knew they could be signs of a heart attack or about a hundred other maladies that could possibly kill him, but he didn't dare imagine the possibility that he was the one who was dying, as painfully ironic that would be.

He wanted to get rid of it, and soon. It was impeding on his work and the credibility of his profession, to the dismay of his business partner, fellow doctor, and best friend, Schneep. Dr. Iplier accidentally dropped a scalpel into Peter during his surgery and caused a bloody mess (literally) because of it. Poor Peter didn't make it. But then again, that's what you got when you ran a medical practice with Henrik von Schneeplestein (the "Doctor" part was debatable): Peter never stood a chance.

But as time progressed, Dr. Iplier found that whatever he had made him feel euphoric. Maybe the disease or parasite released dopamine? He suspected that it had something to do with that patient of his. Maybe they were also the Patient Zero for his ailment? Or were they somehow causing these symptoms through mind control?

The doctor was familiar with the paranormal through his experiences with the infamous Darkiplier, so it wouldn't be too farfetched. He had his suspicions about his patient, but knew that it wasn't really professional of him to comment. Either way, they were forced to interact on a daily basis and Dr. Iplier didn't feel like losing his most loyal customer, so he said nothing of it and ignored the rapid beating of his heart (tachycardia?).

Soon the doctor found himself thinking about his "favorite" patient. Again. Of course. His thoughts always drifted to that quiet, contemplative man. The disease- Illness? Parasite? Whatever it was, the symptoms were getting worse.

Dr. Iplier sighed, picking up his bloody scrubs from the floor. He didn't want to further lower the reputation of his business by leaving his bedroom and private clinic messy.

-----------------------

The Host opened the door to Dr. Iplier's bedroom and makeshift clinic with a faint creek. He considered knocking first, but what he needed to ask the doctor was urgent. Well, maybe not urgent per se, but he had been thinking about it for a while now and had finally come to the conclusion that today was the day he would ask their resident doctor out.

What the Host didn't expect was to find was said doctor shirtless. The Host can't see, not in the physical sense anyway, but he has the ability to narrate his surroundings to get a vague sense of what's going on. So when his internal monologue started describing in excruciating detail exactly how lean Dr. Iplier's exposed upper body looked like and the faintest hint of his V-line peaking over the elastic of his thin blue scrub pants, the Host became overwhelmed. Of course, the Host doesn't say this aloud: for once, his narrations remained in his head in a loud, frantic monotone. The Host couldn't hear himself think, let alone focus from the mental barrage of stimuli. Shit.

-----------------------

Dr. Iplier tosses the bloody clothes into the hamper. He turns around to find the Host, propping himself up by the doorway looking like he was on the verge of collapse.

"Oh! Uh, you're here awfully early... Are you alright?"

"The Host, um, I- fuck."

The doctor's eyes widen in concern. Blood streaked down the Host's bandages like tears. It was rare to see him shocked into using first person and it was usually was damaging to his physical health. And this was the first time Dr. Iplier ever heard the Host stutter.

The Host makes an attempt to step into the room and falters. Dr. Iplier is quickly by the Host's side, holding the trenchcoated man up by the waist to guide him to the bed (which served as both a hospital cot and the doctor's actual bed). The Host sits on the edge while the doctor hangs his stethoscope around his neck, putting on his lab coat and head mirror out of habit: all without noticing that he still wasn't wearing a shirt.

The Host can't help but compare the mental image to the intro of a low-budget porno. He covers his head in his hands and groans in exasperation. Why did Dr. Iplier have to be at the pinnacle of health?

The doctor feels the Host's forehead with gentle tenderness, his cool hand resting against warm skin. He tilts the Host's head up from under his chin, examining how much blood his patient lost. The Host can feel Dr. Iplier's intense stare on him as he attempts to figure out what's wrong. He hopes that the doctor won't notice his face heating up.

The physical contact felt intimate, even though it was practically ritual at this point with the amount of times the Host visits. The Host mentally compares it to heavy petting leading up to eventual smut. He internally screams.

The Host's narrations drift to Dr. Iplier's inner monologue as the doctor checks his vitals. It's something that the Host tries to avoid as it's an invasion of privacy, but it wasn't something he was able to control in his current state. Anything was better than whatever his brain was conjuring right now.

-----------------------

Usually he's calm under pressure, but the doctor can't explain is why he feels irrational, seething anger for whatever caused the Host's predicament. Dark maybe? Or Wilford? Probably someone with a great deal of power for the Host to essentially overload.

The doctor rarely gets angry: Annoyed? All the time. Cranky? Every morning before the caffeine hits. But Dr. Iplier felt, for the first time, homicidal. How dare they? The Host's health is delicate to say the least: the other egos know that. Yet Dr. Iplier is well aware that the blindfolded man can take care of himself. Then why does he feel so protective of him?

He knew, in great detail, at least 50 different ways to kill a person and had the means to do it. Injecting air into the bloodstream and facilitating an air embolism, constricting the windpipe and suffocating them while they sleep, utilizing any number of lethal drugs he had on hand: the list went on. If anyone ever hurt the Host again, he'd have to...

He takes a deep breath. The Host needs a doctor now, not an emotional wreck. The doctor checks off his mental checklist and goes through the familiar motions of proper medical procedure for his patient. It was his job to help people, and he'd be damned if he did just the opposite: at least on purpose (accidents happen).

-----------------------

For some reason, imagining Dr. Iplier attempting to murder the infamous Dark and Wilford duo calms the Host down. The Host had an especially violent streak during his Author days, so he understood the feeling well. But the fact that the doctor would feel so passionately about him was... endearing. Maybe this could still work...

The doctor grabs his glasses from his desk and pushes them up the bridge of his nose. They were rectangular ones reminiscent of Mark's old trademark, which the Host imagined made Dr. Iplier look more distinguished and erudite. He reads off his clipboard with concern.

"Elevated heart rate, irregular breathing, flushed but no fever, dilated pupils... Host, do you know what -or who- caused this?" The Host notices how Dr. Iplier clenches his jaw at "who". How cute.

You. "That doesn't matter, Doctor. I can assure you, I'm fine. I've been experiencing these 'symptoms' for a while now. I know they're not fatal." He casually fails to mention the overload he just had.

"And you didn't bother to tell me? We see each other every day!" Dr. Iplier gasps with a look of genuine horror on his face. "Have you... have you been seeing other doctors?!"

The Host stifles a laugh. "Of course not. Dr. Schneeplestein may be 'zhe good doctah', but you are the best one."

"Oh, I know," Dr. Iplier asserts, the flirtatious remark flying over his large ego. "Trust me, you wouldn't believe how many lawsuits we get every week. It's a wonder how our business stays afloat."

Something that the Host said triggers something in the doctor's mind. He checks his clipboard again. The Host had been experiencing this for a while now, minus the almost collapsing part. And so had he. It can't be... can it? The symptoms were the same as his own.

"I'm sorry, but I think we're both dying."

"...We?"

Dr. Iplier sets down his clipboard and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He never liked being the bearer of bad news, but the burden seemed to be part of his job.

"I'm afraid we both have the same illness- same symptoms and everything. Yours is probably later-staged, which would explain the fainting spell. We should warn Dark and the others to quarantine the area or something."

The Host starts laughing, loud and unabashedly. Dr. Iplier looks on in confusion and finds himself unable to speak. This was the first time he saw the Host laugh this much. Creepy sadistic grins? Sure. A wry smile after making a snide remark? Rare, but certainly rewarding. This crazed fit of giggling however? Unheard of until now. The doctor liked seeing the Host happy, even if it was due to the thought of their own deaths. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. He wonders how much time he had left to hear it again.

The Host slowly calms down, wiping the blood dripping down his face as if he was wiping away tears of laughter. It doesn't have the same effect: Dr. Iplier grimaces at the red smear on the back of his patient's hand.

"I assure you, those measures will not be necessary. Tell me Doctor, when do these 'symptoms', as you call them, tend to occur?"

"All the time since a few weeks ago, but it gets worse when you're around: no offense. Is it that Hanahaki disease Yandereiplier was telling me about?"

The Host resists the urge to facepalm. For someone who supposedly went to medical school, Dr. Iplier was surprisingly dumb. He completely went against the stereotype of glasses-wearers being the most intelligent.

"No. What you- we have is not an illness nor disease, at least not in the traditional sense."

"You know what it is then? Is there a cure?" Dr. Iplier replies in all seriousness.

The Host sighs. He still didn't get it. "Doctor, are you familiar with the concept of love?"

"Obviously", Dr. Iplier retorts, his ego kicking in again. The Host sincerely doubts it. "There are tons of books on the subject and Wil talks about it all the time. It's a combination of dopamine, serotonin, and adrenaline."

"In scientific terms, yes. And the physical indications?"

Dr. Iplier thinks for a moment, going down the list. It clicks.

"Oh my god, I love you."

A pause. The doctor starts to realize what he blurted out loud. He covers his face in his hands, not daring to make eye contact (or whatever was closest to that) with the Host/newfound target of affection. He opens his mouth in an attempt to amend his spur of the moment confession until he hears the Host's muttered response:

"...The feeling is mutual".

The two of them are both blushing messes and the silence is impenetrable. Dr. Iplier doesn't know how to respond. What was he supposed to say? How does one typically proceed from here? How does this work?

He breaks the silence with a hastily stammered excuse to grab a damp hand towel and a fresh bandage for the Host's bleeding eye sockets. The doctor gently wipes the blood off the Host's face, dyeing the towel pink.

The Host knew better than to argue about being able to do it himself. "It's my job!" the doctor said every time the Host commented on it, even though he knew it wasn't necessary. Whether it be the simple action of bandaging his face or wiping blood off it, Dr. Iplier was always gentle. The doctor was one of the only ones who knew what happened to the Host: what happened to his eyes, what he had done, who he'd hurt. And still, still Dr. Iplier treated him with curtesy and kindness. But why? It was one of the things about the doctor that the Host found intriguing- captivating even. And to think that Dr. Iplier liked him back...

"You are..." the Host pauses, searching for the right word to say next. Although he's a writer and self proclaimed linguist, he can't find another word that conveys the same emotion and feeling. "Beautiful. The Host wishes that he could see you".

"Host, you don't have to. I'm really not," the doctor asserts with a half-hearted chuckle. He tries to focus on helping his patient instead of the burning sensation on his cheeks. At least the Host was stable enough to phase out of talking in first person.

The Host's head tilts to the side, frowning slightly. "You are the kind of doctor and person that others like the Host need, but not necessarily the one they deserve. The Host understands if this is something you aren't comfortable pursuing yet, or ever."

Dr. Iplier scoffs, setting the now bloodstained towel down. "Hold on, you deserve all the care and support in the world, medical or otherwise. Sure you've done horrible things in the past, but that doesn't make you any less deserving of happiness now."

The doctor gingerly unties the Host's bandage to expose closed eyelids caked with dried blood. "Because you're 'beautiful' too. And this-," Dr. Iplier pauses, taking the Host's hand in both his own. "This is something that I want too. If you'll have me".

"Of course," the Host says with a rare smile. It's sweet and small, but the doctor's heart palpitates anyways. "The Host would even like to ask if you were free for coffee or a beverage of your choice later, if you are interested."

"Are you... asking me out?" The Host was always taken aback at how dumb his doctor sometimes was.

"The Host says yes".

"Neat!" Dr. Iplier exclaims a little too enthusiastically, "Um, I'll be there."

He carefully ties the new bandage over the Host's face. The doctor knew the pristine cloth would only stay white for so long until it got stained red again and his patient would have to return. The Host slides off the bed to face Dr. Iplier.

"The Host would like to thank the doctor for his help and for accepting his proposal. The Host also implores Dr. Iplier to put a shirt on." The Host's gaze (if one could call it that) drifts to the floor to try and avoid having his thoughts veer into dangerous territory again.

That explains why the doctor felt so cold. He tries to ignore the sharp spikes of embarrassment stabbing his insides. You know it's bad when a legally blind man points out your dress code infringement (or lack thereof of said "dress").

"Well that's unprofessional of me. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"The Host says it's more than fine, just distracting. The Host will leave to let the doctor finish changing."

"Oh."

Dr. Iplier is still unused to all the compliments and to seeing this slightly flirty Host. Not that he was complaining though. He had so many questions and cursed his lack of experience. The Host was halfway out the door when the doctor calls out after him.

"Hey Host, how do you know all this stuff?"

Dr. Iplier knew with 100% certainty that the Host never brought any partners back to the manor (his medical questionnaires tend to be extensive, if not a little insensitive), and he was sure that the Author's experiences didn't really count as the Host's own.

The Host grins mischievously. "You don't know half of the things I write. Maybe I'll show you one day, if you're up to it."

A spot of crimson spreads through the Host's bandages as he shifts into first person. On that note, the Host leaves and the doctor is left with more confusion and a piqued interest.

The doctor grabs a clean shirt, bunching it up and covers his face, groaning. What does the Host write? Where the hell did he get "neat" from? What happened to the less awkward (but not nearly as fulfilling) doctor-patient relationship they used to have?

The doctor finally puts the shirt on and his lab coat over it, falling facedown onto his bed. The headmirror presses uncomfortably against his skull. He didn't know when "later" was for his little date, nor where. Where they going to meet there or were they going together? And holy fuck, what was he going to wear?

-----------------------

Host smiles to himself, walking down the familiar path to his room. For the first time in a long time, he felt content: he finally asked the flustered doctor out, though he didn't expect getting "distracted" or the doctor actually accepting.

He turns a corner to sense some of the other egos crowding the hallway with conniving looks directed towards him. How did they find out so fast? The Host mentally prepares himself for annoyance.

"I hear that someone has been trying to make a move on our good doctor here," Dark announces with a smirk. "I congratulate you Host, I hope the two of find happiness."

Dark sighs wistfully. The others can't tell if he is joking or not when he mutters "they grow up so fast" like a proud parent.

"So~?" Wilford teases in a singsong voice, slinging his arm around the blindfolded man's shoulder and whispers conspiratorially: "didya fuck?"

The others respond with similar curiosity, loudly talking over one another. The Host can sense an imminent migraine at the multiple dialogues and camera panning he has to keep track of. But he appreciates their support nonetheless.

"Can I just establish the fact that I am still the gayest one here? Just saying," Bim affirms as an afterthought.

"The Host asks all of the egos to stop blocking the hallway."

[gilly-jilly]

Of Thoughts and Eccentricities

My final secret santa gift for the lovely @markihost. You were awesome dude!! Have a little one-shot of your faves ;)

Egos featured: Yancy, The Host, Wilford Warfstache

Yancy couldn’t sleep.

It was nice of the Ipliers to offer him a place to stay, really it was, but he’d be lying if he said he wanted to be anywhere but the penitentiary. Hell, it’s been years since he’s been around anyone that wasn’t from Happy Trails, so to suddenly find himself in the company of such…eccentric people has been a bit of a culture shock. He felt out of place more than ever.

Not that it was their fault, of course. He just knew where he belonged is all, and it definitely wasn’t here. Or so he told himself.

Raging thoughts like these is why he found himself scavenging through the Ipliers’ fridge at two in the morning. He was in desperate need of a distraction, and as much as the cigarette box on his shoulder was burning for attention, The Warden was constantly up his ass about his bad habit, specifically how rank it made his clothes smell. Yancy was trying to better himself anyways, so quitting was just another step in the right direction. Plus, it would finally get The Warden off of his back. It was a win for everyone.

Yancy hums to the melody of I Don’t Wanna Be Free as he shuffles through different food choices, altering between humming and muttering the lyrics to himself.

Da da da da be free

Da da in luxury

Spotting a can of corn in the back, he makes a noise of affirmation and reaches for it, twirling around to slam the fridge shut with the back of his heel. Already he can feel himself relaxing as the familiar tune spills past his lips, tapping his fingers onto the counter as he fishes for a spoon out of the drawer. The lyrics begin to bubble up in his throat as he loses himself in the song.

Why try a prison break-

He pauses to sing into the spoon like a microphone.

-when hard time is totally great!

He begins to slide back and forth along the kitchen floor as he combines a bunch of different dance moves, continuing the song in a makeshift performance of his own. The room is filled with the sounds of his clacking feet and cheery singing voice, and Yancy feels his heart swell as he imagines himself dancing alongside his fellow inmates.

He rolls the can of corn along his arm and behind his back to the other before tossing it into the air, trying to finish the song with some flare.

Cause I don’t wanna be-!

Yancy spins on his heel and finds The Host standing in the doorway, watching him silently. He lets out a high-pitched scream as his spoon clatters to the floor, then grunts as his previously thrown can of corn smacks him on the top of his head. The Host hides an amused smile at the sight.

Yancy clutches at his heart dramatically. “Jesus! Youse trying to give me a heart attack over here?” he wheezes.

The Host has enough decency to look sheepish. “Forgive The Host,” he says modestly, scratching at his bandages absentmindedly. “He didn’t mean to startle you.” He pauses for a beat, the corner of his lips twitching. “Or interrupt your performance.”

Yancy chokes as he feels the heat rising to his cheeks. Hundreds of performances perfectly choreographed to leave any onlookers speechless, and the makeshift one that he screws up in the middle of the kitchen is the one that this guy sees. Bam Bam would be so disappointed. Trying to shake off his embarrassment and slightly bruised pride, he blows a raspberry and gives The Host a wary smile. “Nah, s’fine!” he exclaims, waving dismissively at him. “Didn’t even scare me! I’s got nerves of steel, you know.”

The Host hums in reply, noting the obvious lie but choosing not to mention it. “Clearly.” 

The two fell silent as they stand in awkward silence, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Both are unsure of what to say to each other after that.

Yancy rubs absentmindedly at his arm tattoo, feeling it begin to itch. He has…mixed feelings about The Host. Sure, the doc said that he was a nice guy once you got to know him, but there was just something about him that really rubbed Yancy the wrong way. The hairs on the back of his neck always tingled when he was around him, his body breaking out in goosebumps and leaving a sinking feeling in his stomach. At times, it was like he could feel the air shifting around the guy as he stepped into the room, almost as if it was trying to adapt to his strange presence. Or as if he was altering the air himself with his narrations.

Still, Yancy knew better than anyone not to judge a book by its cover. He was far from perfect by any means, so the least he could do was give the guy a chance. Who knows? Maybe he had a soft side underneath all of the blood and creepy mutterings.

Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, Yancy tries to make small talk by asking, “So uh, watcha up to?”

The Host quirks an eyebrow, giving what Yancy assumed was his version of a deadpan stare. “Getting a snack. The Host reminds Yancy that this is the kitchen, after all.”

Yancy has the sudden urge to lie on the floor and curl up into a ball at his response, but instead, he smacks his forehead and forces out a chuckle. “Right!” he says a little bit too enthusiastically. “This is- a course! Why else would youse- shucks. Ain’t I just a dingus.” Yancy begins to sweat nervously as The Host remains silent. Wanting to get as far away from this conversation as possible, he snaps and shoots him some finger guns as he shuffles his way out of the kitchen, hoping that he gets the hint. “I’ll leave youse to it then.”

Before The Host has a chance to bid him goodnight, Yancy is bolting out of the kitchen with a salute, not even bothering to pick up his abandoned spoon and can of corn. He makes it to his room and swings the door open, going to slam it with the same ferocity before he realizes that it’s the middle of the night. He closes it with a soft click instead and taps his forehead against the wood, sighing irritably. “Stupid,” he mutters.

The awkwardness of the interaction has his mind wandering back to Happy Trails, wishing more than anything that he could be with the boys and girls. He’d never had this much trouble talking to them. If anything, they got sick of him constantly talking their ears off, but with the Ipliers he had no idea how to go about having a conversation. They were all so bizarre and eccentric. Half of the time he felt like he wasn’t talking to people.

He was at his limit here. He just wanted to go home. Maybe he’d ask if he can leave in the morning…

“Real smooth, tiger,” a voice to his left drawled.

Yancy immediately tenses and spins towards the intruder, fists raised, only to come face to face with Wilford leaning casually against the wall. The ego has a smoothie in hand with a pink umbrella and swirly straw, and he takes a long, obnoxious sip as he keeps direct eye contact with Yancy. Said ego is completely speechless.

Yancy breaks eye contact to look him up and down, immediately regretting his decision as he notices that Wilford isn’t wearing any pants. How the hell did he even get in here?

As Yancy’s brain fruitlessly tries to comprehend the fact that this man is in his room, with a smoothie, and in nothing but his underwear, Wilford’s lips leave the straw with a loud pop. “Want a sip? You seem tense after that disaster of a conversation.” He gives his eyebrows a devious wiggle as he practically shoves the drink in Yancy’s face, to which the man cringes away from. “It’s got a special ingredient that’s sure to drive your troubles away…vodka!”

Seconds pass in silence, Yancy’s internal dialogue racing at a mile a minute with a variety of colorful words that he wishes to scream at the man in front of him, but all he manages is an airy, “Uh, no thanks” in reply. Wilford shrugs with a nonchalant “Your loss” before tossing the straw aside and downing the rest of the concoction in a single gulp, throwing the glass over his shoulder once he’s finished. The sound of shattering glass never comes.

“Good chatting with you, friend!” Wilford suddenly bellows, giving Yancy a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Goodnight!” He gives a wink and poofs out of existence with the sound of a party popper, a cloud of glitter being left in his wake.

Yancy blinks slowly as he stares at the empty space where Wilford stood. Then, he rolls out the box from his sleeve, snaps open his lighter, lights a cigarette, and takes in a looooong deep drag that soon dissipates into the air.

To hell with The Warden’s chastising.

[egoheadcanons]

Wilford Warfstache needs glasses.

It's well known that William J. Barnum, aka, The Colonel, wears eye glasses. Understandably, Wilford Warfstache would need glasses as well, as, after all, they're the same person.

However, just because he needs them, doesn't mean that he wears them, in fact, he hates wearing them.

Because of that (and because Darkiplier doesn't allow him to wear contacts, because he always forgets to take them out) Wilford's eyes are very sensitive.

Because of his eye sensitivity, Dark's aura gives him really bad headaches. But, Wilford never complains, nor does he avoid Darkiplier at all, because he loves him beyond belief, and would take a million headaches as long as he gets to be near Dark.

[dxrksong]

Try it yourself!

You took in a deep breath and prepared yourself before raising the glass, putting up a solid barrier between yourself and the others. 

QB: what are you doing?

You refuse to make eye contact as you closed your eyes and concentrated. The familiar cold chill crept up your spine. You grabbed a hold onto the sensation and intensified it. 

QB: WHAT'RE YOU DOING?!?!

You're not stopping there.  

Memories flashed before your eyes. Alright. Now to pick the right one. 

Nope

Nuhuh

So close

THERE! 

You reached out and the world seemed to fall away so peacefully. 

God damn you're exhausted!! But nows not the time for that! You go into the mind ome more time. 

Just in time to see Damien walk out of the now destroyed house. 

You smiled when he noticed you, and he gave you a little nod in return. You laughed. He never changes. 

You go into a clearing where there's grass and flowers before making a flower bed for Celine. Just because she's asleep, doesn't mean she shouldn't be comfortable. 

Damien went over to the mirror, cracking his broken neck before turning to you curiously, seeming to notice just how tired you were. 

Y: bed's not fer me. It's for her. 

Damien: you're just about the same level as exhausted, if not even more so. 

You laugh 

Y: i know. I just….wanted to do something nice for her. She's always hated me. 

Damien: oh come on now, you know that's not true. 

Y: *shaking your head* no no, it's true. She could always sense something was off about me and she didn't like it, so she tried to push me away as much as possible. 

Damien: how come I didn't-

Y: because she made extra care to make sure you didn't notice. It was almost funny. Until earlier today that is. 

Damien: tell me, what did she do?

Y: um...well...i don't know how to put this gently but. She trapped me in a mirror for a long ass time. 

Damien sat next to you

Damien: is that why you're so tired?

Y: *chuckle* yeah. I just got back. I might pass out though. 

He put a hand on you head, ruffling your hair a little

Damien: you should. You've been through a lot. 

Y: promise you'll visit?

Damien: why wouldn't I?

You leaned against him

Y: nothing….no reason. No reason at all….

You fell asleep. It felt like eternity since then. But you know it couldn't have been nearly that long. Your 98 years in the mirror has taught you that much. 

You opened your eyes, yawning as you sat up. You looked around and found Celine in the flowers with you. 

You couldn't help but wonder how much sleep one dead person needs. 

You're awake and you had freaking REVERSED TIME ITSELF! Meamwhile Celine is still face down in the dirt. Sure you're still a little tired, but who isn't waking up?

Feelings are still mutual, you jerk.

You stood up, looking around, and eventually found a giant glass wall at the end of the pocket dimension. Guessing Damien must've gone over there, you approached it. 

The forest surrounding you and the others have really made a comeback, trees are freaking EVERYWHERE and it looks like Damien started a garden of literally anything he could get his hands on as there were flowers, bushes, fruits and veggies. All the trees are still pine but omfg.

Almost makes you want to waste time here. 

But why do that?

You reached the wall, putting a hand against it. On the other side, you could see through Damien's-more like Dark's eyes. 

Who knew the colonel was Wilford. 

You laughed to yourself. You then suddenly remembered your coat! You were still wearing it! All of your items were there and everything! 

This won't make a paradox, would it? 

......

No...no...you'd need an actual body to do that. You're safe. 

Step through the glass?

----------

@eddeha @mysunshineaway @darkinsidehim @boopsnoop22 @slashes-and-bashes @artemis226-the-artist @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @racia1881

[random-blep]

Quick Bim Trimmer headcanons

Hes a human that has his tv show that can get people their dream jobs

In the show he has a big tendency to kill off one of his favorite contestants and use their corpse as his food source for the week.

If he's not super careful in picking the contestants on the show then he could end up with bad meals.

Since human doesn't actually have any nutrients or health benefits really he has to plan his meals carefully so he can get what he needs.

Also since from research ive heard human meat isn't that filling, he tends to eat quite a bit and has to carry around snacks (maybe granola bars, protein bars, or even crackers, water too to stay hydrated). I personally see him having several purses .

If he's not careful with his diet he actually could pass out

He's also blind as a bat without his glasses, so if he can't find them he might wear contacts but he usually prefers to not.

I also see him being competitive with Wilford Warfstache because both are show hosts with their studios in the same town.

I can 110% see him meticulously planning his wardrobe for the entire year.

Despite being a show host he prefers to live in a smaller house. Which has 2 or 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a livingroom, and a kitchen with a dining room attached

He also has a garden outside of his house. He grows some fruits and vegetables, but mostly flowers really

[sml8180]

Ego Christmas - Day 25 - Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas, everyone! And a happy fourth day of Hanukkah to any Jewish followers who might be reading this! This post was scheduled ahead of time, so that I couldn’t forget to put this up. I hope that everyone is having a great day!

Merry Christmas

Breakfast ran long, it always did on the holidays, but that was fine, nobody had to go anywhere, anyways. After everything was cleaned up, the Egos all moved into the living area, where gifts were all set under the tree as the lights twinkled.

“Alright, everyone gather ‘round!” Wilford called out. “Everyone in a circle, you guys know how this works, by now.”

Everyone worked to arrange the sofas and armchairs into a circle, moving the coffee table out of the way to make more room. As they all settled down, with Dark, Wilford, and the twins closest to the tree, everything began. They started with the stockings, which hung up on the fireplace and on the wall surrounding it. Each one was simple, a red stocking with a white cuff, with the name of an Ego stitched in shimmering red thread. The stockings were filled with different candies, and a handful of small gifts that would likely keep each of their interest as the gifts under the tree were given to the correct Ego.

Dark, Wilford, and the Jims worked well together to get all the gifts out to the others, in a way they had clearly been perfecting over the years. Dark and Wilford would read the names on the gift tags, and each Jim was silently assigned to work with one of them to get the gift to the correct person. The twins clearly enjoyed the little job, each one wearing a red and green elf hat, while Wilford and Dark wore Santa hats - though Dark initially put on a grumpy facade, it didn’t last, and he was soon smiling with the others.

“Before we get too far into things,” Dark spoke up, calling all the Ego’s attention to himself. “We all need to take a moment to celebrate that this is the first of hopefully many Christmases with the newest members of this chaotic family of ours. Eric, Reynolds, Magnum, Yancy, and Illinois; I hope this ends up one of many holidays we all spend together.”

A chorus of agreement met the five Egos, making Eric blush and hide his face in Illinois’ shoulder, as Reynolds laughed a bit, patting the man’s back.

“Alright, well, go ahead, everyone,” Dark urged, chuckling as Wil kissed his cheek. “The gifts won’t open themselves.”

Bim was one of the first to open a gift, the one he’d gotten from King, tearing away the wrapping and opening up the box to reveal a glittery purple suit with black lapels, and a matching tie. He smiled brightly, hugging King tight and drawing a laugh from the man. King, meanwhile, opened his gift from Bim, ripping away the wrapping paper to reveal a somewhat cylindrical bundle. A check of the tag revealed that it was actually a couple’s sleeping bag, perfect to go on the bed in the tree house King had in the woods that surrounded the manor, for a little extra warmth.

Silver opened up his gift next, surprised to have gotten a gift from Ed of all people. The wrapping paper actually contained two items, one being a set of blackout curtains for Silver’s room, which lead to him looking to Ed for an explanation.

“You get home at weird times,” Ed reasoned. “Sometimes it’s only a couple hours until the sun’s up, and I know the light comes in your window pretty early. With any luck, these’ll help you actually get some sleep.”

“That’s, actually really thoughtful, Ed,” Silver replied with a smile. He then proceeded to open up the box that had been with the gift. The box contained some black and white fabric, and at first, the superhero was once again confused, until he started to pull whatever it was out of the box. “No, you didn’t…” he began, trailing off as he pulled out a mask that looked much like the one he wore on a regular basis, though it was clearly a bit nicer and had a cleaner design.

“You’ve had the same costume since you were created. It was time for an upgrade,” Ed told him. “Jackie helped with that one, y’know, with the design and all that, and Eric helped to actually make it, but the original idea was mine. I guess it’s kinda from all three of us.”

“I love it! And if Jackie was behind part of this, I know it’s gonna be good, and Eric, kid, you’ve fixed my suit so many times since you got here, I’ve lost count. You guys are great,” Silver beamed, hugging Eric and then, surprisingly, pulling Ed in for a quick hug.

Magnum opened his gift next, seeing that it came from Reynolds. The wrapping contained a box that had a kit to build a model ship in a bottle. Reynolds hadn’t been sure what the large man would like, but he felt that a model pirate ship to display in his room would be interesting, and he’d noticed how careful he was with smaller things, so it seemed right. The captain smiled brightly, pulling the construction worker into a big bear hug.

Reynolds opened his gift next, his face lighting up as he shifted the box and heard the telltale sound of Lego bricks shifting inside. He tore open the wrapping to reveal a large set that seemed unfamiliar to him, but familiar at the same time, seeing as the box had an image of the manor on it.

“What’s this? It’s not an official set, is it?” the construction worker questioned.

“It-it’s a custom set!” Eric told him. “Dark, Wil, Bing, and I all pitched in and-and had a set made from the manor’s floor plan! You’ve got a lot of great sets, and I remember you saying that the manor would make a fun one, e-especially if it was all different sections that you could put together. So, Dark and Wil found the plans, and Bing drew up the actual stuff and submitted it to one of Dark’s contacts who actually got it made. I did all the box art.”

“That’s so cool! You guys are amazing!” Reynolds exclaimed, hugging those responsible for the gift.

The Host was next to open up his gift. The package didn’t have any wrapping paper on it, but rather, it was in a simple unmarked box with a ribbon tied around it, and a tag written by hand and in Braille, indicating that it came from Dr. Iplier. He undid the ribbon and opened the box, forcing his Sight for a moment to find that the box contained some high quality parchment and a nice calligraphy set with a quill, a few different writing tips that could be put on it, and a few different colors of ink. Meanwhile, Dr. Iplier opened his gift from the Host, smiling and breaking out into a bit of a blush when he found a couple of travel mugs, one which looked like the TARDIS from Doctor Who, and one covered in the print of the exploding TARDIS piece.

Google and Bing opened each others gifts, next. Google lit up when he pulled out a new set of small tools to use for his glasses and other small projects, along with a white suit jacket that would fit him perfectly. Bing practically threw himself at Google when he unwrapped a set of three dot grid notebooks to use for whatever he might need, along with a pack of pens.

Illinois opened his gift up next, finding a new bag to use during his expeditions. Eric explained that he felt that he could use something other than the cross-body satchel he was using, especially since he’d reported that it sometimes got in the way while he was climbing.

Next up was Eric, who was careful with the small gift in his hands. He undid the wrapping, and opened up the hinged box, finding a silk scarf folded inside. Carefully, he pulled the scarf out, marveling at the soft material and the light blue, green, yellow and purple pattern. There was something else, though, something heavier wrapped up in the scarf. Unfolding the thin fabric, he gasped at what he found. There was a necklace inside, with a black cord that wrapped around the smooth heart-shaped stone. The cord was tied into a pair of sliding knots, which would allow Eric to adjust the length of the necklace easily. Eric was rendered speechless.

“I found the stone a while back on an expedition, and thought you’d like to have it,” Illinois explained, somewhat sheepishly. He chuckled as Eric hugged him tight, and pulled him into a kiss.

“It’s perfect,” Eric told him, a bright smile on his face as he pulled the necklace on over his head, fiddling with the stone.

Ed opened up his gift, smiling to find that Silver had given him a set of hooks he could put up on his wall to display his hats and lasso. It would really help with organization, no doubt; those things took up space in his closet, on his bookshelf, and on his dresser. The twins each opened up their gifts at the same time, finding that they had gotten one another updated equipment.

Wilford opened up his gift next, breaking into a bright smile when he found a picture frame with five different windows. Four had photos of Wil and Dark together, at various points of their relationship, with the fifth and largest photo being one from their wedding. The photo had been taken from the isle, getting Wilford, Dark, Bim, Host, and the pastor who oversaw things in the shot, along with the ornate flower arrangement and large tree under which they had wed. It was one of Wilford’s favorite photos from that day, and he hugged his husband tight, kissing him.

Dark was next, tearing away the wrapping paper and opening the box to find a display of the solar system with a small dial and read out on the base. When he opened it, the planets were all lined up, and Dark simply raised an eyebrow in question as he looked to his husband.

“Google helped me with this,” Wil began. “It’s got a few different dates; the day we met, our engagement, and our wedding day, and a few others, all on the dial, and a setting where it’ll just run in real time. The planets all move when you pick a setting, so they’ll be in their proper place for that time. If you pick our wedding day, the planets all go to where they were the day we said “I do”,” he stated.

The demon looked to Google, who nodded in response. He then turned the dial so that the date of their first meeting was on the display, and pressed the dial down until it clicked. His mouth fell open in awe as the little planets rotated under the glass dome, stopping when they reached their proper positions.

“Wil… I don’t know what to say…” he finally breathed, still in awe over the gift.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Wilford stated, kissing his husband once again. “Your reaction says enough.

Dark smiled, looking around for a moment before snapping his fingers, spotting that one Ego hadn’t opened a larger gift like all the others had, and didn’t even have one by him. “I almost forgot, give me a moment,” he stated, handing the gift he had in his lap over to Wilford before standing. The demon tore open the Void and stepped through, returning a moment later with a box wrapped in silver wrapping paper. “This one is yours, Yancy,” he specified, handing off the gift to the former inmate.

Yancy set the box in his lap, running his fingers over the shiny wrapping paper, before giving Dark a quick look. Upon Dark making a silent motion for him to simply go on and open his gift, the former inmate tore away the wrapping and opened the lid of the box. He pulled a black case out of the box, setting the wrapping aside so the case could sit on his lap. The man ran his fingers over the clasps of the case, before he flicked them open with a soft click. With a deep breath, he opened up the lid of the case, and let out a shocked gasp.

“A violin?” he questioned, wanting to confirm the sight through his surprise. “How did youse know that I…?”

“I made a couple of calls and found out. I have my ways,” Dark stated calmly.

Yancy gave a bit of a nod, pulling the instrument out of the case to get a better look. It was clearly old, but well made, with intricate details on the pegs and scroll. He was in silent awe of the gift, and a similar silence had fallen over the entire room. 

“Where did youse get this…? These ones ain’t cheap, and they ain’t easy to find, either.”

“It belonged to an old friend, originally,” Dark stated. “He passed some time ago, and left it to me. I can’t play, but when I learned that you’re musically inclined, I thought it would make a good gift for you. An instrument like that doesn’t deserve to sit and collect dust.” He wasn’t exactly lying, not in full, at least. He physically couldn’t play the violin anymore, thanks to the broken body he inhabited. It hadn’t belonged to a friend, though; the violin had belonged to Damien once upon a time. But, that time was long past.

“It’s amazing,” Yancy stated, carefully setting the violin back into the case. “Thank you, so much.”

“Well, it looks like we’ve gotten through everyone,” Wilford observed, looking over the room. “I think this was a great Christmas.”

“That it has been, Wil,” Dark confirmed, smiling.

Indeed, it had been a very merry Christmas, for everyone in the manor.

[strawberryamanita]

Sympathy for the Devil

I'm aware this ficlet might be a little preachy, and it might run the risk of making some think I'm ruining the fun of what's going on now, but gdi I need to get this off my chest. Here we go:

The projection was turned off after Wilford gave his little spiel, and by the look on his face he was the only one amused by any of it. One giddy, smiling man wasn't really enough to bring any joy to the stoic, tired or even bored expressions on the other seven faces in the room. It was exceptionally early in the morning, but inspiration often struck Wilford spontaneously, and if he couldn't make some sort of plan or presentation before the motivation left him that idea was as good as gone. So, naturally, the seven most recent contacts on his phone got repeatedly messaged until they begrudgingly joined him in the boardroom.

Such was the way things were when you worked for Warfstache.

So, there they were, in their pajamas, exchanging looks to eachother, asking eachother in silence if they could believe this nonsense. Jim was barely bothering to keep himself awake, and had a tape recorder taking notes for him. Ed was rushed too quickly to the room to even get his glasses, and was uncomfortably squinting at the screen throughout the presentation. Google Green was in the process of sleepily plugging his body-charger into the wall, while Dr. Iplier did what he could to assist him with a half-awake helping hand. The Host was in his place, narrating as usual, but even his words were slurred and almost unintelligible with how tired he was. Bim appeared to be the crankiest of the bunch this morning, which certainly was saying something considering who was sitting at the head of the table…

Yes, though the motley crew that flanked the sides of the conference table were shuffled around at random, Dark always managed to find their way back to the head. They were the most awake, which didn't help any of the Egos’ gossiping theories that they didn't sleep. They sat with perfect posture, hands folded, completely still, as they always did. They were even wearing a clean-pressed suit, admittedly making some of the other employees a little self-conscious; Hell, even Wilford was wearing a nightrobe and slippers. Always attentive, always critical, always involved in what Wil had to say, even when they didn't agree with his doolally ideas.

They took everything so seriously. It was kind of laughable.

“So!” Wilford began, eyes alight with pride as he took his seat at the table. “Whaddya think? What impressions come knocking at the backdoor of your minds? What are your questions? Comments? Concerns? CRIES of outrage? Don't be shy, now…!”

Various, scattered groans of reluctance and hesitation floated around the room. What were they even supposed to say? Wil was always looking to improve on his ideas, bless his heart, but they were so odd and intangible that it was difficult figuring out where to begin. The Sun wasn't even fully out, how did he expect them to be awake enough for any of this?

Wilford's eyes were wide and lively as he excitedly scanned the room, looking for someone to speak up. “Nnnnnnnnnnoooobody?” he rang, the smile on his face unshakable.

I'd like to make a comment.

Even more groans came from the rest of the company when the deep, two-toned voice echoed from their other boss. Of course Dark had something to say. They always did. They always had to find a way to take up their time, and though the group's complaints rang clear, both Dark and Wil were unfazed. When Dark spoke, Wil listened, and he was always excited to.

“Darkiplier! You have the floor,” he trilled. “Please, stake your claim!”

The infallible enthusiasm in his voice almost brought a smile to the demon's stone-colored, stone-still face.

To begin with, they droned in their raspy monotone, you had a strong starting point; I have to admit, however, that you lost me somewhere down the line. Referring to the notes I've taken, you began your presentation talking about investing the extraneous income from your talkshow and television channel into other projects, but by the end of it, we were discussing, and I quote, “how much bubble soap would someone have to ingest for it to kill them”. Have I...missed something?

“My God, are you serious?”

Six pairs of eyes flew to the sneering gameshow host. Bim had been making scathing comments all morning: since it was unlike his usually chipper and quick-witted self, the others had laughed it off. At this time, however, it was starting to make the others uncomfortable.

“What's the problem, Mr. Trimmer?” asked Wilford, eager to settle any confusion as best he could.

“What's the problem? The problem is, these conferences are getting ridiculous.” He glared at Dark, who again appeared unaffected by his sudden desire to go on a tangent.

“What are you doing, Dark? Why are you entertaining this bullshit? We all know you have better things to do.”

...Because that's the reason for the meeting? Dark responded, confused at the younger Ego's confusion.

“Oh, come on, man, don't try and pretend you're following along. You're just as aware as anyone else here that this shouldn't be taken seriously.”

Wilford pouted. “Well, hey, now…”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Warfstache, this actually isn't really even about the meeting. You say whatever stupid shit you want --”

“Hey!”

The others in the group began to speak up, their protests overlapping, but Bim's voice still cut through the air to get to Dark, and they could hear every word.

“--I'm talking about you. What game are you playing here, huh?”

...I'm...not--

“Don't say you're not. Don't act like any of us are still blind to this. What part of your scheme is this for? We all know you don't actually care about any of this --”

“Bim, you need to stop--”

“-- so what're you even here for? Why are you not locked up in your room, like you always are, brooding and plotting your rampage of revenge? Isn't this getting in the way of all that? What kind of trick are you tryna pull?”

When Bim was finished with his outburst, all that could be heard was The Host's muttering and the soft ringing surrounding the accused's form. Wil was alert and angry, his eyes flickering between the two, getting ready to break them up if things got ugly. Everybody else more or less braced for impact. Did Bim have a death wish? What did he think he was doing? Nobody badmouthed Dark, no matter how much they hated them; anyone who did faced dire consequences.

Dark coughed out a laugh. They were clearly surprised at Trimmer's little tantrum, but they looked far from ready to beat his ass.

Is that honestly all you think I think about? they questioned with a small smile.

“Is it not?”

Of course not.

The smile fell away slightly. If anyone had untensed even the slightest amount, they were as braced as ever for what was to come.

If I really only wanted to do away with...him... Dark challenged, don't you think I would have finished the job decades ago?

Everyone's eyes snapped back to Bim, whose face softened when he thought about their question.

Don't you think I've had every opportunity to snap his neck and be done with it?

“...I…”

I'm not here for revenge, Mr. Trimmer. There's more to my being here than that. There's more to me than spending every waking moment of my deathless quasi-existence scowling and shaking my fist. And, frankly, I'm a bit insulted that you would assume that little of me.

A few dirty looks were tossed Bim's way, and he shrank back in his seat under Dark's harmless but intimidating stare.

Have you never considered that coming to these meetings could simply be...relaxing for me? Have you never asked yourself if I ever wanted to get away from the ceaselessness of it all and just have a little fun every so often?

The shock, that had been until now just creeping onto Bim's face, hit him like a brick. What an idiotic thing to assume. What a moron he felt like.

There is more to me than who I was, they explained calmly, turning to the rest of the table. Like it or not, I am not those people. And, like it or not, I want to be seen as someone separate from them. What I've been framed as doesn't even scratch the surface to the rest of me. I am my own person, and I've learned to feel more than just pain and rage. I've grown accustomed to enjoying quite a bit of what Mr. Warfstache has exposed me to -- I wouldn't be able to get used to having any fun if it wasn't for him.

They flashed Wilford a small, lopsided small. The sickly-sweet reporter in return practically lit up like a Christmas tree, both touched that they were being this emotionally vulnerable and relieved they didn't explode over Bim's insensitivity.

So...no, Mr. Trimmer, they concluded, their expression dimming again. I'm not here with any malicious intent, and I'll thank you to not ask me that again. I am not as broken as I've been painted to be.

“Dark…?”

Their eyes floated back over to their equal. So did everyone else's.

“Thank you for your input,” Wil beamed. “Why don'cha go inside and wind down?”

Gladly.

In a flash of black static, Dark was gone as quickly as they had arrived. Wil's attention swung back around to his presentation like a boomerang.

“Alright, anyone else wanna give it a go? I wanna hear what you think how much soap is too much soap…!”