#markiplier the host fanfic

[leighsartworks216]

Markiplier Egos Masterlist

I have too many links on my main masterlist lol

Main Masterlist

AO3

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Tag List Form

The Host

Please Stay - The Host x gn!reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, lots of blood, wound descriptions, implied self-h*rm, awkwardness, just sorta the beginning stages of a crush so it's really cute

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Help - The Host x gn!reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, depression, intrusive thoughts

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Friendship - The Host x gn!reader

Warnings: none

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Cuddles - The Host x gn!reader (platonic)

Warnings: swearing, anxiety, awkwardness

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“Did you sleep well?” Headcanons - The Host x gn!reader

Warnings: none

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Wilford Warfstache

Blanket Thief - Wilford x gn!reader

Warnings: none, just pure fluff

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Scary Movie Night - Wilford x gn!reader

Warnings: broken glass, panic attack, swearing, hurt/comfort but mostly fluff

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Wilf Welcoming You Back Home Headcanons - Wilford x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of food and drink

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Yancy

Pet - Yancy x gn!reader

Warnings: swearing, reader is angy, bad accents

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Parole - Yancy x gn!reader

Warnings: cat

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My Handsome Guy - trans!Yancy x transmasc!reader

Warnings: dysphoria (not explicit), Yancy calls you “doll” in a gender neutral way, period stuff

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Breakfast - Yancy x gn!reader

Warnings: swearing, slight paranoia (?), slight abandonment issues

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Star-gazing - Yancy x gn!reader x Illinois

Warnings: none

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Solitary - Yancy x gn!reader

Warnings: panic attack, claustrophobia, swearing, hurt/comfort

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Hyperfixations - Yancy x autistic!gn!reader x Illinois

Warnings: slight swearing???, fluff

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Darkiplier

Just a Little Dark Drabble - Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: none

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A Thousand Awful Days - Dark x transmasc!reader

Warnings: dysphoria, swearing, fluff

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Overwhelmed - Part 2 - Dark x (implied) autistic!gn!reader

Warnings: overstimulation/sensory overload, being nonverbal, zoning out, swearing, can be read as platonic

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Damien and Dark ramble - Damien x gn!reader, Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: none

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Grief - Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: grieving, depression, loss of a pet

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Period Pains - Dark x AFAB!reader

Warnings: talk of period stuff that may cause dysphoria

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Trauma (Songfic) - Dark x DA!reader, Damien x DA!reader

Warnings: angst

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Birthday Wishes - Dark x DA!reader

Warnings: mentions of purgatory, fire/matches and a knife

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Dark Drabble - Dark x DA!reader

Warnings: none

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Just A Child - Dark & teenage!gn!reader (platonic)

Warnings: Actor is a creep (implied), hurt/comfort themes

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Panic Attack Comfort Headcanons - Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: panic attack (obvi), mostly fluff

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Pretty Boy - King!Dark x masc!reader

Warnings: things get a little spicy 😳

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Gone, I’m Gone (Songfic) - Dark/Damien x DA!reader

Warnings: explicit descriptions of blood, broken bones, starvation and dehydration, swearing, manipulation, extreme angst

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Papers (Songfic) - Dark/Damien x DA!reader

Warnings: Actor is an asshole, angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of some events from WKM

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Illinois

Of Cowboys, Cave Ins, and Crushes - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: being trapped in a small area, death, minor injuries that are not explicitly described

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Partner - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: none

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Free of Charge - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: illness, swearing, hurt/comfort

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Reckless - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: death, blood, injury, swearing, ANGST

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Family Reunion - Illinois, no reader

Warnings: none

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Stay Safe - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: swearing

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Star-gazing - Illinois x gn!reader x Yancy

Warnings: none

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Careful Not To Fall In Love - Illinois & Indiana Jones

Warnings: none

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Hyperfixations - Illinois x autistic!gn!reader x Yancy

Warnings, slight swearing??, fluff

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Damien

Midnight, The Stars and You (Songfic Kinda) - Damien x fem!reader

Warnings: none

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Damien and Dark ramble - Damien x gn!reader, Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: none

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Trauma (Songfic) - Dark x DA!reader, Damien x DA!reader

Warnings: angst

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Gone, I’m Gone (Songfic) - Damien/Dark x DA!reader

Warnings: explicit descriptions of blood, broken bones, starvation and dehydration, swearing, manipulation, extreme angst

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Sodomy - Damien x male!DA!reader

Warnings: internalized homophobia, religious trauma, hinted emotionally abusive parents, sodomy laws

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Papers (Songfic) - Damien/Dark x DA!reader

Warnings: Actor is an asshole, angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of some events from WKM

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Googleplier

Hug - Google x gn!reader

Warnings: none

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Reader Who Can’t Spell Headcanons - Google x gn!reader

Warnings: none

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First Kiss Headcanons - Google x gn!reader

Warnings: none

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ISWM

You’re Not The Captain AU

One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Ficlet

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You’re Another Engineer AU

One

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Captain’s Log - Ficlet - Addition

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Dogs in Space Headcanons - ISWM Crew + Captain!reader (Slight Captaineer)

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Engineer Mark

Kiss It Better - Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Warnings: minor injury, but mostly just fluff

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Captain, My Captain - Engineer Mark x AFAB!reader

Warnings: period fic, cramps, swearing

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In My Solitude (Songfic) - Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Warnings: loneliness, depression, possible su*c*dal thought (written in red text just in case), death, heavy angst, maybe a little fluffy at the end but like a sad fluffy

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I Missed You - Engineer Mark x transmasc!reader

Warnings: being (unintentionally) misgendered

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#1 Captain - Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort

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Your Captain - Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, loss of identity, overworking

[southerndragontamer]

Egotober Day 28: Ghost

There was a cabin the middle of the woods around the old manor, the one that was supposedly haunted after a party gone wrong so no one came near it. No one knew that a man with no shadow and a man that walked in and out of reality had taken it as their home and brought in others like a bunch of strays to live in the manor again. What they would do to keep their home safe from prying eyes.

But the cabin, oh everyone knew about it. It was haunted by the owner’s ghost, he’d been a famous writer especially for horror and thriller. Fans wrote to him and told him how much he scared them, how the characters felt so real in his books. The writer would just smile like he knew a secret they didn’t and nod, thank them for their praise.

The writer always did have an ego…perhaps that was what cost him so much Hmm? He crossed the wrong person, wrote something someone more unstable took offense too, got too close to a dangerous muse that took what he wrote too literally….or maybe it was something else?

Maybe he dabbled in powers he didn’t understand and it drove him mad, maybe he took for granted the power at his fingertips and it turned on him and made him the victim, maybe he looked into the future and saw something he shouldn’t have-or maybe…it’s none of those things but something else entirely.

Maybe he grew tired of feeling constrained, chained to his desk by the pen and paper he used to craft reality to his taste, maybe he wanted to have more freedom and power to make things his with just a word, but there was a price. These things always come with a price….

Maybe that’s why the ghost of the writer is said to be without his eyes…wearing a bloody blindfold but with a secretive smile on his lips as he makes reality listen to every word he speaks.

[shinymoonforest]

A Second Chance

After two unfortunate souls leave a devious novelist to his unfortunate demise, an unexpected alliance is formed...

---------------------------------------------- Characters: Darkiplier, The Author (from Danger in Fiction & Danger in Fiction | Chapter II)* TW: blood/injuries, mention of death *[for better context on the situation, i would recommend you look up and watch these to videos first!]  ----------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 1 Everything smelled awful. And that wasn’t just because of the odor Sinclair and his friend had bestowed upon The Author as he left. The room was slowly being overtaken by the stench of fresh blood pooling out onto the floor, shooting pains traveling up his side from where the bullet went through his body. While he screamed and screamed at Ryan, at Daniel, at anyone that would listen to him… he got nothing. Nothing in response… no reassurances in this painful and agonizingly slow death. Not even his infamous narration seemed to help him in this moment.

So, as described in most movies and books of all ages, the stench and looming presence of death made his vision fade to black. … Correction: black.. and gray… and white? The Author awoke in a carbon copy of his office from mere moments ago, although with every square inch of it put through a dark gray-scale like filter. He wondered if this was what purgatory was like (which, given his past actions, would make sense) until a sharp noise pierced all thoughts in his mind. A high-pitched ringing noise had entered the room and with it, visual hallucinations of silent screams that sparked neon shades of red and blue.Too loud to think.. without thinking, he couldn’t narrate, he couldn’t write, he couldn’t distract himself… He couldn’t do anything! He couldn’t do anything. He- “Are you just going to sit around feeling sorry for yourself or are you going to tell me exactly who the hell you are?” Out of nowhere, a booming voice spoke and broke the constant screeches of tinnitus. When The Author looked up, however, he now saw a dapper looking man standing in front of him. Firmly grasping a plain black cane with a silver knob on top, the same sparks of red and blue seemed to be originating from him- or was it her? Her, with skin, hair, and a suit as monochrome as the scenery around them, yet blatantly bold all the same. It seemed that, like the writer, this figure had also been wounded in a variety of places, as some of the whites and lighter grays were dashed with darker grays and ripped fabric.  Fatally wounded, yet still functioning… but how?

“Excuse me?”

“H-How.. Are- Are you supposed to be Death? If so, then I can assure you I have been behaving well recently a-a-and you have no need to send me, a well-acclaimed-” “An author, yes, I’ve heard of you,” the being replied, pressing its cane onto The Author’s outstretched hand to his dismay. “Though I would have to disagree.” “What the hell do you mean!?” he started, panic being masked by anger, “I just got-” “Shot?”

The man smirked as the feeble critic crumpled under her very look, shrank down into a screaming ball as the shooting pains of the bullet wound were returned to him, albeit amplified. Profanities only made his smile grow, as the tidal waves of fear washed away the outer shell of anger. These throbbing pains from his side only stopped when, out of desperation and blinding pain, The Author claimed that he would do anything to make this stop. “Anything, you say?” the voice inquired out of curiosity. “Would you be willing to go to any lengths to keep yourself alive?” 

“YES,” he squealed, writhing now, “YES, ANYTHING, PLEASE! JUST MAKE THIS NIGHTMARE STOP!”

And just like that, the pain stopped as if it had never happened. But now, as he soon came to realize from the powerful figure approaching him, he could no longer move. “Well then, now that you’re cooperating, let us make a deal.”  Up close, The Author could now see that a pitch black aura surrounded the figure, making him the source of not only the chilly monochromatic atmosphere but also the high-pitched tones dancing in the background. “Assuming you wish to behave, I will heal your wounds and allow you to live. In exchange, however, you must live under my house and its rules for the rest of your days. You may tamely do as you please during your stay, however too many… misdemeanors will result in a pain FAR worse than your initial fate.

“Do I make myself clear?” 

she asked, tilting her head in the process. A gut-wrenching crackling was heard as this took place, followed by an outstretched hand that was soon taken by that of the shaken writer.  “We.. We have a deal.” “Excellent,” they proclaimed while shaking his hand, albeit for only a few moments. “I’m glad that you are able to trust me, ‘Author’... able to trust us.” ‘Wait, how the hell do you know my name?!’ was the final thought that attempted a strand before a force of slumber hastily took over the man’s body, the ringing beginning to fade at last. “See you soon.” ----------------------------------------------

Chapter 1/? first (youre here!) | next chapter thank you for reading :) take care~! <3 

[intolerable-sushi]

What ego would you like to see me write next?

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Unravel (17/20)

Work Summary: Antisepticeye has a plan to destroy Darkiplier, steal his power, and take over everything - and he might just succeed. What starts with Yandereplier going missing evolves into a messy web of betrayal and grief, of blood and tears, of old wounds and new faces. However this ends, Ego Inc. will never be the same again. Chapter Summary: Things are finally starting to improve at Ego Inc., but there’s still more to do to prepare for Anti’s return - including a return to a place thought lost, for a person thought gone. Warnings: None

Read on AO3

Enjoy!

~

It happens only a day after Google, Chrome, and Bing finally finish repairing Oliver and Plus. After this, there’s truly nothing left to do but wait for something to happen. Many days have passed since the battle with Anti and his puppets, and the thought of him coming back still looms large. Surely Jackie and Marvin are alive again by now, given their popularity.

But before Anti can return, something else happens instead.

One day after Oliver and Plus are repaired, Chrome is lingering in the workshop anyway, ostensibly creating some small gadget but more aware of his brothers than the metalwork in his hands. He is impatient as he always is. Google is outside the workshop using a video game for distraction, and Chrome has tried that, but felt the need to be close to his brothers. Maybe a part of him knew what would happen, maybe his internal connections to his brothers let him know that something was going to change.

Whatever the reason, Chrome is in the room when Plus wakes up.

His eyes shoot open, and his whole system stutters in what would be a gasp if he were human. But Plus has no real need for air, so instead, he’s seized by a body-wide glitch, but only for a moment. In the next, he is sitting up, astonished, frozen in place by the shock of being alive.

He glances around, and sees Oliver, still dead. He sees Chrome, also frozen, staring at Plus in amazement, the way early man might’ve stared at the sunrise. For many long moments, nothing happens. Both are in too much shock. But it passes before long, as memories start to flood into Plus, and emotion starts to flood into Chrome.

“Green,” Chrome gasps, walking towards his brother. Walking, but then running.

“Red,” Plus says back, voice just as strained, unable to get out anything else before Chrome slams into him, squeezing him hard enough to crush if he were a human.

Plus sobs, tears falling out of him without his control, hands clinging to Chrome’s shirt, looking for grounding. Chrome is crying too, as he has done many times in the recent past, but this time it feels different. It still hurts, but the hurt is warm, red-hot with love and joy that he has his twin back.

It’s at that moment that Google, attracted by the noise (and immediately recognizing the sound of his once-dead brother’s tears) slams open the door of the workshop, too single-minded to care about damaging it. Google sees the pair of them, and his core thrums with that same sort of joyful pain that Chrome is feeling too, but he sees something else just beyond them that makes his eyes go huge. Chrome and Plus look at Google and turn to track his gaze.

In their reunion, they didn’t notice Oliver sit up in his own stretcher, hand over his core at the memory of it being ripped from him, gasping. He feels eyes on him and looks up, sees his brothers staring.

“Guys?” he whimpers, already teary-eyed, already strained, already rendered quiet from the sobs building in his throat.

Google’s by him so fast it’s like he teleported, holding him close, and Oliver feels the tears of his stoic, cool-headed big brother seep into his hair. That’s all he needs to start crying too, much harder, much messier than all four of his brothers. He glitches, not as bad as Plus did, but repeatedly, emotions running so high that even his sophisticated metal cortex can barely process them.

Each pair comes together, in a circle of equal parts relief and joy, terror and regret, pain, love.

“I’m sorry,” Chrome sobs, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–”

“I-It’s not, no-o-ot–” Oliver tries to say, but can’t get through his sentence for glitching.

“Ollie’s right, i-it wasn’t your fault,” Plus explains and affirms, leaning forward and letting his forehead touch Chrome’s.

“We’re okay,” Google murmurs, the only one not talking through sobs, though his voice is still warped from tears. He kisses each brother’s head. “We’re all okay now.”

He’s hyper-intelligent, they all are, yet none of them can think of anything more to say. It’s so very human, the way their emotions are clogging their throats and scrambling their thoughts, but none of them care. Their family is whole again, and nothing else matters.

The news that Oliver and Plus are alive spreads fast, and the egos are overjoyed for them, relieved to have something good to break through the fear and despair they’ve all been feeling, happy to have Plus and Oliver back, glad beyond words that they did not fade away into the ether.

The Host is happy for them too, he supposes.

As happy as he can be, while Dr. Iplier remains dead. Google stitched him up days ago, yet he still hasn’t woken. Oliver and Plus woke up immediately after being fixed, but here is Dr. Iplier, body whole, yet without a soul to call it home.

Host is with him now, in Dr. Iplier’s room and sitting at his bedside, as he always is lately. He only ever leaves him to sleep in his own room (he did try to sleep alongside Dr. Iplier once, but he was too cold and too still, and it provided Host no comfort). He only ever stays away when his despair prevents him from getting out of bed. Yandere at least has Chrome to concern himself with, and Yancy and Wilford to turn to when he desires a break from staring at Dr. Iplier’s motionless face, and is thus here less often than Host is.

But Host has no one else. Dr. Iplier is his all. It hurts Host so desperately to be in the room with him, to hear the silence where there should be breath, to feel how much colder Dr. Iplier’s hands are than they should be. But what else can he do? He loves Dr. Iplier, he can’t stay away. If Dr. Iplier faded away while Host wasn’t with him, Host would never forgive himself for not being there. He wonders if this was how Dr. Iplier felt when The Author died, when he was waiting and hoping for him to wake, dreading the thought of him disappearing, consumed by paranoia and terror and slow, aching agony. Host would not wish this feeling on even Dark.

But he wishes it on Anti, if only the man had someone he loved enough to be hurt by. Host is only ever not numb or depressed when he thinks about Anti, no doubt annoyed at the last battle’s stalemate but otherwise content. Meanwhile, here is Host, dying the slow death of grief. When Anti ripped out Dr. Iplier’s heart, he ripped out Host’s heart, too.

There’s a meeting today. Host was summoned. He does not care. He will stay here, by his doctor, because now that Oliver and Plus have woken, it’s only a matter of time before Dr. Iplier either wakes or fades. No matter which it is, Host will be there for it. He can’t help but narrate every so often, just so he can visualize Dr. Iplier and make sure he isn’t going transparent. He’d probably feel it if it began to happen, feel Dr. Iplier’s hand become incorporeal in his. But he doesn’t want to take the risk, so he narrates, even as it pains him to see his love this way. He used to talk more, used to whisper to Dr. Iplier, tell him how missed he was, how loved, how desperately needed. But Host has run out of things to say, and he finds himself always exhausted, too tired to speak much at all. He used to cry, but he can’t muster it now. His eyes bleed anyway, enough to have Google changing his bandages every day, but Host never sobs, and his voice, though raspy and quiet, does not waver with tears. Were Host human, he would surely have bled out a hundred times over since Dr. Iplier was killed.

But he will stay, stay until Dr. Iplier comes back to him or leaves him forever, and either way, he will bleed out a hundred times more.

At least, that is his plan, until Wilford comes into the room after the meeting Host skipped.

Host doesn’t need his eyes to know it’s Wilford. His steps are heavy, louder than they need to be, but springy in a way that the similarly weighty steps of the androids aren’t. Wilford’s not alone either; feather-light steps come behind him, suggesting a small stature and subdued manner, yet with a similar bounce to them as Wilford’s. But Host mainly recognizes Yandere’s steps from all the times he’s heard them in the recent past. Wilford and Yandere come into the room, and one of them (probably Yandere) closes the door behind them.

“Host,” Wilford begins, “We missed you at the meeting.”

Host lets out a noncommittal mumble. 

“We have…” Wilford starts, unsure of the words to use, “We have a plan, something we want to do to help us with Anti and help bring back Dark. But we need you to help us do it.”

“What exactly is this plan?” Host asks. He doesn’t direct his head towards Wilford’s voice, or really move at all, but he is somewhat curious. As current second-in-command, he supposes it’s for the best that he cares.

“Well, Celine has gotten a bit…restless, lately,” Wilford says, and Host can hear the tension and frustration in his tone. “She’s been going through Dark’s office, looking for anything useful. Damien wasn’t aware of anything there, he said as much, but Celine looked anyway, and she found something.”

Host isn’t surprised to hear about Celine’s restlessness. The emotions between Wilford and Celine were so thick in the air that Host could sense them without even narrating, and it had only seemed to get more intense the longer Wilford helped Celine develop her magic. Though Host was rarely with them while they trained, he could sense the romantic turmoil they were feeling even when he encountered them separately. Wilford certainly had it more deeply, but Celine had love for Wilford too, Host could tell. Maybe she still does, but something happened not very long ago that changed the air between them. Their emotions around each other now are much more subdued, sadder, solemn, frustrated. Host doesn’t know what happened, but whatever it was, it affected them both greatly, apparently enough to make Celine look for an escape.

“What did she find?” Host asks.

“Notes. About…” Wilford huffs out. “About the manor. And a map. Dark…” Wilford huffs again, sadder and slower. “Dark knew where it was this whole time.”

Host sits up straighter at that. It astonishes him, that the manor exists out there, the pure fact of it, and then the fact that Dark knew about it, and finally the knowledge that Dark kept it a secret. But once the initial shock wears off, he finds it to be unsurprising. Of course the manor exists, why wouldn’t it, given the magic it held? And if it exists, it follows that Dark would be the one to find it, given his deep connection to the place. The fact that he hid it is harder to swallow. Host is, frankly, amazed that he never noticed what Dark was hiding this whole time. But then, he always knew Dark kept secrets, kept things close to his chest. Host never cared to reveal them because he doubted it would lead to anything useful. If anything it would only draw Dark’s ire, the last thing Host wanted. Wilford, in his normal less-than-lucid state, would have never sought out the manor or questioned if Dark knew about it. There was no one brave enough or clever enough to figure out what Dark was hiding…no one until Celine, herself a part of Dark.

Host turns his body to Wilford and angles his head to face where his voice is coming from, though he remains seated with a hand grasping Dr. Iplier’s.

“That is quite the revelation.” An understatement, but Host is still reeling. “Do you know why Dark kept this to himself?”

“From his notes, and from knowing him, it seems like he was worried about setting off Actor. He’s never bothered us, even with all of Mark’s projects, and maybe messing with the manor could put him on our paths again.”

Host can understand that. All these years, none of them knew if Actor could pop back up again, and what kind of havoc he’d cause if he did. And Dark, one of the very few who knew firsthand what he was capable of, would have wanted to keep him contained. Host can imagine Dark trying to figure out how to root Actor out, how to kill him, but failing, and thus resolving to keep the manor hidden and secret so no one could set him free. All the more reason not to tell anyone about the manor, lest some curious or adventurous younger ego find it and release Actor by accident.

All that considered, Host can tell in Wilford’s voice that there’s more to the situation. He didn’t just come to relay information to Host, he said there was a plan.

“But…?” Host prompts Wilford.

“But…Actor’s not the only one still trapped in the manor. The District Attorney’s there, too. They’re stuck there, but Celine thinks that if we freed them, they could help us reform Dark. Since there’s always been the problem of not having his body anymore…maybe this would help us get it. And who knows what sort of power the DA could have now; that could help us, too.”

Host considers this. That makes sense, too; DA was kicked out of their own body and left in the manor’s mirror, by all accounts they could still be there. And the DA is much less feared than Actor. They’re an audience insert, and though Mark’s audience is fickle and fanatical in equal measure, the community is bursting with joy and humor and love for Mark and his creations. If the DA is still in the manor, they’d be as much of an ally to the egos as Actor is an enemy. The DA could be a huge help in defeating Anti and bringing back Dark…but getting the DA could free Actor. And Host still doesn’t know why his help is needed.

“The Host is intrigued,” Host admits, “But he wonders what his part in this is meant to be.”

Wilford sighs. Not the short huffs he made before, but something a little longer. Yandere makes the first sound he’s made since he closed the door earlier – fidgeting on his feet, shuffling quietly.

“I need your vote on whether or not we try to free the DA, for one thing,” Wilford says, “And, well…if we do go get them, Bim and I are going, but we might not be enough. You’re nearly as strong a reality-bender as I am. So you would have to come–”

“No.” Host turns away from Wilford in an instant, refocusing himself towards Dr. Iplier’s bed. “The Host is not going anywhere.”

“Host, come on–”

“The Actor could do much worse to us than Antisepticeye if he was able to get free of the manor. We cannot risk that, not for the reward of a potential body for Dark. Either way, The Host is staying with Dr. Iplier.”

“Host.” Wilford is annoyed, his voice is short. “This could be the edge we need against Anti, and we can’t just not stop him. We have to try every option. We already failed against him once, we can’t afford to fail again.”

“There is no “we” failed,” Host snarks, “The Host recalls using his narration to salvage the fight and stop Anti from causing more deaths. Host has earned the right to sit this out.” He clenches Dr. Iplier’s hand tighter. “Oliver and Plus have woken up. Dr. Iplier could wake up or fade away at any second. Host cannot leave him now.”

“Host, I hate to play this card, but you’re second in command right now. You have more than just Doc to think about.”

“Convenient, then, that your role and the situation we’re all in allows you to only think about Dark.”

“That’s not the same thing and you know it!”

“Answer this, Wilford,” Host intones, voice dropping lower, “If you could return to the past, return to when Dark was still here, in the clinic, healing from his burns, would you have left his side, knowing what you know now?”

Host can imagine Wilford opening his mouth and closing it again, but he doesn’t narrate, doesn’t know for sure if that’s what Wilford is doing. But he hears no good retort, only a long pause, followed by an angry growl. Wilford stomps out of the room, opening the door so roughly it slams the opposite wall.

But Host does not hear a second set of footsteps follow him out. All is quiet for a moment.

“The Host knows that Yandere is still here,” Host says. His voice is not so low, now. Only tired, as it always seems to be.

“Yeah,” Yandere acknowledges. He moves, but only to shut the door of the room once again. He doesn’t leave.

“Why have you stayed? If Wilford could not convince Host to cooperate, why do you think you can?”

“I…” Yandere steps closer. “Well, I get where you’re coming from, at least.” His footsteps stop when he’s right beside Host, right at Dr. Iplier’s bedside with him. “I love Shishi, too.” Yandere’s voice is suddenly wobbly.

Instead of responding, Host narrates to himself, and sees Dr. Iplier’s face in his mind’s eye. He wishes every time that this time might be the time he sees color flow back into his doctor’s cheeks, sees his eyes open, hears him breathe, feels his hand squeeze Host’s hand back. But this time is like every other, Dr. Iplier seems no closer to waking, but no closer to eternal death.

“Katarite-san, I know you miss Shishi,” Yandere whispers, too choked up to speak more loudly, “I miss him too, and I miss Yami, I know how you feel. I know how it feels to…to lose your person.” Yandere sniffles. He must be crying now. “I don’t know Shishi as well as you do, b-but I know he…he’d hate to see you like this. And h-he’d want you to help us beat Anti. He’d want you to help fix what he started.”

“Is that how you think of him? Of this?”

“N-Not really, but he would. You know he would.”

Yandere has a point. God, Dr. Iplier would despair, wouldn’t he, if he could see Host now? If he saw how many meals Host has skipped, how much sleep he’s lost, how sad and empty and angry he’s been. And Dr. Iplier hated himself for the lies he told, for the awful things he did to create the situation the egos are in. He’d be begging Host to help, begging Host to go with Bim and Wilford to get the DA and get a step closer to fixing things.

But. Host feels glued to his chair before Dr. Iplier’s bed. How could he leave him now? What if he fades? It may be selfish, but Host cares more about his doctor than anything else now. Without Dr. Iplier, Host has nothing. If Dr. Iplier disappears without Host there, the regret will destroy Host for the rest of his life.

“Host can’t leave him,” Host whispers. His voice is low again, not angry and cutting, but quiet, sad, desperate.

“I’ll be here,” Yandere says. He sniffles again, but Host can hear the brush of his hands as he wipes his face, hear him take determined breaths to stop weeping. “Katarite-san, if you go with Wil and Bim-san then I swear I’ll stay right here and tell you as soon as anything changes. I know how to contact you, and I promise you I will if something happens. And Wil could teleport you back here in an instant.”

It’s an offer anyone could make. An offer that Host should refuse. Fading is often fast; by the time Host receives the message, it could already be too late, even with Wilford’s teleportation. But it’s not anyone making this offer, it’s Yandere. Yandere, who’s already lost the person he loves most. Yandere, who doesn’t love Dr. Iplier the same way Host does, but loves him just as fiercely. Yandere, who understands more than anyone could the full gravity of what’s at stake, who understands exactly what Host has to lose. Yandere, who is making this offer with the utmost sincerity, who would take it more seriously than anyone else could. Yandere, who has reminded Host of what Dr. Iplier would choose for Host if he were able.

All of these things play a part into why Host thinks for many long moments, but ultimately sighs.

“Fine.”

“You – wait, you’re gonna…?”

“The Host will go with Wilford and Bim to the manor, if you promise to stay with Dr. Iplier, and to call Host if anything at all changes.”

“I promise, Katarite-san, on my life!”

Host believes him. Before getting up, he begins to narrate to himself, under his breath. Maybe Yandere can hear him, but if so, it would be just barely.

“In front of Host lies Dr. Iplier, as still as he ever is, as cold and absent as he’s been for many days. His expression is neutral, empty. But he is still Host’s doctor. Host can imagine now exactly how his features would appear if they sprang to life in this instant. It is this image that he hopes to ingrain in his mind, just in case.” Host leans forward, closer to Dr. Iplier, lays a hand on his cold cheek. “Host asks his doctor to stay, just a while longer, at least until Host can return to him.” He leans further, until his lips are a breath away from Dr. Iplier’s forehead. “I love you,” he says, so quiet he hardly hears himself, before closing the gap and kissing Dr. Iplier’s forehead. He lingers there for a moment, but eventually forces himself to pull away and stand.

He doesn’t trust his voice any longer, and instead moves to leave the room (Dr. Iplier’s room is familiar enough to him that he needs no words to navigate). He hears Yandere take his earlier seat, hears him get in the chair and scoot it a little bit closer. Host finds Yandere hard to trust in most respects, but he trusts him now, with this.

Host finds Wilford (and Bim, and Damien and Celine) in his studio, no longer so angry at Host’s earlier refusal but pensive and worried. Host isn’t noticed right away, so he lingers where he is for a moment, observing.

“Well, even if Host doesn’t want to go, can’t we just go on our own?” asks Bim, anxious, but whether he’s more anxious about confronting the manor without Host or about the tension in the air of the studio, Host can’t tell.

“Host wasn’t much a fan of us going anyway,” Wilford admits. Host can tell he’s biting his thumbnail through his words; a nervous habit he’s had for a long time but one that he rarely feels enough nerves to do. “It might have been an excuse so he didn’t have to leave Doc, but he has a point. I mean, Dark was worried enough about Actor to let this lie for so long…” He sighs. “It’s still so hard to believe.”

“It’s hard to believe you didn’t find it sooner, Damien,” says Celine, sharp. “Dark’s office has been yours since you woke up, and in all your effort to figure things out here, you couldn’t find what I found in a few days?”

“I’m not a snoop,” Damien mutters, “What are you trying to say?”

“Celine–” Wilford starts, not quite warning, but almost pleading with her.

“Maybe you didn’t want to find anything to help get Dark back,” she says, “You never seem very excited about the prospect in meetings.”

“And you are?” Damien scoffs.

“I understand what has to be done,” Celine snaps, “I always have. And you’ve always been in denial.”

“Celine,” Wilford says again, still pleading.

“That’s hardly fair!” Damien yells. By the sound of it, he gets up from the chair he was sitting in. “You can’t seriously call what I was doing back then “denial,” not when you were trying so hard to keep me there!”

“Well, I’m not trying anymore!” Celine yells back. Host gets the sense she’d stand as well if she could, but as it is, her wheels click, and a breath of narration tells Host that she moves right up to Damien to get in his face, even though their eye levels don’t match. “I’m not trying to keep you from understanding anything or hiding the truth anymore, so what’s your excuse for ignoring it this time??”

“Host! How long have you been here?” Bim suddenly exclaims.

Even without narration, Host feels the atmosphere of the room change as the others notice his presence.

“Host?” Wilford asks. “Are you…?”

“The sooner we go to the manor and find the DA,” Host says, “The sooner Host can come back to Dr. Iplier.”

“Okay. Okay!” Bim says, trying to hype himself up for the trip.

“Alright then,” Wilford says, clearly wondering what prompted the change of heart but not wanting to ask and risk Host changing his mind. “Let’s go. There was a photo of the place in Dark’s notes, so I can teleport us there easy.” He pauses, and Host narrates enough to see Wilford turn towards Damien and Celine. “Are you two…good?”

“Good enough,” Damien mutters, sullen. Celine says nothing.

“Alright,” Wilford says awkwardly, not believing him but not about to push it.

In the next moment, Host is weightless, and the smell of cotton candy fills his nose. In the moment after, his feet hit the ground and he nearly stumbles.

Under his shoes is grass, Host can feel the bounce of the earth. The sun is shining, the breeze is light. He hears the gentle rustling of tree branches in the wind. He wonders where exactly they are. Still in California, surely, but Host can’t know for sure. The place sounds and feels nearly idyllic. But Wilford and Bim are silent, aside from the awed gasp they each let out.

“Holy shit,” says Bim.

“Bully,” breathes Wilford.

Host narrates.

“Before the three men is the manor, the place where Wilford and Dark were made. It looks as old as it is; the walls are crumbling, moss runs up the stone, the windows are broken with cobwebs replacing panes of glass. Yet it is huge, it towers over the landscape, and despite the bright sun surrounding the group, all three feel a chill staring up at it. Though they came here with a purpose, they hardly want to go inside. The manor is stirring something in their blood, as if their very bones know the significance of this place.”

“We’re gonna have to go in eventually,” says Bim, though he does not move.

A long pause. Though Host is still eager to finish the task at hand and return to Dr. Iplier, he finds he’s much less eager to go into the manor. The building should be benign, now; Dark’s aura is no longer there, after all. But there’s still magic emanating from it, so strong that even Bim should be able to feel it. Magic that is perhaps keeping both the DA and Actor contained. Instinctually, Host doesn’t want to disturb it.

“Come on, then!” Wilford suddenly says, brisk and sharp, practically storming off to the manor’s front door. Bim and Host follow.

Wilford hardly has to push the door; it’s so frail and the wood so rotted that it nearly opens itself, and the group step onto the cracked tile of the entryway. Host narrates to himself as the others look around.

“This room was grand, once. The ceiling is still high, the chandelier still hangs, the furniture still exists. But much like the outside of the manor, the room too shows the years it’s sat here abandoned. The fabric of the couches are ragged and rotting, the chandelier is broken and useless, the ceiling has holes that let sunlight leak through. The balcony above is sagging under its own weight, the wood railing is splintered and cracked. The mirror at the other end of the room is cracked in a familiar pattern, and it and the table before it are covered in dust. Bim is looking at the place with amazement and only a little disgust at the mold and rot. Wilford wanders about as if in a trance, taken in by memory.”

“Shoot, are you gonna be okay, Wil?” Bim asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wilford replies absently, “Just…taking a look at the place, is all.” Host’s narration shows Wilford ending up at the mirror and laying a hand on the table in front of it, taking no notice of the dust. “It’s funny, the place doesn’t feel so…so ominous anymore.”

“You sure about that?” Bim mutters, no doubt eyeing the decay of the space.

“The aura’s not here anymore,” Wilford murmurs, almost sadly. “This place is just a building, now.”

“Nearly,” Host says, “The manor is still a magical centerpoint, Host can feel it. It was marked by what happened here, and there are forces here still at play, however subtle.”

“That would explain how it’s managed to go undisturbed so long,” Bim muses, “It’d probably have a few squatters otherwise.”

“Makes sense,” Wilford says, still quiet, and – Host guesses and confirms – still looking at the mirror.

Host resumes a slow walk around the ground floor of the manor, narrating to himself as he goes. He takes in the scenery, the rays of light coming through the windows and holes in the walls, the peeling wallpaper, the dust, the mold – the cracks in the tile and steps down that threaten to trip him up. Even now, the manor has its tricks. Host has to wonder what happened to the chef, the butler, the groundskeeper, whether they escaped with their lives somehow or if the manor subsumed them like it did Actor and the DA. He figures that if one of them was still here his sharp ears would’ve heard them by now. As it is, there is little sound at all, aside from birds chirping outside, the occasional wind blowing through the decaying walls, and the soft footsteps of himself and the others. Host isn’t quite sure what he’s searching for, but he knows he’ll understand it when he finds it. The magic in the air is still humming at a constant flow, never seeming to increase or decrease.

Host narrates, trying to see if Wilford or Bim have found anything. Bim is at the foot of the staircase, regarding the dark, rotten steps with trepidation, probably trying to decide if it’s safe enough to climb. Wilford hasn’t moved from before the mirror, still staring at it intently. His gaze is no longer wistful, his brow is slightly furrowed. Host makes his way to him, planning to ask him what he’s noticed, but Wilford yells out in shock before he can.

Host nearly jumps at the sudden noise, and hears the crash of Wilford falling backwards.

“Wil??” cries Bim, rushing from the staircase to help him up, “What happened, are you okay!?” Host continues to Wilford more calmly.

“I’m fine,” Wilford says, “The mirror, I saw something moving in it, I saw–” He cuts off.

“Oh my god,” Bim gasps.

Host can already sense something, he already feels something from the mirror, a magical energy he’s never found before, one that he can’t quite pinpoint. Its resonance matched the rest of the manor earlier, but its signature is much clearer now. Once again, he narrates.

“In the mirror, obscured by the dust but unmistakable, is a person. Surely, it is the DA, but…The Host cannot tell for certain. The person in the mirror is difficult to make out, their features are indistinguishable, only a human form is visible. Whoever they are, The Host feels their eyes on him, though he – and the others – cannot see them. They are being blocked out by more than dust, the mirror seems deeper than the pane of broken glass that comprises it. The person in the mirror radiates power, unlike Host’s, unlike Wilford’s, unlike Bim’s, unlike even Dark’s or Celine’s.”

“It’s gotta be the DA!” Bim cries. He pauses. “Unless it’s Actor. Oh shit, what if it’s Actor?”

“Old friend?” Wilford asks, having gotten up from the ground and approached the mirror again, “Is that you in there?” His gaze is far away.

“Wil, hold on a minute,” Bim frets.

“Whether it’s DA or Actor or someone else there,” Host says, “Wilford may be the best person to call them forward enough to be discernible.” 

“But what if it is the Actor??”

“We knew that would be a possibility, did we not? We can’t go back now.”

Something in Host tells him not to be worried, even as Wilford lays a hand on the mirror, fingers spread across the cracks, making marks in the dust.

“Come out here,” Wilford murmurs, “It’s been so long, and…and there’s so much I want to say to you.”

Host whispers his narration so as not to distract Wilford. In his mind’s eye, he sees some fog clear away from within the mirror, and the figure comes closer.

“It is you,” Wilford says, shoulders drooping with relief, “Of course it’s you, who else would be in this mirror?”

“Why do they…” Bim squints, “Why…why do they look like that?”

Host furrows his brow, narrating louder as he concentrates.

“It is the DA in the mirror, now closer to the surface, fully visible as they are, but their presence provides no clarity. Their appearance shifts every second, features changing every moment. A few forms seem clearest, however. One is brown hair, long enough to brush at their ears and sweep across their forehead, brown eyes deep enough to drown in, and skin so white it’s almost gray. The other two forms are familiar to the group looking upon them. One resembles Amy Nelson, but younger, hair curled and dyed blonde instead of straight and dark brown. One resembles Ethan Nestor, again younger, hair swooped up and bright blue like it used to be years ago. Each form represents…represents the different parts that make up the DA. Amy and Ethan, in part, portrayed them in the videos that made them, but the DA is also a blank canvas, the audience insert. The DA is everyone, no one, themself. The DA stands in the mirror, mouth in a line. They must see the group in front of them, but they make no move, say no words.”

“Oh,” Bim murmurs, awed. “Wow.”

“Friend,” Wilford whispers, tears in his eyes, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Host knows through his own whispers that the DA looks at Wilford, gaze piercing.

“It happened a lifetime ago,” says the DA – at least, they seem to; their mouth doesn’t open, their throat doesn’t move, but their voice is audible all the same. “My forgiveness must mean little. But you have it, William.” Their words are resonant and echoing, deep and high, sharp and soft, loud and quiet in equal measure, as varied as their face.

Wilford sniffles, laughs a little.

“That’s not my name anymore.”

“Of course, apologies. You’ve been Wilford longer than you’ve been William.”

“What about you?” Bim asks. “What’s your name? We’ve just been calling you the DA, but…”

“My name has been lost to time. I have none now.”

Host would expect a person to say something like that with great sadness, but the DA presents it as neutral fact, without emotion.

“We can’t just call you the DA,” Host muses, “That’s hardly a proper name to refer to a person with.”

“I remember their name!” Wilford insists. “They’re…they’re District Attorney…oh, it’s in there somewhere…”

“It isn’t,” the DA says, still matter-of-fact. “My name is gone. I may not have had one at all.”

That much could be true. The DA is an ego, after all, and if Mark didn’t give them a name and the fans couldn’t agree on one, then the DA has nothing but their title.

“What should we call them, then?” Bim asks. “Maybe Daniel? Or Danielle, it could be both at once.”

“That’s boring,” Wilford scoffs. “They deserve a name with more pizazz!”

“Dahlia?” Host offers.

“Maybe. But it’s so frilly, there’s not enough power in it.”

“Darcy?” Bim suggests.

“That’s more powerful, but still too frilly! It doesn’t suit them at all!”

“You said you wanted pizzazz!”

“Yes, but not fancy! The DA wasn’t prim and proper back in the day, a fancy name would be weird!”

Host notes with some amusement that DA, the subject of this discussion, is watching silently, with a slight look of bewilderment.

“Well, what ideas do you have?” Bim sniffs at Wilford.

“Maybe we can call themmmmm…” Wilford thinks. “Dana!” He exclaims. “Dana, there’s a good name. Short and simple but not boring, very handsome and/or beautiful.”

“Perhaps we should ask DA what they think?” Host says with a slight grin.

Bim and Wilford look at the DA expectantly. They are silent for another long moment before speaking.

“Dana is fine,” they say.

Host can practically feel Wilford’s triumphant grin, no narration needed.

“So, now what?” Bim asks no one in particular.

“Now we get them out of the mirror!” Wilford says.

“Hm,” Dana says. For once, their voice has emotion: a touch of discomfort.

“Do you wish to stay in the mirror?” Host asks.

“I’m not overly attached to this realm,” Dana explains, “But I do not wish to re-enter the surface. It has been too long, and there is nothing for me out there.”

“What!?” Wilford exclaims. “But there is! There’s a whole building full of egos for you to meet, and, well, we need you.”

“For what reason?”

“It’s a long story,” Wilford sighs, “But basically, an enemy of ours killed Darkiplier and took his aura. He’s killed a few of us with it, plus a whole bunch of other people, and he’s looking to kill us all. We need help to stop him, and we need help to reform Dark.”

Dana outright sneers at that, so vitriolic that Host’s voice wavers just a bit as he narrates it and Bim takes a step back.

“It is Dark’s fault that I have become this,” Dana says, voice low and angry. “Dark abandoned me here, when he had every opportunity to free me. I used to beg him to release me, to use his power to undo what he did and allow me to exist again. He rebuffed, he rebuked, he ignored.”

“But I thought you didn’t want to leave anymore?” Bim asks, confused.

“Just because I’m making that choice now doesn’t mean it should’ve been my only choice. At one time I would not have chosen this. But too much time has passed, Dark has taken too much. I will not return, and I will certainly not return for Dark.”

“But it’s not just about Dark!” Wilford insists, “There’s so many egos who’d love to meet you and who need your help, and I bet you’d get along great with them! And Damien and Celine are here right now, you’d get a chance to see them again!”

Dana straightens at that, but almost immediately deflates again.

“What is the point of seeing them again if they’re meant to become Dark again?” they mutter. “I have little affection for Celine as it is, but Damien…” They look away. “I cannot see him again, if he will be forced to leave so soon.”

Host doesn’t need any further narration to read into that tone, to understand Dana’s averted gaze. It’s love, Host can see it clearly.

“Even without the other egos you could meet, even ignoring the stuff with Dark,” Bim says, “Wouldn’t it be nice to leave the mirror? To exist out in the world?” Bim gestures out towards the door he and the others came in. “The weather’s so nice outside the manor, it’s nice back in Los Angeles where we live. Outside the mirror you can walk around, eat, play a video game or a sport, talk to someone, do something. If I were you I’d be bored out of my skull!”

“You are not me,” Dana says, voice cold. “I have no need of the outside. I do not wish to see how the world has moved on without me. I have no interest in anything offered there. I am not content, but I will never be. I will stay here, rather than expend effort to feel the same as always, or worse.”

No one seems to know what to say to that. Host’s narration tells him that Bim is awkward, staring at the ground and fidgeting, trying to think of something to say. Wilford is crestfallen, sad at meeting his old friend and having said friend want to stay put, where they can’t help the other egos. If no one says anything, Dana will retreat back into the mirror, and they will be unlikely to return if called.

Host steps forward, past Wilford and Bim, closer to the mirror.

“The Host does not understand how Dana feels,” Host begins. “He doesn’t know what it’s like to be trapped and stuck for a hundred years, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be so demoralized that freedom no longer feels like a cure.” Host breathes in. “But Host does know, very well, what it’s like to be changed. He understands how it feels to be subject to forces beyond one’s control, to be irrevocably damaged.” He can’t stop himself from adjusting the bandage around his eyes. “Host imagines that you were not always the person before us now. Host was also not always the man you see. Change of this sort is painful, horrible, unfair. Host understands this.”

Host pauses, in case Dana has anything to say. They remain silent, but Host can feel their eyes, knows they’re still there. He continues.

“The Host also knows how it feels to love as deeply as you appear to.” His breath hitches just slightly. “Host has not had a hundred years to love another person, but he has had two lifetimes, and he knows what it’s like to have a person be one’s world. He knows how it feels to lose that person. But…” Host ducks his head, wills himself not to sob. “But Host is here because he knows that this is what his love would want. He died trying to fix his mistake, the mistake that led to Dark being destroyed. He would’ve wanted Host to press on looking for solutions, and so, Host is here, pleading with you.” Host lifts his head again. He can feel blood streaming down his cheeks. “If where you end up matters so little, then Host asks you to picture what your love would want. Host asks you to decide if your love would want you to be this miserable, or if he would want you to have a chance to start over, to have happiness. And if that is too selfless for you, Host wonders if you could be convinced to leave the mirror to see your love again, even if only for a short time, even if it reopens the pain of loss when he goes.” Host smiles sadly. “If Host had to make that choice, he would choose it every time. He would give anything at all to see the man he loves again, even if not forever. He suspects that, somewhere deep within, you might feel the same.”

A long silence stretches. Host hardly dares to break the silence with narration, but he does, just the slightest breath of volume to know what Dana is doing. Their face is the most emotive it’s been so far, twisted in anguish. Their eyes are teary. The endless cycling of their form has stopped, and they have settled on the version that’s ghostly pale, the one that looks like themself, not like Amy or Ethan.

“Will I survive it?” Dana asks, a tear rolling down their cheek. “Will I survive losing him again?”

“Maybe not,” Host admits, blood still dripping down his own face. “But would that make it any less worth it?”

Dana purses their lips, trying not to sob. Tears continue falling, and Host’s whispered narrations pick up Wilford and Bim’s stares, equal parts amazement and concern. It takes a few moments for Dana to regain their composure, to finally raise their hand and wipe their tears away.

“Fine,” they say, voice wavering at first, then stronger word by word. “Fine, I’ll go with you.”

“And you’ll help us?” Wilford asks, eyes big and pleading.

“I suppose.”

It’s good enough for Wilford, who breathes out a relieved chuckle.

“Awesome!” exclaims Bim, “But, uh…how do we get you out of the mirror?”

Dana steps forward, even closer to the mirror’s surface.

“Dark suggested it was a matter of pulling me out,” Dana explains, “With strength, but moreover with magic. There was…is a risk that disrupting this place could shatter it completely and set free more than just me.”

“We know,” Wilford sighs, “But we’re willing to take the risk if you are.”

It’s Dana’s last chance to back out, but they steel themself instead.

“I am,” they say.

Wilford and Bim walk up to the mirror, Host following behind, whispering narration all the while.

“Wilford and Bim each place a hand on the mirror, and they can feel Dana just beyond the glass, feel the churning of the mirror’s dimensional pocket, feel the power contained there. It is a null space, emptier even than Dark’s void, yet it thrums with its own life, like the floor of the deepest ocean.” Host can sense when Wilford and Bim start to use their magic, feel the increase of power in the air, smell the cotton candy of Wilford’s magic and the lavender of Bim’s. He raises his own hands and continues to narrate. “Host reaches out through the mirror, between the cracks, finding the curling black of the void space, and Dana standing just there, ready to leave it. Host’s own power feels around, searches for Dana’s answering hands. Behind and around are Wilford and Bim, Wilford pushing back the mirror dimension, Bim extricating Dana from its grip, little by little. Host assists Bim, the scent of ink and golden tendrils melding with purple, further reaching, offering something for Dana to grab onto.”

Host hears Dana gasp. Host can see through his power, see Dana there in the dark, see them find Host’s hands, find Wilford’s hand, Bim’s hand.

“The closer the three get, the more power they funnel, the more the space between the mirror and its dimension widens, the more space there is for Dana to come forward, the more fragile the mirror becomes. It is already cracked, but the cracks get wider, they splinter off into the previously-unbroken panes, threaded with pink and purple and gold. Wilford and Bim’s hands phase through the glass, they come out on the other side and reach something tangible. It is Dana, guided by Host’s power, bringing their hands together. Wilford has one, Bim has the other, Host is behind them both, and they all pull at once.”

It is Host’s power that allows him to see Wilford and Bim pull their hands from within the mirror, each holding one of Dana’s hands, pulling them through the mirror and out into the surface. As Dana leaves it, the mirror shatters. Glass rains around the trio, but they ignore it, and Host spares a sentence to prevent them from being harmed by the falling shards. Dana stumbles forward, unsteady on their feet, but with Wilford and Bim gripping their hands tight, they stay upright.

Out here, in the surface world, they don’t look quite so ghostly. Host’s whisper tells him that Dana’s skin is not as deathly pale now, their form continues to be stable, their hair is still soft brown and gently ruffled. But there are deep pockets under their eyes, and said eyes are so dark brown they’re almost black. They’re a bit shorter than Bim, and much shorter than Wilford. They look up and meet Host’s sightless gaze with awe.

“I’m out,” they gasp. Their voice still doesn’t come from their throat or their mouth, but it is no longer so imposing. It still slightly echoes, but the tone is even, gentle, slightly monotone even in awe.

“You are,” Wilford replies, his own voice soft.

Bim has already let go of Dana’s hand, but Wilford hasn’t. Host’s narration tells him that Wilford’s grip is gentle, friendly, but maybe a little protective, a little afraid to lose yet another piece of his past. Dana doesn’t seem to mind, though; maybe because of all that time they spent in the mirror without touch.

“Do you think…” Bim begins, looking back at the remains of the mirror.

“The Host can’t tell,” Host says, “This building is still magical, that has not changed. But that doesn’t mean anyone is still within.”

“You mean Actor, don’t you?” Dana says. “I can’t say I know, either.” They glower. “That’s why Dark never let me go.”

“A reasonable fear,” Host admits, “But we have no choice, now.” He smiles just a little. “How do you feel, now that you’re out?”

“I feel…” Dana puts a hand over their own chest, feeling the clothes on their skin, the temperature of the air. “Not exactly as I did before the mirror, but…much closer.”

“Is that good?” Wilford asks.

“I think so,” Dana answers. For the first time, they smile. It’s slight and subtle, but unmistakable, and Wilford beams to see it.

“Well then!” he exclaims, finally letting go of Dana’s hand only to smack their back, brisk. “Let’s get outta here!”

Wilford ushers Dana, expression slightly alarmed from the smack, out the door, as Bim and Host follow.

Host has just left the steps of the manor’s porch and began to feel the sun on him again when his cell phone rings from his pocket.

“Call from, Yandere,” the phone chirps, and Host freezes.

This can only mean one thing: On the other end of the line, right now, the love of Host’s life is either waking up or disappearing forever. Yet Host can hardly bring himself to answer, because what if Dr. Iplier is dying? What if Host is about to lose him?

Host’s breath is caught in his throat, so he has no idea if Wilford or Dana can hear his phone ringing. But Bim is right next to him, and he’s just as still as Host. Host feels Bim’s hand squeeze his shoulder, sympathetic. Bim, too, is familiar with that endless wait, the paranoia of wondering whether or not he’s going to lose his person. It ended well for him, Oliver woke up. But will Dr. Iplier?

“You gotta answer,” Bim murmurs, voice uncharacteristically even and solemn. And he’s right, Host can’t let it ring forever. He can’t let it go to voicemail. It’s too important to ignore.

His hand still shakes as he removes the phone from his pocket and tells it to answer the call.

“Yandere?” he asks, and he could cringe at how small and scared his voice sounds if he wasn’t too anxious to care.

“K-Katarite-san,” Yandere says – no, sobs. He’s crying on the other end, so hard he can barely talk. But he is, like he promised he would. The tears make Host’s heart rocket faster. Yandere cries so easily, his tears could mean anything, but Host fears the worst.

“Yandere, please,” Host gasps. A trail of blood comes down his cheek, he can feel the new wetness cut through the drying tears from earlier. There’s so much to say, and nothing at all. “Please.”

“Shishi, he’s…” Yandere gasps, trying to catch his breath. Host stiffens all over. “…he’s awake, Katarite-san, h-he just woke up. He’s okay.”

Host could collapse. He almost does; body doubling over. Something inside him breaks open, filling his chest with warm, spiky pain. After all the sleepless nights, all the tears, all the whispered bargains and begging, Host had feared it would never lead to this. He had felt so desperately that leaving Dr. Iplier to come to the manor would be the last he ever saw of him, the last time he touched him. He has never been more glad to be wrong. His chest still hurts, hurts with emotion bursting out, breaking up the numbness that’s been lurking there for so long. Host can hardly breathe, his throat is closed over with sobs. He can’t even begin to narrate to orient himself against the tide of feeling, so it washes over him, and he is pulled under. It hurts more than anything. It’s unbearable. Host has never been happier in his life.

“Host!?” Bim asks from beside him, alarmed. He takes Host’s arm, the one not holding his phone, making sure he doesn’t fall. Host can’t blame him for worrying; his tears are coming out in full force, sobs are falling out of him without control.

Dr. Iplier is awake. He’s awake. He’s alive. God, Dr. Iplier is alive. And now, finally, so is Host.

“I’ll l-let you go,” Yandere says, sniffling, but Host can hear the smile in his voice. “We’ll be h-here when you get back. See you.” True to his word, Yandere hangs up then.

“Host, is Doc…?” Bim asks Host, voice frayed with nerves. In response, Host laughs. It’s quiet and choked, but unmistakably mirthful.

“He’s alive,” he gasps, “Yandere said he’s alive.”

Bim sighs in relief. Host keeps weeping. He’s not sure he’ll ever stop. The sun on him feels warmer than before, the ground beneath him softer, the air smells sweeter, the chirping birds in the woods sound more pleasant. The world is better, now that Dr. Iplier is in it again.

“Hey, what’s going on??” Wilford exclaims, followed by his footsteps running closer. He must’ve finally noticed Host’s tears.

“Yandere called,” Bim explains on Host’s behalf, voice giddy, “Doc is awake!”

“Bully!” Wilford practically shouts, so joyful he doesn’t care to moderate volume. “You gonna be alright there, friend?” he asks Host, voice a bit more gentle.

“The H-Host has never been better,” Host says, laughing a little yet again, wiping blood off his face with both hands. “He would like us to go back to Ego Inc. now, since we have found Dana as we desired.”

“True,” Wilford says. “Let’s go now!”

“How are we getting there from here?” Dana asks, possibly attracted into the conversation by their name. “There don’t seem to be any roads.”

“We don’t need roads,” Wilford replies, in a tone that Host knows is paired with a cheeky wink even without narration. “I can teleport!”

“Maybe brace yourself,” Bim warns, “He teleports through his void, and Wilford’s void isn’t anything like the mirror dimension.”

“I see,” Dana answers, a note of curiosity in their tone.

Host has never been excited to teleport with Wilford; his void is disorienting even for the sighted egos, and it’s much worse for Host. But now, there’s nothing more he wants to do than go through that void and go home.

Home to his doctor, at last.

[rainaaaarainbowsssss]

A Hue In Darkness

Host X Dark

Raina Rainbows

The doors of the home library were closed, he lay on the couch but of course in the most fancy geletemen way. He was reading an adult dark romance book as he slowly took sips of wine. It was quiet and nice until he heard the doors open and growl.

“Leave me alone!” Growl Dark.

Host had entered the home library he remembered when it used to be filled with so many types of books.

“Host just entered and Host is very confused.” Say Host as he felt many of the books.

“Confused of what?’ Question Dark as he didn’t look up from his book.

“Host wonders where all the hues of reading went? Why now there is only one genre and nothing more than that, Host knows and has seen many colorful books here once.”

Host said as he kept touching all of the books but then stared at Dark. Others wonder what the Host is and who he is, nobody honestly knows but only Dark. Dark then looked up and started but shaken it off fast. When that happens his eyes switch from red, purple then to blue but back to red.

“So? I pay for this mansion and for these books.”

Say Dark as he went back to his book, Host then frowned.

“Host wonders if Celine still knows, Host knows of her and the two others?’ Laugh Host as he kept his blinded

So this is me trying to rewrite this fanfic and I guess trying to make it into a novella, since again I want to be a actually writer one day. So this is me trying to write longer things.

[franklyshipping]

Tough Tootsies ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

Here we have another fabulous anon prompt featuring our favourite gameshow host, but this time Yancy is by his side! LET'S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @bimlee-trimmer and @bim-trimler

Yancy was a tough guy, a cool guy. He was the sort of guy who, thanks to his days behind bars, had learned how to keep a straight face when things got nerve-wracking or intimidating. However, if you looked in his eyes long enough, you’d notice the flicker of nerves as he stood in the reception of the white-marble spa that Bim had brought him to. The luxury spa experience was something Bim had actually bought Yancy for Christmas, attempting to encourage him to relax and see the value of “me time” – but in true busy Yancy fashion he hadn’t found time to use it in-between writing, choreographing and practising new songs and music video shoots for his first album of music (the working title was Jailbreak and all the egos, Bim especially, thought it was iconic). So here Yancy was, having been persuaded thanks to Bim offering his company, and soon they were all signed in and heading to get to their first stop: free goodies.

‘So uh, what’s exactly gonna be done to us?’

‘Oh we’re getting the best treatments!’

Bim replied, grinning as the pair wandered through and started getting changed into their fancy, thick robes and slippers – which they got to keep no less! Bim’s attire was lilac whilst Yancy’s were navy, and Yancy smiled as he realised Bim must have called ahead to tell them his favourite colour.

‘First up is a hot stone massage, that’s the thing that’ll settle you into the spa day mood. Then we’ll have mud face masks, face, neck and scalp massages, and finish off with a full pedicure! You’re going to want a spa break every weekend after today, trust me!’

Bim nudged him with a wink and Yancy snorted, shaking his head fondly as they headed into the first room. Yancy was nervous about the day, mainly with regards to having strangers getting up close and personal with him. If Bim weren’t here with him he likely wouldn’t have had the confidence to give it a try… but as the treatments came by, it was far less invasive than Yancy was expecting. Everyone was so relaxed and chatty, always checking in on his comfort, telling him what they were going to do before he felt any touch – and of course Bim knew all the personnel and kept awkward silences at bay with gossip and banter.

Yancy found himself especially enjoying the gossip, especially when it came to his wild experiences from prison, which all the staff were excited to hear rather than unnerved! Yancy got so relaxed at one point that he fell right asleep during the scalp massage, having a deep twenty minute power nap which somehow refreshed him like a full night’s sleep – soon Yancy wasn’t just comfortable, he was enjoying every second of the experience. Also needless to say, he felt tensions unwinding in him that he hadn’t realised he had!

Eventually they got settled into comfy leather seats ready for the full pedicure treatment, and naturally Bim had even convinced him to pick a nail colour – Yancy went for a matte navy blue, whilst Bim chose a metallic violet. Yancy was all set and ready to relax again, even closing his eyes in anticipation… meaning he missed the cheeky grins Bim shared with the technicians. There was mischief afoot, no pun intended. In Bim’s view Yancy had been overworking himself and not only deserved relaxation, but a chance to let loose… to laugh. And the previous treatments had put him beautifully off guard.

Yancy sighed as he felt his feet gently get washed in warm water and carefully patted dry, and he could feel another nap coming on… until he felt the warm pumice stone. His foot was held still as the pumice stone’s fine grained surface rubbed against the ball of his foot. It wasn’t uncomfortable, certainly not painful… but it tickled like hell. Yancy’s breath hitched as his gripped his arm rests, glancing to Bim beside him. Bim however was perfectly relaxed, and took another sip of his champagne as he sighed.

‘So, is it safe to say I’ve converted you to the spa lifestyle Yance?’

Yancy gaped for a moment, feeling a giggle building in his chest. He held it in, clearing his throat as he smiled at his friend – he couldn’t burst into giggles here, it would be the most embarrassing thing ever! He took a deep breath, resolving not to react and make a scene.

‘Mhm oh yeheah, yeah for sure.’

‘I mean, I get why you were anxious of course, it’s perfectly understandable to not want strangers touching you all over the place. But everyone here honestly takes the word ‘professional’ and goes above and beyond don’t you think?’

‘O-Oh mhm, mhm yep.’

Yancy replied, gritting his teeth as he felt the rubbing go on and on and on. Somehow it was worse than feathers or nails, even worse than the pointiest pen! It was like his deepest ticklish nerves weren’t safe, each rub sending jolts and tingles that just made him want to squeal and kick his feet! But he couldn’t, and felt his face go a bit pink from his efforts as his technician smiled at Bim’s compliments.

‘You’re too kind Mr Trimmer.’

The pumice stone left his foot and Yancy let out a quiet breath of relief, until he felt it being applied to his other foot. He could feel his toes twitching as he casually pressed his knuckles to his mouth, his eyes looking at anything else but his feet. How the hell could something tickle this much, and how was Bim so chill?! He was just as ticklish as Yancy, or at least that’s what Yancy had always thought. It was the public factor that made this so torturous. Being tickled at home wasn’t half as embarrassing as this… oh God if he laughed, would he get kicked out?!

Then, he almost did. He let out a sudden squeak and shuddered when he felt the pumice stone move to his heel. He missed the amused look between Bim and the technician, and the technician put on a concerned look.

‘Oh I’m sorry, is that spot tender?’

Yancy cleared his throat, smiling softly as he straightened in his seat. He knew he was bright pink.

‘Ah, no I uh, just got a chill.’

Bim hid a snicker behind his champagne glass as the technician smiled, keeping her composure as she replied.

‘Oh, your seat has a heating feature if you’d like to use it! If you lift up the left arm rest you’ll find all the buttons.’

She then put the pumice stone aside and Yancy smiled gratefully, thinking he was in the clear. He decided he deserved to feel toasty after all that, and snorted when Bim gasped dramatically next to him as he opened his own arm rest.

‘Oh my GOD I can’t believe I forgot about that!’

Yancy rolled his eyes fondly as Bim excitedly explored all the buttons, including the reclining and massage functions. Yancy could feel the tingles in his feet fading into relaxation, so much so he got ready to tease Bim for getting so excited. But then he felt the oil. His breath hitched as he felt it trickle over his feet and toes, filling the space with a soft, floral scent, and his jaw clenched as he felt it being massaged into his skin. Oh. God.

‘U-Uh… whahat–ah, what’s the oil f-for?’

‘Oh it’s to help revitalise your skin, and it’ll stop your feet drying out. The scent is lavender, is that alright?’

‘Yehep, mhm yep, yep ahall good…’

Yancy nodded, and now had no choice but to mask his little giggles with light coughs and clearing his throat. This did not escape the technicians or Bim’s notice, but they naturally pretended otherwise to keep the game going. Bim even sighed lightly with a grin.

‘Ahh, the lavender one is my favourite, it’s just so relaxing isn’t it Yance?’

Yancy nodded, and this time couldn’t keep his eyes off the massage as fingers moved up from his arches, getting closer and closer to his toes. He tried to reason that he could take it, that the massage wasn’t as bad as the pumice stone… but when those slick fingertips started rubbing his toes he held his breath. But in the end, it was no use. It was a tweak to his pinky toe after a few mere seconds that made him explode into his long awaited laughter.

‘SHIHIT!’

To Yancy’s utter horror he heard the technician giggle as Bim gasped, his grin turning devious as he clapped his hands together.

‘Aww there’s the ticklish guy I know! I gotta say you held out longer than I thought you would!’

Yancy’s eyes went wide with confusion… and then the realisation hit him. It was a set up. A goddamn tickly set up! Before he could even think to get up, Bim leaned over and pinned him snugly against his seat, capturing his arms as he chuckled at him. What’s more… the massage didn’t stop.

‘WHAHAHAT THE HEHECK?!’

He kept laughing at varying pitches as the pads of his toes were gently rubbed, but occasionally he would feel the flutter of nail tips right under his toes too – that got him squealing, despite his best efforts, complete with voice cracks too. His cheeks were crimson with embarrassment as he squirmed about. How could he not have seen this coming? Bim was notoriously a mischievous little shit, he should have known there was something going on!

‘Aww look at those red cheeks, is someone flustered?’

Yancy snorted, and failed in his attempt to glare at Bim as he kept trying to wriggle free. His toes were constantly scrunching as he laughed and laughed and laughed, before ending up hiding his face against Bim’s shoulder in defeat.

‘YOHOHOU’RE AHA JAHAHACKASS!’

Bim gasped in mock offense, and tickled under his chin lightly as he retorted.

‘Am not! I just wanted to see a smile on that handsome face! Don’t you feel lighter and more relaxed?’

‘NAHAHAT RIHIHIGHT NOHOHOW!’

Bim and the technician’s laughed at his exclamation as Yancy kept his face hidden, his embarrassment hitting its peak… because admittedly the tickles were wonderful. Different tickles could be wonderful in different ways, and for Yancy slow, tender tickling at his worst spot like this was a truly heavenly sort of hell. He felt so warm and giddy and happy inside as the minutes went by, each toes given lashings of attention with rubs and flutters which seemed unending! And naturally Bim couldn’t help but keep on teasing him.

‘Listen to that laugh! You look like you’re having lots of fun, I think we should make this a regular appointment for your ticklish toes.’

Yancy’s blush crept up to his ears, and he let out a loud yelp when he felt the tickles stray in-between his poor sensitive toes. He exploded with babbles as his whole body jolted, and he reached his limit.

‘AHH–ALRIGHT ALRIHIHIGHT S-STAHAHAHAP!’

Bim giggled fondly, and the technician immediately stopped as she and her colleague giggled with huge grins on their faces, and even in his breathless state Yancy could see they weren’t making fun of him; their looks were just as fond as Bim’s. He panted softly as they moved away to prepare the next treatment, and his eyes fluttered shut as he stayed resting against Bim’s shoulder. Bim rubbed his back lightly, grinning.

‘You good?’

Yancy giggled lightly, nodding as he took a few deep breaths.

‘Y-Yeheah…’

‘You’re not mad at me are you?’

Yancy snorted, shaking his head as he grinned bashfully and gave him a tired nudge.

‘Nah… I uh… I actually do feel pretty good. Been hard to find time to chill out recently, y’know…’

Bim smiled at him with understanding. Yancy had been busy, working so so hard, putting pressure on himself. It was why he’d come up with this tickly relaxation scheme in the first place, just to give him a chance to let it all go for a bit. He squeezed Yancy’s shoulder softly.

‘I know, what’s why I knew I had to bring you.’

Yancy felt warmth in his chest at the gesture, then narrowed his eyes and laughed at how smug Bim’s grin was. He poked him in the ribs as he grumbled.

‘Sneaky asshole.’

Bim chuckled, and reclined back in his seat with a wink, picking up his champagne once more.

‘Love you too jailbird. So, are you ready for a little more?’

Yancy giggled softly, and nodded bashfully as the technicians returned. When the massaging resumed, Yancy didn’t hold back his delighted giggles this time, and felt the relaxation and comfort swell through him like a warm wave. Sometimes you don’t know you need something until someone else shows you that you need it, and though it’s sometimes hard to think so, everyone deserves the relaxation and laughter the world has to offer.

WOOO I KNOW THIS ONE IS LONG-AWAITED SO I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT, LEMME KNOW IF YA DO! LOVE YOUS!!

[marky-iplier]

Hey, hey! Me and my friends decided to open this discord server! If you are fans of Markiplier and/or Jacksepticeye, you should join it! It's a place for us to hang out, create chaos, share arts, fanfic, writings, headcanon, theories, and many more!

Game Night event might get hosted or other server events. Join now !

[thelucidityofdeath]

welcome. . .

“ YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME NOW, AND YOU’RE NOT SO BIG! ”

my name is lucid. i’m a fanfiction writer, general writer, poetry writer, and other various things. here, i will be posting fanfiction and other oc content. 

I. things i WILL NOT write:

cnc/rape/sa

fanfiction of real people

ddlg/age play

pet play

pedophilia/necrophilia/zoophilia

incest/self-cest

fanfiction or smut involving minors. no i will not be aging anybody up or down.

omegaverse

mpreg

piss/blood/scat kink

knife play

teacher x student aus

yandere aus

high school aus (aside from teacher x teacher)

cheating/infidelity

dubious consent/dubcon

anything that would be labeled as “dead dove” shit

stories that are more than one part (this stuff will go on ao3 or some other platform!)

II. things i WILL write:

fluff

smut/lemon/lime

angst 

self-harm/eating disorder comfort stories

bdsm (to some degree)

vanilla sex

threesomes/foursomes/orgies

headcanons and one-shots

overstimulation

bondage

cream pies/squirting

breeding kink

mommy/daddy kink

polyamorous relationships

lesbian/gay sex

ships between characters that are LEGAL and NON-PROBLEMATIC

oc x character

platonic fanfiction

satirical/joke fanfiction

III. fandoms/characters i WILL NOT write for (the ones with * beside them are ones i will write platonic only fanfic for!):

dsmp. this includes the characters.

killing stalking

irl serial killers (i cannot believe i have to say this)

stranger things

the twilight saga

yarichin bitch club

danganronpa

ouran high school host club

the mandela catalogue *

the children in south park *

the students in harry potter *

pokémon

amanda the adventurer

puss in boots/shrek *

the karate kid *

the outsiders *

mean girls *

doki doki literature club *

five nights are freddy’s *

IV. fandoms/characters i WILL write for:

the lorax (primarily the onceler)

genshin impact (likely nobody from fontaine!! i haven’t played it yet)

south park adults

ghost (the band. only the papas/sister imperator for now because i’m not too familiar with all the ghouls yet!)

edward scissorhands

cobra kai 

jojo’s bizarre adventure

breaking bad (not better call saul yet because i haven’t watched it but i will update this in the future when i do watch it!)

9-1-1

bojack horseman (except for bojack and mr. peanutbutter)

inanimate insanity

battle for dream island/bfb

the umbrella academy (except for allison and five as i don’t feel comfortable writing for them!)

cookie run kingdom

the markiplier cinematic universe

jujutsu kaisen

if i think of any other things, i will update this! sorry that it’s long!

[loquaciousstrigidae]

SwampCon 2024

Convention Post

Last semester on March 2nd, I had the pleasure of attending the annually held SwampCon at the Reitz Union (at the mercy of my dear friend Angel). It was one of the first anime conventions I had ever been to, so naturally I did not know what to expect beforehand. All that prefaced my experience were the confident assurances of my friend that I would, in fact, enjoy myself and my preconceived notions of convention culture based on video essays and social media. I knew there to be plenty of trinkets to peruse, so I had conceded the inevitability that my wallet would open at least a few times. I anticipated the Artist Alley most of all, where fan artists set up booths with stickers, prints, posters, keychains, and other memorabilia all themed around different anime and video games. In a bit I will post some pictures of the lovely things I purchased. 

But our day began with a visit to the maid cafe. Upon entry, the Reitz ballroom was furnished with a cluster of tables, each draped with a tablecloth and set with glasses and napkins. People in maid costumes—as one might expect to see—stepped onto a stage lined with glittery plastic fringe to perform a few dances to popular anime openings. I had the delight to choose between various desserts—cookies, fruits, and brownies (I chose the brownie)—along with some lemonade.  

Pictured: My friends and I waiting for the show to begin. 

After that we went to the Artist Alley—and this was most definitely a lovely time. I went to find an artist I had seen on the schedule website named Anna Jano. I got two prints and an owl enamel pin (it really is such a lovely thing). I also came away with a single D20 die and a keychain of the character HERO from OMORI. 

Pictured: Anna Jano prints, Anna Jano enamel pin, HERO keychain. 

My friends surprised me with a SpyXFamily poster as well. How kind of them. 

Pictured: My SpyXFamily poster hanging in my dorm room. 

Beyond the Artist Alley, we also visited a room with booths displaying other wares such as jewelry, woodwork, stuffed animals, figurines, and toys. If I had the funds I would have invested in one of the wood-carved D&D polyhedral dice boxes. Oh goodness... a girl can dream. 

By this time of day, the bustle of the day—and the weariness it induced—was beginning to come upon me. Conventions, it seems, can take a lot of energy out of you. Before our lunch break, however, we tuned in to the Five Nights at Freddy’s lore presentation. I must admit, I am not cultured enough to understand the nuances of the bite of '87. The only significant cultural information I can offer is a reference to that one clip of Markiplier. It was fun to see my friends enthusiastic about it, though.  

Pictured: "Was that the bite of '87?"

After lunch, we returned to the convention and participated in an escape room. It was a ten-minute one that had a few puzzles to solve. We were placed in a group of around 15 people and were tasked with finding various items that culminated in a collective mental synthesis over a kind of riddle. Well—it may not have been a riddle. I don’t remember it all too clearly. But the good news is that we escaped—albeit with only a few seconds on the clock. 

Pictured: Waiting in line before our endeavor at the SwampCon escape room.

Our last stop of the day was an event that my friend had threatened to take me to for months: Bad Fanfiction Reading (18+). Well... it is what it sounds like. Two hosts read to the vast audience of conventioneers while volunteers from the crowd reenacted the fanfics like a stage play. The (18+) part is important, as it was just as much vulgar as it was silly! Hah. Well it was an experience to say the least. I did have my fair share of giggles.

Pictured: Bad Fanfiction Reading opening slide.

Pictured: "Oh... how nervous we are to witness Bad Fanfiction Reading!"

We parted ways after that and I went home to hang up my newly acquired prints and rest! 

This little reflection reminded me of all the fun I had with my friends. Conventions can be a very wonderful way to interact with others who share your interests. I will most certainly be attending next year. 

Pictured: Heading home.

[kishibedefender]

Works In Progress, but it's kinda cursed bc I'm including my schoolwork in here:

1. Revolutionary Tourism: The 1988 Olympics, 1989 World Youth Festival, and the Dissolution of Reunification Efforts on the Korean Peninsula

The relationship between North and South Korea during the 1988 Olympic preparation period and the developing tensions with North Korea as a result of hosting the games, and an analysis of the outside factors that would contribute to the hot and cold relationship between North and South at that time, and how the failure to co-host and subsequent economic boom of South Korea further isolated North Korea in global politics due to shifting priorities of major countries.

2. Digital Media Analysis - Markipler

A snapshot of Markiplier's YouTube channel metrics from inception to present day, an analysis of his successful and unsuccessful metrics, and a hypothetical plan for maintaining metrics in the future to facilitate his large projects.

3. Lessons In Cartography - JJBA SBR Fanfic

Meyers’ Maps and Cartographers is a business everyone in the 1880s US knows. Especially now, with their sponsorship of the Steel Ball Run race, in exchange for the entry of their son Thomas Meyers, and of course, all riders being provided with Meyers-brand maps.

One week before the race, Thomas Meyers dies of Yellow Fever. The family turns to their young daughter Isadora to compete under his name, and in his place, to save the contract. And she agrees.

This is absolutely cursed. 100% cursed.

[shinymoonforest]

A Second Chance

After two unfortunate souls leave a devious novelist to his unfortunate demise, an unexpected alliance is formed... but after being given a second chance at life, will he use it properly? ---------------------------------------------- Characters: Darkiplier, The Author/The Host TW: blood (brief mention) ---------------------------------------------- CHAPTER 2

Once again, darkness.

It surrounded him, engulfed him even to the point that he could barely see the room he was in. The Author, waking up from what felt like a state of deep sleep, looked around to see nothing but a void-like darkness. He wondered why he was there, in a room with no windows, instead of at his office.

…His office. That’s right.

The memories from before came back in an instant faster than a boomerang but still with just enough time to process what he had just agreed to. Revival, certain mercy from death, in exchange for… what was it again? ‘Staying in line’? 

‘How…peculiar,’  the writer thought to himself as he began to feel around the room for… well, anything to reference where he was. The Author knew that part of the deal was staying in this monochrome stranger’s household, but the darkened room simply seemed ridiculous to him. Eventually, though, he heard the ‘clack’ of a keyboard on the desk in front of him, with a corresponding mouse and what he assumed to be a computer in front of him. Next to these things, a notebook with carefully placed bumps on the cover of it.  The title, only four letters, was read with a chilly uncertainty: “H-O-S-T”.

Of course, he wasn’t completely sure of the braille stamped on this book cover. Sure, he knew some from being the accessible author he was, but that didn’t mean he remembered all of it. Symbols and numbers, for example, he had trouble with at times. Ah, well, at least he knew his letters. 

Moving on from what he assumed to be a work desk set up for himself (which in itself he questioned), The Author finally was able to feel a light switch in the form of a nearby lamp that only shone off a dim, blurry light when clicked on. Confused by this visual reaction, the man reached up to his face to begin investigating the cause of this.

Instead, he discovered bandages over his eyes. Bandages soaked with blood.

“I wouldn’t touch those if I were you,” entered a familiar voice. “You’ve had enough blood for one week.”

“You…” the other started, voice rapidly growing from what was barely a whisper. “You. What.. What the hell did you do to me?”

“What I had to,” she replied with a harsh tone. “I couldn’t have you swinging your bat around at others, so I figured that limited eyesight and your.. previous skills could help to balance things out.

“Though, if you do not appreciate my choice-”

“NO-” The Author interrupted, trying to face and move towards the general direction of this mysterious being (for could he truly call them a human at this point?). “I-I do appreciate you bringing me back to life, I-I… I just didn’t expect to be doing so while…-”

“While blind,” he chipped in, this time with a slightly softer tone. “Understandably so, though I had to compensate for your gunshots somehow.”

For a moment, both parties were silent as they attempted to understand one another and be understood simultaneously. It took some time but once this was accomplished, The Host assumed his new name and took his seat at the desk provided for him. Only then did he dare to speak once more.

“...How.. How limited is my narration?”

As if the interaction had been rehearsed, the unwavering figure replied with a confident speed: “Fairly so, compared to before. I’ve made it just enough that you can view and maneuver through your surroundings but not enough that you can make any more live-action stories.

“I would explain how to any other person, but you aren’t any other person, are you now, Host?” 

“ ‘No sir, I am not,’ said The Host while looking around the newfound room.”

And in that instant, he could once again see. Abnormally, of course, but it was better than nothing. 

This was his new life now, after all. He may as well start to get used to it. ---------------------------------------------- Chapter 2/? [sorry for this one taking a bit longer, hope it was enjoyed nonetheless!] [also, quick thing i forgot to mention last time! any time you see dialogue lines crossed through, its either damien or celine coming through! i have the colors labelled in my google doc, just havent figured out how to put them into tumblr yet,, hopefully one day i will! ^^;;] thank you for reading :) take care <3 previous chapter | next chapter (coming soon! hopefully-)

[today-my-obsession-is]

Markiplier's fandom is too powerful.

I've read a fanfiction with quite a lot of his Ego's and it was fun even though I never even heard about these characters. They all had personalities and was very well-written. And now I started to watch original videos like MarkiplierTV and guess what? Twins Jim and Jim from that fanfic is just a joke about two newsmen with the same name. The Host (who I really enjoyed in that fanfiction) was part of three videos. We know what he can make his narrative come true, what he likes jokes like "Haha, you lost your trousers" and how he looks. There are no story behind how he lost his eyes!

This is a bizarre feeling - realising what character what you enjoy based on two lines of text. Or a joke. But I don't really complain.

It's an interesting adventure - getting to know his Ego's.

I really didn't think what I would enjoy Warfstache. look at this funky man!

[romanticly-yours]

100 questions abt me:

1. What is your best friends name? I don’t have one

2. Year you were born in? 2011

3. What are you listening to right now?  Lucy In The Sky With Dimonds by The Beatles

4. Whats your favorite number? 7

5. What was the last thing you ate? Cake

6. If you were a crayon what color would you be? Purple

7. How is the weather right now? Cold

8. Who was the last person you talked 2 on the phone?  My godfathers

9. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex? Hair

10. Do you have a significant other? In my dreams

11. Favorite TV show? Daria

12. Siblings? 2

13. Height? 5'1

14. Hair color? brown

15. Eye Color? Brown

16. Do you wear contacts? no

17. Favorite Holiday? Ieroween

18. Month? June

19. Have you ever cried for no reason? Ofc

20. What was the last movie you watched? Twighlight

21. Favorite Day of the Year? halloween 

22. Favorite season? fall

23. Fav anime? Ouran Highschool Host Club

24. Hugs or Kisses? I’ve Never Been Kissed™ but I’d love to have cheek kissed over hugs

25. Chocolate or Vanilla? vanilla

26. Do you read? Ofc

27. Fav fanfic trope? Older brother of best friend

28. Fandoms you're in? MCR, FOB, PATD, Paramore

29. What books are you reading? The Perks Of Being A Wallflower

30. Piercings? ears

31. Favorite movies? The Perks Of Being A Wallflower or Almost Famous

32. Fav song rn? Gypsy-Fleetwood Mac

33. What were u doing before this? Tumblr

34. Butter, Plain or Salted popcorn? Butter

37. Dogs or cats? both

38. Favorite flower? Roses

39. Been caught doing something you weren't supposed to do? who hasn’t

40. Do you have a best friend of the opposite sex? I used too

41. Have you ever loved someone? Yeah

42. Who would you like to see right now? DamonFizzy or GWay

43. Pizza or tacos? Pizza

44. Pronouns? She/her

45. Do you like to travel by plane? No

46. Right-handed or Left-handed? right

47. How many pillows do you sleep with? 2

48. Are you missing someone? Yes

49. Do you have a Tattoo? No

50. Anybody on myspace that you'd go on a date with? No

51. Do you usually sleep with your closet door open or closed? If it’s open I don’t bother closing it

52. Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotels? Yes

53. Do you use neos? No

54. Do you have a typing quirk? Yes, sadly

55. Have you ever stolen a street sign before? No but my dad has, I want too

56. Who do you think reads these? me!!

57. Spotify or Apple music?  Apple Music bcz my dad pays 4 it

58. Where are you? my bed

59. What's your plan for the day? sleep, school, shower

60. Do you ever count your steps when you walk? No

61. Do you chew your pens and pencils? Yes

62. Is it okay for guys to wear pink? Yes

63. What do you dip Chicken Nuggets in? Sweat n sour soucs

64. Last person you hugged/kissed? My mom

65. Were you ever a boy/girl scout? No

66. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper? Monday

67. Are you lazy? Yes

68. Are you stubborn? Yes

69. Who is better...Markiplier or Jack? I never watched either of them

70. Are you neurodivergent? never diagnosed

71. Afraid of heights? yes

72. Do you think musicals are cheesy? yes but I’m still in theatre so

73. Is Christmas stressful? yes

74. Coke or pepsi? Pepsi

75. Major annoyance right now? My cds are at my grandmas in a different city

76. Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid? Vet

77. Do you believe in ghosts? Yes

78. Ever have a deja-vu feeling? All the time

79. Do you take a medication daily? My iron medication

80. Wear slippers? no

81. What do you wear to bed? comfy clothes idk

82. OTP 4ever? i still don’t know what otp means

83. Worst fandom you been in? Danganronpa

84. Cheetos Or Doritos? Cheetos, the skinny ones

85. Peanuts or Sunflower seeds? Sunflower seeds

86. Ever hear of, "dn"? Deez nuts

87. Ever taken martial arts? no

88. Hair up or down? down

89. Can you curl your tongue? Yes

90. Tiktok or vine? Musically

91. Ever cried because you were so happy? Probably

92. Minecraft or Roblox? Idk

93. Did you have a gacha-life phase? Yes

94. Regularly burn incense? What

95. Ever been in love? Yes

96. Hot tea or cold tea? sweet tea !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

97. What type of kid were you? I was always the weird kid, I still am

98. Are you silly or goofy? goofy forsure

99. Milfs or Dilfs? no

100. What type of mom are you? I haven’t even had my first boyfriend yet

[himbos-hotline]

Explain your bio cause there’s so much going on there

I cannot tell if this is positive or negative, if its negative i dont get why. my blog is my house and google is free if its positive and someones genuinely confused lets go bit by bit! I made it on a google slide since its easier [im soryr if this comes off as rude, I dont mean it that way im just overwhelmed/sleepy] [ive been awake since just before 5am<- just over 14 hours]

Image description/ text for screen readers [I dont know if ive done this right] [this is also gonna add extra info and things I couldnt fit on said google slide. Sorry]

[A screenshot of a google slides explaining what is on my account. The background colour is a gradient of light blue to a dark-ish greeny blue. In the middle is a screenshot of my tumblr bio: That has a soft grey-blue background with gold text. At the top of the tumblr bio it reads: He could make me golden in dyslexia friendly font. Surrounding it and pointing towards the smaller text below is multiple arrows in a brighter, cleaner blue. Following those arrows points towards various text boxes written in white which read, following left from right:

ʚ♡ɞ || 22 -> The text simply reads "Age/ system tag"

Extra info: my age/the tag we use as a system. We are a system due to our dissociative identity disorder or DID, we're traumatised, before anyone asks. No you cannot know our trauma.

18+ -> The text reads "Who I would like to follow me followed by in brackets [Im an adult. I dont want minors following me and then getting pissy if they see smut]

Extra Info: I am an adult, I am twenty two. I do not want anyone under the age of 18 following me because occasionally I write/talk about topics such as sex or kinks because thats not meant for them, clearly and understandably. What I post on MY tumblr is for me and my mutuals to reblog, this is my house and if I get hate anons over it. You will be blocked

host of the paradox system [Sp: WrestlingTragerdy]: The text reads "system role/system name/simply plural]

Extra info: we collectively are known as the paradox system. A refrence to our special interest in In space with Markiplier. I am the host which basically means that I am the "main guy" although a lot of other alters use my account to reblog things they like [hence sometimes posts will be tagged with a name and emoji and "the paradox system"] Sp is simply plural, an app used in link with pluralkit as a way to track front history and other system things, That is the name we use there and yeah its purposely spelt wrong

Chuck Taylors husband -> the text is simply "self explantory" and is highlighted in white and the text is grey because I pressed the wrong button

Extra info: I dont really know what to say. thats my source, where I come from. we were married..he's my wife, my husband. I talk about him frequently that you can find either under the tag "source memories" or "🧇🐭" on my account.

Trans masc aroace -> the text is in white and simply reads "gender/sexuality"

Extra info: I do not know my gender label, I use things like genderfaun/demi boy but I simply just say im a trans man because that seems easier to say and doesnt require more questions. I am also asexual and aromantic, shortened to aroace. I am not interested in sex or romance and am sex replused to sex netural [I love writing smut and stuff like that but I hate the idea of it actually happening to me] and I guess I have very little romantic feelings...hence aromantic. no that doesnt affect that me and chuckie are married/are in love.

Dyslexic writer -> the text reads " "role" in fandom"

extra info: I write. A lot but it takes me longer and I make more noticeable mistakes in things like asks/posts that I might not see. I have a post about being dyslexic and writing fanfic somewhere on account if I find it Ill tag it [yknow tumblrs search feature]

Requests open -> the text reads "if my ask box is open to requests" and the following text "writing//moodboards/gifs" is gray text and highlighted white because again, I am an idiot]

extra info: you can find my writing at #mouse writes or at Kentucky_himbo on AO3, my gifs and moodboards are under # mouse makes gifs now and #mouse makes moodboards respectfully

Local dumb puppy: the text reads "i puppy regresser"

extra info: I dont think there is one...I just, regress as a puppy but I havent really felt safe enough too rn

[rainaaaarainbowsssss]

ooooo do you like the host? maybe him and dark in a library?

Dark X Host

A Hue In Darkness

He sat there, on the most beautiful and fancy reading chair. It’s Dark what do you expect, a nightstand by the chair where his wine sat, he took sips as he read the poems. It was a non fiction poem book about the author and love. Everything was peaceful and Dark was happy. Even not wearing any suits but a black turtle neck sweater with grey sweat[ants and of course socks. Dark hated the cold boards of the floor in his library. That when he heard a click, his eyes turning red and growl.

“I told you people not to bother me!” Growl Dark.

“It’s just Host Dark, but also Host enjoys the reading of books.” Said Host as he walk around the library and looking at the books. Dark was confuse until Host felt the many books, no body knows if Host is honestly blind or if it’s because he acting as a character all the time. He felt all the books and frown.

“Host dosen’t understand?” Host questions.

“Understand what?” Asked Dark his eyebrows changing with curiously a/

“Host dosen’t understand why no other books? Host only sees only adult, adult love, poems and non fiction. Host says.

“Excuse me, you say see?” Question Dark.

“Host is a being of the unknown but Host is answering a question with a being of three in? Host knows you are not in the suits.” Say Host as he grins at Dark.

Dark was confuse but it was fair since he was a being of three, two beings inside of him then the being Darl. Host keeps wondering and is honstely upset.

“Host is angry! No YA? No middle grade, no pictures no comics or graphic novels?” Host wanted to scream but kept his voice low hint with anger in it.

“Because those aren’t;t books.: Said Dark as he went back to his book and taken a sip of wine.

“Host notices your eyes are red, is that what only she enjoys?” Host questions.

Dark was about to scream until Host caught him off/

“Host wants to know the man inside of Dark but also Host wants to know what Dark the being holding the two beings.” Say Host as he grin again this man might be autistic or just character white his mouth smile wide seeing Dark eyes turn blue.

“Never read a ya but art with books are beautiful and I adore romance and poems but she enjoys adult themes and beliefs are that only adult books are real books.: Dark spoken or well Damien spoken.

“Host now wants to talk to Dark/“ Host says and see Darks eyes going red but switching as his eyes became blue and red. Host knew that was Dark and that it’s been so long since he saw the blue and red eyes knowing it was truly Dark. Host honstely adore Dark not Damien or Celine but Darl. Host knows his words and knows how to word them.

“I don’t know.”

Dark then looks down.

“It been a while since I was me, Darl.” Oh how Dark say as he was embarrassed. Dark honstely thought Host was a man his words and writings like Shakespeare to him and how he adore it.

“Host is sad you don’t know but Host is happy you came back, for Host try your best and be Dar more than only red or blue.}

Host then sat down by Dark and grab Dark’s chin to see tears forming into the blue and red eyes.

“I’m a fool who dosen’t know who he? She? They are?! Switching from blue and red never both/“ Dark say as tears roll down his cheeks but trying to hold the water in him.

“Host wants to help Dark write his story, Host wants to write a new chapter for Dark where we are in a fairytale no badness just Host and Dark.”

Host let go of Dark’s chin and his face rose cheeks, Dark then held Host hand and kiss his hand.

“Trying to show love.” Said Dark as he question himself.

“Host is excited! Host shall do his best to keep Dark in more and purple! Host knows red and blue makes purple, oh how a violet or a lilac suit would look beautiful on you.”

Host finish his words and Dark was blushing so hard his cheeks red as wine, the two lay down while culdding. The book Dark was reading was put down and Host held Dark as he smiles and tells Dark so many tales.

A book had ended and a new chapter stared where the two became lovers.

-I hope you enjoy this it’s late where I’m at but I adore writing this, please do request more and maybe reboot this post. I’m also sorry if you didn’t want them ship or not. But I truly adore this little fanfic and felt my writing is getting better. Please again spread the word about RainaRainbows writing. Thank you for the request!- RainaRainbows