#wilfords demands
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Amber can you imagian. Curtis all hard edges and sharp words becoming flustered and uncertain if you actually for real are tender with him? When you dont want anything FROM him. Just HIM? the Man who always had to give is uterly in shock when he RECEIVES without expectation.
This makes me think of Curtis from Wilfords Demands (I miss that hectic couple) So this is a little scenario I'm picturing with them-
You sat curled on the chair, nervous as he stomps back into his room. Sweat and blood run down his face, the blood from a nasty cut near his temple. His nose looked swollen and for sure there was going to be a black eye for him in a few hours. You took a chance while he sat on the end of the bed, wincing as he flexed his hands. "What happened to you Curtis?"
He shot a glance, blue eyes giving you a chill with how stern they glanced at you. "Ensuring we have a decent place to stay on the train." Curtis snapped out, his pain making him short at the moment. He didn't miss your wince at his reply, cursing himself for his harshness. He didn't want you to hate having to be here with him. His next effort was gentler, explaining why he was coming back to the room looking like he did.
"Wilford has us train in a fighting rink, entertainment for the front enders." Curtis absently rubbed at his sore knuckles and although he didn't notice, you did. Some of them were split and had yet to scab over. "Those of us that are better at it, well... we stay in the better rooms. Our charges... You... get the better rooms, better food. Enables you to be better taken cared of."
You unfolded from your seat and went to grab a cloth and first aid kit from the bathroom. Curtis thought you were just going to hand it to him, he didn't expect you to kneel in front of him so you could wipe at his knuckles and open the kit to sort through it, preparing to bandage him. "And in return we, the charges, have your children." You filled in the rest and he clenched his jaw, remaining silent for a moment.
"We don't have a choice Y/N."
You dabbed at his knuckles, inspecting his hands. You missed the look of awe and sadness that crossed his features at your genuine kindness to him. Something he hadn't experienced without a cost in the time he has lived on the train.
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You know 100 percent that I would come over, sit at your table with a cup of coffee, sneaking my girl Starr cookies whoile discussing Ransom and Marshmallow with you. As well as Bucky and witch reader. 💜
I'd love to have you over for coffee, homemade cookies, tea and jam tarts. I would make it a whole ass thing lol Also fair warning, Starr is the least subtle when it comes to stealing cookies, she will openly ask and you will be moved to give them to her. Her nickname isn't 'Sad Eyes' for nothing. lolol
We would totally gab about Ransom x Marshmallow and Bucky x Witchy!!
We'd talk for HOURS about Held for Ransom because I just have so many ideas about the two of them.
But I'd have to tell you first how their initial story would end. I'd tell you all about their big fight that I have partially written for the end of Held For Ransom. I'd reveal to you Ransom's big secret about how he got her to keep her job, even though she torpedoed it in that meeting all to get Ransom a better deal for his book. We'd talk about how Ransom was in the wrong and that he only realizes it after Grayson comes and gives him a talking-to, maybe with his fists. Then we'd talk about how Ransom would beg Marshmallow to give him a chance, and how Ransom wants to be the kind of man she deserves to be with. Not the murderer the world sees him as. We'd coo over how Marshmallow doesn't quite forgive him, making him earn that respect and trust again with her. But how they end up together in the end.
Oh and Bucky and Witchy from All Good Things?
They have a second story, so far un-named, that I've been slowly chipping away at for the last year. We've talked about it a little here and there. But we'd be mad gabbing over coffee so, I'd tell you all about how Bucky, the ultimate romantic, wants to ask Witchy to marry him but the timing has never been right. But when they suddenly have to go back to her hometown of Friday Harbor, Bucky learns a lot of secrets that Witchy never told him or knew herself. We'd cry about how he gets separated from his body again and our Witchy girl can't see him because she's lost her ability to see ghosts. But Bucky gets help from unlikely places, like the female ghost that looks suspiciously like our Witchy girl. Either way, Alpine the ghost cat will be there to keep Bucky company as much as possible and how the heck is Bucky going to ask her to marry him when she can't even seen or hear him now?
#gosh i'd love a coffee date right now to just gab about stories and ideas#spoilers ahead#Held For Ransom Spoilers#All Good Things Spoilers#Ransom x Marshmallow#Bucky x Witchy Reader#Ransom x Reader#Total spoilers for the endings#I'd ask all kinds of questions about Curtis and Honey too#Also a couple other of your fics that I'm just head over heels for#Like what happens after the ending of WIlfords Demands#That story just fucked me right up in the best and worst kind of way lolol#sagechano responds#asks are always welcome#I love to gab about my stories and the people in them
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Some Darkstache HC's 'cause I'm in a mood.
○ Wilford is taller and physically stronger than Dark.
○ Wilford uses this to his advantage to constantly carry Dark around, or pin him against walls.
● Dark is always flustered whenever Wilford does that whenever he isn't prepared. Especially if there's other egos looking, he'll demand Wilford to let him go, all embarrassed and trying to hide it.
○ Wilford has dozens of pet names for Dark: Darky, Darkling, Sweetheart, Love, Dove, Dearest Darky, Licorice, Sugarplum, Pancake, etc.
● (Pancake because Dark didn't like to be called Shortstack)
● Dark calls Wilford as Wil, most of the time, but sometimes calls him Love, Dearheart, and Honey.
○ Wilford was the one who gifted Dark his gun in ADWM.
● Dark was upset when Y/N took his gun and never gave it back.
○ Wilford likes to buy gifts for Dark, ranging from Practical (pens, books, a gun) to Silly (a giant Teddy bear, a pretty rock he found, a big pile of hundreds of different chocolates, flooding his office with flowers), to downright Psychotic (Dark's current annoyance either in chains or bleeding/dying in front of him)
● Dark loves and cherishes every gift. (Even if the giant Teddy bear is forever hidden in Dark's pocket dimension.)
○ Wilford rarely listens to anyone else, but for Dark he'll even ask for his opinions and try to implement them.
● Dark rarely cares about anyone, but for Wilford, he'll ask about his day, and how's he feeling, and what he could do to help.
○ Wilford is the one who often asks Dark out on dates, just so Dark isn't always cooped up in his office. Most of the time, it's just walks in the park or eating at fun restaurants Wilford has heard and wanted to try.
● Whenever Dark's the one who asks Wilford out on a date, it's a fully planned event. All booked in advance. A 3 day outing at a Beach Resort. A guided tour of the Amazon Rainforest. A week at Disney world.
○ Wilford loves hugging and kissing Dark, especially if it forces Dark to stand on his tiptoes to reciprocate. Wilford thinks it's adorable.
● Dark will never admit to it, but he loves cuddling with Wilford the most. He's just so warm and soft, and smells so sweet and familiar. Plus, it keeps Wilford out of trouble and makes both of them relax from their high-strung lives.
○ Wilford's the one who initiates most of their sexual activities. Usually whenever the mood strikes him, regardless of time and place. He is shameless.
● Dark usually consents to it, unless he's extremely busy or there are too many eyes on them. He's not an exhibitionist, Wil.
○ (Wilford suggests to glamour themselves invisible to have sex in public until Dark pointed out that they'll drop the glamour once they're distracted)
○They have resistance over each other's aura effects. Dark theorised that it's due to them having the same source of power (The Manor). While Wilford thinks it's just because they cuddle so much and got used to it.
● Dark smiles and agrees at Wilford's cuddle theory, and wants to be cuddled some more. Infinitely glad that his aura never scared, hurt, or freezed Wilford like it would with others.
#markiplier egos#Darkstache#Fox does headcanons#Darkiplier#Wilford Warfstache#Headcanons#Wilford/Dark#Dark/Wilford
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Hi! This is the anon with the ISWM egos and Y/N running into Y/Ns mean ex, and here to clarify! Yes the egos that made appearances!
(I hope this anon isn't taken but I'll shoot for the moon)
- SleepyBlu Anon
Oh okay! Just wanted that cleared up but ty!
Request: Hi I’m new to this, but could I request ISWM egos with their S/O and like running into S/O’s ex. S/O’s ex ain’t a nice person and S/O is uncomfortable, the boys to the rescue!
Engineer, Actor, Dark, Wilford, Yancy, Illinois, Jim, & Heehoo will be featured!
..............
Engineer Mark
Your ex so-happens to be USA receptionist.
They recognize you before you can state your inquiries and makes a subtle jab at both of you, especially upon learning you’re a captain.
“Wow, so you can keep a crew together but not a relationship?”
This pisses off Mark SO much. He can’t tolerate this disrespect to his captain and partner.
His anger becomes scary as he punches the table and demands they take your concerns more seriously.
After getting answers he leaves with you, still huffy but makes sure you’re alright.
“If they were in the crew, I’d eject them from the airlock myself..” He grumbles.
Actor
Oh boy.
If he so much as recognizes your ex he’s gonna flip out. Doesn’t matter if it’s in public or there’s only a few people around.
He’ll drag them away from you before they can utter a single word and have a “nice chat”.....which is really just him snapping at them and being like “you’re lucky I’m out on parole or else I’d KILL you right now!”
You don’t know what exactly he said but, they haven’t tried contacting you since then.
He spoils you afterwards to cheer you up <3
Dark
He doesn’t wanna cause a huge scene.
So he’ll just stare at your ex angrily while keeping you close to him, allowing the high-pitched ringing to fill their head.
He’s the best at intimidation so it doesn’t take long for them to be scared off.
After that he makes sure you’re okay, knowing very well what it’s like to be hurt by those he once trusted.
If they come back he definitely won’t hold back and resort to tormenting them in the void since they didn’t learn their lesson the first time.
Wilford
He takes shit from nobody.
Especially a stupid ex who questions your taste in men.
There’s a 75% chance you can stop him from shooting/stabbing them, but he’ll still find a way to screw with their mind.
Like getting inside their head and saying random bs or just teleporting around them to confuse them (like he does in WMLW).
Eventually they leave after calling him a freak, though he just rolls his eyes.
“Jeez, to think you dated that before me? Let’s get some drinks.”
Yancy
Will most definitely punch them if they say some rude shit about you.
“Lmao you’re so desperate for love you’ll take in a criminal-?”
*SMACK*
“At least I treat ‘em better than you any day!!!”
You literally cannot stop Yancy from leaving them with a bloody nose even if you tried and said “violence isn’t the answer”.
He may have given up the stabbing but there’s no way he’s ever gonna give up fighting for you tooth and nail <3
Illinois
Out of all the Ipliers he’s probably the most calm about it.
You honestly didn’t think he was so committed to your relationship until you saw the way he stood up to your ex.
Gentle yet firm so that they leave you alone.
Humorously enough, they barely have a defense bc wow--how did you manage to snag someone as fine as him???
So they finally do leave and it warms your heart, knowing he took this relationship seriously.
Jim
Honestly?
The whole Jim nation would be on your ex’s ass if they got within a five mile radius of you and don’t back off.
(Similar to Wilford) They think he’s a goddamn weirdo and you’ve lowered your standards to rock bottom.
Which leads to Jim interrogating them on what they knew about the statistics of relationships or...something like that.
Either way he gets them to leave with his eccentric ways being too much for them to handle.
Heehoo
After a lot of rehabilitation you both started dating again. Though he’s still drawn to the woods, so you’ll go on frequent walks together.
Unfortunately that’s where you meet your ex who’s on a hike.
“Wow you’ve chosen this hobo over me, huh?” They sneer.
Heehoo sees how upset they’re making you, so he just...growls and eventually scares them off after chasing them into the woods.
Once he returns he makes sure you’re okay.
His actions made you laugh, confusing him, though you reassure him you appreciate what he did.
#clanask#sleepyblu anon#iplier egos x reader#space mark x reader#darkiplier x reader#wilford warfstache x reader#actor mark x reader#illinois x reader#yancy x reader#reporter jim x reader#heehoo x reader#headcanons
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ok, so the other day my partner and i were talking about characters' names, the context being "oh, some characters don't match the names they were given" and it got me thinking... what would i name the love island characters if i had that power... or what they would name themselves... it gets a little mixed, don't worry about it.
i'm doing this or all seasons, especially the ones i didn't play because... it's fun and i already don't know/care about their grace.
alright, let's begin!
gary - SOLID KYLE, and i say this as a gary stan. he looks like someone who would chug on mountain dew and post those cowboy tik toks showing off his truck. i'm sorry but if you're american you know it's true and it's undeniable. idk what the british equivalent of that is... perhaps gary LOL
ibrahim - chadwick something the third. i remember seeing someone making fun of chadwick boseman (rest in peace) because his name is so white, and by rahim's behavior and way of talking it's giving carlton from 'fresh prince of bel-air. he's a fucking chadwick and you cannot convince me otherwise.
lucas - his father would want to name him fucking archibald because they're filthy rich, but his mom knows better, so she chose lucas. i think it's perfect for him and i wouldn't change it.
henrik - a solid andreas. look at him, he's an andreas! very sweet but still nordic enough to make you wonder.
bobby - probably the day of the week he was born, because if his parents are dumb enough to name him bobby, what would stop them from naming him friday? or maybe the season he was born, spring...
jakub - his name can stay the same because he looks like a jakub, HOWEVER, he would demand everyone to call him by his nickname: white shark
rocco - fernando. and not in the way you say it in english or spanish, but in portuguese. "faer-nã-doo", he would insist because... he's a douche.
graham - a hebrew name that means lovely, so like... jeremiah, or jebediah. probably jebediah. he does not give graham, he gives "catholic mother that is a little too lost in bible lore".
arjun - because he's conceited, (i like him but that smirk is so over-the-top) rahul. every fucking raul or rahul i've ever met was a conceited jerk so... call this based off life experiences.
elijah - it's giving william, maybe willard, even wilford. definitely a nickname that leads you to believe it's william but it's every other name under the sun except for the most common.
kassam is actually perfect, the right amount of exotic vanilla that he disperses.
carl - a nerdy name that wasn't necessarily born in the 40's, so leonard. it's a solid mix between young and old for me, and that's just who carl is. leonard is leo when he's younger, then stays solid for a 30-something-yo, then it's even more solid when you get old. granted, so is carl but i hate that fucking name.
noah - ambrose. um... SHOULD I JUST MOVE ON? it's perfect for him!
felix - (my partner said "lobster" without a second thought and i thought i would share with the class) but to me he looks like a solid martin, although he tries to make a nickname like max catch on, it's not successful.
the s2 girls:
lottie - she probably has a conservative name, like anne marie but lies about it saying she was named after a witch, like piper or sybil. final name would be piper (charmed fans will get it).
hope - viola. i love it, it's simple, small and it can mean so many things depending on what language you speak. in english is a type of violin, but in portuguese it's a type of guitar, and i love that for her. she's a very musical person so that's my name for her.
marisol - she's a solid valentina, the type of name that says a lot about personality. marisol, to me, is such a whimsical name. it doesn't say "intelligent, brave, bold", it says "i sell flowers by the road and wear a dress made out of hemp. also i call my vagina sacred temple." and that's not what homegirl is giving, so definitely valentina.
chelsea - i just hate the name chelsea, despite thinking she looks like one, so i'm naming her summer, because bright, hot, a little out there. everyone named summer (except the girl in The O.C) is a whimsical person, and that's how i feel she is.
hannah - she's a fucking daisy.
shannon - she's giving "my parents gave me the whitest name they could think of but i use a cool nickname" so i'm naming her madison but she calls herself "mad". her parents though? "maddie!"
blake - she's a fully-blown yasmin. it's the type of name that makes you second guess everything you thought about the person because you're not sure where that name is from, or what it means, and that's how i feel about her.
priya - i actually love that name for her, and i don't have as much contact with female indian names to have that... knowledge you know? i like it, keep it.
elisa - beatrice, but she uses "bea" and the bea-hive, because branding. WHY CALLING HER A NAME THAT CANNOT BE USED AS A BRAND, S2 WRITERS???? what was your thought process???
jo - every single girl i've met that is like jo was named angela. girls that will be like "i'll tell you one thing: i don't play games and i don't engage in drama" and baby, that's all they're doing, they're playing games and portraying an angel. fucking angela.
r!hannah - her name is still daisy but she corrects people, wanting to be addressed as "daze", because she's a bad girl now and fucking unbearable.
#litg#love island the game#litg gary#litg bobby#litg lucas#litg henrik#litg carl#litg kassam#litg ibrahim#litg noah#litg jakub#litg lottie#litg rocco#litg hope#litg marisol#litg hannah#litg priya#litg elisa#litg jo#litg blake
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It’s never truly peaceful, but they manage to keep the air of it around the country. Avoiding wars and civil disputes, demanding answers to every piece of unruly behaviour they find. Truly, Dark was never meant to have so much power, meant to be a noble ruling over a small collection of villages. Each one managed themself, and there wasn’t the need for any interference.
Until the two heirs disappeared along with their parents while sailing to the neighbouring country. A sudden drop and scramble to put someone in charge invoked chaos, one that the new liege Dark had barely settled after two years.
Reports of coastal towns being plundered stir up the memories of the disappearance, so Dark assured that they themself will take care of it. Continually wearing an outfit of royal mourning, as they board the ship. Apparently, a ship had been attacked, and the pirates had fled. Leaving behind something extremely valuable; the captain.
Patiently sitting in the captains cabin, they sit and wait for the capture to be escorted.
@monochromatically-inclined
He should've known. As soon as they started loading the ship without him. He should've known they'd betray him. You can't trust anyone on the sea, not even the ones you'd die for. They'd leave you in the dust. For dead.
Which is how he ended up here, walking with his feet and ankles chained up, being escorted by 2 royal guards. Decked out in armor that he knew would make a pretty penny in the right markets. It must be a funny sight, to see the ever-so-feared Wilford M. Warfstache being led around... As if he were a mere pet.
He smiles at everyone he passes, admiring the looks of anger and disgust he receives right back. As if they'd never seen a golden tooth before. When they bark at him, he barks back. To the point where they need to quiet him themselves.
He's led to the captains cabin, where he's pushed onto his knees, unable to get up, or speak around the dirty piece of cloth in his mouth. It's humiliating.
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Some sweet, angsty Abestache for my beloved @willywarfy
"Don't wanna live a life that is comprehensive; cause seeing clear would be a bad idea."
Being with Wilford is an experience. Usually a good one, sometimes a frightening one, and frequently a painful one. But Abe would rather take a bullet to the heart than spend another moment without him.
He knows which one hurts more, trust him.
Again, it's usually good. Great, even. The happiest that he's ever been in his life, probably. Wilford is, in many ways, perfect for him.
Sometimes Abe will be sitting at his desk, pouring over case files with a glass of whiskey, and he'll look up to see his lover stretched out on the sofa (three guesses on who had decided that his office needed a sofa) with his hands behind his head and a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. It always takes the detective off-guard when Wil just appears out of nowhere, even after all of this time.
"I was thinking about you," he'll explain, and Abe will realize that he is a goner. Because Wilford can (and sometimes does) spend the whole day stepping out from around corners or out of closets (and on one memorable occasion, falling out of the fridge) and right into his detective's arms, simply because he can't stop thinking about Abe.
It's a nice feeling, knowing just how often he crosses this man's mind. The detective has spent years, although he could not say precisely how many, consumed by thoughts of Wilford Warfstache, in one form or another. Obsessing over him, hunting him, desperate to force him to explain his actions. Cross-referencing alibies, keeping tabs on every single person who had managed to survive those awful events-
Getting too caught up in the details, focusing on the minutae of it all.
-devoting every moment of his life to this one man.
Things aren't so different now that they're an item, as a matter of fact. Abe still spends most of his time tracking his mustachioed maverick down, trying to get useful information out of him. And obsessing over Wil, of course. It's just a healthier, more enjoyable obsession now.
But it's not all fun and games. They're not a pair of springtime lovers, sound of mind and body, cured of their every imperfection by the miracle of love.
They're people. Flawed, damaged, traumatized people. And they share a lot of history together.
Sometimes when Wilford appears out of thin air, it doesn't just startle Abe; it terrifies him. He'll feel his heart begin to pound and will remember how it felt to drown in his own blood. He'll choke, tears streaming down his face as he fumbles for the gun, and it is not Wilford who is reaching to steady him but a wild-eyed Colonel with a 357 Magnum and his partner is right there he can't let them die not this time not again-
Sometimes Wil remembers things that he is supposed to forget, and forgets things that he is supposed to remember. Every so often he'll sort of...wake up. He'll stop whatever he's doing, his beautiful eyes losing their usual intensity as they scan the room, unfocused and afraid. Abe knows what he is looking for.
"They're not here, Wil," he'll say softly. The man with the pink mustache will startle, his face twisting up suspiciously. If Abe is lucky, Wilford will not recognize him.
"Where are they, detective?" William demands angrily on days that Abe is not lucky. "Where's Celine? Where's Damien? Where are my friends?"
"They're- they're not here," he stammers, because he promised that he would never lie to his lover, even when the truth only hurts him.
Once, Abe had lost his temper. Wil had been frightening him, had cornered him by the doorway and it was too much like what had happened before. He had snapped, grabbing him by the shoulders and shouting, "They're dead! They're gone and they are NEVER COMING BACK, no matter how many times we do this!"
Wil had shot him. Again.
That was...a very bad night indeed. Abe doesn't like thinking about it, remembering the pain of the bullet and the pain of the betrayal, knowing that he couldn't really die again but not being able to stop himself from crying out as his blood dripped onto the floor, as William became Wilford once again and screamed in horror at what he had done, crying and laughing and shaking as he pressed his bare hands against Abe's wound to staunch the bleeding that had never really begun, because it had never really stopped.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Wil rambled, his hands and sleeves turning pink with blood. "I didn't mean- I'm so sorry, I didn't know that it was loaded-"
Abe wonders who Wilford sees when he's like that. The District Attorney, maybe. It can't be Abe himself. William had absolutely meant to kill him.
Sometimes Abe looks at the man he loves and thinks, 'Murderer. You're in love with a murderer, you filthy traitor, what would everyone think? Are you crazy?'
Wilford always hears him when he wonders if he's crazy. Abe has just about given up on trying to figure out how he does it. But it's alright, because he only takes Abe in his arms, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his mouth.
"Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're crazy," Wilford says strongly, a beautiful, mad grin on his face. "Not even yourself. I think that you might be in need of a little fun, sweetheart."
As they dance together on the stage, lights flashing, music blaring, Abe knows that everything is going to be alright. He's got what he needs; a man who can bring a little color into his world, a little madness into his life. A little bit of pain as well, true, but that just makes these few perfect moments all the sweeter.
"I love you," Abe says suddenly, and the joy on Wilford's motherlovin' face at those words--he would be happy if he could make Wil smile like that every day for the rest of time.
So he does.
#markiplier egos#who killed markiplier#wkm#wilford warfstache#markiplier fanfiction#wilford motherloving warfstache#markiplier warfstache#warfstache#abe the detective#abestache#angst#angst with a happy ending
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Meeting A Magical Man Pt. 70
Part 1: Link Prev: Link Next: [TBA]
Marvin wasn’t sure how much time had passed, what time it was, or even if it was the same day anymore. What he did know was that he was home, sitting on his couch, and he was running his hand through Chase’s hair. Chase was asleep with his head in Marvin’s lap, mouth open with the occasional soft snore. Everyone was alive and healed physically, but the emotional exhaustion would have them done for a while.
Mare and Mad were asleep on the other couch. They were both somewhat sitting up, with Mad turned toward Mare and hugging his arm as if fearful that Mare may leave in his sleep. Al was sprawled out across their laps, purring loudly and mewing in protest at any movement from the two.
Phantom sat on a chair, looking like he wanted to sleep but refusing to until Jackie returned. Jackie was in the bedroom with Henrik and Edward. Henrik demanded to give everyone a look over after they arrived, saying that their magic meant nothing against his medical degree and turned the bedroom into a temporary doctor’s office of sorts. Jackie was the last to be checked since he refused to be seen until everyone else was.
Wilford and JJ were in the kitchen making food. JJ insisted on doing so since everyone likely would be starving after waking up. Wilford went with it since it gave him something to do.
Dark and Anti were in the bathroom getting cleaned up. Chase had been seen by Henrik and showered first, while Mare was healed by Wilford and JJ. Mare had a very colorful vocabulary before JJ numbed him. The others took their turns cleaning themselves after each round of doctor approval.
“Do you really think Actor’s done with all of us?” Phantom finally broke the silence in the room.
“Honestly, I have no idea,” Marvin admitted.
“His pride is more annoying than Dark’s.”
“But he loves Mike like Dark loves Anti. If Mike is anything like Anti, he might be able to convince him to back down.”
“Who knows.” Phantom and Marvin looked at Mare when he started stirring. Al did his protest mew, and Mare stayed where he was.
“What I miss?” Mare asked after clearing his throat.
“If Actor’s going to come after us when he’s better,” Phantom said. “He waited a while before, and I’m sure he’ll be willing to do that again.”
“Why did you stop Mad from killing Actor?” Marvin asked, the question suddenly hitting him. “None of us would judge him if he did. Hell, I’d buy him a drink to celebrate.”
“Mad’s never killed anyone before. He can’t even step on an ant without feeling bad. What do you think taking another person’s life would do?” Mare looked down at Mad, blissfully unaware of the conversation, and slept peacefully. “I can still remember how I felt after my first kill. Watching the light leave the person’s eyes, the reek of their blood in the air, my entire body trembling with adrenaline, and then throwing up as soon as I was away from it all.”
“I cried,” Phantom said. “I cried until I ran out of tears, and then I cried some more.” He chewed the inside of his cheek.
“Henrik said I disassociated into auto-pilot for three days,” Marvin said, not remembering what he had been like after his first kill. “Even then, my auto-pilot wasn’t the best since I could barely eat or drink. I was lucky to have Henrik. I don’t think I would have recovered that well without him.”
“It never gets easier. You just grow numb to it.” Mare started petting Al as he spoke. “I can’t have Mad go through that. He’s been through enough.”
“Why are we all so sad and down in here?” Anti asked with a loud laugh, leaning over the top of the couch and hugging Marvin.
“Why are you so chipper after what just happened?” Marvin asked back.
“And shirtless?” Phantom added.
“Too hot for a shirt,” Anti answered only the second question.
“Did you and Dark fuck in my shower?” Marvin hoped his assumption was wrong, but he only got a tongue pop from Anti. “Oh my God, you fucked in my shower!?”
“Did you have to tell them?” Dark sighed as he came into the room.
“You fucked in my shower!?” Marvin pointed an accusing finger at Dark.
“That’s not the exact word I would use,” Dark said.
“If Chase wasn’t sleeping on me, I’d get the spray bottle.” Marvin huffed.
“Get the bottle.” Chase had woken up from the first ‘you fucked in my shower’ and started to sit up to let Marvin move but was pushed back down by a hand on his chest.
“I’ll commit to the bit later, darling. You still need rest,” Marvin said with a soft smile.
“Your lap is a nice pillow.” Chase chuckled.
“Shocked you’re not saying it’s Marvin’s ass since your dying words were about it.” Anti giggled.
“You talked about my ass while you were hurt?” Marvin asked with a laugh.
“I talked about how much I like you, and the ass was a part of that.” Chase protested.
“It is my greatest asset,” Marvin said with a grin.
“Boo!” Phantom cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Huh? Wha?” Mad finally woke up after all the noise. “We booing?” He blinked and looked around, confused as his brain tried to catch up.
“That’s adorable.” Anti teased.
“Suck an egg,” Mad said.
“Suck an egg!” Chase echoed with a loud laugh. “I taught him that!”
“I’m so shocked.” Marvin chuckled.
“I have a clean bill of health!” Jackie announced as he came into the room.
“Clean enough.” Henrik corrected as he and Edward followed Jackie in.
“Mad told Anti to suck an egg!” Chase was still laughing.
“Fuck yeah, Maddy!” Jackie cheered.
“Thanks?” Mad just went with it as he scratched Al’s head.
“I’m glad you’re okay, Jackie,” Phantom said. Jackie stopped his cheer and smiled at Phantom, seeming to be thinking about something.
“Well, now that we’re all fine. I think now’s the best time, or it’ll never happen.” Jackie walked over to Phantom.
“What’s he going to do?” Mad asked in a whisper.
“You’ll see,” Mare whispered back.
“Phantom Sharp.” Jackie went on one knee in front of Phantom, pulling the ring he had bought out of his pocket. “Will you marry me? For real this time?” Phantom held Jackie’s face and had the most adoring look in his eyes.
“As if I haven’t said yes already, you goof,” Phantom said before kissing Jackie.
“Woo!” Chase shouted his cheer and got everyone else to laugh.
“Planning a wedding will be an interesting adventure for them.” Marvin chuckled.
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Tags: @brokentimewatch @bookwormscififan @d-structive @rainymae523 @ashtonisvibing
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Want, and Need
Chapter 3 of Counterbalance!
"It's supposed to be his job," said Anti sharply, and Dark sighed like he was trying to keep his temper, shutting his eyes for a moment. Anti was standing firmly in front of him, arms crossed, and no way in hell was he about to back down. "You said it was Wil's job to take them."
"It's not good for him to be there so often."
"He loves it there."
"That's why it isn't good for him."
"And it's good for you?"
"Anti," said Dark, opening his eyes to glare, "this-"
"If you tell me the fucking manor sucking your soul out isn't my concern, I will start screaming."
"I was going to say 'not up for discussion', actually."
"You fucker-"
"Anti."
"Don't," Anti nearly snarled, a glitch tearing down his back and fizzling out his words, "don't you dare use that bullshit on me, Dark. Why the fuck have you been feeding the manor, and why the fuck didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't tell you for exactly this reason!" Dark threw his hands up and turned away, starting for the stairs. "I didn't tell you because you're only going to do this, and there's no point telling you anything else about it because you won't fucking listen."
Anti glitched out and appeared in front of Dark, shoving him back into the living room.
"Do not walk away from me-"
"What else am I meant to do," Dark gritted out, catching Anti's arm and pushing him away before Anti could shove at him again. "You're acting like a child."
"I'm the child? Wil's the one who hangs on your every fucking word, who can't understand that not everything's a part of his stupid little game-"
"-And the longer he's at the manor, the worse his delusions get-"
"William," said Anti slowly, "is not. Coming. Back. He's gone. Wilford isn't going to snap out of being Wilford, that's all there is left of him."
Dark was silent, watching Anti with cold, hard eyes. Anti stared back.
"And even if he did come back," he continued, ignoring the high-pitched ringing slowly building in the corners of the room, "he wouldn't know you. He wouldn't want you. He wants Damien and Celine. He doesn't want Dark. He never has."
"...And you do?" said Dark, all cold calmness now. "You want the shells of them, crumbled and mixed into a new mortar and plastered over the cracks of a broken body?"
"I want-"
"And what do you want with that body, Anti? Do you want it to abandon the power that sustains it, to lie helpless on the floor for you?"
Anti shook his head sharply, pushing away the image. "That's not-"
"Do you want it isolated like one of your victims?" Dark demanded, moving closer, "no ties, no escape? A doll to keep to yourself? Or perhaps you want this forever, fights every night because I dare to have a priority that isn't you and you need the struggle, the suffering, the pain my divided attention costs me- am I nothing but misery for you to have your fill of? When do your teeth sink in to my neck, then, when do I wake up to my last morning with you to see you grinning and sated?"
"Stop," said Anti, voice ragged as he grabbed at Dark's shirt, "Stop, stop it. Please stop it."
"Why should I?" said Dark, head held high. He didn't push Anti away.
Anti tipped forward, letting his head fall against Dark's shoulder.
"...Every time you feed the manor," Anti mumbled, "you get further away from me. It might as well be you getting tossed in that fucking basement. I hate it. I hate it, it's hurting you. You're tired when you come back, you're... less of you. More of it. It's gutting you to make more room for itself, because who you are isn't what it wants you to be, you don't want to be like it, I know you don't."
"How would you know that?" asked Dark. His voice was still cold, still impatient, but it was... softening. Just a little. Anti took a deep breath.
"I know you have nightmares."
Dark stiffened a little, and Anti kept talking.
"You're good at hiding it. Really good. But you can't pretend when you're asleep. I see your face move, I feel you get tense, like you want to run... and when you wake up, you look like you just got back from giving it a fresh body. It wants all of you, and you're afraid. And I don't want your fear."
"Why not?"
"I need you."
"You need to-"
"I need more than feeding," said Anti tiredly, shutting his eyes. "I need you. You next to me. Your arms. Your voice. Your terrible fucking interior design choices-"
Dark huffed like he was trying not to laugh, and Anti stored it away to feel smug about later.
"-your rants about the dumbass dog next door and the lemon window upstairs, your pretentious, stupid filing systems, you, Dark, I need you. I want you. And the manor wants to take you away from me, and I'm not going to fucking let it."
A long, quiet moment passed. Dark's hand pressed into the small of Anti's back, and Anti did not cry as Dark finally curled into him, holding him carefully.
"I need you, too," he murmured, setting his chin on Anti's head and stroking his hand up and down Anti's back. "I want you, too. And I... I don't want it. But it will kill me if I don't let it in."
"It'll still kill you if you do," said Anti miserably, and Dark sighed.
"...Maybe. Maybe it will. But there's time to figure that out, alright? I'm not dying right now, am I? I'm right here. With you."
Anti finally unclenched his hands from Dark's shirt, only to wrap his arms around his boyfriend's neck, pressing closer against him.
"...You're here," he agreed. Dark nodded.
"I'm not leaving you. I don't want to leave you."
"Promise," Anti demanded.
"I promise," said Dark, without hesitation.
...
Chase kept his eyes shut, and hated every second of it. But this was- this was important. This was important, and if Henrik tried anything Marvin was right there to set him on fire. Marvin was good at fire.
Chase tried to focus on that, on the memory of Marvin getting startled by his own damn cat and setting the ceiling fan on fire that one time. It was better than focusing on Henrik muttering to himself as he took notes on Chase's last answer.
"...Alright," said Henrik finally, and the frenzied sound of scribbling stopped, "there is... no evidence that the connection has changed. Decreased paranoia does not indicate it has weakened, it is simply the natural progression of increased security in the absence of an attack. All that remains is to-"
"Do we really have to do this part?" Said Marvin, and Higgins yowled. Henrik sighed, agitated.
"Yes, we do. It's the most important part of this check-in, you are well aware of that."
"Then- then couldn't I do it? This once?"
Chase frowned. Marvin sounded more worried than usual.
I should tease him about that later.
"Were you possessed by the anomaly?" Henrik snapped, "Chase has the strongest connection to it, he is our best avenue of insight. Don't let your emotions cloud your judgement, Chase will be fine."
Chase tried very hard not to think about the word 'possessed'.
"You don't know that," Marvin muttered angrily. Henrik sighed again, more pointedly this time. Chase was pretty sure Marvin would throw hands with Henrik if he wasn't so scrawny. Henrik wasn't much to look at either, but he definitely had the height advantage. Marvin did have magic, though, and an unmatched level of pure, unadulterated spite, and honestly Chase would pay to watch him kick the shit out of-
"Chase, I said focus," said Henrik.
"Always ruining my fun," Chase muttered. Marvin snorted, and Chase could feel Henrik holding back one last sigh.
"Reach out to him," Henrik commanded. This was the part Chase hated. He'd had his eyes closed through the whole questioning process to help disengage from his body, because if he was too present, too connected with what was happening around him, he wouldn't be able to...
...to feel Anti. And the others needed him to, needed any information on Anti they could possibly get. They needed him to do this, and it was all he could actually do for them, and damned if he was going to keep all of them trapped because it scared him. Damned if he was.
Chase took a deep breath, and reached out.
"Chase," said Marvin, half-frantic from where he knelt in front of Chase, "Look at me- can you hear me? Chase, can you hear me?"
"Why'm I on the floor?" Chase mumbled thickly, frowning stupidly at Marvin. Marvin was on the floor with him, holding him by the shoulders, looking ready to pass out with relief.
"Because you fell," he said, voice sharp with what sounded like anger but going by his expression was worry. "You went still, you started crying, and you fell-"
Marvin turned to glare up at Henrik, eyes glowing faintly green.
"You said he'd be fine."
"He doesn't look hurt," Henrik shrugged. "Chase, would you mind getting up?"
"Fuck off, Henrik-"
"He's miserable," said Chase slowly. Marvin looked back at him, frowning. Henrik tilted his head. Neither of them spoke. Chase swallowed. "Anti," he clarified pointlessly, "he's... he's miserable. Feels helpless. Angry, but not in a 'killing people' way. He's usually happy when he kills people, actually-"
"Chase," said Marvin, squeezing his shoulder, "we should get you to bed."
Henrik paused in his frantic note-taking to glare at Marvin.
"...Yeah, actually," said Chase after a moment, "that'd be... yeah. Sorry, Hen, I'll- I can write it all up for you later."
Henrik pressed his lips together, clearly frustrated, but nodded.
"...Alright. I had better pack up, then."
Marvin helped Chase off the floor, and Chase tried to shake off the last of the suffocating, cloying, helpless anguish that had rushed in on him from all sides. Higgins brushed against his ankle as Marvin guided him down the hallway and into the office he'd usurped and turned into- well, it wasn't really a makeshift bedroom anymore. It had been over a year. He was probably officially Marvin's roommate now.
"You're hovering," he told Marvin as the other herded him to the bed. The mattress felt softer than it had been that morning.
"You gave us a fright," said Marvin. Chase grinned up at him, and Marvin folded his arms.
"What."
"Knew you cared," Chase teased. Marvin went pink. Gods, he was so fucking easy.
Higgins jumped up onto the bedspread and curled up at Chase's feet purring loudly, and after a moment Marvin relented and sat on the edge of the bed.
"...are you alright?" he asked softly, and something flipped over behind Chase's ribs.
Not the time, Brody, really, definitely not the time.
"I'm fine," said Chase, only lying a little bit. "It's... they're not really my emotions, and I only feel him in- in my head for a moment, so... I'm fine."
"You were crying."
"Can't prove it."
"Chase."
"Marv," he said, taking Marvin's hand and doing his level best not to think about it, "I'm fine. I'll be fine. You should go make sure Henrik's not doing any bullshit out there, okay? I'll be fine."
Marvin hesitated just long enough for Higgins to meow impatiently.
"Fine," he said, dropping Chase's hand to stand up, "alright, I probably should see him out... I'll bring you some tea, alright?"
"Thanks," Chase hummed, giving him a smile. Marvin nodded sharply, and left. As soon as the door shut behind him, Higgins climbed up to settle on Chase's chest, purring loudly and nuzzling his head into Chase's shirt.
"Good kitty," said Chase, voice cracking halfway through. He took a deep, shaking breath, burying a hand in the cat's fur. "Good kitty. Thank you."
#jacksepticeye#jacksepticegos#danti#antisepticeye#darkiplier#chase brody#marvin the magnificent#chase x marvin#trickshot#henrik von schneeplestein#wilford warfstache#who killed markiplier#altrverse#marvin the magician#higgins the cat#jse fandom#jse fanfic#vex picks up a pen
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lupine
Summary: Dark gets himself in trouble, and the PA is the only one who can help. (werewolf!Dark au)
Pairing: Damien/Dark x DA/PA
Warnings: None really, just awkwardness, fluff, and angst
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@volbeast @opprose @otterlyinluv @flerpdederp @statictay @mirrorslament
It started with, of all things, a handkerchief.
One wouldn't think it, given the absolute state of devastation the studio is in. Lights and cameras alike toppled, glass littering the ground, holes in fake walls and shredded fabric draped over the skeletons of sets; a haze of smoke even hangs over the studio like an irritable cloud, the crackle of flames in some distant corner the clear culprit.
Above it all, the screaming.
“You mopped up all your blood with my hanky! I think that’s a problem, Host!”
“The Host scoffs. He never stole Bim Trimmer’s handkerchief; he would at the very least ask permission.”
Dark groans. Even from the void, the screeching and the arguing worms into his skull, pounding against the walls until it aches. That shouldn’t even be possible, given the circumstances, and yet.
Bim marches up, tossing the blood-dotted cotton cloth at Host’s chest. It connects with the softest thump and tumbles to the floor. “Who else is bleeding all the time? You’re paying for my dry cleaning!”
“The Host-“
“Oh, I was wondering where that went.” Wilford pops in from nowhere in particular to scoop up the crumpled hanky, wrapping it around one finger. “Say, thanks for finding it.”
Dark groans again, his impossible headache multiplying at both Wilford’s obnoxious aura and the extra noise. Cursing under his breath, he crosses through the void to appear before the three men. “That’s enough,” he grumbles, extending just a bit of power to darken the room. A bit of presence never hurt. “Wil, give it back.”
“But I have butterfly knife cuts,” Wilford protests, just as Bim squawks a scandalized, “Not with his blood on it!”
“The Host would like to remind Bim Trimmer that he does, in fact, eat raw humanoid meat.”
“It’s not raw,” Bim snaps, then turns to Dark. “He should at least clean it first. I demand—“
“But yours are the softest and most absorbent—“
“The air flickers as the Host describes it, flashing red and cyan—“
Gritting his teeth, because his borrowed heart pounding so hard can only be a precursor to even worse havoc, Dark takes a void portal out of the studio.
It’s only gotten worse over time. Everyone arguing over this, that, and the other, living in each other’s pockets— it was all bound to end in some kind of fight, given everyones volatility.
Starting with squabbles over dinner, over driving, escalating to room assignments and scheduling conflicts… now, apparently, over personal property.
He used to get headaches, being the mayor of such a large city. The stress of his job practically guaranteed it, a dependency on caffeine and workaholism resulting in little sleep only compounding the issue. Hell, before that night he was finally wearing down enough to see someone about it.
Now, the doctor’s out of the question, and they’re closer to a bomb going off inside his head.
Run it off, hunt, fight.
Dark sighs. The wolf doesn’t help matters.
Ever since he took this body— he regrets it, regrets it every day— he took in the wolf, as well; it’s the District Attorney’s long-held secret, finally come to light.
For the most part, it’s just another aspect of his new life. He’s a bit more irritable, his senses more powerful, but the wolf is content to take a back seat to more pressing matters it doesn’t have the cognitive wherewithal to care about.
When he gets frazzled, however…
He opens his eyes to find himself outside the manor, not in the void as he’d intended. Likely, the result of his wolf sensing conflict and wanting out, which explains—
Run it off!
It itches under his skin, tugging like— well, like an overexcited dog on a leash.
He isn’t fond of his friend’s final gift to him. Rolling his eyes, he shrugs off his suit jacket. No need to shell out for a second suit in a year.
He tries not to indulge the beast too often; God only know what may happen if he loses any more of his humanity to some creature he didn’t ask for. That said… it’s theirs, a last connection to who they once were.
In a strange way, taking care of their wolf feels like the least he could do, after…
Besides, the feeling of fully stretching into his paws, shaking out his thick black mane of fur just can’t be beat.
With surprising speed given his enormous size, he lopes off from his stash of clothes, paws pounding the grass and leaf litter. His markers aren’t fresh enough to the wolf’s liking, and it takes great care to sniff out the proper places to refresh: near the front gate, carefully skirt King’s grove so as not to interrupt, into the deep woods.
It’s where the wolf feels most at home, a great canopy overhead and underbrush hiding the most delicious and interesting scents. Thankfully, his body has no need for food, and so the wolf isn’t going to chase if he allows his mind to wander a little.
At least it’s a nice evening: a lovely sunset off to the west, visible in gaps through the trunks; a gentle breeze slowly cooling off the heat of the day. It’s enough that, with the exercise, he can start to cool his own ire and frustrations.
It’s simple enough to fix, really. A small portion of Bim’s costuming budget can cover new handkerchiefs, another restock of the first aid cabinet if Wil insists on practicing his butterfly knife.
Host can be left to his own devices, mostly, and the good doctor patches his eyes regularly.
No harm done. If only he’d kept his cool head after that night— goodness knows that’s what he really needs. Then again, what is the PA for?
Breaking his heart all over again, it seems. Their reactions, their looks, their mannerisms… it’s all his old friend, every last inch of them.
Just without the parts that remember.
Not for lack of trying, and not that they don’t remember, it’s only… faint. Patchy. A sense of deja vu or odd familiarity as opposed to smiling so big and bright when they see him, like they used to.
A whine bubbles up from the wolf’s throat involuntarily, and Dark quickly tries to shake it off. He can’t cry, and there’s no point in it, anyway. No matter how badly he’d like to.
It whines again, despite his control. Before he can begin to wrest away even more and properly manage his emotions, the wolf yelps and leaps back, scrabbling over the ground.
The sharp pain hits Dark just a moment later.
It’s like a wasp sting, sharp in his foreleg, and a burn spreading through the limb soon after. His attention now caught, Dark brings himself back to the front, scanning the ground for whatever may have caused it.
No snakes, no actual wasps. Just a patch of flowers, mixed in with the brambles.
Softly draped petals, a soft purple occasionally lightening to a lilac in the middle of the petals. The scent stings his nose powerfully, forcing him to draw back.
Aconite. Wolfsbane. Shit.
He bends his great head down to sniff out the damage. The brambles are easy enough to pick out, and the burn fades as quickly as they leave his skin, but it still smells of the stuff.
Unpleasant, but not deadly, not with such a small wound and concentration. Probably.
He doesn’t think he can die, anyway.
Regardless, this plant needs dealt with before he can run into worse trouble with it. He can’t touch it, but that’s the one positive side to his unholy powers: he doesn’t have to touch things to move them. He closes his eyes and thinks his way back to humanoid.
…
He peeks one eye open. He’s at the same height, a long furred muzzle right there when he crosses his eyes to look down it.
He shuts his eyes and tries to refocus. Humanoid. Skin. Two feet.
He feels no shift in perspective, no cool air against bared skin, nothing. Just a massive black wolf in a lot of trouble.
Shit.
—
Dark waits at the edge of the woods, debating himself.
On one hand, telling everyone about this will just make it more complicated for him. Only the good doctor really knows of his condition, medically necessary for the sake of keeping others at bay during full moons and other… unfortunate occurrences. Everyone else will either panic, try to use his new form for ill, or make fun, and none of those sound like a mess he wants to deal with.
On the other…
He feels a begrudging fondness for his collection of Mark’s cast-offs, and he knows that it’s returned, if only as an equally-begrudging respect of his position. If he were to go missing, the entire manor would worry.
The entire manor would mount a search party for their wayward leader, and likely get into even worse trouble along the way. Not even to mention the disasters that would occur without him running around and putting out fires.
They’d even rope in the PA, and that…
That would happen either way, wouldn’t it? They’ve never been able to leave him to his own devices.
He at least tries to make himself smaller as he pads up to the back door, finding only a touch of difficulty with the handle. His forepaws are hand-like enough that they retain some dexterity; it’s the fitting through the door with his bulk that’s the problem.
Mid-wedging himself through the door, his sensitive ears catch a ping, the rush of electricity that signals a Google is on the way. In less than a second, their home defense officer— Red, as the most outwardly aggressive— stands before him.
“Stand back. Unidentified Intruder, you have approximately five seconds before—“ He pauses, brow furrowing. “Hold for a scan.”
If this is how he would treat any intruder, Dark thinks, it’s a good thing he can feel anyone getting too close, himself. He grumbles at the ticklish beam of light sweeping over his front.
Red reads the scans, but his abnormal confused expression doesn’t change. “What? You can’t possibly be—“
Dark gives him an icy stare, the deepest rumble in his chest he can manage.
Red simply blinks before his chest light blinks on. “… Paging Dr. Iplier.”
--
"Well... are you sure you aren't dying?"
Dark curls his lip, showing one fang lethal white.
"Right," Edward Iplier sighs, pushing back even further from Dark's hulking form on his wheeled stool. He can't get much further than a few inches before bumping into the wall of the clinic. "Well, you aren't. Your scratch is healing up, you aren't sick. You're just stuck."
Dark snorts. He had figured out as much on his own, and it didn't take a doctorate-- or a fake doctorate-- to do it.
"Unfortunately, I'm not exactly an expert on lycanthropy. Hell, you gave me the basics of the condition when I wasn't even sure if it was real." Edward spins a bit towards the counter, flipping through Dark's file. "Though I don't think any of the mythology mentions a werewolf getting stuck as a result of wolfsbane. Lost clothes or true love seeing them, perhaps, but not wolfsbane."
He looks back over his shoulder with a small grin. "Unless you happened to see the PA out on your adventure."
Immediately, Dark bares his full array of teeth in a snarl. As he does, however, the room flashes in red and cyan, the first expression of his power since his unfortunate brush with wolfsbane.
Edward looks up to it just as he does, mystified. "Fascinating," he murmurs, and then-- "Hold on... actually, that just might explain it. We have no idea how varying sources of magic interact. Perhaps the sources that give you control of the void and this wolf form are at odds; the wolfsbane is only the catalyst."
It would sound stupid, and he might scoff if he weren't in this particular predicament, but...
Well, it's a better explanation than any other they've had thus far.
"The only issue there is, well... when it wears off." Edward frowns, drumming his fingers on his knee in thought. "I can do some research. Look into people more well-versed in magic than myself. If not a ready solution, they may be able to whip something up."
Dark stares him down.
"... it might be a while," Edward says sheepishly. "I can't guarantee finding someone fast, or how long any cure might take. You'll have to be a wolf for... a while. I'm sorry."
He'd say he isn't proud of snarling in the terrible doctor's face and storming out, but... he is.
--
He can’t do his job like this.
He has no powers like this— at least, not without extreme emotion— and his canine muzzle and throat make speech impossible. Even his forepaws, human-like as they are, are too unwieldy and large to write little notes on time sheets properly.
Besides, the gentler egos like Eric are terrified of him.
… More than usual. He just catches whiffs of clean laundry and pants-shitting Terror. Figuratively.
God, is he thankful it’s figurative.
Eventually, he just storms off the set, wedging his way out of the door and padding up the stairs. He’s no use being present for the filming, not until they need a massive wolf-creature for some project.
… Which might be an idea, really. He’ll… try to write it down. Perhaps writing big is the answer.
Thankfully, there’s scratch paper and pens on his desk, neatly placed as he prefers it to be. Granted, it’s quickly undone by a sweep of his huge paw, but a little mess is better than a broken drawer or cabinet door off its hinges.
The pens are newly tiny, and he needs to hold them as gently as he can in order to not squeeze them and get ink all over his pads. One in paw, he slides over a fresh sheet and touches the pen to paper.
He meant to make a big and legible list for the PA to work with when they eventually arrive, but—
The handwriting looks even worse than his very first attempt. As a child.
Dark grumbles, shoving the paper away to replace with a second fresh sheet. Breathe, slower, bigger letters. Don’t think too much about it.
Better, actually legible, but he’s going to run out of paper; the title ‘PA’ takes up an entire sheet, itself.
The wolf hates the tiny, focused movements anyway, grumbling to him about the growing cramp in his forepaw. There’s no point in making strange marks. To the wolf, it’s worthless— and anything without a point is not worth its attention.
Dark casts the pen aside, giving a frustrated huff. Being unable to communicate is worthless, and if he can’t speak or write—
His eyes catch the keyboard. It’s dusty, just as the monitor and tower of his computer. It’s well past his time, not to his tastes, but the more tech savvy egos insisted he have one in his office, just in case.
There are letter keys. Probably some way to speak the words aloud. It shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out, right?
He lifts one big paw to hover over the keys.
Nope. His ‘fingers’ are big enough to hit several keys at once, and if he were to use a claw to hunt and peck, he might just pierce the damn thing.
With a groan, he lowers his massive head to the desk with a soft thump, closing his eyes.
In too short a time, his ears perk at the softest knock— a familiar one, with an equally familiar scent. Fuck.
“Hey, Dark? It’d be really helpful if you actually came down. That was a little— we’re missing you down here. Things are a bit chaotic and I can really only handle so much of…” The PA sighs wearily. “All of that.”
Dark doesn’t answer. He can’t, and barks and growls and grumbles won’t really give them the excuse they’re looking for.
“Dark? I understand that this might be your own work hours, you might be busy, but— I really need your help here.”
The doorknob rattles, then turns, his office door slowly pushing inward to let in a thin stream of golden light.
He can’t let them see him. Dark scrabbles back a bit, claws catching on the fine rug, but it’s little use; he might have midnight-black fur, but he’s eight feet on his hind paws and hundreds of pounds of muscle. His head might just duck under the desk, but his shoulders are a no-go.
“PA. What are you doing up here?”
“Huh? Oh, hi, Google. I need to speak to the boss really quick.”
Oh, bless Google. He can’t say which of the four they are from sound alone, but if it gets the PA out of here, they’ll all get a reward.
“Oh, perhaps you haven’t been notified. Dark is indisposed at the moment, he won’t be able to meet you.”
“Really?” He can hear the raised eyebrow. “I don’t buy it. He leaves his static everywhere he goes, I can feel it.”
… does he? Dark sneaks a peek at his furred arm, but his fur lies flat.
“That may be, but you really shouldn’t—“
“It’s an emergency, it can’t wait,” the PA interrupts, and then, “Okay, Google, could you go check on the brawl downstairs? Thank you very much.”
Their saccharine sweet request is quickly followed by Google’s chime, and the door pushes open the rest of the way, filling the space with light.
Despite his best efforts, he can’t make himself any smaller.
“I’m sorry for bursting in, Dark, but this is really— huh?” Their steps slow, still coming for his desk. “Are you hiding behind..? What is that?”
He can’t freeze and hope they’ll forget or get distracted; they’re too clever and stubborn for that, and he knows it well. With a groan, he scoots back and allows himself to peek over the polished top of his desk.
Framed by the hall light, the PA indeed looks just the same, but more ruffled, hair and clothes mussed and the bloody scent of blooming bruises and cuts on their skin.
Beyond that, their jaw hangs open, eyes wide; they remain this way, simply staring, for what seems like hours. Then, very quietly, they manage to say, “Dark?”
Begrudgingly, he nods.
After a second, they mirror his nod. “Okay,” they reply, a touch faint. “Well- first things first, do you think you can scare them straight? Ah… out of trouble?”
Adaptable and unflappable, that’s his— that’s… admirable.
A little scare would do them all some good if they’re forgetting human fragility.
He passes them on all fours, hoping to be a bit less intimidating and perhaps fit through the door better. By their muttered curse— “What the fuck?”— and his stilted push through the frame, one shoulder at a time, he fails on both accounts.
There’s a brawl, alright— he can hear the shouting before he even reaches the studio door. God only knows what it could be about.
Or, perhaps, the PA. He glances back over one shoulder.
They’re following him, at least, and they hesitate only a step before sending him a shrug. “I don’t even know with them, sometimes. They won’t listen to me. Or the time out alarm. Or klaxon. Or siren.”
Then it’s definitely an emergency— the siren usually does the trick, if not the klaxon. Good thing they came up to find him, if only to keep everyone from finally managing to kill each other.
Permanently, that is.
He only takes a moment to survey the scene once the PA opens the door. Much like last time, lights and chairs have toppled, shouting matches in each corner.
Dark sends one more pointed look back before taking a deep breath and letting out a piercing howl, cutting through the din and echoing off each wall.
When the sound finally stops resonating, both in his chest and off the walls, he takes a look around with his best glare. One could hear a pin drop, the squabbling egos looking over with wide eyes and thundering hearts.
Unfortunately, he can’t smile in this form.
“Alright,” the PA calls, coming from behind him with their hands still firmly over their ears. “You heard him, that’s enough. Now, clean up so we can get back to work? We’re behind enough as it is.”
Any almost-rebuttals quickly fall silent as Dark turns the full focus of his stare, and before long the multitudes are cleaning up in dutiful silence.
Really, he ought to do this more often.
Beside him, the PA sighs and lowers their hands. “Thank you, Dark. I wouldn’t have bothered you if I’d known… how did this whole thing happen?”
Dark huffs, ears twisting back.
“You can’t talk— I’m guessing it’s also a long story?” They wince sympathetically when he manages a nod. “Well… I know you’re pretty self-sufficient, but… if there’s anything I can do for you?”
Not unless they know magic, and… he wouldn’t ask it of them, anyway. After everything that happened…
Once more, without his permission, the wolf whines. He really needs to get himself—
“Oh, no, hey…”
The gentleness in their voice forces him to look, and they’re so soft. Their eyes to their soft frown to the gentle and careful hand reaching out for him; they’re soft and caring and them.
Trying so hard when his father died, even though he was a bastard no one should shed their tears over. When he didn’t make councilman his first attempt, arms tight around his shoulders.
When Mark—
He growls and backs up a step, only showing a hint of teeth. He’s not about to bite, or even snap, but he can’t.
Their hand pulls back instantly. “I’m sorry,” they murmur softly. “I won’t touch. I’ll see what I can do to help you out, okay? I’m sure you miss being… you.”
They have no earthly idea, and it kills him.
—
He opts to stay in the studio for the next while. Perhaps he may be unable to write time codes or give verbal direction, but no further outbursts occur with him sitting behind the cameras.
It isn’t to say that no one gets close, but as hearts race and scents turn acrid, the involved parties give him a quick, nervous glance before dropping the matter. If he’d known it’d be this easy, he’d have been in wolf form quite a bit more.
Perhaps not, though, as now that the issue is dealt with, the wolf gets… distracted.
It’s not an unusual thing, the wolf going off on some tangent or rabbit trail, following what piques its interest rather than what Dark would like it to do; fair enough, considering he’d rather it rest very quiet and patient in the back of his mind. This, however…
Sunscent blood. Who? What? We have to take care.
Firstly, sunscent. Undoubtedly its name for the PA, a scent and presence as close to a sunny meadow as he’s been able to feel in ages, and now marred by the metallic twang of blood.
Not that he likes it much, either. Even were he humanoid, he’d rush them off to Edward’s office before returning with an even firmer hand. It’s a poorly-kept secret how deep his fondness really lies.
The wolf, though, is a different story.
It wants… things. Things he’d be mortified to express, and the simple thought of it embarrasses him enough, already.
Herd them off to be treated, then somewhere safe and quiet. Tuck them in and curl around them so that they’ll be well-protected and warm, nuzzled into his fur.
At the very deepest part of him, how different is it than what he wanted as Damien, really? Wanting to keep them, however he could, to the point of flying in the face of his entire political career. He always wanted that.
The freshest deer is a bit of a change, but the principal is the same as their favorite meal.
And that’s not even getting into how much it wants to—
He groans to himself, ears hot, putting his head on his paws. Of course the wolf would also be… less proper.
The PA peers back at him, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you alright? It won’t be too much longer, but if you need to go, that’s okay.”
He gives a single thump of his tail, remaining immobile otherwise. He’s not going anywhere.
Not that the wolf would let him if he even wanted to.
That’s why, when he opens his eyes from a slight doze, the fact that they’re gone sends him into a bit of a panic.
He can’t get control of the thing before the wolf scrambles to its paws, shoving out past the chairs and cameras to the door, sniffing. The scent trails down the hallway, up the flight of stairs, and he follows it like a homing beacon.
All the while, Dark scolds and threatens. Damn it, you cur, calm down! They’re somewhere here, you don’t need to follow their every move!
Find them. Hurt, have to look after.
They aren’t that hurt. They probably went to the doctor, if anything, so can you calm down?
The wolf doesn’t calm down, but ceases to sniff in order to make a beeline directly for Edward’s office. As he approaches, his ears perk up, catching soft voices on the other side of the door.
“… you don’t know what to do.”
Edward sighs. “I’m no magician. I can patch up a cut, but something like this—“
“Well, you need to try harder,” the PA snaps, their hissing at the end coming from a place of pain rather than anger. “There has to be something to bring him back.”
“I am trying.” Though he sounds like a wellspring of patience, there’s a twinge to his stinging antiseptic scent that belies his frustration. “It’s not easy to find a magical expert, you know.”
“Shows what you know. I know—“Then, hesitantly… “I’m sorry, I… I don’t know where that came from. I don’t know. I’ll get to looking, too, see what I can find.”
They know… what do they know? As far as Dark’s aware, the only mage they’ve met in any capacity is…
They couldn’t remember Celine, could they?
“I accept the apology. I understand you’re worried, too. Anything to help would be much appreciated.” A drawer closes, and fingers drum on a solid surface briefly. “… you know, while we search, I think there’s something else you could do.”
“What is it?”
Dark also leans forward, intrigued.
“He seems more settled around you, always has. I think it’ll do him some good if you stick around until we find a solution; it might help him stay himself, and less upset, besides.”
What would be better for him and his meddling: a ripped up lab coat, or a new set of equipment? Both, perhaps, given the double-edged sword either option presents. Either stay himself at the cost of being reminded of the old them every moment, or be able to avoid the memory at the cost of losing himself to the wolf; either way, it’s a rotten deal.
“… I think I can make that work,” they murmur. “As long as I can, anyway. Mark can get… you know.”
… He can handle the memories.
Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, he makes himself slink back to the studio. Once back to his spot, he curls up and pretends to doze once more.
They’ll come looking for him soon enough, and when they do…
Their babysitting won’t be hell on Earth. Mostly.
—
He escorts them to their room the next day when they arrive with a larger suitcase than usual.
Sure, anyone else could, and they’ve been here often enough to find it on their own, but it’s only polite.
That, and the wolf wants to stay right by their side and moon.
He did it enough already as a human, he doesn’t need to do it more.
“I know it’s probably weird and you don’t like it,” the PA explains as they lug their suitcase into the room, “but… well, I’ll be honest with you. They think someone keeping you company will help you out while they look for an answer.”
It’s certainly weird, he can agree, but as for disliking it? He’s thankful he can’t speak. Rather, he wags his tail once.
“Yeah, okay. It won’t be so bad. I even have an idea for your communication problem, I think!” The PA unzips their bag, digging through various bits and bobs in search of… something.
Finally, when what he hopes is almost everything they carry in that damned thing lies on the bed, they pull out a notebook. “See? You can tell everyone what you think!”
He blinks at them, then slowly shakes his head. With one paw, he mimes writing with a pen before crushing it into an almost-fist.
“No, I figured as much. That’s why I filled part of it out.” With a smile, they flip open the notebook, turning pages for him to see.
He’ll admit, it’s clever; in their neatest and clearest large print, they’ve labeled pages with simple responses: yes, no, perhaps. There are even a few delineating needs like office work, down time, fresh air.
“And,” they continue, flipping to blank pages, “there’s space to add more. Like if you want to yell at someone or give some order. Or tell someone to fuck off if you want.”
Dark snorts, amused. What he would not have given to have that ability as the mayor.
The PA smirks. “I figured you’d like something like that. I think you’re allowed to say it, considering— you deal with enough.
“Also,” they continue, whipping out their pen to add to the collection, “it has thicker pages so it’s easier with your claws, and I put a long string through the rings so you can carry it around. How does that sound?”
They think of everything, don’t they? He thumps his tail in approval, bowing his great head when they reach out to loop it around his neck. It rests comfortably, little weight or texture to bother him.
“Is that good? Any changes, Dark?”
He lifts the book to scan through his responses. Finally, he settles on Not yet.
“Good! That’s what the other pages are for.” They smile at him, the sort of smile that makes the wolf want to jump up on the bed beside them and curl up. “I’m gonna settle in a little. Meet you down there in twenty.”
He forces himself down with the promise of being able to use his fuck off one time. It’s hard to choose, really, and a close race, but Bim gets it.
If Blue wasn’t going to be so stoic about everything, he’d have the honor. Alas.
—
First things first, now that he has a follower with hands, that wolfsbane patch has to go.
The trouble is in getting them to understand what he wants them to do.
“I know you want me to follow you outside,” the PA says with thinly-veiled frustration, “but why? You can do whatever it is you do out there on your own, can’t you?”
Dark grumbles and nudges at them, gently as he can. It still nearly knocks them off their feet.
“Hey! Don’t manhandle me,” they spit, glaring up at his full height. “Listen, if you want it so bad, I can go out in a minute. What do you even want me for, anyway?”
Frustrated, he flips through his pages and shrugs, lifting to them emphatically. How the hell is he supposed to do that?
Thankfully, the PA is smart enough to put the pieces together. “I didn’t cover every base. Hmm… oh, okay, just give me a few minutes— may I see your book?”
Gingerly, he hands over the notebook, watching as the PA scribbles on various fresh pages. It only takes a few minutes before they hand it back, and he curiously flips through the new entries.
“An alphabet for you,” they explain, and it is: three or four letters to a page, big enough to be visible and point to without muddying the word. “It’ll be slow, but it’s better than getting upset with each other. Now, literally, spell it out for me.”
He huffs a laugh, raising one claw. Wolfsbane patch. Remove it.
The PA mutters along, writing on their own notes to keep track. “Wolfsbane— oh! You mean that part is really..?”
He nods, shivering at the memory of burning scent and pain. Unfortunately.
“Well, if you’re going to be running around out there, yeah.” They close their notes and scoot back from the desk. “I’ll go see if I can scrape up some tools, I’ll meet you outside.”
It’s endearing, seeing them with big shears and a bucket and gardening gloves. All they’d really need is a sun hat to be the picture of a gardener. At the very least, it’s sweet enough that he doesn’t mind taking his time in walking through the woods while they pick through at their own pace.
“I knew wolves had big territories,” they comment, only a little out of breath as they slide down a small hill behind him, “but I didn’t really think you’d take the time to build one up. It… doesn’t seem high on your priority list.”
He huffs an agreement, too busy walking ahead to pull out his notebook. They’re right, a territory wouldn’t be very pressing— except the wolf needs a space to call its own. More than just the confines of a big house, anyway.
He can smell the aconite before he can see it, his lip curling in distaste as he forces the wolf to get closer to the scent of bad danger. He had to have been really lost in thought to miss it before.
“Is this..? Oh, jeez.” The PA stope beside him, eyeing the patch of flowers mixed into the brambles. “That’s… a lot of trouble.”
Dark eyes them curiously. The PA leans back away from the flowers, an uncomfortable expression on their face as they take it all in, which strikes him as supremely odd; humans can’t smell it like he can, won’t be repulsed by the mere brush of the petals against there skin. To them, it should just be a flower.
It isn’t, though. It isn’t upset at the size of the job, but the nature of the job. The flowers, not the brambles, but the PA smells of nothing but human.
… could it be a memory?
“You weren’t kidding.” The PA sighs, the tension falling out of their shoulders. “Okay, this might take a little while. Make sure nothing comes to eat me while I’m toiling away, alright?”
And it’s gone. It never lasts forever, does it? He gives them an agreeing rumble and settles down to wait, alternating watching them dig and scanning the trees.
For both of them, it’s boring work. The PA cuts, scoops, dumps, tugs and mutters at the brambles, over and over; the only sound of progress being the rustling of plant matter falling into their bucket.
As for him, there’s little to do. No creature in their right mind would tangle with the combined scent of wolf and human coming from this area. The repetitive rustling grows stale fast, and he can’t even really enjoy the PA’s subtle scent, tinged with wolfsbane as it is.
If it wasn’t necessary, he wouldn’t have insisted, that’s for sure.
When the PA is nearly done, their bucket brimming with flowers, something snaps out in the woods. They don’t seem to hear it, but Dark dials in, ears and nose turning to the sound.
Danger. Keep away from them.
He bares his teeth, a subsonic growl in his chest as his hackles raise.
“Dark?” The PA pushes back their hair, giving him a look. “What is it? What’s out there?”
He can’t see anything through the underbrush, the trees obscuring anything closer to his own height, but the wolf has other senses. Softer snapping, rustling— the sounds of eyestalking, an ambush predator waiting for the right moment.
Besides that, it smells… smells of earth and smoke and rot.
And oranges.
His growl rises to a snarl as he backs up towards the PA, keeping himself fully in between them and the being in the woods.
“Dark?” They rustle behind him, the soft thump of their shears to the ground. “Alright, we should go, then. We can— we can come back and get rid of the rest of it.”
A smart idea. As much as he hates turning his back on a threat, Dark turns around to herd the PA ahead of him, out of the woods. It’d be faster to carry them out, really, the lingering wolfsbane of their gloves be damned.
Anything to get them away from that scent.
A glass of orange juice, a veritable grove on his estate— Mark always loved his oranges.
—
No.
“You’re gross. You’re getting in the tub.”
Dark curls his lip to bare fang. No. I’m a grown man.
“You’re an overgrown baby,” the PA snaps. “A grown man would accept help when it’s being offered— I’m embarrassed, too, but you’ve been running around for a week getting into who knows what. Even if you weren’t, you still get greasy and smelly.”
He grumbles. The gall— he smells like a wolf, thank you. Just as a wolf should—
Should…
He’s not a wolf.
He may not eat but damn it if he doesn’t keep himself clean and neat. His suits are always pressed, his hair always clean.
Besides… he has been a little itchy of late.
With a second, more begrudging rumble, he lowers his head. Yes. I can do it.
The PA grimaces. “As much as I’d love to leave you to your own devices… you don’t really bend or grab well enough, anymore. Besides, you have more fur than just on your head, now.
“I don’t want to do it,” they add at his pointed look. “It’s extremely odd to be washing my boss. But you need the help and… it’s not like you’re in a human body right now. I’ve washed a dog before, it can’t be that different.”
A little hurtful, really. He’s not a wolf but he certainly isn't a dog.
“Here, I’ll cut you a deal, okay? Anything on your front and below the waist is yours to deal with. I’ll get the stuff you can’t reach.” They hold out a hand. “Deal? And I won’t use the strong scent stuff. I’ll find something mild.”
He’s still displeased, but… they aren’t giving up on this, and he’d like to not it h and shed anymore. With a sigh, he gives them his massive paw. It’s easily twice the size of their hand, but they shake it firmly anyway.
They keep their promise with the shampoo, at least. It’s in a massive container, but it has a subtle clean scent and promises to be good for dog fur. Which is close enough, if insulting.
Few bathtubs would be large enough, but Wil likes to luxuriate now and then, and he’s off doing who knows what— probably in his disco with his beau— so it’s free and clear. Small, still, but free.
The PA handles any water dealing, turning taps and testing until they’re satisfied with the temperature. “I can’t fill it up a lot,” they say apologetically, “just because of your mass, but it should cover you pretty well once you get in.”
True to their word, the warm— really, bordering on hot, how do they stand it?— water covers him a decent amount, enough to feel like he’s actually bathing and not just sitting in a puddle.
“So, um…” The PA busies themself in handing over the soap. “You can… do your half. Just woof or growl or… whatever when you’re done, okay?”
They smell of spice, embarrassment. He can’t blame them— this is the most awkward situation he’s been part of since…
Well, at least since university.
Once his cleaning regiment is finished, which is about as easy as the PA initially said it would be, given his limited mobility, he gives them the promised woof through the door.
“Good?” They peek around the corner, then smile. “Good! Okay, now just get comfortable. As much as you can, anyway— I’m probably going to have to pour the water on you. Sorry.”
He grumbles. Whatever gets it over with faster.
It’s unpleasant at first, his fur sodden and too warm, the cooler soap a shock against his skin, but…
He has to admit it. The PA has incredible fingers.
They don’t scratch him with fingernails, don’t scrub too hard, but the pressure they use is just right, soaping up his mane in repeated circles. It soothes his itchy skin, a gentle and caring touch that just makes sense from them.
He slumps further and further into the tub as they work, sleeves rolled up to their elbows as they work in pleasant silence. His eyelids grow heavy, and he rests his chin on the side of the tub, grumbling quietly.
“See? Not so bad.” Their voice is quiet, too, a hint of a smile in their tone, and their hands move to get his neck, his chin.
The wolf adores that, loving attention and deference from his—
It doesn’t matter what the wolf thinks of them, but it does feel good, and it isn’t fully the wolf that whines when they move to take their hands away.
The PA laughs quietly. “If you didn’t have fur I’d say you’ll get prunes. I’m rinsing you, just be forewarned.”
It’s not half as nice as their gentle fingers in his fur, but he must admit he feels better, clean and relieved of his burden of twigs and dirt and loose fur.
Fuck the comb, though. God, he hates combs.
—
It’s late at night, and they’re still working.
Granted the PA is in bed, but the lamp remains on and a book remains in their hands, their face determined as they scan the pages.
He knows that look. Study focus— they could be at this for hours more if left unchecked.
He grumbles from the doorway, only poking his head in.
“I’m a little busy,” they say, absently. “Just give me a minute.”
Sounds about the same, too. He pushes his way through the door and pads to the bed, placing his forepaws on the covers and grumbling again. Bed. Sleep.
“I said it’ll be a minute.” They flip a page.
They may be stubborn, but he remembers his tricks from long before their memory begins. He hefts himself up on the bed, grabs the book in one forepaw, and sweeps it under their extra pillow.
“Hey! I was reading that!” The PA glares at him, trying to reach past his bulk to grab the book. It’s to little avail, given his size; they simply end up pressing into his mane. “Move!”
Rather than follow orders, he flops on top of the pillow. No, he says with his notebook. Sleep.
“You’re such an ass,” they mutter. “I can push you off this bed, you know.”
He snorts. No, they couldn’t, not without some serious backup from someone a lot stronger. He’ll be staying right here until they go to sleep, one way or another.
Finally, the PA sighs. “Fine, I’ll go to sleep. Are you really going to hog my bed like this?”
In reply, he simply gets comfortable, curling in his hind legs and tail.
He doesn’t expect them to curl into him, burrowing into his mane, and he lifts his head curiously.
“I hold that pillow when I sleep,” they murmur. “So if you’re taking it, I’m holding onto you. If you don’t like it, you can go.”
The thing is, he does. His wolf is content with keeping them close and safe, and he’s always wanted to hold them near and dear since he was truly himself, all those years ago.
Hell, they used to do this very thing in university, after long nights of either studying or partying. It was easier and more comfortable than drawing straws over the floor, and it was never that awkward waking up in the morning sprawled across each other.
The only difference is their hand stroking his mane, rather than his their hair.
“You’re really soft. Bath was a good idea.” They shuffle a little to breathe while still remaining curled up into his side. “You really don’t mind? This isn’t just a weird power play?”
He huffs a laugh.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
They’re quiet for a long time, stroking his fur and breathing deeply. Dark is almost certain they’ve finally fallen asleep when they speak up again.
“… Your name can’t really be Dark, can it? That’s just what people call you.”
He looks down at them curiously. That’s a line of questioning they’ve never gone down before, and one he ached for them to attempt. If they knew his name in tandem with his face, with their bits of memory…
Maybe it would all come back.
“What is it actually, if you don’t mind me asking? Like— you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but… I’d like to know.”
They scoot back some so he can fumble with his notebook, flipping to the alphabet pages. Slowly, he spells it out: Damien.
The PA reads it as carefully as they do everything he says, mouthing the letters as he points them out. “Damien,” they murmur, brow furrowing. “Damien… that sounds familiar.”
His heart skips a beat.
“I’ll think of it later, I’m sure. Right now, I’m actually pretty sleepy— guess you caught me before I passed out,” they laugh. With a sigh, they tuck back into his mane. “Good night, Damien. It was nice meeting you again.”
The again catches in his mind, rolling over and over, but he can’t take a moment to really consider the possibilities; just as they snuggle back in, he feels… odd.
Not quite so big, not quite so wild. Beyond that— cold.
He looks down at himself just as a confused PA does, brow furrowed. “What—“
“Damien?” The PA’s eyes widen and the scramble back. “You— you’re back to normal!”
It’s true. No more thick black fur, no claws or muzzle or fangs. Rather, it’s his cool grayed skin, a humanoid figure with a scar in the gut, an old silvery mark on one forearm. “I… how?”
He winces at his own voice, rough from disuse, but the PA doesn’t seem to care. “I don’t know… there are a lot of legends and things, and— hell, maybe it finally wore off! How do you feel?”
Damien flexes his fingers, works his jaw. “Strange,” he replies, slowly. “I suppose I grew used to the wolf form. I— ought to leave.”
The PA opens their mouth— to protest?— before glancing down, then quickly back up to his face. “Yes, sure,” they say, staring very intently at his nose and not anywhere else. “Um. I’ll see you tomorrow, we’ll— we’ll tell everyone.”
“Yes.” He may be embarrassed at the nudity, but… “If you ever require a pillow to hold again… I’m not often busy this time of night.”
They pause, finally looking him in the eye. They search for some time, really searching for his sincerity “… really?”
He gives them a faint smile, just a corner of his mouth turning up. “What can I say? You’re awfully good at cuddling.”
Very slowly, bashfully, they smile back. “So are you. Good night, Damien. I’ll see you tomorrow— and I might take you up on that offer.”
The wolf can’t wait, and truthfully, neither can he.
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If y'all want you can ask Agere Wilford and cg Dark some questions or as Wilford demands you can give him things
#sfw agere#age regression sfw#age regressor#age regression#digital art#drawing#markipler egos#markiplier art#markiplier#wilford warfstache#markiplier wilford#wilfordmotherlovingwarfstache#darkiplier
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Kinktober 2023 Day 1
Fingering
JJ’s giggle echoed in Wilford’s head as his hands rubbed and squeezed at his chest. Wilford’s own hands were running up and down JJ’s sides. They were both naked and lounging together in their bed, having given up on the day and clothing that afternoon, enjoying each other’s bodies with light touches that began to get heavier and heavier.
“You are having too much fun there, blueberry.” Wilford chuckled.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” JJ pursed his lips before they broke into a smile and another giggle. “How could I not?”
“That’s fair. I’m having my fun as well.” Wilford casually squeezed JJ’s ass. He adored how that got JJ to take in a little gasp and lean back toward his hands. “Maybe I should have some more of it~” Wilford held JJ’s cheeks apart, and, using a bit of power beyond understanding, JJ was soon shivering as he felt something cold slowly dripping down his ass.
“Please, do.” JJ knew what was happening and what Wilford was planning. His husband loved using his hands when it came to him, and he loved it just as much. Wilford softly laughed, pressing one of his hands to JJ’s back and guiding him down into a kiss. JJ leaned into the kiss, eagerly spreading his legs and arching his back when he felt Wilford rubbing a finger against his hole. He then nipped at Wilford’s lower lip in a silent demand.
“Is someone being impatient?” Wilford teased.
“Yes.” JJ bluntly stated and rolled his hips back. “I said please.” He added with a little fake whine.
“I couldn’t resist having a little more fun before getting to the real fun.” Wilford winked, kissing along JJ’s jaw as he slowly pushed his finger in, taking his time getting it all of the way in and then stopping his hand.
“Wilfy, I need more,” JJ’s whine was a proper one this time. “I’m used to something so much bigger~” He took in a sharp breath when that comment got Wilford to hug him tightly and push a second finger in.
“I know you are. You’re used to being so full, aren’t you?” Wilford was nearly growling as he started to pump his fingers, having a slight curve to them. He had JJ’s body fully memorized, knowing how to work him over like it was second nature.
“Y-Yes~” JJ stammered, hugging his arms around Wilford’s torso as he kept the arch to his back. “You always have me-have me so full.” He panted as Wilford’s fingers alone were thick enough to brush against every perfect spot inside of him. JJ wasn’t afraid to admit that he adored Wilford being larger than him. How his body easily covered his own.
“And I love filling you up in every way I can.” Wilford slipped his other hand between himself and JJ. “I just love making you feel so good.” He purred as his fingers worked faster, and he wrapped his hand around JJ’s leaking cock, grinning when that got another sharp inhale.
“You always do such-such a good job at-at making me feel good.” JJ’s voice struggled to project as he rocked his hips between Wilford’s hands, melting into the attention and affection he was getting on both sides.
“I know.” Wilford playfully hummed, adjusting the speed and timing of his hands and licking his lips when he heard a little squeak come from JJ.
There it was.
JJ couldn’t speak, but he could make a squeaking-like noise, and it only came out when he was too gone to focus. Wilford always felt a rush of pride when he heard that sound and kept his hands doing the same thing he had done to get the squeak.
“W-Wil-Wilfy~” JJ’s voice was a mess as his brain and body went the same route. Each movement was perfection and sent wave after wave of pleasure down his back, getting him to squeak some more and curl his toes. He tucked his face into the crook of Wilford’s neck, breathing heavily against his skin, and soon, his hands were digging his fingers into Wilford’s back.
“Go on, cum for me~” Wilford dragged his tongue across JJ’s shoulder, and with one more, much louder squeak, JJ was tensing up and cumming on Wilford’s stomach. “There you go, blueberry.” He said as he pulled both hands away.
“I want more.” JJ’s voice sounded somewhat even, but he was panting as he sat up a little. “I want so much more.” He adjusted his hips and then rutted them against Wilford’s lap, feeling how hard this had gotten him.
“I can do that.” Wilford flipped JJ to his back, settling himself between his legs. “I can definitely do that~”
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Please Stay
The Host x gn!reader
Requested by @captain-wordy-and-nerdy:
“Hello lovely human. Might I request #2 and #26 from the Hurt/Comfort list with The Host (Markiplier) with a nonbinary reader?”
2. “If I could, I would kiss away all of your scars.”
26. “Please stay. I’d like some company.”
I went with the universe where all the egos stay in a manor because I love that idea that they all just hang out and Dark has to put up with everyone's bs so they can take over the channel. I also went with a theory I saw for how the Author lost his eyes to become the Host that said he removed his own eyes but I didn't go into it, I just sort of implied it
Warnings: hurt/comfort, lots of blood, wound descriptions, implied self-h*rm, awkwardness, just sorta the beginning stages of a crush so its really cute lol
Word Count: 1865
Masterlist
The Host didn’t particularly enjoy company. When someone was nearby, he got a scratch at the back of his mind. His fingers would itch to type out the story his brain would concoct. His mind would always flash back to that dark room he was abandoned in during these times. To when he lost control of himself and took control of others. So, for fear of hurting one of the other egos or guests, he kept to himself.
The only people he did interact with, through necessity more often than not, were Darkiplier - who often had to demand he attend meetings with the others - and the good Doctor Iplier. Though, he only allowed the doctor to help him when the Host couldn’t help himself.
Today, he could not help himself.
He woke up frantically describing everything around him, biting his tongue when he felt the names of others on his lips. He would rather not drag anybody else into this. Instead, he locked himself up in his room - a bare space with a desk and its own chair, a typewriter, a waste bin, and an armchair. A few of his old best sellers sat unacknowledged in the corner. The good Doctor, his only source of help in this tormented state, was out, doing god knows what. If he let his mind wander, he could almost feel where the ego was - but he elected not to think on the topic too long.
His plan worked, for the most part. Nobody truly ever sought out the Host unless there was a meeting or another urgent matter to attend to. That is, until, a guest to the Manor began knocking on his door.
For the last few weeks, Wilford had been bringing along a new intern. The Host was unaware of this fact until he entered the kitchen one late night for a glass of water and narrated your presence. Since then, you hadn’t shied away from him, but you also hadn’t actively sought him out.
More often than not, the two of you would simply happen upon each other. You would be taking a break from Wilford’s antics, catching your breath from following the interviewer everywhere, and find yourself in a secluded corner of the Manor or the surrounding grounds where the Host liked to hide. Or he would be dragged into another meeting and find himself narrating your presence next to Wilford, anxiously making sure he didn’t pull his gun when the egos inevitably refused another one of his wild ideas. Neither of you spoke much to each other, simply existing in each other’s presence comfortably.
Knock knock knock.
“Host? I didn’t see you at lunch.” His mouth narrated your thoughts that he hadn’t been at dinner either before you had a chance to say it. He bit his tongue to shut himself up from saying anything more. “And you weren’t at dinner. I just wanted to check if you were alright.”
Fine, he wanted to say. You had a very kind nature, and the egos all enjoyed your presence. He didn’t wish to upset you and get on everyone else’s bad side. But, his mind couldn’t just will his mouth to shut up.
“The Host is struggling with his narrative abilities today. He asks that Y/N not come in or worry.”
It was quiet outside the door. He could feel your thoughts on his tongue, prodding at his mind. He could feel your worry through the door.
He sighed.
“The Host crosses the room and opens the door. Y/N is just outside. They look concerned,” he narrated. He tilted his head, brows furrowing over his blindfold. “‘Concerned’?” It was an adjective he hadn’t been expecting.
“Host, you’re bleeding.”
He didn’t have time to process your statement before you were making your way into his room. He could hear you opening drawers at his desk, looking for the emergency medical kit each room was equipped with. (Orders from the Doctor, of course.) Sure enough, when he reached up and touched his blindfold, it was soaked through. The warm, stickiness of blood latched onto his fingers.
He heard your command in his head before you said it out loud. Sit down. He shut the door, making his way to one of the armchairs.
“Sit down, Host.” You had the kit open on his desk by his typewriter, grabbing bandages and gauze. When you turned to the armchair, he was already sitting in it. His hands were set on his thighs and he was seemingly looking forward at the wall.
“The Host can take care of himself.”
You scoffed, almost offended by his remark. “I’m sure you can, but does it really hurt to let someone else help you?”
He tilted his head, covered eyes pointed toward the wall behind you. Despite your insistence on helping him, you still had not approached the chair he sat in. You were waiting for approval.
“The Host gives Y/N permission to help.” He couldn’t shut his mouth fast enough before he was narrating, “At the Host’s approval, Y/N smiles. They step forward with determination and-” He shut his mouth with a great effort, teeth grit together. “He apologizes for his narration. He does not wish to take away Y/N’s sense of free will on accident in this state.”
You knew very little about the Host, to be honest. Wilford had brushed off your concerns when you asked about him, offhandedly remarking that the ego was an author and liked to be alone. The Host was always reclusive and isolated, and no one seemed to worry much for him. If anything, Dark seemed the most concerned when the Host was late to meetings or hiding all day, but he never showed it. The most he did to combat his worries was to send you in his place to ask after the ego. After all, if something was happening, Dark had to be in the know.
You pushed your rampant thoughts of the ego aside and focused on the matter at hand. Setting the gauze and bandages on the arm of the chair, you hesitated to remove his blindfold, even after he gave his permission. Perhaps sensing your uncertainty, he leaned his head forward in your direction. This gave you plenty of room to untie the cloth.
You hadn’t expected what awaited you underneath. His eyes were, well, missing. Scars of what appeared to be scratch marks littered the area around his sockets. The empty sockets stared from behind his eyelids; gaping wounds, oozing blood like tears.
“How did this happen?” you found yourself asking before your mind had time to catch up with your mouth. “I mean- You don’t have to tell me. It’s just… Doesn’t it hurt?”
The Host had to think on that question for a moment. Did it hurt? Could he even feel the pain anymore? As you began to tenderly dab at his eyes - or lack thereof - with the gauze, he hummed. “He does not know. The Host has adjusted to living like this for so long, he does not register the pain as any more than a dull throbbing.”
The way you so carefully wiped blood off his cheeks, away from the creases and folds of his eyelids, had his shoulders relaxing. Doctor Iplier was never this gentle. When he cleaned his wounds, he was rough and mechanical in the way only a doctor could be, spouting medical nonsense as he did so.
Instead, your softness had his head tilting back to allow you better access to his wounds, and more than once he had to force his eyelids from falling closed in relaxation. They shot open to stare at nothing when he felt the unmistakable touch of fingertips brushing along the scars around his eyes.
“If I could, I would kiss away all of your scars,” you whispered, soft as a mouse.
He wasn’t even sure if you were aware of your statement. But there you lingered, tracing his marred skin. It was only once your fingers brushed too close to his sockets that he flinched, and you pulled back, startled out of your revelry.
You stammered out apologies as you grabbed the bandages from the arm of the chair and began bandaging his eyes. He almost missed the feeling of your fingers on his old wounds.
“There,” you breathed out a moment later, stepping away as though being too close to him would burn you. “All done. The bleeding seems to have stopped, so, that’s good.”
He hadn’t even noticed. His mind, the voice that creeped out of the deepest wrinkles of his brain, was quiet. He no longer felt his vocal chords lurching out commentary and commands, nor did he feel the need to.
“The Host thanks Y/N for their help.”
You chuckled lightly, awkwardly. You didn’t wish to admit that you had enjoyed the experience perhaps more than you should have. After all, he had been bleeding and struggling with whatever abilities he possessed when you got here. It felt wrong to enjoy him at his most vulnerable.
“Yeah, of course, anytime.” You gathered the used up gauze and what was left unused of the roll of bandages, busying yourself cleaning up and putting everything away in the kit. “I mean, not anytime, because I’m sure it’s not a great experience for you, but, like, anytime you need help I’d be happy to.”
He hummed, but said nothing. For once, he did not feel the need to fill the silence in the slightest.
“Uhm, your blindfold is kinda…”
“The Host asks them not to worry on his behalf. He has plenty of extras due to situations like this.”
You nodded, but realized quickly he couldn’t see it. “Okay. I’ll just… throw it out then.”
He listened as you moved around his desk. The crinkle of the plastic trash bag as you threw away everything bloody told him that you were on the side of his desk furthest from the armchair he sat in.
You stood awkwardly by the desk for a moment afterwards. “I should go.” You didn’t know what else to say to leave him here in the safety of his barren room. And the Host did not seem to make any arguments as he followed your footsteps making their way toward the door.
He sensed your hand touch the knob, heard it from the voice deep inside his brain, and felt his heart lurch at the same time. “Please stay,” he suddenly called out. His heart hammered anxiously against his chest. He cursed himself for succumbing to his lonely desires, but he had never been treated so softly before. “The Host would like some company.”
His mind suddenly felt quite loud once again as he waited for any response. His head tilted and turned to try to hear better, understand what was going on around him better. He stilled when he heard footsteps approaching once again. The unmistakable sound of his chair being pulled out from under the desk sounded next, along with the creaking of wood as you sat down in it.
“Okay.” His anxiety faded once more at your gentle presence. “I’ll stay.”
--
This was also my first time ever writing for the Host so I hope it was okay and I hope you enjoyed it!!
#fanfic#fanfiction#the host#markiplier#markiplier egos#the host x reader#markiplier egos x reader#hurt/comfort#fluff#light angst
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Egos with Symbiote Host reader
You venom fr 😟😟
keep in mind ive never watched Vemon or read the comics lol
(Bold red quotations are the symbiote)
THIS IS A NWLNW BLOG. WOMEN DNI RESPECTFULLY
Iplier Egos
Darkiplier
They dont get along
Your little parasite likes to mock Dark all the time
Dark wont entertain the creature tho
Hes too cool and hot and mysterious for that😒
And if he even tries to the symbiote will cry to you
You dont really care but its annoying
“Y/NNN!! DARK SNAPPED AT MEEE”
You try to keep it in check
Wilford Warfstache
He tries to get along
They get along in the murder part
They plot when you sleep
“Ok, how about this. I lure them in and shoot them and then you-“
“Hnnnggg… Wilford hun wtf you talkin about??”
“Nothing sugarplum! Go back to sleep now!”
Treats it kinda like a dog??
Your parasite isnt really mad about it lol
“Y/n your boyfriend is the best youve had yet“
Eric Derekson
Eric is dead terrified by it at first
A creature that’s attached to your body and wants to kill??
Lordy lord not for our good man Eric Derekson here!
Oh itll be nice to him? Ok….
Your symbiote bullies Eric in your thoughts-
If it says anything outloud you’d kill it
The most interactions they have is like
“Get me food. Hashbrown.”
Google
He doesnt know what it is
And that bothers him
He asks alot of questions about it
Like what it eats
It has its own wiki page now??
Your symbiote thinks its a “metal fucking loser”
Its kinda right /j
Hes your metal loser tho ☺️☺️
Septiceye Egos
Anti
Constant beef or pranks
Your symbiotes a lil bitch
They get along when they talk shit about the rest of the egos
“An’ Marvin is such a fookin prick yknow?!” “Yea he looks like a lil pussy lol”
Its like having 2 symbiotes
Except you date 1
Robbie
Robbie and the symbiote dont have beef ☺️
They both eat and they bond over that sorta
Your symbiote called him a scraggly bum when it first saw him
You explained Robbies a zombie and it was just like “oh lol”
They get along decently
The symbiote is 2x more demanding than Robbie
“Y/n were hungry get us meal!” “Youu dontt haave to…”
Shneeple
Shneeple tried to inspect it and almost got his hand bit off
Symbiote is not a fan of Shneeple
“He acts like he knows it all blah blah blah”
You have to hear it all
Shneeple asks alot of questions about it and the creature is just like
“Lol yo mama”
The symbiote wants to act like a mysterious creature
It isnt tho
Marvin
Magic man is also confused by it
At first he thinks maybe is a spirit connected to you
Or magic
Or a familiar
then you have to explain its a weird alien parasite who likes tatertots
Not what he expected but he’ll take it
The symbiote likes Marvins lil tricks
“I like your funny words magic man”
Battle Egos
Phantom
Phantom is… off put by it
The symbiote makes fun of him tho
bc funny jokes
Phantom has tried to feed it one of the many souls he owns
The symbiote gagged like a cat at that
Phantom doesnt really get mad at sure
Annoyed? sure
At most he’ll just like
Hit its head with his cane to quiet it down
Natemare
Devious mfs
Causin pranks
And youre always in the middle of them
Bc yknow
Symbiotes attached to you
Its literally like having 2 of them around
Lord
Arent you tired all the time
Natepai
Natepai was scared of it at first
And got called a pussy by it bc of that
Hes gotta get used to it since hes dating you
He pat its head once
And now theyre besties???
They gang up on you when they want something
Natepai would butter you up
And then your little parasite would ask
You just have to give in tho
You cant say no to the both of them ☺️☺️
#markiplier egos x reader#marvin the magician#jameson jackson x reader#jacksepticeye egos#nwtb egos#nwtb natemare#natemare x male reader#nwtb phantom x reader#phantom nwtb#natepai#natepai x reader#darkiplier x reader#darkiplier x male reader#wilford warfstache x reader#wilford x male reader#eric derekson#eric derekson x reader#googleplier x reader#googleiplier#antisepticeye x reader#robbie the zombie x reader#dr. shneeple#dr.shneeplstein#wilford warfstache
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@fclieadeuxx sent: I guess I'm not the forgiving type
˜”*°•. She couldn’t demand forgiveness of the other . She couldn’t force good will nor respect nor love . She’d missed her . After years and years grieving for her lost daughter, her little girl was finally there . Alive , well . Her survival maybe nothing but Wilford’s way of punishing her - but did it matter ? Alexandra was alive . Maybe distrustful , cruel , distant, but at least alive .
❝ I don’t blame you . ❞ Demanding any different kind of treatment would’ve been unfair, after all . She should have looked for her, she should have made sure she was on the train , she should have for once spent a moment being a decent mother . Yet, she hadn’t . And now ? Now she assumed this was the kindest punishment she could receive . But it didn’t mean she was going to stop trying . Fighting for her , for them . It didn’t mean she was going to give up on her . But she couldn’t give up on the train either .
❝ But if we could spend just ten minutes … if we could talk … that would mean a lot . ❞ Ten minutes after so many years of nothingness . How could ten minutes ever be enough ?
#I make choices not because I want to | Melanie Cavill#i: melanie x alex#fclieadeuxx#for the queue is full of surprises
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Until The Party.
chapter 1 sneak peak: 8 days until the party.
cws/tws: blood, hanahaki, self hatred (?)
(can you tell this is my first time submitting fanfiction to the site,,,)
word count: 774
.+*+. .+*+. .+*+. .+*+. .+*+. .+*+. .+*+. .+*+. .+*+.
Pure rage.
Pure Agony.
That’s all that surged through Dark’s veins.
He was filled with disgusting agony, and he was so angry with himself.
How could he let his emotions see the light of day again? He swore to himself he would never let that happen again, and yet, he did.
He looked at himself in the mirror, tears swelling in his eyes. Blood and spit smeared around his lips, staining his beard. A few seeds and petals stuck to his mouth. It felt disturbing against his face, but he couldn’t be bothered to remove it. The numb, agonizing feeling in his arms made it hard for him to want to move them. It was like any movement would make his skin feel thick and heavy against his bones. It was a gross sensation.
Dark’s dull, exhausted eyes began to trail around the room instead of his body. The black, elegant frame of the mirror, the marble counter, the gray, blood-stained floors. Blood. It was hard to try to take his mind off what had just happened when the whole room had evidence of it. The monochrome demon glanced at the gory, white and pink petals that acted like boats on top of the blood he had spit out.
How could he let himself fall in love with him? He was supposed to be a cold, powerful being. He wasn’t supposed to feel these emotions. He felt his face get wet. Fuck, now he was crying. Why was he crying? Slowly, he lifted his hands up to wipe the tears away, the uncomfortable feeling in his arms bouncing back and forth in his skin. It felt so awful. He just wanted to lie down and pray for this to go away, but he knew damn well this wouldn’t just go away in the morning. This would keep growing worse and worse until he died. Why did he have to fall back in love with him? The demon sniffled, his chest stuttering as his breath went shaky and heavy.
The sound of the air from the vent rushing into the room startled him, causing him to flinch. Flinching. He flinched. Fear. He wasn’t allowed to feel that. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be pow-
“Darkk?? Hellooo?!”
A peppy voice called out from behind the bathroom door, interrupting his thoughts. A soft, candy-like smell wafted in the air. That was always the sign of who was at the door.
Wilford.
The demon glanced over at the closed door, eyes widening. Quickly, he reached for a towel to wash off the blood and saliva from his face and floor. He had to get rid of any evidence as possible.
“What is it, Wilford?”
He asked, trying to keep his voice steady, wanting to avoid sounding weak. The demon didn’t want to cause Wilford to worry about him. He hated it when people worried about him. It felt unnecessary. He peeled off the petals from his face and shoved them into his pants’ pocket and kneeled to the floor to try and remove the mess.
“Oh, well, we haven’t seen you since the afternoon, and it’s already almost midnight!”
Dark held back a sigh, biting his tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the towel tighter. Every urge to just demand him to leave bubbled in his chest.
“I’m perfectly fine. There’s no need to worry about me.”
He assured with slight urgency in his voice. He picked up the remaining petals, placed them in his pocket, and threw the bloodied towel into the hamper that rested right next to the sink. He arranged a few clothes and towels to bury it. His hands began to shake slightly, a tight, twisting feeling within his chest springing to life. The demon had no idea what was going on with him. What was his body reacting like this? He hated it.
“Are you sure? You sound a little off!”
Dark bit back a sharp remark. He couldn’t reveal to the man on the other side of the door that he wasn’t alright.
“Wilford, please. I’m completely okay.”
An annoyed sigh came from the other side of the door. Dark could hear the man lean against the door, the new weight pressing the closed door as far as it could go.
“..Will you at least pay a visit downstairs? We’re worried abo-“
“I’M. FINE. WILFORD.”
Silence filled the air. For what felt like hours, yet was only about a minute, the two didn’t speak to each other. Wilford eventually was the first to speak up.
“…We’ll be downstairs if you’d like to join us.”
“..Alright.”
#hanahaki#darkiplier#wilford warfstache#sneak peak#drabble#sort of?#its not the full chapter soo#angst#fanfic#fanfiction
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