Here it is, a new AU/Crossover including lots of Egos :) Tagging @magic-marvin-protection-patrol since Marv is one of the protagonists, hope you guys like it ^^ For more information see the end of the chapter :)
Chapter 1: For the night we
The days in Riverfell went
by as usual, a calm routine as leafes turned colorful before falling onto the
ground. The small village was preparing for the winter, harvesting the last
parts of this year’s seed. The winters in Thesa were long and hard, especially
in the more northern regions where Riverfell was settled. The village consisted
of a handful of farm houses, a small tavern, and the rest of the residents
being mostly lumberjacks. The forest on which edge it reseated contained a lot
of strong firs and oaks, and they sold the wood to the castle of Blackwater’s,
where the baron of the region lived, or used it to trade with other villages
scattered around the Blackwater regime.
The months of long nights
and snow were never pleasant, but there was not much they could do against it
anyway, not more than usual. Taking care of their animals, the fields and
village, or cut down trees. But right now the sun was still up and warm, making
it possible for Marvin to sit outside in front of his cabin on the porch to
carve new sigil posts. It was a tedious and slow process, to carve the rings of
sigils evenly into the wood, and paint the lines afterwards. But he was the
only person in the village knowing how to make working ban circles, since his
father passed away a few years ago. He taught Marvin everything he needed to
know before, and Blackwater’s did send another Magician for a few weeks to help
him with his new responsibility.
And the circles of sigils
were essential for the village’s survival. The posts were placed around the
houses and fields, connected with wire made out of silver to complete the bans.
A single post itself didn’t do anything, they had to be connected at all time.
One uneven line, one cracked post, and the whole circle was useless. Marvin
checked them all once every day, making sure the paint was strong, and the
wooden posts not withered, the wire firm in between them. One small mistake
could have deadly outcome, and it wasn’t always easy carrying that much
Marvin set the carving tool
back on the table for a moment, stretching his tense hands. It was then when he
noticed another man approaching his house. As he got closer Marvin recognized Chase,
with one of his daughters, Hazael, on his shoulders. The girl was giggling and
holding on to his hair. They were close friends since almost childhood times,
Chase still paying the sigil maker visits regularly after hunting. He set
Hazael down to pull Marvin in a greeting hug. “Hello uncle Marv!”, Hazael
greeted as well, smiling widely up to the two adults. The girl turned four
years old last week, her older sister, Sam, being two years older. While Sam
looked more like her mother Stacy, Hazael looked just like Chase. Well, besides
the beard of course. Although Marvin wasn’t her uncle, or related to Chase in
any way besides their strange similliar appearances, but both of the girls
still called him uncle. He thought it was a sweet gesture.
“How are you holding up? Successful
hunt today?”, Marvin asked, as they sat back on the table again, the magician
pushing his utensils to the side a bit. “Eh, more or less. You already notice
that the animals start turning in for winter, but I managed to hunt two deers
and a boar”, the hunter answered, leaning back on his seat. Since the village
was so small they decided against making profit and share what they made. They
still had chances to make money for themselves, to get stuff from occasional
merchants coming by every few weeks, but regarding food and other important
supplies the community worked together to make it easier for everyone. “Sounds
good for one day to me”, Marvin replied with a light grin, watching as Hazael
played with a small stick, happy with herself. “It’s not bad, yeah, but I’ve
managed more”, stated Chase, chuckling.
They chatted for a little
while, sharing some news until the Hunter got up again. “I better head home,
the sun will set soon. Take care friend.” “You too, greet Stacy and Sam from me”,
Marvin returned, shaking Hazels hand with a smile as she held his hand out for
him. “Almost like an adult”, he grinned, the girl laughing.
He kept working on the post
until the sun reached the horizon, before bringing his supplies inside. Leaning
on a beam supporting the roof over the porch he watched the sun slowly sink, dragging
her golden light along, and letting shadows grow longer. There was light behind
the windows of the village, he had a good look over it from where his home was
located, and while they were still up, no one went outside. They didn’t fear the
night, but what it brought upon them. Only a few minutes after the sun sunk
completely the shadows seemed to move and raise up, like a breathing thing,
until they started to take shape. Most of them were covered in black scales,
like grotesque versions of animals, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. While the
black breed commonly was named Horclings most of the villagers simply referred
to them as demons.
The first one reached the
sigil fence around his house. It looked a bit like a large cat, but with longer
legs and a pointy, long head. Hissing it tried to get through, throwing himself
against the invisible barrier, just to be thrown back with a small flash of
light each time it did. Thankfully they covered the wooden posts in a mixture
of tree resin mixed with something they called frostbite powder. Marvin
actually didn’t really knew what it consisted off or why it worked, but as long
as it made the posts fireproof he didn’t really care. Frostbite powder was more
a secret recipe among healers. And so the horcling could spit fire all he
wanted, the wood would not catch on fire, neither break the circle.
Since the region wasn’t that
well inhabited there weren’t waves of Horclings coming out at night, but still
enough to be a danger to better stay inside the ban circles. They were growling
and roaring, trying to find a way in. No one knew since when they existed, or
what their purpose was. There were many of them, all different kinds. Fire
demons, wood demons, even some that
could fly. He heard of stories where Horclings lived in water, tearing boats to
shreds, and of some that hid in snow, others being made out of stone and giants
compared to them. Mankind did good to fear them. Many tried to kill them, but
their wounds recovered within seconds, and too many people died trying. All
they could do was hide and wait behind their sigils, and Marvin would be damned
if he just accepted that. There had to be a way to kill them, and send them
back to whatever demonic realm they came from.
His eyes wandered over the
collection of houses and Horclings between them, some small, some almost as
tall as a grown man, on four or two legs. Marvin already turned away to get
inside as well as a bright flash of light accompanied a loud band. And suddenly
there was fire. He felt his heart freeze as he realized it was at Chase’s
Adrenaline rushed through
his veins as he grabbed the nearest unfinished post, running off and leaping
over the silver wire, dodging a flame demon to his right. And he just ran as
fast as his legs allowed, in between raging demons. He stopped inside the cycle
around Chase’s neighbor, a broad lumberjack named Ken, looking at the damage.
He didn’t know how, but the ban circle was broken, a hoard of flame demons
swarming around, the house on fire. Ken stormed out as well, an axe in his hand.
“I’ll clear the way, get them out!”, he yelled, already running off making as
much noise as possible to distract the creatures. It worked for now, Marvin
rushing over to find the door blocked by something behind it. Not bothering to
try he smashed the nearest window. “Chase?! Stacy!?” he yelled inside, the face
of his friend appearing in the frame. They seemed to have tried to block all
entrances to keep those demonic hellspawns out. “Get the kids!”, ye screamed back,
running back just to come back with Hazael on his arms. Marvin quickly took
hold of the panicking girl, sprinting back into safety of Kens circle, where
Mary, his wife, quickly took her inside while the Magician already ran back.
Smashing the post against a
Horcling to swat him away, since the first ones already lost interest in ken
who kept them near another ban circle, he returned to the window, helping Stacy
outside, telling her to run to safety as well. “Chase and Sam are still inside
you’ve got to help them!” the Blonde was almost hysterical, but quickly was dragged
along by Mary as Marvin jumped through the window, following the heartwrenching
sound of Sam crying. He found them in the kitchen, the first flames already
reached the inside of the house, The Hunter trying his best to keep a flame
spitting demon away from them. It didn’t seem to bother about the arrows stuck
in his body, hissing and jumping from place to place, while Chase tried to
fight it off with Sam on his other arm. Marvin quickly reacted by bashing the
creature down on his head, leaving it dazed for a few seconds. Not much, but
enough for Chase to pass the room and run for the window, followed by his
Marvin jumped out first, Chase
practically tossing his daughter into his friends arm before climbing out
himself. Marvin already sprinted towards Mary again, who found enough courage
to leave the cycle to rush towards him. He heard Chase howl in pain just as he
gave Sam to Mary, whipping around to see that there one of the black beasts had
dug it’s claws inside his calf. The hunter tried his best to kick the demon off
somehow, get back on his feet before more could reach him. They smelled the
blood and wanted more. Without the hesitation the Magician ran back again,
kicking the creature off in the momentum of his movements, already pulling his
friend back on his feet. He heard him hiss and curse with each step, but they
made it back into the circle just in time, collapsing on the ground. Ken was
back too, looking at the herd of horclings throwing themselves against the
barrier screaming and growling.
Once everybody was inside
again, Mary and Stacy took care of the kids first. Hazael was, besides a few
scratches, unharmed, but Sam had pretty bad burns across her back and face.
Chase and Marvin were just sitting next to each other, staring blankly out of
the window where the flames swallowed the house. Chase was still silent as Mary
took care of the slashes in his leg, while Marvin tried to stop his hands from trembling.
It was impossible. He had checked each post this day, it was simply impossible
that the circle didn’t work. His friend’s family could have died. And no matter
what, it was his fault. And he never felt so unnerved with the whole situation
as he did now. He didn’t wanted to spend the rest of his life in fear of the
night, damned to be helplessly watching these creatures slowly but surely
ruining them. He didn’t wanted to imagine what would have happened if Chase and
his family didn’t make it.
“Hey. I trust you, alright? We’ll go see what went wrong once the sun is up
again. Until then you should try to sleep, too”, Chase stopped his trail of
thoughts, a hand placed on Marvins shoulder. He nodded, blinking the tears away
that glistened in his eyes. Chase was sleeping on a makeshift bed by the kids.
Marvin was still staring out of the window by the time of dawn. ______
And that was it so far, Feedback in all form is appreciated :) Yes already started out a bit angsty, but believe me, it will get worse. And better. And worse again bc I’m a sadist piece of trash. Anyway, The AU/Crossover is inspired by The demon cycle series by Peter V. Brett, for those who don’t know the books don’t worry, according lore and background will be found later on in the Fic.
As for right now I have a lot planned for this AU, so stay tuned ;) This actually turned out much longer than I thought it woud, and is one of the first things I managed to write down since my writers block.
For anyone trying to figure out how to look great without breaking the bank, I highly recommend thrift stores. HIGHLY recommend. I have been getting some amaaazing scores there lately. Yesterday I got a $200 pair of Banana Republic boots, a $100 Nordstrom hoodie and another pair of pants that are normally about $100 (I can’t remember the brand right now) all for $18. EIGHT. TEEN. DOLLARS. It all is in great shape and could easily pass for brand new. I have always loved thrifting for treasures so this is nothing new for me but, sometimes you’ve just got to put in a little time and really search for the good stuff. It pays off. I’ve seen too many girls have an ego about buying second hand and honestly, honey, it doesn’t matter. No one will know but you. Bring it home, wash it, hang it up, give it a new life. I have gotten such a ridiculous amount of designer and high quality brand name items from the thrift store. Rich people know they have nice shit and that’s why they donate it. Take advantage of that shit! Happy sugaring. ✨😘
Nice,’ Clary grinned, bending down to lay out the blanket they’d brought to sit on. ‘You’re just worried they’ll hire a male instructor and he’ll be hotter than you.’
Jace’s eyebrows went up. 'Hotter than me?’
'It could happen,’ Clary said. 'You know, theoretically.’
'Theoretically the earth could suddenly crack in half, leaving me on one side and you on the other side, forever and tragically parted, but I’m not worried about that, either. Some things,’ Jace said with his customary crooked smile, 'are just too unlikely to dwell upon.
it’s hard to believe it’s been a little over a year since we’ve been friends. we’ve come such a long way from being too shy to talk to each other and write with one another, to idiots who snapchat each other pointless things and who scream over boys who have too many egos. you push me endlessly to be a better person, to be happy when i’m sad, and to be true to myself no matter what. you’re there on my bad days when i feel like everything is spiraling out of control, and you’ve been there when i was convinced i was going crazy to hold my hand and tell me that i was fine and get my mind off of everything. you’re constantly this positive light that i’m a moth to a flame to, and it’s crazy to think that i let someone in after i swore to myself that i wouldn’t let another person close again. you managed to slip through my walls, and i’m thankful every day for it. you’re truly my best friend, someone who i love immensely, and who i can’t imagine being without.
you’ve pushed me to be better with writing, with editing, with gifs, and you’re always so encouraging even when i’m down and out about something. you’re there to scream with me when someone reblogs my things, and i seriously love our friend dates where we play along with the team when it comes to livestreams. how many times have we absolutely failed at jacksbox already? you’re a wonderful person, from he inside out, and you have such a beautiful, precious soul. you care so much about being happy and beating demons when they start creeping up. you make such amazing art (because lets face it, every thing you do is art), and you’re such a little nerd deep down.
i love you from the bottom of my heart, and i’m so glad you broke through the nervousness and messaged me.
i hope you have the happiest of happy birthdays, i hope you eat cake, get some yummy dinner, and that you have all the most brilliant days <3 i love you immensely, i hope you get everything that you want and love, and i send you the bestest of wishes <3
you are truly the warf to my dark, and i wouldn’t have it any other way <3
I will not stop asking until you tell me where Yandereplier is.
I deal with way too many Egos on the blog as it is. I answer a lot of asks, and I’m trying my best to keep up with a longer running story. I have a very limited amount of time where I can get on Tumblr now, and so I want to devote that time to the main Egos. Honestly, I don’t enjoy writing about Yandere as much as I enjoy the others, and at the end of the day, I do this all out of my own enjoyment. So, if I’m only writing for Yandere because the same person sends me endless asks about it, how much am I really enjoying myself?
Wait when did everyone in BTS give Jungkook permission to speak to them informally?
They gave him the opportunity at the beginning but JK declined.
Anon: sorry to still bother you about this, but what i dont get is if all the hyungs allowed jk to talk to them informally, why do they correct him if he does it? I know he chose not to, but if he slips up, usually they correct him (i think some anons noticed it w tae in a VLive some time ago). And im wondering, is it like absolute? Like if he says “im gonna talk formally to u” that’s that and unless he says “im gonna talk informally to u” they treat him as if they didn’t allow it? This is confusing~
I will give you my best guess based on my own experiences:
Some people will say they’re okay with it…and be okay with it… until they’re suddenly not.
That is why I personally just don’t bother speaking informally with people who are older than me (unless we’re dating or we’re family). When you have a big group like BTS whose ages range quite a bit, it’s just better to have that firm social structure in place so when there are conflicts (whether it’s business or personal), it can be quickly resolved without bruising too many egos along the way.
But no, it’s not exactly absolute. Relationships are fluid. Jungkook was given a choice and the hyungs respect it but they also, more or less, expect him to stick by it. Like JK will try to test their authority is some ways - that’s just his personality, it’s just how he is - but both sides will know when and how much it’s appropriate.
Anon: I hope this hasn’t been asked, but from a non-shipping point of view, what reason do you think there is for jungkook to drop the hyung so much recently when it comes to jimin? I get that informal speech means they’re close, but isn’t referring to someone as a big brother even more of an indicator of that? jkdfj I can’t word this to sound like I’m not wearing a fashionable tinhat or like I’m not trying to say they’re not close at all….I’m really just curious what reasons there could be though!
The non-shipping view is nearly identical to the shipping view - because Kook/min are 1) comfortable with each other, and 2) very close.
As for your second question - Yes and no. You’re kind of stalling/stuck at the thought process that ONLY calling somebody hyung = love & respect. It’s more nuanced than that.
NOTES/WARNINGS: This story is the result of an imagine I saw on another blog theartofimagining13. The credit for the imagine goes to the author on that page.
Warning death of minor characters and violence in this fic
To Loki’s great joy, she was everything he had read of and more, born in a war-torn region, she lost her father and brother young to fighting and her mother to the stress of it all. Angry and never willing to accept her lot, Rebecca fought authority and ran from every care facility and home she was kept in, what made it all the more amusing was the angrier she became, the more her gifts developed. In the end, she was able to evade capture, fleeing to America and starting a life there, until S.H.I.E.L.D. found her that was. She had just wanted a normal life, job, home and perhaps someone to care for, but Nick Fury caught her scent and had agents hound her. She stated their deaths had been in her self-defence, but she was overpowered and caught, before being sentenced to a fate worse than death, eternal darkness in ice. Loki swore that together, he would aid her to elude capture once more, and once their revenge was completed, he would bring her far away from Midgard, as he called it, and to a place where she would be able to have such dreams of a life free and her own.
100 Quote Prompts: Part 7- Introducing Google, Google, Oliver, and Google
“Wait, wait, how many did you say there were?“
Mark groaned, putting his head in his hands. Four more Egos, because of a two and a half minute video.
“Technically,” Dr. Iplier said, looking uncomfortable, “there are only three new ones. The blue Google has existed since 2014.”
“That sure does make me feel better, Doc.” Mark stood up, pushing in his desk chair and taking off his headphones. “I guess… I might as well meet them, right?”
Dr. Iplier held his clipboard defensively across his chest. “I-I mean, yes, but–”
“Then let’s go.” Mark set off briskly for Google’s– no, the Googles’– room, the Doctor stumbling behind.
“Mark, I h-have to warn you–”
They made it into the hallway before Mark stopped and turned. “What is it?”
“The other Googles, they’re… they’re exactly the same as the original. Th-that is to say,” he stuttered under Mark’s raised-eyebrow glare, “that their primary and secondary objectives are the same.”
“You’re telling me that we’re about to walk into a room with four killer robots?”
“…and Warfstache, Dark, and Bim.”
Mark shook his head. “May as well face the music.” He turned to walk towards the Googles’ room, but Dr. Iplier stopped him with a hand on his arm. “D-Doc?”
“Just… be careful, okay?”
Mark nodded wordlessly, watching the Doctor’s face carefully. Dr. Iplier dropped his hand and walked away, down the hall towards his office, fidgeting nervously with his clipboard. Mark could only run a hand through his hair, lost in thought. He turned walking towards the Googles’ door, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
From inside, he could hear the excited murmur of voices. His voice, technically speaking, but coming from seven different copies of himself. Turning the handle, he felt a familiar shiver pass over him. The Egos were such a strange, scary concept, and yet, here they were.
He opened the door, and each of his clones, standing in a circle, turned to face him.
Four Googles, each in a different colored shirt, stood in a row. When Mark entered, they looked him up and down in unison. “Hello, Markiplier.” Their voices were eerily synced, and Mark flinched a little.
“Look who decided to show,” Dark said, smiling, taking a step towards Mark. He bowed mockingly. “Welcome to our humble abode, O Creator. Why have you decided to grace us with your presence?”
“Cut it, Dark.” Mark scowled at Dark as he smiled, all teeth, never quite reaching his eyes. Dark was the worst, by far, of all the Egos, and Mark never felt quite safe around him. Wilford, on the other hand…
“Heya, Markimoo!” Wilford practically ran at him, brushing Dark aside. “Have you thought about that video yet?” With a wiggle of his eyebrows, Wilford slung an arm casually over Mark’s shoulders.
Mark recoiled, pushing him away. “Will, that’s not what I’m here for.” He brushed his hair out of his face and turned to Bim. “Hey, Bim, how’re you?”
Bim looked at Mark with wide eyes. “Uh, hey. We’re j-just getting to know the new Googles!” He practically beamed up at Mark, looking from him to the Googles.
“Well,” Mark said, heavily, “that’s what I’m here for too.” He looked around at them all: Dark still smiling poisonously from the corner; Wilford surveying him, flipping his usual butterfly knife between his fingers; Bim still looking at him hopefully; and the Googles, scrutinizing him impassively.
Mark swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “Um, hey Goog- Googles.”
“Hello, Markiplier.” They spoke again, mouths moving at the same time. Mark suddenly felt as though he had to sit down.
“How are you… all?”
“We are fine.”
Again with the speaking-in-unison thing. Mark furrowed his brow for a moment. “Um, do you have different names? We can’t call you all ‘Google.’”
The Googles seemed confused, looking to each other. The blue-shirted Google, who Mark assumed was the leader because of his age, stepped forward with something approaching familiarity. “I know this must be a shock to you,” he said, resting a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “However, you did not give us names, nor is there any reason to differentiate between us at the moment. The Doctor has doubtless, mentioned that we are all identical, which is objectively true.”
Mark looked blankly back at the blue Google before glancing at the others. They, in red, green, and yellow shirts, seemed suddenly more awkward without their blue-shirted counterpart. Suddenly seeming more human, more real. Less like killer robots.
Mark relaxed his shoulders a bit. “I suppose we can differentiate by your shirt colors, if need be? Would that, uh, offend you?”
Google_B opened his mouth to respond, but Mark stopped him. “No, I’m asking them.”
All three of the other Googles stared at Mark, almost terrified. Finally, Google_R spoke up.
“I believe that would be satisfactory, Markiplier.” The others nodded in agreement.
“Wait, what?” Wilford spoke up, indignant. “You’re just gonna call them ‘Google Yellow’?!” He strode over to the the yellow-shirted Google, draping an arm across his back. The robot stood stock-still, staring straight ahead.
“Nuh-uh-uh.” Tongue-in-cheek, he waggled his knife at Mark and Dark, looking equally annoyed. “Nah, we gotta name them!”
“Wilford,” Dark began before Mark could speak up, folding his arms heavily. “This is not a game, and you would do well to remember that the Googles are not pets.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in chagrin, and Mark felt a surge of revulsion at such a familiar gesture.
Google_G scowled as Google_R folded his arms disapprovingly. “I do not believe that being named is in any way productive.”
“‘Yellow’, what d’you think?” Bim was eyeing Wilford with far too much interest for Mark’s liking.
“I-I do not feel strongly about names,” the droid stuttered, looking between the two in surprise.
“How cute,” Wilford smirked, folding his knife and finally stowing it. “I think,” he continued, jabbing a finger at the Google’s yellow shirt, “that he looks like a Dorian.”
The room erupted in protest from Mark, Dark, and Bim. Dark spoke over the rest, his voice magnified, echoing, until they quieted.
“You’re waxing very Oscar Wilde there, aren’t you, Will?” Dark smoothed his suit and smirked at Wilford, suddenly staring daggers at him.
“Do you have a better idea, Darky?”
Mark flinched at the pet name, sure that heads were about to roll. Two serial killers, glaring at each other in a room full of killer robots, could not be good.
“In fact,” Dark said smoothly, stepping close to the yellow Google, “I do.”
The room suddenly tensed as Dark leaned towards the android, cupping his chin, staring into his eyes. Even Wilford went still, fingers reaching for his waistband–
“I’m in a very Dickens mood,” laughed Dark, moving away. “Oliver.”
“Oliver.” Wilford repeated, staring at Dark with an unreadable expression. “Oliver!” He clapped his hands, and Bim jumped. “It’s perfect!”
Dark stood back, looking amused, and Mark shook his head, bewildered. Darkiplier had just named a robot, a robot that looked exactly like him, after Oliver Twist.
Bim, behind Mark, laughed a little nervously. “Is– is that okay with you, Google Oliver?”
Yellow Google– now Oliver, blinked at them all, processing. The other Googles watched him carefully, awkwardly. “I am indifferent– however,” he said, suddenly forcing his face into a smile, “I will agree that ‘Oliver’ is an excellent name.”
Google_R scowled at Oliver. “I, on the other hand, would prefer not to be made into a pet. You may call me and, doubtless, the other Googles, by our, ah, colors.” Google_G and _B nodded in agreement, and Oliver looked a little put out.
Wilford, still uncomfortably close to Oliver, smiled proudly. “The Googles and Oliver, then.”
Mark could only shake his head and smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Googles and O-Oliver.”
“We feel the same, Markiplier.”
“Call me ‘Mark’, goddammit.” His tone was teasing, but the Googles looked confused.
“Would ‘Markimoo’ suffice?”
Mark glared between Wilford and Dark, each feigning innocence. He could hear Bim struggling not to laugh besides him. “Just, ‘Mark.’”
Mark shut the door in mock anger, stalking out into the hallway amid a gale of laughter.
The Egos… were a little much. Between Dark trying to take over the channel and Wilford being, well, Wilford, Mark had a lot on his plate. Google had never been and issue, until now. Now… they were like kids, in a way. Knife-wielding, robotic, murderous kids. Bim, the Doctor, and the Host were never such handful.
Thinking of the Host, Mark smiled and crossed the hallway to the Host’s closed door. The Host had made it quite clear in the beginning that he wanted little to do with the others. Now, with a little coaxing, he’d take a break from writing every so often to come check up on the others.
Mark had barely lifted his hand to knock on the door when a voice sounded clearly from within.
“The Host encourages Mark to enter, if he would only close the door behind him.”
With a smile, Mark entered the Host’s room. It was a room like all the others at the office, but the Host had covered the walls in bookshelves, slouching under the weight of hundreds of novels. The Host himself sat at his desk with his back to the door, his microphone pushed to the side. As Mark drew closer, he saw that the Host was typing hurriedly at his typewriter.
“What’re you up to, Host? You didn’t want to meet the Googles?”
“The Host would prefer to introduce himself at a later time.” The Host nodded to himself, knowing that Mark was standing over his shoulder, looking at the Braille typewriter in curiosity. “There are far too many Egos in the Googles room at the moment.”
“I agree, Host.” Mark sighed a little, looking around.
“The Host invites Mark to shift the stack of papers on the nearby chair if he would like to sit down.”
Mark dropped into the chair with a puff of dust, rubbing his hands over his eyes.
“If Mark would like to talk about what is bothering him, the Host will gladly pause his work,” the Host said quietly, reaching the end of the line he was typing with a small ding.
“Ah, it’s okay…”
The Host had already set aside the paper, clipping it to a stack of other papers, all covered in raised dots. “The Host…” he paused, brow suddenly furrowing. “The Host is not sure how to help, but he is willing to listen.”
“It means a lot, Host,” Mark said. He wondered where to start, but took a breath to begin. “It’s just… with the Googles appearing, and all of you living in the office… It’s a lot.”
“The Host understands.”
“It’s a little scary, to see like–” he paused, counting, “–a hundred and fifty seconds or so, an idea, become a person that lives here.”
“The Host is aware of the power of ideas. It is a power that much lesser men than Mark have feared.”
“Uh, thanks, I guess, Host.” Mark rubbed his neck, looking at the floor. He wanted to bring up Dark, but he knew the Host wasn’t the most appreciative of–”
“If Mark wished to talk about D-Darkiplier,” the Host said, voice hinting at a tremor, “the Host w-would gladly listen, especially if it would relieve some of Mark’s stress.”
“I don’t want to–”
Mark fell silent, looking at the Host’s pained face. The bandages did little to conceal the Host’s concern, and he leaned forward. The single lamp on his desk sent a low light over the room, glinting off the blond locks in his hair, and for a moment, Mark could imagine that it was just the two of them in the world.
“I’m scared of him.” Mark’s voice was suddenly small, like a child seeking comfort. “He’s growing more powerful, and I’m just– I’m just–”
“You are just a man.”
Mark fell silent again, worries beginning to swirl around his head again. Dark was a real-life villain whose only purpose for existing was destroying him. He lived in fear, slept in cold sweats. This wasn’t the fun of his fans anymore, but a living nightmare.
“Perhaps it is best that you are only a man,” the Host said, breaking through Mark’s thoughts.
“Wh-what d’you mean?”
“The Host–” he cleared his throat, a little shyly. “I would think that it is your greatest strength.”
Mark sat, dumbfounded by the Host’s use of first person.
The Host continued, voice growing stronger. “D-Darkiplier is conjured by hate, and is fixated solely on M– on your channel. You, on the other hand, are multi-dimensional, capable of love, enjoyment… even forgiveness.”
The Host fell silent, fidgeting with the buttons on his coat. He turned quietly back to his desk, putting a new piece of paper into the typewriter.
The clack-clack of buttons filled the silence as Mark sat, confused, lost in thought.
He was only a man. He was, at least, a man. And that, he assured himself, was more than Dark or any other Ego could ever be.
The Host looked at him a little sadly as he stood to leave. “The Host hopes you will visit again.”
“Thank you, Host.” Mark’s voice was full of emotion, and the Host felt the warmth of it.
“Thank you, Mark,” he whispered, as Mark walked away.
Mark was nervous enough around the rest of the Egos, but the Host’s words had soothed him. They were all copies of him, after all, and were respectable enough. Mark made for the main office, where he could hear the murmur of conversation.
Poking his head in, he found Ethan and Tyler face to face with the four Googles.
“I can explain.”
“This was… the upgrade video?” Tyler raised an eyebrow, looking doubtful.
“Do they have names?” Ethan’s eyes were alight with ideas, and Mark, vividly, imagined him with a pink mustache.
“I have been named Oliver,” Oliver said, raising a hand, and Tyler locked eyes with Mark. Ethan bounced over to shake his hand.
“My apologies,” Oliver mumbled, withdrawing his hand, staring at Ethan clutching at his groin.
“The rest of them,” Mark said, ignoring Tyler’s snort of laughter, “are Googles Read, Green, and Blue.”
“Nice to meet you,” Tyler said, inclining his head. He made no move to shake their hands, and the droids stood awkwardly, staring from one man to the other.
“Uh, why are you out here, Googles?” Mark stepped farther into the room, joining Tyler and Ethan, who was still gasping from Oliver’s attack.
“Dark mentioned that we should attempt to make introductions with the remainder of the building,” Google_R spoke up. “Have we committed a faux pas?”
“Mark,” Tyler whispered, tightly. “I think–”
Mark was already gone, sprinting down the hallway towards the Googles’ room. He passed Bim on the stairs, turning to him for a fraction of a second. “Where are Dark and Will?”
“T-they said they wanted to talk, they should still be in the Googles’ lab…”
Before Bim could finish, Mark was running again, as fast as he could. He’d barely reached the door before the sound of the building powering down filled the suddenly dark corridor. The only light came from inside the room, a steady magenta glow.
Swallowing his fear, Mark turned the handle and stepped inside.
The first thing that was obvious was that the darkness in the room was unnatural. Smoke stung at his eyes, and Mark blinked furiously. Wilford was standing at Google’s computer, tapping idly at the buttons.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Wilford turned from the computer, the glowing screen the only light in the room. Mark felt a chill go down his spine as Wilford smiled, a silhouette with a knife.
“Why so afraid, Markimoo?”
The voice that spoke was Wilford’s, but another, closer voice chuckled. Mark whipped around to find Dark between him and the door. He backed into the room. Away from Dark, closer to Wilford. He stopped. There was nowhere to go.
The darkness was swirling around him, vague shapes in the smoke, faces, screams– his ears were ringing, whispers cutting through the white noise, distant shouts–
There was a banging at the door, and Mark dimly registered Tyler shouting for him before the darkness seemed to snuff out all sound, even the glow of the computer. They were left in blackness.
Dark’s eyes were pinpoints of light glaring down at him, and he felt Wilford’s hand dig into his shoulder. There was nowhere to go.
Mark tensed, daring Dark to come any closer, daring Will to make a move behind him, ready to fight for his life.
With a crash, the door caved in. A blinding light filled the room, and Mark could hear screaming. He didn’t know if it was him or Dark or even Wilford, but ear-splitting shouts filled the air. The darkness was dissapating, and Mark sank to his knees, stumbling.
A hand touched his shoulder, and Mark swung his fist blindly in its direction. He made contact with something, but barely had time to register it before something hit his skull and everything went black.
Mark woke with a start, someplace unfamiliar. For a heart-stopping moment, the sheets thrown over him were constricting, the darkness once again alive. He sat up straight, gasping, and felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.
“Mark, it’s me. Breathe.”
A light flicked on, and Tyler was looking down at him, looking concerned.
Mark groaned, putting a hand to the dull ache in his head. “Wh-what happened?”
“Everyone’s okay. The Googles got you out, and they’re keeping Dark and Will in their rooms, for now.”
“What,” Mark said, rubbing his eyes, “the fuck am I supposed to do about them?”
“You should really rest–”
“No. Fuck it, no.” Mark whipped the sheets off of him and stood up. His knees wobbled, the whole room spinning for a moment before Tyler’s arm steadied him. Mark looked up to see Tyler, disapproving but resigned, supporting him.
“If you want to go talk to them, I won’t stop you,” he said gruffly. “but I sure as hell am coming with you.”
One step at a time, they staggered to the hallway, where Google_G stood watch.
“Hey, Google,” Mark said, pausing by him. “Th- thank you.”
Google_G only nodded, but Mark could have sworn that he seemed to blush.
They reached Wilford’s door first, Google_B standing outside, arms folded.
“Is it safe to go in?” Tyler said, concerned.
Google_B nodded, stepping aside. He looked carefully over Mark, still leaning into Tyler.
“‘M okay, Google,” Mark mumbled, a little embarrassed. “I just… I just have to do this.” With a grateful look, Mark and Tyler shuffled in.
The room was dim, the light from the hallway outlining recording equipment and a makeshift green screen propped against one wall. On the other wall, in the shadows, came the unmistakable sound of Wilford flipping his butterfly knife.
“W-Will?” Mark let go of Tyler’s arm, pulling himself up. He shook with the strain, moving farther into the room.
The flipping paused. Mark, eyes growing accustomed to the dark, could see Wilford sitting against the wall, knife clenched in this hand, head down.
He mumbled something, quiet, guilty.
Mark stepped closer. “What did you say, Wilford?” He was forcing himself forward now, trying to be brave, trying to be assertive.
“I said ‘I’m sorry.’“ Wilford said again, lifting his head. His face was impassive, and Mark almost felt pity.
There was something broken there, something unfeeling, and he never wanted to see an expression like that on his own face again. Mark grasped at straws, trying to find a response. Of all things, he hadn’t expected an outright apology.
The Host’s voice echoed through his head. “You, on the other hand, are multi-dimensional.”
Mark swallowed, hard. “I-I just want to know– why?”
“Ask Dark,” Wilford growled. He looked Mark in the eye, bloodshot, hiding tremors. Mark stumbled backwards, only stopped from falling by Tyler’s hands.
Google_B appeared in the doorway, chest light glowing. Together, they helped Mark out of the room, Mark glancing back at Will apologetically.
“We don’t have to go talk to Dark,” Tyler said, frowning.
Google_B nodded in agreement. “I would strongly suggest that you rest.
Mark sat against the wall, catching his breath, shaking his head. “I-I have to.”
Tyler and Google_b made eye contact above him, knowing.
“I’m still coming with you.”
“I know. Now shut up and help me downstairs.”
Google_B watched them go, Tyler holding most of Mark’s weight. He was admirable, no doubt, but perhaps stubborn to a fault… Even now, he was still going. Google_B could only sigh to himself.
Google_R and Oliver stood outside Dark’s door, looking grim. When Mark and Tyler hobbled up, they looked at each other in surprise.
“You cannot possibly mean to enter Darkiplier’s room,” Oliver protested.
Mark glared at them both, blocking the entrance. “I appreciate the concern, Googles, but you don’t understand that this is something I have to do.”
“We are perfectly capable of understanding–”
“Please.” Mark cut Google_R’s protest off with a pleading look. “Let us in.”
Oliver began to protest again, but Google_R stopped him with a look. Turning back to Mark and Tyler, he nodded and unlocked the door.
Ignoring Oliver’s indignant gasps, Tyler and Mark moved into the room.
If Wilford’s room had been dim, Dark’s room was pitch black. There were no moving shadows here– the darkness was flat, like pools of undisturbed water in the recesses of the room. Mark again withdrew himself from Tyler’s shoulder. This was something he had to face, alone. The outlines of a desk, a chair, a figure looking out the window, began to take shape.
“Mark.” Dark’s voice was cloying, frustrated, detesting, and Mark could feel the contained power in his name.
Mark stepped closer, pulling himself upright. This was no time for fear, or pain. “Dark, why are you doing this?”
“You’re stupider than I thought.” Dark snapped, emerging fully from the blackness, eyes glowing in anger. “Why am I doing this, genius?”
“You want my channel. My influence.”
“If you know the answer, then why do you ask?”
Tyler stepped closer to Mark, protective. The gesture wasn’t lost on Dark, who sneered, folding his hands behind his back.
“I’m not self-destructive, boys. Even I know that those two robots standing outside would run in to rip me to pieces before I could touch a hair on your pretty head. I’m not going to do anything.” His words dripped contempt.
Dark smiled. “Warfstache is one of your finer creations, Mark. A performer, a narcissist with an affinity for murder. I must congratulate you. His need for the spotlight has proved quite…” he licked his lips, “…useful.”
“Don’t act as though you hold any power over him,” Tyler glowered from behind Mark. “Wilford is his own person, just as powerful as you. If not more.”
Dark’s expression soured for a moment before returning to an impassive facade. “Be that as it may, I am the threat you fear.” He shot a smile, poisonous, at Mark. “Aren’t I?”
“I’m not afraid of you, Dark.”
“Ah, but you should be. The Host has doubtlessly told you that you hold some kind of power over me. That you’re safe because–” he bared fangs, “–you’re human.”
Mark straightened up, more angry than afraid. “You’re right. I am human.”
“You, on the other hand, are multi-dimensional, capable of love, enjoyment… even forgiveness.”
He stuck his hand out, and Dark eyed it, shock barely showing on his face.
“I’m human, and you’re tied to my goddamn mortality. Whether you like it or not, Dark, I’m not afraid of you, I won’t be afraid of you, and you’re stuck with me. Stop trying to kill me, and I’ll sneak you in a video every so often.” Mark stopped, voice breaking with the strain, but still standing. He locked eyes with Dark and raised an eyebrow. “Deal?”
Tyler shook his head. He was witnessing a deal with the devil. But, as Mark and Dark shook hands, the darkness seemed to recede. Suddenly, the light from the hallway cast shadows farther into the room.
Dark looked at Mark with a glimmer of respect, before folding his face into a sneer. “I’ll settle for that, for now.” He turned his back and stalked back into the office, a clear dismissal.
Tyler moved to take Mark’s arm and lead him out of the office, their steps shuffling in silence.
“I’d watch your back if I were you,” Oliver scolded, locking the door behind them. Google_R was silent, observing.
“I-I know,” Mark said, leaning heavily on Tyler’s arm. He waved off further questions, looking down. “I’m exhausted,” he admitted.
With a barely contained smug look, Tyler excused them and swept Mark down the hallway, upstairs, back to the spare room to rest.
Oliver, once they were alone, looked at Google_R, who was avoiding his eye. “Why? That was categorically dangerous and against our directive. Why did you stop me and allow him in?”
Google_R glanced over to meet his eyes, then glanced down, guiltily. “It was something that had to be done.”
“That statement is subjective and illogical,” Olive snapped.
Google_R glared at him, folding his arms. “And being named Oliver, of all things, is illogical.”
Oliver fell silent, confused.
From the other side of the door came a sneering, mocking voice. “Aww, are the ‘killer robots’ developing feelings?”
Will you ever put in Marvin the Magnificent, Jacques Septique, or Artiplier? Or at least recognize them as egos? ((I have this idea of Artiplier and Jacques are capable of bringing their paintings into reality, and Arti is terrorized by one of his creations that gone rogue, Red Man))
I’ve thought of giving the Green Beans their own story, sort of like I’ve done with the Markiplier Egos in the past. So yes, I’d love to include Jacques and Marv! As for Artiplier, there are too many Markiplier Egos as it is, and adding one more would probably make me go entirely insane trying to write them all. Maybe I’ll give him a one shot, since your idea with Red Man is quite interesting, but he probably won’t become a regular.
Then again, I say that very often and continue to write about more and more Egos… So, we just never know, cutie pie!
I get to make movies, and I’m so blessed, but most of the time I go,
“This is absurd, this is way too much money and way too many egos and
way too many people thinking they’re the most important thing in the
world.” This is fun. We should all be having a great time.
Voltron fic-in-progress, likely T-rating when all is said and done, and Sheith without monkeying with their ages. Concrit and feedback and title inspirations are welcome.
When the press conference
happened, Keith watched from Shiro’s couch. He leaned forward intently, waiting
for the spokesperson to wade through all the things that the Garrison residents
would know but that the general population needed for context. Then the
spokesperson got to the heart of the matter.
“It is with the deepest
sadness and regret that we must share that the Kerberos mission was a failure.
The ship appears to have crashed on the moon. We presume at this point that it
was due to pilot error, some mistake by Captain Shirogane—”
“WHAT?” Keith shouted in
“—and all crew members
are missing, presumed dead.”
“YOU LIARS!” He threw the
remote hard enough to leave a dent in the wall next to the viewscreen before
charging out of Shiro’s apartment.