#unus annus x reader

[leftwolfpolice]

literally

[7ndipity]

Y/n: we’re not short, we’re average height!

Jimin: yeah

Y/n: Our friends are just—

Jimin: freaks!

Y/n: —tall people...

Jimin: oh

Jimin: ...am I wrong, though?

[7ndipity]

Hobi: Is this just gonna end with you and Tae moving in together and getting married?

Tae: I mean, we talked about it-

Y/n: no, you talked about it!

Tae:

Tae: I talked about it

[7ndipity]

Jungkook: noo one fucks like Gaston

Y/n: no one cucks like Gaston

Jungkook: you think you have a wife, no they're mine, I'm Gaston!

Namjoon: I'm never letting you two watch Disney movies together ever again...

[fenneciplier]

I saw that with each poll I did, Hee Hoo always got a high amount of votes, so I decided it would be fair to write for him ^^!!

REQUESTED BY: It’s complicated, technically all the people who voted him in the poll, and me. WARNINGS: Some foul language, violent descriptions, Hee Hoo being stinky.

🪨 Hee Hoo x Reader General Headcanons 🪨

🪨 Stinky!! /derogatory. If he were a cartoon he'd constantly have green stink lines following him.

🪨 It's actually a miracle this caveman didn't rip all your limbs off as soon as he saw you on his turf.

🪨 Probably a Tarzan situation, maybe you were camping or something and came across him, or maybe you were actively looking for him. Whatever the situation is, he's not a fan of trespassers.

🪨 Give him Takis as a sign of peace and he'll probably spare you. Oh- and make sure to not talk or approach until he's done with the bag, he'll think you're trying to capture him.

🪨 Also no flash photography (he'll break your damn phone-).

🪨 And istg if you hold out Takis and go "pspspsps" you better hope he doesn't bite your fingers off.

🪨 After befriending him, he's kind of like a guard dog. Always by your side when you're wandering the forest, will twist an animal's head off if they even try to approach, he even barks.

🪨 He's definitely fascinated by you in some way, not your clothes, or the size of your hand against his, but you.

🪨 Every time you visit the first thing he does is aggressively sniff you, Y'know.. to see where you've been. If he smells food he gets excited because he thinks it's for him.

🪨 He also rubs himself against you and your stuff every time you visit, making sure everything with a sense of smell knows you're not for picking.

🪨 He doesn't take too kindly to your restrictive "clothes" so don't be pissed off when he rips apart any shirts or even pants you try to give him.

🪨 He doesn't really speak, he mostly grunts, except for "Hee" "Hoo" and "Annus". Maybe you could teach him more.

🪨 After a while he'll probably give you a nickname, and it'll be just a specific grunting noise or something that sounds close to a word, but it definitely won't be your name.

🪨 He can't cook the animals he captures so he has to eat them raw every time, please give him food :(

🪨 This mf with scarf down ANYTHING you give him (except the Takis). Uses his hands to eat, chews sloppily with his mouth open, but he also leaves no crumbs. What a gentleman!

🪨 DO NOT touch him unless he touches you first! You need that confirmation. If you don't wait and just touch him, he'll spin around and shout in your face.

🪨 Oddly enough, even though he doesn't like being touched first, he's also a cuddler. When it's dark and you're both by the fire, he snuggles up to you (mainly for warmth) and rests his chin on your shoulder.

🪨 He's a LOUD snorer. It's like a train call, just "HEAAAAAAAA-" but it turns out to be an unintentional defense mechanism, it scares everything else away.

🪨 For the safety of the people you plan to tell, don't tell them. Don't even post about it online, people will find him (he's still Mark and he's been missing for god knows how long).

🪨 He's just a simple creature now, living the best life he can create for himself. The last thing he wants is to be crowded by a bunch of people. This is Hee Hoo's choice, even if the Mark inside isn't mentally present right now.

[thebowieconstricker]

Aight everyone my Markiplier brainrot is all-consuming and I have an idea for a Hee-Hoo x reader fic where he’s a cryptid:

- Camp Unus Annus was founded by a Mark Iplier and Ethan Crank

- Founded in 2020, it’s been going strong for four years until… the incident.

- During a hiking trip, Mark led some of the campers a bit too far out into the woods and everyone got lost.

- Mark told them to stay in place while he wandered around the woods calling for help.

- He was gone all day and, eventually, the campers were found by Ethan.

- After getting them back to safety, Ethan searched for Mark, but he was never found (or was he?)

- A year later, You (yes, you!) are a new counselor at Camp Unus Annus!

- There are strange rumors of Mark’s ghost haunting the camp, but even stranger rumors of a Bigfoot-like creature in the woods, nicknamed “Hee-Hoo” by the campers.

- Fed up by everyone’s fear, you organize a camp-out in the woods with some of your campers that are particularly scared, in an effort to show them that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

- That night, you hear footsteps walking around your tent… even though everyone is sleeping safely inside the tent.

- You investigate, grabbing your gear (including your tactical shovel) and heading out into the woods.

- It’s a quiet night, yet you hear twigs snapping in the distance. You follow the noise silently, attempting to sneak up on whatever it is is walking away from you.

- Suddenly, you trip on a branch and fall flat on your face. You hear a grunt as you fall, not from you, but from something else.

- As your heart thuds, you frantically try to stand yourself up, but the forest floor is cluttered and you’re only drawing more attention to yourself.

- Whatever it is is running at you now. You can hear it’s heavy breathing. You’re losing time.

- In a moment of clarity, you grab your flashlight, switching it on and pointing it in front of you.

- To your surprise, you see… a human face. It’s dirty, with an overgrown hair and beard, but it’s certainly human.

- At the light, the person freezes, as if it’s been stunned.

- You stare at each other in silence for a moment. Whoever this person was, they have a feral glint on their eyes, so why aren’t they attacking?

- Possibly, you think, it doesn’t see you as a threat, as you’re so low to the ground.

- Slowly, untangling yourself from the leaves and vines around you, you stay low, and the person watches.

- Eventually, you say something.

- “…Heeeeeeey there, guy.”

- That was ridiculously stupid.

- The person’s expression scrunches up, looking confused. Does it not know English?

- It’s still squinting in the beam of the flashlight, so you turn it off. A peace offering. You guess it accepts it, as it’s still not attacking you.

- You slowly stand, the arm holding your flashlight still out. The human lets out what sounds like a growl.

- “Hey, it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

- You can’t tell in the light of the moon, but you could swear that it’s staring into your eyes.

- Your heart swells with compassion for whoever this was. You want to help him, to give him something. Then, it hits you.

- You reach into your bag and pull out a plastic bag of snacks. The only one you could grab before you left was Takis, but you figure it’s fine.

- You offer it to the human and its eyes widen in recognition.

- It snatches the bag from your hand and pops it, sloppily devouring the treats inside.

- Or… wait, is it just licking it?

- You know what, whatever, it’s distracted and you need to get back to your campers.

- As it eats, you sneak away, internally coming up with a plan to tell your boss, Ethan, that a feral man is roaming on his campground.

- And you have a thought.

- He kinda looks like that Mark guy…

[gorgon-goddess-of-chaos]

Cookies

Cryptids are close enough to monsters, right?

This was written with specifically you in mind. @cookieface678

Giant!Heehoo x GN!Reader, TW: none Words: 802

The cookies come out of the oven alright, the faces of the ghosts and pumpkins a little misshapen. Hopefully he won’t care much, although the only human food you’ve seen him eat is Takis. So you gather up a little boo basket of things for him, Takis and cookies included. Quite honestly, it’s mostly food you thought he’d enjoy, as the other traditional things you usually see in these things are of little use to him. What is a wild man in the forest going to do with a pumpkin spice candle and slippers that don’t fit him? You did get him a few blankets though, thinking he’d like to put them in his cave to help with the cold.

You set out on the path through the forest out the back of your place, walking by the evening sun peeking through the trees. The moment he picks up your scent, you can only laugh. He starts sprinting towards you from wherever he is, although you haven’t seen him in a while, so it’s a little warranted.

He drops down from the trees when he gets close enough, crouching down and bowing his head so you can give him his mandatory head pats. Heehoo growls happily, picking you up and placing you on his shoulder before moving towards his cave. You’ve gotten pretty good at keeping your balance up here, able to keep the basket together without anything (including yourself) falling. 

When you get back to his cave, you see a wall of stolen pumpkins along one of the walls. Not smashed, but there’s no way that he’ll be able to light them to let them glow. 

“Heehoo… you’re not supposed to take those.”

“Glow.”

“Yes, I know they glow. You still can’t take.”

“Glow.”

He plops down, pouting at you. There’s no way you’d be able to convince him to return all of them, or take them back yourself. He tends to wander a bit, and it’s a bit awkward to approach someone’s home going “hey sorry, my bigfoot of a boyfriend stole your pumpkin because he’s fascinated by fire”. Last time you did something similar, you were pretty sure they were gonna call the cops on you. 

“Alright, I’ll drop the pumpkin thing. But no more taking! Only after Halloween!”

Heehoo grunts, agreeing begrudgingly. He does seem to stop pouting once you slide the basket towards him, watching him lift it to his nose.

“I brought you some things, these are good to eat. Noms.”

“Noms.”

He nods sagely, although unsurprisingly the first thing he pulls out is the Takis, eating them like every other time, much to your exasperation.

“Y’know if you eat them properly, you can get the powder that’s inside them too.”

“No. Lick.”

Well, you tried. Again. You start unpacking the rest of the basket for him, putting them in his food storage where they’ll stay better for longer. He just watches you as you show him all the things you brought him, excited by the blankets, but intrigued by the cookies. Intrigued enough, that he puts down his Takis to pick some up. 

“Oh, I made those. I thought you’d enjoy them.”

“Pumpkin.”

“Yes! Pumpkins and ghosts. They don’t taste like either of those things though, although if you like the taste of pumpkin, I’m sure I could make you some soup or something.”

“Mmmm… soup.”

The cookies are already small to you, but to him they look microscopic. But he’s touched by the gesture, trying to take a bite of one instead of eating it all at once. It takes a bit for it to process it, savoring the flavor and deciding if he likes it. By the way he pops the rest into his mouth, you sigh with relief that he likes them.

“Alright, if you like those, you may like some of these other things I got you. This is a fancy tin of popcorn, and you can use it to store things afterwards! I was thinking after you eat it, it could be a cup for you?”

“Mm, cup. Popcorn first.”

He pops the top of the tin off once you remove the plastic, confused by the divider separating the flavors. He tries each of them, although it becomes obvious rather quickly that the kettle corn is his favorite.

“Sweet.”

“Yes, that one is sweet.”

“Like human.”

He smiles down at you, giving you one of the cookies and patting his leg for you to come sit with him. You try and refuse it, but he pouts again until you take it. You don’t have the heart right now to tell him you have more at home, but you also know that he just wants to share the happiness it’s bringing him with you.

You’re just glad he likes the cookies.

[prem-kahanii]

Requests OPEN!!

TL;DR: I write stuff in my free time but I’ve finally decided to go public! I write mostly about the Markiplier egos, please DO NOT REQUEST NSFW! Making out is fine tho. Have a lovely day and stay awesome! ❤️✨

P.S: Along with writing fan fictions for fun, I am actually aspiring to become an author in the future! So this blog will also contain my progress updates and personal drabbles and teasers!

————————————————————————

Random urge to start a separate writing blog ⁉️

I’ve got a few friends who enjoy fics of the Mark egos so I thought it would be cool to make a blog based off requests for fics of them! No NSFW!! (This means you cannot request scenes of intercourse or inappropriate touching! Make outs are fine though!) Some of my strong suits include action/adventure, romance, and suspense. Try to make your prompt descriptive if you want specific scenes in your story. Or, if you’d like to give me a vague idea to go off of, that’s awesome too!

Here’s an example of a good prompt:

“Yancy x Reader, Y/N and Yancy are already dating, and the two of them sneak off to the rooftop during the night for some time alone together. Please include cuddles and a little kissing, thank you!”

Something like that would be a great format for a prompt! Message if you have questions, have a lovely day, and stay awesome!

[that-damn-fouth-chaosemerald]

Hi! So I have some ideas about different fandoms, and I want you to chose!

So here are they:

I think I posted enough SP works for a few weeks. This doesn't mean that I won't post about them! I will, and I actually have a few idea about them, but now I want to write about a different fandom :D

Btw, these 3 options would be all headcanons.

[anomalyaly]

right where you left me

Summary: You died. Sebastian secretly had a portrait of you commissioned.

I profusely apologize for the pain.

Inspired by @sychenb for the prompt idea. Also crediting @sloanesallow for her headcanon about Sebastian keeping track of numbers.

(also sort of inspired by Unus Annus - iykyk - and Taylor Swift, if you couldn't guess by the title)

Tags: Angst, F!Reader POV (you), unreliable narrator, vague ship (Sebastian x reader/Ominis x reader), Sebastian was in love with you but never confessed, death, grief, ambiguous ending, overall the sads in general, I cried while writing this

[AO3] [Wattpad]

It had been 279 days since you died.

At least, that’s what Sebastian tells you — your portrait, anyway. It was all that was left of you after the devastating battle you had fought and never walked away from. You hadn’t even known he’d had a portrait of you commissioned when you were alive until you woke up, your body cold, your face illuminated by the flickering candles of the Undercroft.

He comes to visit you every day — some days, he simply sits in front of you, cross-legged and silent. You creep into the frame and study him, the shadows on his face, a haunted look in his eye — unfamiliar. You can only recall a bright, talkative, charming boy with whom you were once close. You didn’t recognize him the first time he visited you, yet his presence brings you comfort.

On other days, you see traces of the boy he was before. He bursts in through the gate talking nonstop about everyone who misses you, about something he saw that you would have liked or that reminded him of you. Sometimes, he even brings you gifts and places them in front of your frame so you can admire them when he’s away.

That’s where he keeps you — hidden behind a wooden crate in the Undercroft like a sacred shrine, untouched by anyone but him. He only speaks with you when he is alone.

Another boy comes in on occasion, and you only know because of the sound of his voice and the pulsing red light of his wand that you can see from behind the pile of crates. Ominis, you remember Sebastian telling you, another friend from when you were alive. Sometimes they argue, other times they refuse to acknowledge each other. But Sebastian always keeps you tucked away, his own personal secret.

“It’s almost Christmas,” he sighs as he plops down in front of you. “300 days since you…well, since— ”

He could never bring himself to finish that sentence, even after almost a year. You never finish it for him.

“Are you going back to Feldcroft?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t leave you here alone. I couldn’t do that to you.”

You knew he probably hadn’t been back since that dreadful day. He had only spoken of it once to refresh your memory. He never brought it up again.

“Sebastian,” you say, and he perks up at the sound of his name leaving your painted lips, “how come you always hide me away when Ominis comes in? Doesn’t he want to talk to me, too?”

His eyes flash with something — anger, perhaps, it was hard to tell from your two-dimensional world — and he stands, approaching your portrait. “He wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m only a portrait,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s not like you’ve been practicing necromancy.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say, but you don’t completely understand why. He turns away from you, fists clenched, shoulders tense and hunched over, before running his fingers through his hair and repeating himself more adamantly. “He wouldn’t understand.”

You remember him uttering a similar statement throughout your short life at Hogwarts — secrets that only the two of you shared, unbeknownst to Ominis until it was too late. “Surely he misses me, too— ”

“Did you love him?”

The question takes you by surprise, though you think it’s not the first time he’s asked it. “What?”

Sebastian whirls to face you, his gaze intense, demanding. “Did you love him? Or did you love me?”

Your portrait blinks, confused. Truthfully, you hadn’t been alive nearly long enough to confirm your feelings for either of them, but you knew that both boys had been important to you during your last few months of life. The portrait of you had only been a time capsule of your fifteen-year-old self — undecided and immature. You’re not even certain if the emotions you feel now are real or remnants of what you experienced when you were alive. “I…I cared deeply for both of you if that’s what you’re asking.”

Your answer nearly breaks him, as if he’s heard it a million times before. He tugs at his hair, the movement causing him to look frenzied and mad. “That’s not what I asked! Who did you — ”

“Sebastian?”

The voice of the intruder causes both of you to freeze. Sebastian pulls himself out from behind the crate and holds a finger to his lips before pushing it in front of you once more.

“Over here, Ominis.”

You hear footsteps and see the red glow of the other boy’s wand, then shuffling as Sebastian strategically places himself in front of the wooden box. The echoing footsteps grow closer, and you straighten at Ominis’s frantic tone as he speaks.

“Who were you talking to?” he asks. “I…I thought I heard…her.”

“No one else is here but me,” Sebastian says, guarded.

You can practically feel Ominis’s internal struggle to believe him. You decide that there have been enough secrets between the three of you — you’re not going to let it carry on post-mortem.

“Ominis? Is that you?” you call out. You hear Sebastian press his body against the crate in front of you. Ominis pushes past him, and they both tumble into it, knocking it over and exposing your portrait.

Chaos ensues at Ominis’s realization. The two boys are shouting at each other in front of you as you are helpless to stop them — Ominis, for having yet another secret kept from him, and Sebastian, for defending his reasonings. You aren’t sure if it’s because of jealousy, grief, or some combination of the two, but all you want is for the noise to stop.

You call out helplessly from your portrait, wishing you could step between them, just as you had done time and time again all those months ago. Before everything had gone so wrong.

Suddenly, hot, angry tears are pouring down both of their faces, and you are overcome with just how useless you are at this moment — a fragmented memory, trapped within the confines of your magical canvas. You want nothing more than to hug each of them, to let them feel your arms around them in comfort and take their pain away.

But you are gone.

The two boys now stand solemn and silent in front of you. Ominis takes a step closer, his wand hovering over your portrait before he runs his fingers along the gilded frame. “Is it…really you?”

“No.” You can hear the flatness in Sebastian’s voice, how tired and worn he truly is. He repeats exactly what you thought only moments before as if to confirm it. “She hardly remembers what happened, or even who we are. She’s just a fragment. A memory.”

You want to argue that it is you, but you know that he’s right. You barely remembered your living self until Sebastian explained everything to you on his daily visits. Whispers of your personality still shine through on occasion, but you are otherwise simply existing.

Ominis sighs, and you can hear the weight behind it, as if he had been holding his breath and finally allowed himself to release it. He traces his fingers along the divots of the frame once more, and you try to will yourself to feel it.

The two boys exchange an unspoken conversation that thickens the tension in the air. They seem to come to an agreement, and you let out a small breath — if you can call it that — of relief when they sit down in front of you and appear to bask in your presence. You stay quiet and allow them this moment — it’s the only thing you can do.

The days that follow are the same. No longer is Sebastian coming in alone for covert meetings with your portrait. Now, you see both Sebastian and Ominis at the same time every single day, a religious appointment that they’ve set aside just for you. They take turns talking to you, even if they can only manage a few words, and you learn to appreciate their company, knowing that you were loved by both of them in life.

Just like old times, Sebastian says, and the three of you laugh.

Christmas approaches quickly, or that’s what they say when they come to visit a short while later. They bring your favorite things from when you were alive — chocolate frogs, flowers, even books, which Sebastian reads to you — and they tell you stories about you and the kind of person they knew you to be. You wonder if it’s true, or if they have created an idealistic image of you since you are no longer there with them. Not really.

Kind, they say that you were, thoughtful, loving, self-sacrificial, and maybe a bit idealistic. You were friends with both of them, after all, the mischievous pair that they were, before everything was taken away from them, before life was unfair. They try to smile for you and remind you that Christmas at the castle is a time for celebration, but you can tell that it’s a weak facade.

You smile back at them anyway.

The anniversary of your death approaches. Neither of them can bring themselves to say anything, aside from a few words to honor you. So the three of you sit in tearful silence, admiring the flowers that they decorated your portrait with. You think you can almost smell the sweet aroma of the bouquets.

Something changes in the air — you can sense it — though you aren’t sure what. You notice it when their visits become shorter, with fewer stories to tell, and fewer presents left in front of your frame. Sebastian and Ominis start showing up at separate times, stopping in for a brief hello before leaving with an excuse. You start to wonder what they are doing when they are gone, but you are unable to leave your frame — only one portrait of you was ever commissioned.

Soon, they start missing days, returning at a later time with profuse apologies about how life was busy, but they still miss you. Difficult classes, detention, studying for NEWTs, and preparing for a career — all of these seem to take precedence over you. But they still manage to make time in all of the hectic day-to-day activities, and you look forward to the days when they do come.

You wake up one morning and realize you are in a different location — Feldcroft, most likely, though you hadn’t seen it since that fateful day. Sebastian hangs your frame up on the wall, promising that he and Ominis will come to visit you more often now that they have graduated.

They don’t.

The length of time in between seeing them grows longer, you’re certain of it. Each time one of them arrives, they look a little bit different — sometimes they have longer hair, other times a bit of scruff around their chins, but they always come in looking more weathered than they had when you last saw them.

You realize that they are doing something that you will never again be able to join them in — growing older. You start to wonder about their lives outside of you, yet your painted mind cannot comprehend what an adult life looks like, forever frozen in your adolescent state. You find that you are unable to relate to any of their stories, and they seem to be holding back in what they choose to share.

I wish you were still here, they always say before they go, and you start to wonder if they mean it.

At long last, the visits from your once two closest friends become scarce, and you aren’t certain how much time has passed since someone last spoke to you. The bright flowers that once decorated your golden frame wither and die, and the little gifts they used to leave stay untouched and unopened. The tiny cottage in Feldcroft becomes a sepulcher of your essence — a permanent reminder that you are no longer among the living.

You can’t help but wonder if it was something you did, if their reasons for not returning were your fault. You can feel the stories that they used to tell you fading away, unable to retain the memories in your current form.

You decide that it’s time to rest.

In the quiet house, just south of Hogwarts, your portrait closes its eyes. You do not wake again.

[mbgcreates]

Para Siempre

(Or, Forever.)

A/N: I've just been thinking.

Dark x female reader, but written in third person. Inspired by Mark's final (?) line from his Unus Annus anniversary video in November 2023. (I've had this sitting in my drafts for half a year.) Established relationship ("wife" used for reader), so he's evolved quite a bit from the man we've seen. Contains mentions of death (no actual dying) and angst relating to such. Would this be considered mild whump? Idk. Word count: ~1300

~~

It's afternoon, this time; bright, sunny, not a cloud in the sky. It’s almost too perfect, in contrast to the activity and emotions on the ground.

What a sight he must look: glamour barely in place, wisps of shadow effervescing from him as he rushes to the place where, not all that long ago, the soil was freshly turned, where reality and dirt set in. Now, grass has made the space its home, the patches from years past but a memory. Flowers perch in a holder on the headstone, preserved and immortal. He made sure of that.

They are accompanied by regular flowers, although whether from the funeral home or loved ones, he does not have any way of knowing. These look relatively fresh, and he lets himself believe it was their family. It assuages his guilt.

Dark looks human again by the time he arrives at the gravestone, once more the age he had put forth for over a hundred years—although, perhaps, aged just a little. He can't bring himself to look exactly the same, not when it's been many years since he looked young. Not when it reminds him of when he met her.

He kneels down after a few moments, a more controlled movement than one might expect after his rushing around. He worries not about his suit; even if grass stains weren’t anything more than an inconvenience for someone like him, he wouldn’t care. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s here, where she is.

Was.

It is human, to grieve—it was not something he expected to affect him ever again, and certainly not in such an intense way, and absolutely not for this long. But he is nothing but intense with everything, especially regarding her.

She had not been opposed to cremation, but he, the selfish entity he is, persuaded her into a traditional burial. He couldn’t bear the thought of his wife going up in flames, even if she no longer had any need of the flesh she once occupied. He could barely bear the fact that she was gone.

He brushes his thumb over the grooves in the stone, the ones delineating her name for all who seek her. A name that once was whispered reverently, said lovingly to the one whom it belonged to. A name that once laughed often, talked and listened, one who existed with him. Who wanted him. Him.

It could have been forever. But humans are not made for forever on earth, physically or mentally. They both knew what her decision would be, long before it came time…but that didn't make it any less difficult.

He can recall so clearly her smile, worn by time but no less beautiful, as he kept her company in the waning days, and he asked her again, hoping she would change her mind, this time. That death would not let them part.

That smile of hers was melancholic and her eyes pained that he would ask this of her again. “I don’t know that I could bear it,” she said, the words the same as last time, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “It would be selfish of us, amor. Hubris, even.”

“No more pain. You will be young again.” Even as he spoke, he could feel her stubbornness through their bond. “Stay with me.”

She was trying not to cry. He hated that he made her sad. “You know I always will be.” Her hand pressed against his chest, where his heart mimicked a pulse. “Para siempre.”

Her words ring clearer than ever in his mind, as if she were saying it directly to him again; but despite its fidelity, it’s a pale imitation to actually hearing her. Just like any illusion he could conjure would be a cheap imitation of her presence; it only instead brings back the pain.

There’s a tug within his essence, separate from his emotions, that makes itself known: an unwanted urge to leave. “It’s not fair,” he mutters. The last thing he wants to do is to leave her here alone. It's the same sentiment he has every time he has to go: He could spend all eternity here, at her grave, while the world turns and crumbles. Even forever would never be enough. But the void calls him back, forcing him to return. He doesn't care anymore if he dissipates, but the pull is too strong to resist; the very fiber of his being physically does not allow him to.

Obsidian presses his hand against the stone marker, mirroring her action from years ago. He reads it over again like it was the first time, as if he is trying to memorize words that are already emblazoned into his memory. The sensation of water collecting by his eyes is welcomed.

“I will be on time next year. I promise.”

Scotched, weathered landscapes, whipped by irradiated storms, stretches as fast as the eye can see. The soil, stripped bare of even a fraction of a sign of life, nonetheless holds the little memorial, clinging to what remains as if out of stubbornness. Long ago has everything else turned to dust…except for this. This, which that entity, now more creature than man, is now greeted by; what he will be greeted by in the time to come, until the very rock and core of the planet disintegrate into shards, and then into nothingness.

He can't remember when he came here last. For him, it had been an exact year, just as it had been all the years prior, when he kept his promise each time. How could this world and its time have become so detached from his own? How could he have missed the signs?

A multitude of eyes blink down at the monument, the shadowy mass from which they originate almost melancholic, if one could assign an emotion to the form. It reaches out to the stone, an incorporeal limb passing right through it. With effort, the entity dredges up the desire to become solid and tries again, this time succeeding in making contact. He caresses the headstone, fingers—he has fingers now, subconsciously formed—tracing over the worn spaces where letters were once chiseled.

This could be his last time here. With how eroded the stone is, it's likely it doesn't have many years left in it. He doesn't want to consider that. The Dark doesn't want to consider that the last tangible piece of the one whom he loved might not be here, next time. He's lucky enough it's lasted this long, even though it was by design, but it always felt like an impossibility. But, over the course of many lifetimes, one learns that few things truly are impossible.

The wind that slams into his form ought to sting in a way only intense, constant radiation can, but he cannot feel it, despite how badly he wants to feel the pain. He is beyond it now; only physical altercations with his enemy cause him any damage, and those clashes are becoming less and less frequent. The man within must be finally, finally tiring—or maybe, that’s just him. Maybe, it’s moments like this, where memories are really becoming the only things left of the one whom he loved, that are wearing on him. What is the point anymore, after all? When vengeance is ever escaping his grasp, how much longer can he really act the part?

Long ago, he had wished he could be lain here, keeping her company, so he wouldn’t have to continue on pretending. He was able to pretend, after a while, that was exactly what happened…his own name, next to hers until the end of time, was then etched onto the very headstone that he would come to see for nearly every year for thousands of years. He allowed them to “bury” him, an inert doppleganger that disappeared once the soil had returned into the space it previously occupied. The entity once known as Darkiplier was jealous of the doppleganger, even with the brevity of its situation, because it experienced what he could not.

And now, here, in the barren wasteland, he decides he’s ready. He’s so, so damn ready. If, after this, the planet itself is no more, then why even bother?

The formless entity “kneels” down slowly, sinking heavily against the headstone, as if the weight of his many lifetimes are now weighing upon him. All the eyes shut in unison. He feels, for the briefest of moments, a small hand rest on his shoulder, then a body wrapping around his, and a peace that he hasn't felt in millennia washes over him.

And he lets go.

[emma045]

[supernatural-bias]

━"Guest Appearance"

━Tw: None

━Notes: A very cute idea I had reminiscing about the time Unus Annus did a wax video with Sean

━Song: "Twin Sized Matress" By The Front Bottoms

Ethan and Mark were staring to regret their choice in friends.

Or at least the kind of ideas they came up for this goddamn channels videos.

It was fucking loud. I mean, honestly what did they expect when offering two of the goofiest people they knew to fly out for a video and shutting them in a room with a camera. There wasn’t going to be a bit of content without yelling after all. Especially when it came down to the four idiots playing around right now with how tightly knit they were.

Maybe it was the full on wax war that wasn’t predicted.

The rapidly cooling substance was flinging nearly everywhere, clinging to the surface of the walls like sticky soda and some even being propelled on the ceiling fan above (which in turn splattered it every which way like a modern age art project).

Paintbrushes with cream colored bristles—that had previously been used for spreading wax across bare skin—were now being dipped in the milky white substance. Before the wax could harden completely it was launched at a respective person, who got a face full of it to enjoy.

Honestly (Y/n) was having the time of their fucking life.

They didn’t give a shit whether or not the camera couldn’t even see them properly right now. All they were focused on was ducking up and down between the protection of a scrappy desk, trying their best not to get smacked in the mouth with the slimy wax as they fired their own ammo at Sean.

Ethan was on the other side of them, the team of two having mischievously grabbed half a bucket of hot wax halfway through the scheduled video and attacking the other people in the room.

The war had only been officially waged after Mark had grabbed a handful from his own bucket without a second thought, nailing Ethan directly in the scalp with it as a ‘thank you’ gift.

”Surrender losers!” A girlish squeal came from Ethan as he narrowly avoided another fire ball of wax, sticking his tongue out at Mark. His brown hair was plastered to the front of his forehead with a mix of sweat and wax, mimicking the look of everyone else. He had even almost knocked their cover over as he squatted down.

”Nhever!” Determination poked its head through Sean’s thick Irish accent. (Y/n) paused to clutch at their rib cage in a fit of laughter as they witnessed the man stand up and pose like a superhero, only to slip on a puddle of wax and land straight on his ass.

”Oh ye think tha’s funny (Y/n)?” He said quickly getting back up and making devilish eye contact. They let out a sudden yell as Sean grew closer and fully left the protection of his pathetic looking plastic table, formerly having hid behind it with Marks bulky figure.

They attempted to scramble up and out of the room, a complete disregard for the camera recording all of this as this point. All that they were worried about right now was escaping the ghoulish grin and bucket of wax coming their way.

”Wait no please!”

Their pleas were met with a tirade of evil laughter, managing to just barely close their eyes before warm wax slid down every available surface of their face.

Even Ethan and Mark had stopped in their ferocious battle to watch the buckets contents get emptied onto their head. Now instead of (Y/n) rolling on the ground belly laughing it was them, completely ignoring the mess sticking to their clothes like wallpaper in exchange for playfully howling at the fellow content creator.

”You guys fucking suck!” They spat, already feeling their face start to freeze up with the wax. While their words might be venomous their tone was not, breaking up with an amused wheeze halfway through.

“I’m telling Amy and Gab that you three were pushing me around!”

”Oooooh I’m so scared of Sean and Marks girlfriends!”

”Dont think I forgot about you either Mr. Crankgameplays. You act like I won’t go get your mother on the phone right this second.”

The other boys made oohing sounds at Ethan like a fifth grader who just watched their classmate get in trouble. He simply blew a raspberry at them in response.

It was only then that Sean backed up slightly, bumping into the forgotten camera and startling himself

(Y/n) laughed as much as they could with a temporarily paralyzed face, watching as the boys discussed jokingly in front of the camera if attacking each other with discolored crayon wax was enough content to satiate their gremlin viewers. Spoiler alert: They determined it was.

”Not exactly the normal content of Unus Annus. But then again we wouldn’t have invited you and Sean if we had wanted that. Congrats on being the first and last special guest to hijack our original plan for a video.” Mark grinned with teeth, now holding an arm out so (Y/n) could help themself up. They took it with as much of a smile they could manage, attempting to mumble a jovial ‘thank you dumbass’ back at him.

”Mark wipe their face off I can’t understand jack shit coming out of their mouth.”

”Awhh bu’ I was enjoyin ta silence.”

(Y/n) simply made a slitting gesture across their throat at Sean, cussing him out with their eyes. The motion just received more snickers.

“You know what? Sure. Let’s get Chica in here to wipe that wax off their face.” Mark rubbed his hand together in a comically evil motion. “Or should I say lick it off?”

Their eyes widened as they chased after the laughing boys, yelling from the back of their throat desperately with a smile.

Totally worth the trip.