#cyndago the host

[annie-quill]

Thank god for pose references to break my art block- ft. Ego rarepairs that I love ❤️

[dancing-heart-pony]

Pride Art, Day 25: Typography + Peaceful

He doesn’t write anything anymore, but sometimes he just likes to hear the clicks of the typewriter keys…

[distracted-milkshake]

Markiplier Egos Smash tierlist https://tiermaker.com/create/markiplier-egos-15400970 but I put too much godforsaken time into it. all alter egos in order under cut. fml

From left to right, top to bottom:

Please ruin my life: Engineer Mark (In Space With Markilpier), The Necromancer (Ninja Sex Party), Illinois (A Heist With Markiplier), Yancy (A Heist With Markiplier), Damien the Mayor (Who Killed Markiplier), Bim Trimmer (Cyndago Shorts), Resident Enis Mark

NEXT LINE

Smash: Wilford 'Motherloving' Warfstache (Same Name), Heist Mark (A Heist With Makiplier), Murderiplier (In Space With Markiplier, Part Two), Metal Gear Engineer Mark/Tactiplier/Unnamed Soldier Mark (In Space With Markiplier, Part Two), Actor Mark (Who Killed Markiplier), Porniplier Pizza Delivery (In Space With Markiplier, Part Two), Porniplier Construction Worker (In Space With Markiplier, Part Two), Dr. Iplier (Worst News Doctor), [NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH] Dr. Plier (My Therapist, Dr. Plier) [THERAPIST, NOT MD, severly underrated], Chef Iplier (now we're cooking), Date Mark (A Date With Markiplier)

NEXT LINE, CONT.

Bingiplier (Google Gets an Upgrade), The Host (Danger in Fiction), Randall Voorhees (Santa Spills The Tea), Derek Derekson (Santa Spills The Tea), Dadiplier (In Space With Markiplier, Part Two), Cool Patrol Mark (Ninja Sex Party)

NEXT LINE

Hug:

Captain Mugnum (A Heist With Markiplier), Old Man Engineer Mark (In Space With Markiplier), Colonel William Barnum (Who Killed Markiplier), Yandereplier (MAKING LOVE FOR SENPAI | Yandere Simulator #12), Bop Mark (Markiplier TV), Porniplier Woodsman (In Space With Markiplier Part Two), Porniplier Doctor [possibly Dr. Iplier] (In Space With Markipler Part Two), Camp Counselor Mark (In Space With Markiplier), Annus (Unnus Annus), Jeremiah (Cyndago), Bonesaw (Cyndago)

NEXT LINE

Heehoo (Unnus Annus/In Space With Markiplier)

NEXT LINE

Friend:

Darkiplier (Various), Wilford Warfstache (Warfstache Interviews Markiplier), Markiplier Noir (In Space With Markiplier, Part Two), Santaplier (Various), King Of The Squirrels (Markiplier TV), Porniplier Plumber (In Space With Markiplier, Part Two), Porniplier Lifeguard (In Space With Markiplier, Part Two), Jim (Markiplier TV/Corpse Abduction), I Actually Am Not Sure Don't @ me it's 3am, Googleplier (Google IRL), Derek Derekson (Santa Spills The Tea)

NEXT LINE

E-boy Mark (Unnas Annus), Station Commander Mark (In Space With Markiplier), Bill (Werewolves), God of Night (The Tabletop Roleplay thing)

NEXT LINE

Not interested:

Silver Shepherd (Super Infidelity)

Nope go away: none.

In my quest for knowledge I have found only torment. Endless torment. Mark did all of this. I'm simple a biased observer. All mistakes are me or my simping factor. Feel free to ask for clarification. I will not be taking any questions thanks.

[franklyshipping]

The Cyndago egos doing DnD to pass the time:

Host, the DM: Remember Silver, you're not allowed to laugh this session *he has his character under a condition that whenever he laughs irl he has to roll a d6 for damage*

Silver: I know, I'm- I'm gonna pass out if I laugh

Author: Eh, someone knows CPR probably, right?

Silver: I know CPR! I can't do it myself!

Bim: I gotcha buddy, you go down, I'll CPR ya

Silver: oh alright

Bim: I'll even give you a little tongue

Host: *snorts* "I'll even give you a little tongue"

Bim: I'm gonna be doing chest compressions and then I'm gonna get in there *He leans in and wiggles his tongue*

Ed: oh! I though you said you were gonna give him a little 'tug' and I was like 'Woah!'

*the group erupts in laughter*

Bim: well, we'll see how it goes! If he's really struggling and we'll have to jumpstart Silvs. It's like a lawnmower *pretends to yank a lawnmower chain* hngh!

Ed: *lawnmower noises*

Author: *pretending to be his character* look at what you're doing! You're gonna kill him!

Silver: *burying his face into the table*

OMFG I LOVE THIS 😆💜

[pxppet]

how about the host/jj?? i used to like that rarepair a lot haha

Seagull added in another ask: I FORGOT TO ADD A WORD ok how about "hold" or "see"

The voice is an underappreciated asset, Jameson believes. He can practically see the sounds dancing on the air on good days, watching the mouths of his loved ones make music. He knows them. Marvin’s voice is grating and jumpy, with a soft musical tone beneath. Jackie’s is loud and brilliant, full of pride and mirth even in defeat or sadness. Henrik’s is just as loud, but with a lilt of hymns, beauty untapped and a voice marred by a long life. 

He knows all of their voices like the back of his hands. And he speaks in BSL, so that is quite a recollection! Jameson has always been a bit of an agoraphobe since recuse from the Anti. Hardly leaving the safety of his cosy bedroom, hesitant to leave the comfort of blankets to hide under and a TV and books to entertain his mind. 

Henrik knocks on his door. Jameson knows it is his knock, even without looking. Pitter-patter and melodic rather than his other friend’s banging or sharp taps. Jameson whistles twice to let Henrik know he is decent. Henrik comes in with a hesitant smile, sitting on the bed and JJ sets aside his book to free his hands for conversation. 

“How are you?” Henrik signs softly. Jameson taps his chest. “Fine.” Casual and quite Pidgin for Henrik’s sake. 

“Jameson,” he speaks with an air of caution, his usual lilt gone, replaced with shaky confidence. “Marvin and me were talking. We think you need to leave this room more-” Jameson is already raising his hands to protest, but Henrik waggles his finger scoldingly. “Do not give that sass to me! Look, just... There is a party happening tonight, some friends of Jack’s are visiting from America. You should go.” 

Jameson stares pointedly at his hands, unsure of how to respond. Henrik’s words dance around in his head. A party... A party with friends. JJ has never even been to a proper social gathering, let alone a party. He makes a movement with his hands, not a sign, more like a dismissal. Henrik huffs and crosses his arms. 

“It is my doctorly prescription that you go.” 

You haven’t been a doctor in three years, Jameson thinks, but does not sign, bitterly. “Okay, fine,” he does signs, nodding sharply. “I will go to a party, just tonight. If I can come home whenever I want?” 

Henrik nods in agreement, and after a few short words about how pale and sickly Jamie looks, some fussing and tussling, Jameson gets ready. A party. A house party, like real people. Like normal people. Jameson’s chest puffs proudly as he slips on a velvet green vest over his white dress shirt. He is a normal person now. Take that Antisepticeye. 

~~

It was a mistake. It was a mistake to come here. People crowd the living room of Jack’s apartment, and they are loud. Loud beyond even Jackie or Henrik’s voice. They yell and run around and he’s pretty sure one of them had a gun two seconds ago. Mark dumped his creations off like a flustered parent leaving their kid at daycare, then he and Jack retreated to a quieter room to catch up and chat business. Jameson is holding a styrofoam cup, swishing around the cream soda nervously. 

Brash, harsh notes of sound wave around his eyes, and he can barely flick them around enough to keep up. Someone in a blue shirt is chasing around the one with a mustache, someone who glows with darkness is chatting with Marvin, someone in a doctor’s coat is arguing with Henrik so loudly Jameson feels his eardrums will burst. 

In a moment of overstimulation, he drops his cup on the floor, reaching up to cover his ears, shaking his head back and forth. This was a mistake. It was all a mistake. It is too much, it’s all too much! He will never be a normal person, he- 

“-will always be the lonely puppet kid in a box, thinks the man.” Someone finishes his thought. Jameson starts so hard that he jumps off the ground and backs up a few steps, slamming against the corner of the wall. 

There is a stranger beside him now, standing casually and making no motion despite Jameson’s violent reaction. His eyes are covered with a bandage, clean and obscuring. He wears a thick coat despite the warm autumn night outside. He is smiling with unreadable intent.

“Hello, Jameson Jackson,” the man proposes, holding out his hand. There is dried blood on his coat. Jameson does not shake his hand. The Host puts his hand back down. He tilts his head at Jameson softly, humming. 

“When I first saw you across the room, I thought you were that puppet kid. Just a trapped little soul so regressed you barely function.” Jameson goes to protest, but is cut off. “You’re not though. That is not your real story, is it.” 

Jameson signs a simple, “What?” hoping the gesture will be understood. It is. The Host smiles and sips cider from his cup. 

“You are not Dapper Jack, but you are, if you understand me. You are that same character, but from another story. You write it as you walk, as you talk, as you breathe. The words control you and pull you further from Dapper Jack the longer you remain away from that hell hole.” Jameson shuffles his feet, feeling exposed suddenly despite being against a corner. This man can see... everything. He feels stripped down to his bones, chewed up and spit back out. Yet something about it is... comforting. The Host finishes his drink, crumpling the cup. 

“After all, what fun would a character be if he never changes?” Before Jameson can respond, Host turns to him with a wide, wide grin. “You are bones and skin, words and blood.” The Host flicks caked blood off of his coat, then takes Jameson’s hand softly, tracing the lines with almost loving movement. “These are the only words you were gifted with. But in retaliation your mind makes such beautiful music.” The Host brushes Jameson’s curls out of his face, causing the smaller man to blush brilliant pink all the way to his ears and jerk backward in surprise.

“Jameson Jackson is someone very, very interesting, however not too cooperative with your author,” Host chuckles. His voice is warm, musical, like he could never dream of hurting any soul. But Jameson hears behind it, the subtle corruption of cruelty. Yet he doesn’t mind it. There’s such an allure to this stranger, he can’t explain it. His blinfolded eyes peer straight to JJ’s soul and rip him out of himself like pages of a book.

He pulls his hands from Host’s and curls them at his chest for a moment, glad that Host appears to be blind to his blushing. 

“Jameson is blushing.” 

Dammit.

The Host laughs. Melodical insanity. “You’re rather cute, Dapper Jack. What do you say, am I a sufficient distraction from the party, friend?” Host stresses ‘friend’, seeming to know, to see, more in the words than JJ could ever hope to. Host’s voice floats around him like lazy otters despite his breaking JJ down to his bare character traits and feelings. 

“Why do I feel like you are looking through me...” Jameson signs to himself, not expecting an answer from the seemingly blind man. 

“Because you all are open books to me, a series of stories and words correlating to action for the sake of a creator’s entertainment.” Jameson blanches softly, looking at Host with wide eyes. “Yes, I know you are signing.” 

“Are you... a god? Magician? See all?” Jameson asks bluntly. Melodic insanity rings through the air once again.  

“No, no. I simply see the moment, the story as it is being told. I have no control over your life, if that is what you mean.” Jameson blinks, his eyes fluttering. He has no fucking clue what that means, if he’s honest with himself. He lets it go, standing awkwardly in the corner with Host, who is not looking at him, seeming to stare off into the room full of noise and chaos. They sit in their little corner together, silent, listening to the house music, to the arguments and friendly quarrels, to the shadowy being scolding his companions, to Henrik and the other doctor screaming songs drunkenly. 

Host sighs suddenly, breaking the silence. “You are so interesting.” He suddenly turns and puts his hand on JJ’s cheek, grinning at him. He runs a hand down his jaw, humming, causing Jameson to go wide-eyed and blush once again, but he doesn’t pull away from him. Blindfolded, bandages eyes bore holes into him, and Jameson trembles, feeling seen, truly seen, for the first time in his life. Just as it is starting to overwhelm him, Host laughs softly, and lets go of him. “Until next time.” Jameson falls back against the wall corner, his eyes fluttering rapidly, his breathing uneven. 

He looks with majesty upon The Host, and for a moment can swear that he is blushing as well. But then he is gone into the chaos of the room, as though Jameson blinked him out of existence. Jameson places a hand on his chest, a bit shocked. Melodic insanity floats around him one more time, and in a daze Jameson finds Marvin, tugging their sleeve and asking with shaking hands to go home. 

“Ghost,” his hands whisper, pink fading from his cheeks. Marvin fusses, checking him for a fever delirium or overexcitement. 

They do go home, slowly and softly walking through Brighton’s streets back to their flat. Jameson’s hands whisper of ghosts and blind eyes peering through him all the walk home, all the night to follow, and all the next morning. The man in the trenchcoat’s laugh seems to sound around him, a hymnal of ghostly words sliding around in his head. 

Henrik tells him to forget it. How can he, though? How can you forget what it means to be seen, down to your very soul? 

No, Jameson will not forget. His ears and eyes will search forevermore for the soft melody of an all-knowing magician who saw him. Until next time, they whisper, promising and gentle. 

Until next time. 

[pencilpat]

If Host’s retinitis pigmentosa is being particularly sensitive to light, Bim will try to be his guide around town to cheer him up (emphasis on try)

[ratdadarts]

More furbbbbbbbbbb

[tealquacks]

The start of the next chapter

Docthor day seven!! Free day!!!!

@lostcybertronian @bing-iplier @snarkyfinch

Burning the journal was the start of everything, the spark of a forest fire, the Big Bang of his universe. Edward laid in a bed of flowers, pretending to be asleep as it burned above his head. He wondered what he was thinking, if he was surprised, or if he could see it coming from a mile away. It burned slowly, each bit of it folding in on itself before completely collapsing, turning to ash in his hands. Smoke burned his eyes, a strangely familiar feeling. Something something flexing its muscles eyes burn eyes burn eyes burn burn burn-

He stares at the ash in his hands. His sleeves were rolled up- he could see the story carved into his skin, the only remaining bit of his history of creation that he had left. The rest was only ash. He smudged it in his hands. Ran it over his arms, watching it turn the skin black except for the ridges of scars. He smudged it in his face, running his hands over his eyes and through his hair. Silently, he stared at the remaining ash all over his hands. Still not clean. Never clean. Gods didn’t have clean hands, anyway. How many did they kill in the floods?

Exhausted, he laid down next to Edward, pretending to believe the man was asleep. Slowly, he wrapped around him, burying his head in the warmth of Edwards chest, hands firmly on his back. Stained his coat with ash. He shut his eyes and dreamt of foxes hunting in nights where the sky was nothing but a cloud of quilts.

—

Edward got him flowers the day of the awards ceremony, where one of his books were being praised. It was a new one, one Edward wanted him to write. A happy ending. No deaths. People loved it.

Author loathed it.

He stared himself down in the hotel room mirror, still wearing his suit while Edward was down in the ballroom, chatting to the guests. Why should the characters be happy if he wasn’t? And since when was he so content to be ‘benevolent’?

It’s good to change, to be good, Edward had said. He said it when Author couldn’t disagree, said it right before he kissed him and slowly lowered himself to his knees, teeth finding metal. Edwards tongue was good for more than manipulation. He could undo a button with it. Oh, and much more.

He could undo years of work, of persistent pushing, pulling parts and plans and plots to pieces. They’d been together for three years. Edward got him to swallow benevolence like a shot, and was now trying to convince him he was human.

There was a little part of him that thought it was true. That he was human. The rest new better.

He took off his tie, the red silk sliding over his hands roughly, unlike when Edward put it on him that afternoon. He was always so gentle. No matter what. As if trapped in molasses, he opened the buttons on his shirt, took off his pants, and flopped into bed. He shut his eyes. Almost automatically, he thought the same thing he had been thinking since the morning he woke up with Edward. The fox something flexes its muscles before something eyes hurt eyes hurt eyes hurt.

He could see the ballroom, clear as day, behind his eyes. He kept them closed, feeling his throat work without his permission to fill in the blanks with his voice. Knees giving out, he fell down onto the bed, blankets jumping as he fell. Looking around, he could see Edward drinking and talking to some woman, tie a little undone and face flushed a little red. Author bit the inside of his lip. For a second, he could see a fox. A rabbit.

“Edward smiles at the woman and-“

Every muscle in his body locked up. His eyes were on fire, burning, but he kept them closed, kept on talking. Frantic. Voice cracking.

“Edward smiles at the woman and excuse himself and comes to the Author.”

The burning reached a fever, and he was half certain his eyes were boiling in his sockets, spasming and shaking, jaw bobbing open and closed like a grounded fish, head shaking in a desperate, instinctual way for him to escape the fire. In his eyes he saw Edward smile, all white teeth and charm. He says something, and turns and goes.

Author opened his eyes, shooting up with a gasp.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door.

Author flexed his muscles before standing and opening it, practically falling into Edwards arms.

—

Their room was empty. Well, he shouldn’t call it their room anymore. Author drank. What a pathetic thing for a god to be doing.

You’re going to hurt yourself, Edward said. I’m really worried.

“I’m a god, sweetcheeks,” had not been the best response.

He’d been practicing with the new ability, reaching out with his eyes closed and changing. He didn’t seize up anymore, but no matter what, his eyes would always hurt. Like they were in the way…

Maybe Edward was right.

Author squeezed the bottle in his hand, and drank down the rest of it. It burnt his throat, making him cough. To be a god. Truly, to be a god. All powerful. All seeing. What was he willing to sacrifice for that?

It was answered by the sound of broken glass and screaming.

—

Years later, Host muttered to himself as they walked together, hand in hand. He didn’t need eyes to know that Edward was wearing the big floppy sun hat he wore while gardening, and he didn’t need narration to see the smile on his face. He could feel it like a fire in his hands.

Edward kicked a tiny little pebble, laughing when Host described it as “a barbaric thing to do something so harsh to something as innocent as a pebble. The Host’s dear doctor is a dark, twisted bastard.”

“I wasn’t as bad as you were,” Edward said. He could hear the smirk on his face.

“The Host was not as bad as Edward was, either. Irrational, emotional, a stain glass window that shines color even in the dark spots of everything. You kept me from driving a knife into my chest every morning, every night. He was alone, and he owes you everything.”

Edward huffs. Host narrated his blush smugly.

“You grew out of being a megalomaniac, at least. I’m still human.”

“I grew out of believing that I was nothing but a mortal. I grew out of believing that I was the most important thing. That I was somehow more deserving. I was crushed under my mortality. Lonliness. Yes, Edward is still human. But do you want to know something?”

He took a second to gather his thoughts, describing the world to himself. Bugs flew in the summer heat, trees still and proud in the windless, humid air. The sun was just on the edge of setting, teasing little streaks of pink along the horizon. He saw it all, and knew it was not his to control, not his story to finish. He was happy now, and they could be, too.

“The Host is human. He’s always been human. And he’s always loved you. More than anything. Edward-“

Well, there’s some things he could change. Make a small lump of coal and wire in his pocket into a ring, for example. He kneeled, grimacing at the ache it brought.

“Will you marry me?”

[chasebrodyisagoodbean]

Gay pridecons!

The Author // The Host 

[candyappley]

hAVE YOU ANY RESPECT TO REFRAIN FROM STARTLING A BLIND MAN WITH AN OLD MEME???

((Referenced))

[ask-hospitable-host]

Hi, I have 3 friends that have pulled me into a wkm situation with 2 being girlfriend and boyfriend and the boyfriend cheating on the girlfriend with her sis who is my 3rd friend. I need advice and would go to wil but don't want to cause painful flash backs. ( I'm a huge fan thanks)

❝ Hopefully, The Host’s little strawberry doesn’t see this... But this whole ordeal can be avoided if you all sit down and have a calm and civilized talk with one another. He is a fan of honesty, and while it can hurt to bring secrets to light, it’s better in the end. Deceit only breeds more deceit, and it’s better to end the cycle now before it gets any worse, dear listener.  ❞

[meo618]

No rendering today, felt like drawing The Host. for the simps ig.

[madame-mimsy]

I met a man downtown the other day,

With ruby eyes that took my life away.

The moral always goes,

“Don’t trust the wolf in woolen clothes.”

But know the consequence of imagination’s fear.

No Reposting. Reblogs are Awesome though.

[emptynarration]

My favorite frames from the animation meme 💜

[franklyshipping]

I love Tales of Tickles, it was so cute! It's nice to see Wilford as the lee, we don't see that happen often. Author's teases were great and, well teasy. I got to be honest though, I'm not fully sure who The Author ego is. I assume he's not The Host, what video is he from? Oh I hope your PHD is going good. (Jameson/Marvin Anon)

Ahhh thank you! It's going pretty well, I'm just over 50k in so progress is good 👌 Oh Author is sort of a fan creation based off Nark's appearances in the Cyndago 'Danger In Fiction' videos from 10 years ago.....wow I feel old just typing this 😆💜