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juju-on-that-yeet · 1 year

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At My Worst (Chapter 4)

Work Summary: Thanks to his enduring popularity in the fandom, The Author pops back into existence and the egos must suddenly contend with someone they thought was gone forever coming back from the dead. No one is more shocked than Dr. Iplier, who can’t help but remember how things used to be - and slowly fall back into bad habits, despite his better judgement.

Chapter Summary: The Host is still angry that The Author’s back, and The Author still wants to dissect the past. Dr. Iplier is set adrift between two hard places, and things are about to get much harder.

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Dr. Iplier is more or less used to The Author’s presence in Ego Inc., he thinks. He’s still put on edge by every conversation between them, still afraid that Author might try bringing up the past and dredging through everything in their past, but it’s at least a familiar feeling by now. It no longer puts him so off balance, it’s no longer so difficult to brush off (though it still isn’t easy). The rest of the egos seem well used to him as well; he’s fully integrated into the friend groups of some egos, and the ones who don’t care for him as much have learned to live with him.

All, that is, but The Host.

Yes, Host has a reason not to like Author. Yes, Host is justified in being worried about Author’s presence in the building. Yes, Host is allowed to be annoyed and angry and frustrated that he has to share a living space with a walking reminder of all his worst traits and most terrible decisions.

However.

He does not have to make it the subject of so many of his conversations with Dr. Iplier.

Every time Dr. Iplier treats Author in the clinic or runs into him in the hall, Host seems to know about it, and always has to say something about it. Dr. Iplier is sure that some of that comes from his own behavior; spending time around Author does get him a bit rattled, and no doubt Host can sense that. But that can’t be all of it, Dr. Iplier isn’t convinced that Host isn’t doing some spying via narration. Honestly, Dr. Iplier wouldn’t even mind it if Host just kept it to himself. But he never seems able to, never seems willing to take Dr. Iplier at his oft-repeated word that Host has nothing to fear. Dr. Iplier loves Host, and he understands that Host loves him back, and that the root of his behavior truly is his love for Dr. Iplier. But The Author’s arrival has turned Host into a paranoid, territorial, angry person that Dr. Iplier hardly recognizes, and Dr. Iplier’s patience is starting to wear thin.

He goes to the library one day after treating Author at the clinic, hoping to see Host, hoping to enjoy his company while he has a free moment. He finds Host standing between bookshelves with a sour expression on his face, though, as has become typical.

“Before you say anything,” sighs Dr. Iplier as he walks up to him, “Yes, I just saw Author at the clinic. He got in a fight and needed some stitches. I gave him stitches, we chit-chatted, then he left. That’s all. Oh, come on,” he groans when Host only frowns deeper, “Don’t give me that face. Host…”

“I’m sorry,” Host sighs, shaking his head. “I just…you know how I feel.”

“I do. And I sympathize, but you don’t have to keep reminding me.”

Host is quiet for a moment. Dr. Iplier comes closer, close enough to reach out and hug him if he wanted. Host lifts his head to Dr. Iplier, as though he were looking him in the face.

“I’m still worried,” Host admits, “I can’t explain why, he’s been here a while already and nothing’s happened, so logically I shouldn’t, but I still am.” He reaches out a hand, cups Dr. Iplier’s cheek. “It’s Author I don’t trust, not you.”

“You keep saying that, and yet…” Dr. Iplier grumbles, but he doesn’t pull away from Host’s hand.

Host frowns at that, but not in the same way he did earlier, not so petulant and accusatory.

“I’m sorry, love,” he says, “I’ve said it already, but I am.”

“I know,” Dr. Iplier replies, lifting his own hand to cover Host’s. “But it gets exhausting.”

“I don’t like how unsettled I’ve been,” Host admits, “But I’m not sure how to stop feeling that way.”

“Maybe if you talked to Author once or twice, you’d realize you don’t have so much to fear.”

Host’s face scrunches up in displeasure, as though Dr. Iplier’s words were a lemon he’d just bitten into.

“I’d really rather not.”

Dr. Iplier chuckles, he can’t help it.

“I figured you’d say that,” he says, “But you can’t just feel like this forever. Author’s not going anywhere; he lives here now, he’s always going to be here, and I’m always going to interact with him when he’s hurt or sick. You’re gonna have to get used to him eventually.”

“I know,” Host sighs, “I’ll try my best to, truly.” He winds an arm around Dr. Iplier’s waist, pulls him closer. “And I ask for your continued patience while I do so.”

“Weeeeeeeell,” Dr. Iplier drawls, though he can’t suppress a smirk as he puts an arm around Host in turn. “I guess, if it’s for you, then I’ll keep being patient.”

“You’re a saint, truly,” Host snarks, grinning back.

Host moves his hand from Dr. Iplier’s cheek around to the back of his head, fingers curling into his hair, and pulls him in for a kiss. Dr. Iplier lets him, kissing back with a slight smile still on his lips.

It’s not the first time Dr. Iplier has had this conversation with The Host, not the first time Host has promised to change, and it turns out to not the last time, either. Dr. Iplier tries to be patient, tries to brush past it and ignore it when it happens. It continues to be a low-level annoyance that impacts every moment he spends with Host, continues to be another effect that The Author has on the building.

So far, it’s the only real negative one. Dark also doesn’t like Author, probably for similar reasons to the Host; Author’s a reminder of the one time Dark went too far, and he’s still better at wearing down Dark’s patience than any other ego has been. Google finds him annoying and probably wishes Chrome wasn’t friends with him. His powers and devil-may-care attitude make Eric nervous, but then, so much does. Other than these things and The Host’s persistent anger at Author’s presence, the building has been much the same with Author in it.

There’s also, however, the turbulent thoughts that go through Dr. Iplier’s mind whenever Author is around. Equal parts pleasant memories and terrible traumas, past history and present conflict. Maybe Host’s reaction to Author is making it worse, keeping those thoughts always at the front of Dr. Iplier’s mind. He doesn’t know for sure. But he can’t help but feel that things might come to a head sometime soon. In what way, he isn’t sure, but he turns out to be right, and thus finds out before long.

He goes to the library one day, for once not to see Host – though that would be a welcome side effect. Instead, he’s aiming to find a good book or two to occupy him after work for the next week. He knows the shelves well by now, and knows that the books he enjoys always tend to be in the shelves in the center of the room. The center of the library also holds Host’s writing desk and typewriter, and an armchair perfect for someone to sit nearby him as he writes. Dr. Iplier manages to find a couple good books on the way there, but decides to keep going to the center anyway. For all that Host has been cranky lately, Dr. Iplier still likes to see him, and there’s a decent chance he’ll be there.

Instead, however, Dr. Iplier finds The Author at the center of the library, sitting in the armchair, legs crossed and up on the desk nearby, writing something in his notebook. Author looks up at the sound of Dr. Iplier’s footsteps, and smiles when their eyes meet. Dr. Iplier, however, can’t help but feel trepidation.

“Hey, Doc,” Author says, “Fancy meeting you here.”

“What are you doing back here?” Dr. Iplier asks.

“Chilling,” Author replies, “Writing a bit. No peeking, though, it’s not finished yet.”

“Host wouldn’t like you being here,” Dr. Iplier says, “He especially wouldn’t like you putting your feet on his desk.”

“Aw, come on, Doc,” Author sighs, “Some of the books in here are mine, at the very least I should be able to hang out here.” He does remove his feet from the desk, but he stays sitting in the armchair.

“Author–” Dr. Iplier says, coming closer, half-looking around to make sure Host isn’t near.

“Doc, relax,” Author soothes, chuckling a little, “If Host was gonna chase me out he would’ve done it already. Either he’s not here or he doesn’t care.”

“He must not be here, then,” Dr. Iplier grumbles, “Host would absolutely care.”

“He’s still bent out of shape about me, huh?” Author sighs. “I try to avoid him, but I guess “out of sight, out of mind” doesn’t really work on him.”

“You’re trying to avoid him, yet you’re in his library sitting in his armchair?” Dr. Iplier asks. He’d normally say something like this with snark, but it comes out full of nerves instead.

“I can’t not come here, Doc,” Author says, a more serious note to his voice than he’s had so far. He sighs yet again, and closes his notebook to fully focus on Dr. Iplier. “You know me, words are in my blood. This place is everything I could’ve hoped for. This is…” His expression sours just a little. “This is what Dark promised me, if I cooperated. And now it belongs to someone else. Wilford got his studio, you got your clinic, I was supposed to get this.” He gestures around himself, towards all the shelves and countless books. “I can’t just stay away, no matter what Host thinks.”

Dr. Iplier can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. What Author said is true; back before Ego Inc. existed, Dark had to persuade all the egos to join him there, to gather everyone in one place where they could be hidden and safe – and under Dark’s supervision. It was a hard sell for everyone, so he promised to fulfill each person’s desires if they came willingly. Author was the last stubborn holdout, and by the time he finally acquiesced, Dark’s patience had already run dry…and then The Author was dead, and only The Host was left to inherit Author’s dream of a library. Ego Inc. has a magic to it that makes every one of Mark’s figments feel at home, and that magic is strongest in each ego’s favorite place. Author can likely still feel inside himself how this room was made for him, as his own safe space.

But it’s not his own safe space anymore, not while Host is here. Dr. Iplier is still worried that he could show up at any second, and Author can clearly tell.

“Geez, you’re still so worried about Host,” Author says, “Has he really been that angry about me?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Dr. Iplier says, “You just…you remind him of a lot of things he’d rather forget.”

Author wants to probe further, just like he always does, Dr. Iplier can see it in his face. He wants to dig into their shared history and lay everything out in the open. Usually, though, these moments happen in the clinic, and Dr. Iplier can brush past them by refocusing on Author’s treatment or ushering him out if his treatment is completed. Here, though, there’s no easy distraction. Dr. Iplier only just got here, so he can’t get away with pretending to have to leave. Author already doubts that Host will come by, so that’s not a good deterrent, either.

“What kinds of things?” Author asks, pointed. His eyes are piercing. “Like how Dark killed him, or like how we used to be together, or both?”

“Author…” Dr. Iplier begins, voice lowered in warning.

“Just asking,” Author mutters, looking away. “Just…feels like you complain about him a lot, lately.”

Dr. Iplier feels his cheeks heat up just a little. It’s the truth, but he didn’t notice until it was pointed out.

“I guess so,” he admits. Author seems unable to stifle a chuckle.

“Sorry,” he says in response to the look Dr. Iplier gives him, “Not trying to make fun of you. Things are going okay, though, right?”

“More or less,” Dr. Iplier sighs. He takes a step closer to the armchair Author’s sitting in. “He’s sorry for being so crabby, but that doesn’t seem to stop it…”

He trails off partly for lack of anything else to say, but partly because it occurs to him that it’s bad form as a boyfriend to complain about Host like this, especially to Author. But Author has a way of making Dr. Iplier into an open book, has a way of reading him just as well and getting every word he desires out of him. Even now, Dr. Iplier can’t seem to resist it.

“Sounds rough,” Author says, “And annoying. Is he like that all the time? Kinda sounds like it.”

“No,” Dr. Iplier mumbles, trying not to backpedal too obviously.

“Hm.” Author chews his lip for a moment. “Guess he still has a bit of me in him after all.”

“W-What?” Dr. Iplier sputters.

“Doing something that upsets you, apologizing, and then doing it again anyway.” He grins ruefully, but there’s regret in his tone. “I used to be real good at that. Not too surprising that Host still has that skill, I guess, but…you think he would’ve learned that by now, huh?”

“You’re one to talk,” Dr. Iplier snaps, a burst of anger going through him to hear Host be insulted.

“Yeah, but at least I figured it out,” Author counters, voice all-too-casual. “I remembered the lesson I learned from that, and I know that about myself. You think Host does? Or do you think he’d just get pissed at the thought of being anything like me?”

“Author, enough,” Dr. Iplier mutters, “I may not like hearing Host complain about you, but I like hearing you complain about Host even less.” Even if Author’s words are probably true.

“Sorry, sorry,” Author sighs. To his credit, he sounds genuinely remorseful. He thinks for a moment. “Guess we really are alike still. Even after everything I went through, everything he’s been through since…we’re still so similar.”

“Author, stop,” Dr. Iplier says, trying for a warning tone again but not quite managing it. There’s nothing to hide behind, now.

“Stop what? Remembering?” Author asks, challenging, voice taking on the slightest growl.

“Stop bringing it up,” Dr. Iplier says, unable to help taking the bait, unable to stop himself from saying the quiet part out loud. “What do you expect me to do when you say things like that? You can’t keep trying to rehash everything!”

Come on, Doc!” He stands up from his chair in his frustration. “We can’t keep dancing around this. It’s been a long time but it happened. We happened. We have to talk about it at some point!”

“How can we??” Dr. Iplier asks in return, just as volatile, “What is there to say? We did happen, but now we’re here.” Dr. Iplier looks away. The words he’s saying are unfamiliar, but the sound they make coming out of him reminds him of arguments with Author long past. He takes a breath, calms himself a little. “It’s over, Author.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Author says, words in a rush. He steps closer to Dr. Iplier, eyes glinting. “You loved me, and you love Host, and we’re the same. I’m still me.”

“Author…”

“You broke up with me, but you still cared, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up with Host. We can still have something. We can still be something.”

Author reaches out, puts a hand on Dr. Iplier’s shoulder, warmer and stronger than Host’s hands. Maybe Dr. Iplier should shrug it away, but his head is still swimming with Author’s words.

“Edward,” Author says, quietly, urgently. “I’m in love with you. You know I still love you. Some part of you loves me too, it has to.”

“Author, I…”

“And Host has been such a pain in the ass lately, hasn’t he? You were just complaining about it. He can’t even appreciate you enough to be secure in the two of you.”

“You’re asking me to betray him?”

“But we’re the same!” Author grins, a little manic, a little sad. “He and I are two sides of the same coin. Do you want the angry one that keeps frustrating you, or the kind one you’ve had so many nice moments with, not just recently but years ago?”

“Author, this is insane,” Dr. Iplier gasps. He knew deep down Author still cared, but how could he have expected this? His hands are white-knuckle tight around his books. The part of his heart that remembers the good times doesn’t want to hurt Author, but the part of his brain that understands the reality of things wants to end this now.

“Say my name, at least,” Author murmurs, almost begs. “If you’re going to say no, use my real name.”

Dr. Iplier swallows. Author is so close. His eyes are still so piercing.

“I’m – I –”

Author waits, but Dr. Iplier can’t say a word. Once he realizes nothing is coming, Author sighs, the deepest one he’s made yet, and smiles sadly.

“That’s okay,” he says, voice quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Iplier whispers. Part of him wants to apologize further, part of him doesn’t think he should be apologizing at all. No one’s ever been as good as putting him at odds with himself as Author.

For his part, Author takes a moment to fully calm. His hand is still on Dr. Iplier’s shoulder, he’s still so terribly close, but Dr. Iplier still can’t bring himself to pull away.

“No, I’m sorry,” Author murmurs. “That was…a lot. I shouldn’t have put all that on you. I don’t…I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He sounds so raw and his words are so honest that Dr. Iplier is taken aback. The Author in his memory would never admit fault so fully.

“It’s okay,” he finds himself saying. “But you already know what my answer is. And we can’t talk about this again.”

“You’re right,” Author says, “And we won’t, I promise. Whatever happens, just…” He takes in a breath. “Remember that I do care about you, alright?”

Before Dr. Iplier can respond, Author leans forward, kisses his cheek, and walks away, disappearing through the library shelves.

Dr. Iplier is left frozen.

He knows he shouldn’t be. He should be incensed, he should be marching after Author to chew him out, or at least storming off in anger. He shouldn’t be stunned still at how much like memory that kiss was. He shouldn’t have the feeling of Author’s lips on his cheek still, warm and smooth, not chapped like Host’s. Just a little more forceful than a typical peck, the way Author’s kisses always were when given in a hurry. He shouldn’t have a hand halfway to his cheek to touch the place where Author’s lips were. He shouldn’t be running the moment through his mind over and over again if he’s not going to imagine shoving Author away right after. He shouldn’t have bright red cheeks.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

He shouldn’t, but he is.

He has no idea what to do.

Logic says he can’t keep this to himself. It doesn’t rise to the level of getting Dark to intervene, but someone has to know that Author did this. That he professed his love for and kissed Dr. Iplier. But the only person it makes sense to tell, the only person who would truly care to know, is Host. And Dr. Iplier should tell Host, he knows he should. But he already knows what would happen: Host would throw a fit, go into a rage, maybe even go after Author or do something else unwise. Dr. Iplier would never hear the end of it. And that’s just the start, that’s just if he could retell the event without letting on how it’s making him feel, without acknowledging the memories getting caught in his chest from not just the kiss, but the whole conversation before it. How the hell could Dr. Iplier ever play it off? He could never explain this to Host in a way that would satisfy him.

So Dr. Iplier ultimately decides not to tell him at all.

Choice made, he finally manages to uproot himself and hurry out of the library, books still clutched to his chest. He tries to read one when he reaches his room, but the words swim away when he tries to focus on them. He can think of nothing but Author and of that kiss and of the sinking feeling deep in his gut.

#dr. iplier #the author markiplier #markiplier fanfiction #my writing #fanfic #markiplier #at my worst #heh >:3

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shyyandere44 · 2 years

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I’m feeling soft so you’re forced to put up with it.

So Yandere.. he’s not having the best time right?

In meetings he just doodles in his diary which was normal but his doodles.. were all broken hearts, even randomly tearing out pages and lighting them on fire in the middle of Dark’s monologue which he didn’t take kindly to-

If it isn’t for food he won’t leave his room either, and Google went as far as installing a hidden motion detector.. it wouldn’t go off for long periods of time, prompting the discussion of.. vital monitors being placed on him.

Eric.. poor Eric just moved in, and on the first day had to witness.. the breaking point.

It was just supposed to be a simple conversation between Yan and Dark- trying to address the situation in the kitchen as Eric walked in for cereal.

It didn’t turn out so simple.

Eric didn’t even understand what happened because of how fast it was- all he knew was that Yan threw dark at a wall hard enough to break through it before jumping on top of him and was trying to stab him with a steak knife.

Eric had to call the only name he knew- The second in command, Wilford. Screaming out of fear for him to hurry, to which he did- along with almost everyone in the house.

Yan thrashed.. unnaturally, managing to somehow even escape the robotic grip of Google- not even hesitating when Wilford got out his gun- dark had to have host help him up while Wilford and Yancy held onto the rabid redhead as Edward- or as he’s commonly known as Dr. Iplier- had to stab a sedative into him strong enough for to put even dark down, everyone yelling for Yan to stop- the struggle continues until finally his body couldn’t resist the drugs… his hand going limp and dropping the knife.

An unnatural silence falls the room.

Eric’s first introduction to Yandere.

Dark was lucky he could heal easily when left alone… and now they have to figure out what to do with Yandere.

He’s going feral without something to obsess over.. everyone knows it, but they can’t bring his crush back to life. To give him another one is.. dangerous.

A voté is casted

Yandere is on house arrest, being locked into his room and restrained with a mouthpiece- or muzzle as he calls it- keeping him from biting.

Keeping him like a caged animal.

At least… until they can figure out a solution.

Eric was placed on the afternoon shift, thinking it would be the safest as his time slot is between dark and host.

It would be an awkward first visit.

“Hi! I know I-I haven’t.. exactly gotten the right opportunity to introduce myself, my name’s Eric! I.. like your hair!”

He’d be met with silence, just like everyone else. Eric would cower to his glaring red eyes, not entirely convinced the restraints could hold the power he witnessed his first day.

Two days had passed.

Eric was watching as the man he would watch become less outwardly agressive, seeming to just stare at the wall and stay still, scaring Eric to an extent causing him to watch for the other’s breathing. He had mentioned the strange behavior to Dark but his concerns were dismissed, stating that Yan was probably just scheming for a way out. Eric knew he may be naïve but.. he felt sorry for Yan.

The others still had concerns over letting Yan roam free again, while Edward would counter the longer they held him like this the worse his mental health would deteriorate.

A vote would be casted.

And starting at the end of the month, his mouth piece would be removed, yet his restraints would remain, only to be removed for Edward’s checkups with Wilford’s direct supervision.

Eric didn’t like that phrasing, because he knew this ‘supervision’ was more like a bodyguard for Edward, having a gun trained on Yandere to ‘neutralize’ if something went wrong.

But it went into effect just as stated, with Eric seeing the Yandere’s face for the first time since the incident- and he couldn’t decide if this was a good or bad thing.

His expression always seemed unreadable, having no human emotion at all times- the only time he seemed to open his mouth was to yawn- which didn’t help Eric’s case as his paranoia made him imagine all the horrific things his sharp teeth could do to Eric given the chance.

Despite his worries, Eric was determined to get him to speak. All he had ever heard from the others was that it was higher pitched- that his laugh always sounded manic and too enthusiastic. Yet all Eric ever saw was a cold, detached husk restrained and probably uncomfortable.

“I know.. you’re probably not going to like this but I went into your room- I gotta say I loved your decor! And I saw you had cool manga on your shelves, you really do have great taste.”

He’d always say these things with a smile, wanting to give this Yandere a much needed friend as the others seemed to outcast him..

Yet Yandere would never respond, not even bothering to meet his gaze. Uninterested in what he was saying as his own thoughts seem to held him hostage.

Eric would keep talking to him with no response, until eventually he changed strategies.. saying nothing at all, treating Yandere the same way he’d treat a cat.

He’d often bring in a book or perhaps his gameboy to keep him entertained, not even acknowledging he was sharing the same space as the Yandere, going out of his way to seem as relaxed as possible.

It was time consuming, sure, but one day when he looked up he saw Yandere actually looking at him with curiosity, leaning to see him closer only to look away when Eric caught him.

It may not have been much, but it was a win for him, and he’d leave his session excited.

Then one day, Eric would walk into the room to see Yandere.. seeming irritated. Moving his head in a weird whip over and over leaving Eric confused until he saw what was bothering him- his hair stuck defiantly over his face, about to get into his eyes.

“Is that.. bothering you?”

Eric would ask hesitantly, feeling bad that Yan couldn’t fix it due to his restraints- and surprisingly, after looking at Eric for a while, would slowly nod.

“Do you.. want me to fix it for you?”

He’d ask again, still in awe he got a response and actual acknowledgement.

Yandere seemed to be confused by the question, looking towards the door and all around the room- probably realizing it truly was only Eric in the room, leaving Eric in an awkward silence before nodding.

“Just d-don’t… don’t give them any reason to not let me visit you.. ok?”

Eric would request, and to his surprise he got another nod.

His gentle hand would touch Yan for the first time and he flinched, but… slowly went back to Eric’s hand.

Eric wouldn’t wait for him to change his mind, pushing his soft red hair behind his ear,

“There.. a-all better.”

This was the closest he’s ever been to the Yandere, and even with every violent incident he’s seen so far… he can’t bring himself to cower in fear. Even with those red eyes staring deep into his soul like some feral demon. And to his surprise.. The Yandere was the first to look away

In their two months together that had never happened.

Finally he would give him the distance he was probably wanting.

Eric admittedly scared to push it too far.

For the rest of his time he’d be reading the book he started to read a couple of weeks ago, in the beginning he just read it in the awkward silence between his watch but then.. he noticed the Yandere’s eyes looking at the mirror next to him, eyes squinting- he was trying to read what he was reading.

Once Eric figured that out he was happy to read it out loud for him, which seemed to keep him entertained as his eyes almost seemed inquisitive

Host would always be the next shift after, which he’d learn to like. Originally the narrator hated having to waste time with what he described as a foaming at the mouth beast but eventually his tone would change, instead stating the Yandere would seem.. more distant than agressive.

Dark was anything but happy to hear that.. being concerned for Eric’s safety. He’d start cutting their time shorter and shorter

Eric would begin to notice Yandere would start to almost look sad as Eric would leave- it was nice to a certain extent but also made him feel terrible.. starting to promise he’d be back and not to worry.

Yancy was always the one to bring him snacks and drinks, but once dark started enacting his policy about Eric’s schedule.. Yan began to refuse to take it. On the first day it didn’t concern him, thinking maybe he just didn’t feel good and he’d leave it for later- but after day three he became concerned.

Eric would notice Yandere would seem more tired and weak throughout their visits, and when Yancy finally told him of Yan’s diet he truly became concerned.

Dark tried to encourage Eric not to worry about it, and that Yandere has done this in the past with him usually going back to normal within a few days- but deep down Eric wasn’t convinced.

Eric would walk in again for his visit, and Yandere actually perked up when he came in, having a good mood for the first time in a while- if Eric didn’t know what he knew he would’ve been over the moon with his progress but.. he knew he had to confront this negative behavior before it got worse.

“Yan.. you know I’m here for you.. right?”

the atmosphere in the room suddenly wasn’t as pleasant- and Eric watched as Yandere seemed to piece together Eric wasn’t in a playful mood as he had hoped.

“And while.. the others may have mixed feelings about you, I want what’s best for you. I want you out of here one day.”

Eric then watched as Yandere seemed to be really confused, even tilting his head. This was when he finally decided to spit it out.

“You haven’t been eating anything Yancy brings you for the past few days. Why.”

It was quiet in that room, as it seemed Yan didn’t even breathe- looking at the ground for a while before looking at Eric with a sorrowful look In his eyes. It was a message, Eric knew that, but one he couldn’t convey.

“They’re.. they’re gonna keep you here longer if you keep doing this Yan. I’m just trying to help you, I really am- but I don’t know how. Please just- tell me what changed, tell me what’s wrong.”

And to his unfortunate reality.. Yandere would say nothing, looking down, leaving Eric frustrated as he decided to just leave- walking out the door and closing it behind him, telling dark he had something to do and that dark can fill in.

Laying in bed that night Eric didn’t feel good about what he did. It was out of frustration- anger at the fact that even after everything he did for Yan it wasn’t enough for him to gain trust. He thought.. maybe he’d managed to create a unique relationship with him.

It just wasn’t the case.

……or so he thought.

He’d wake up, going downstairs to the now repaired kitchen to overhear Yancy and Host’s conversation.

“Guess Dark was right about him breaking after a couple of days, It was like magic- this morning he ate with no problem.”

“The host believes that dark spoke to the other regarding his behavior, most likely threatening him with punishment due to Dark’s character traits. But the host won’t think too much into it, he’s just ready for the Yandere to be treated normally again so he can go back to having a social life.”

It.. was weird to Eric. He’d have his bowl yet he suddenly didn’t feel hungry as his stomach flipped.

Was he.. responsible for this?

He’d.. be anxious as the time for him to see Yandere got closer, not knowing what to think or believe. But he’d go in, opening the door to his temporary.. well- cage, only managing to convince dark to let him in at the expense of cleaning up the trash.

Yandere’s eyes would meet his, and for a moment Eric held still- having that initial fear he’s had since the beginning appear, but he didn’t break his eye contact, standing his ground, all until he made it to his little comfy chair.

“..I overheard Yancy this morning. Apparently you.. had no problem.”

Yandere has never held such an intense stare at Eric like this before, it made Eric undeniably uncomfortable.

“Did you.. actually listen to me yesterday?”

He’d ask with uncertainty, just wanting to get some kind of answer-

Unfortunately he’d get one.

Not exactly the one he anticipated but..

Eric got one.

Eric couldn’t help but describe it to be like a dog trained to ‘smile’ with their razor sharp teeth, one that humans recognize as friendly yet deep down its predatory.

A smile so wide it was unnatural.

Eric won’t lie, it took everything inside him not to call him out for how freaking scary it looked and beg for him to stop it. He’d swallow down the lump in his throat, starting to remind himself that he was restrained, unable to hurt him.

“…I’ll take that as a yes.”

Perhaps Yan got the reaction he wanted, because his face would shortly go back to the unreadable expression he usually wore- one that Eric has learned not to fear. Eventually he’d shake his fear off, feeling guilty about yesterday as he read as much as he could to him.

It’s almost the end of the second month, It seemed Eric actually was getting comfortable with the other’s company, being more lenient with Dark’s rules as he’d sneak in snacks and movies for them to watch together- and even if Yan didn’t speak, Eric was beginning to believe that Yandere was enjoying his time with him.

Finally, after the second month the vote was casted to decide if Yandere should be allowed to be free from his restraints, with Eric and Dr Iplier would be very vocal in their support of- but others like dark and Wilford weren’t convinced. Dark saying his lack of proper communication allowed for him to hide proper evaluations, and that he was simply buying his time in order to strike again- and Wilford would pipe up stating the rabid boy would glare at him every chance he could.

A voté was casted..

And it seems Yandere is still stuck in his restraints, but his observation sessions would be cut back to give him some semblance of false freedom.

Eric.. would meet with him the next day, seeing him reverting back to staring at the wall for what seemed like hours while barely breathing. There was no way that dark didn’t break the news to him.

“Hey Yan.. I.. got you a little treat for today”

Eric’s upbeat voice couldn’t lift the despair in the room. As optimistic as Eric was, he understood why Yan was upset.

“I um.. picked it out because it had red frosting.. and.. a cherry on top- it.. made me think of you.”

It got Yandere’s attention at least, his clouded eyes lazily focusing on the cupcake..

Eric wasn’t prepared to see a tear leak from his eye, and all he worried about was that he had did something wrong- he knew Yandere couldn’t wipe his tears.

Eric was simply going to wipe them away for Yandere, grabbing a tissue as he’d go to wipe his face

“I’m sorry Yan it’s gonna be o-“

It happened faster than he could comprehend it, only hearing leather straps snap with a metal buckle crashing to the floor, For a moment Eric’s life flashed before his eyes, waiting for the cold embrace of death only to feel someone’s warmth.. Eric would open his eyes to see the back of Yandere’s head.. he.. was hugging him, and from the sounds of it sniffling as he struggled to keep himself together.

“Thank you for not giving up on me”

And after some time.. Eric would hug back~

#markiplier fandom #markiplier egos #fanfiction #yanderiplier #darkiplier #wilford warfstache #eric derickson #fluff #dr iplier #markiplier yancy #markiplier ego angst #Yandere mark gets a little too quirked up #nah cuz what the dog doing?

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trxsh3banditt · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 11 “911, what’s your emergency?”

Fandom: Youtuber egos

Characters: Dr Henrik Von Schneeplestein, Dr Edward Iplier

Relationships: Schneeplier

Prompts: Sloppy Bandages + Makeshift Splint

Triggers: broken bones

It was a normal day for Edward at work. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, no accidents or stupid people. Just the occasional yelling at his nurse but that was normal in his case. That was until Henrik came in that day.

Usually there was no problem between the two, but for some reason he had been avoiding him ever since he came in. Refused to talk to him and wouldn’t even be in the same room as his fellow doctor. This worried him greatly since Henrik never acted this way.

For the entire day Edward was only asking his co-workers on Henrik, to try and get some insight on why his partner was acting such way.

One of his coworkers came forward saying Henrik had been limping a lot when he thought nobody was looking and that he looked pained whenever he was trying to walk normally. That only seemed to worry him more as he went to Henrik’s office door and knocked.

“Ja?” “Henrik, let me in.”

Henrik sighed from inside the office. “Edward, no. Just stop asking already” Edward mumbled a little, knowing he’d regret this later but he needed to find out what was going on. He gripped the doorknob, since Henrik’s lock was broken anyway. “I’m coming in” He sighed and came in.

Before Henrik could say a word Edward stopped him. “What’s going on Henrik? It’s not nothing either. You’ve been avoiding me all day and now I’m being told you’re limping”

Henrik looked away from him, as if he felt guilty for something. “Fine. I got hurt okay, it isn’t important anyway” “Then get up if it isn’t”

With that, Henrik did stand, only to nearly double over when the sharp pain shot through his injured leg. Edward picked him up and carried him to a room before checking his leg, much to Henrik’s refusal. “Is..Is this broken?” He asked. The ashamed look on the Germans face told him all he needed to know. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He questioned, still concerned and now worried that his partner was afraid to tell him anything.

“I didn’t want you to worry for me, it’s not that important.” He mumbled, catching Edward off guard. “If you’re using a makeshift splint and can’t bandage it properly, I think it’s important..” Edward replied.

Henrik began to tear up, feeling guilty for not telling him but Edward gently wiped the tears away. “hey..it’s not you’re fault..lets get it properly taken care of, I’ll talk to the boss and see if we can leave early”

#whumptober2022 #whumptoberday11 #911whatsyouremergency #sloppybandages #makeshiftsplint #jse egos #dr henrik von schneeplestein #markipler egos #dr edward iplier #jse fanfiction #markiplier fanfiction #schneeplier

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frozenrose105 · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 1/Day 21

Prompts: A Little Out of the Ordinary, Famous Last Words

Characters: The Author, Dr. Iplier

======================

"You're going to help me, Doctor." The Author's words left no room for argument, carrying that dangerous undertone that they so often did. "You're going to cure- whatever the /fuck/ this is."

Doctor Iplier himself was sitting on a chair within the Author's cabin, looking worse for the wear, but still functional- as functional as the Author needed him to be to cure his sudden hemophilia. That said, what he could only assume was strips of his own torn lab coat bound his hands in front of him, and he did his best to stay calm as he spoke to the Author. It wasn't like he hadn't handled the man in his modes before, but he knew there was a real chance he would be killed here if he set him off.

"I told you, I will do my best. ...I would assume that there's been some sort of trauma to your eyes, and I believe an antifibrinolytic agent will help stop the bleeding. I need to do some tests though to confirm, and I can't do that with my hands tied." He would stick to logic. Facts. It was easiest to be unafraid when he was simply treating a patient- and that's what he was doing, everything else aside. "It would also do you well to come to my office and allow me to treat you there. It's much more sterile, and you're losing a lot of blood, Author. This can only get worse the longer we sit here."

"I don't have time, Iplier." The Author's voice was growing more desperate. Manic, as the danger still resided there as well. "My narrations aren't fixing this, I-" He cut himself off to swipe blood from his cheeks and wipe it on his jeans, not seeming to care about the stain it could leave. Doctor Iplier thought it was something the Author must be used to, with everyone he had killed, and he saw irony in the fact that he was used to it as well, for entirely opposing reasons. He didn't get to dwell on the fact however, as the scene around him changed with a whisper from the other man, and abruptly he was standing- freed. "...Fine. Alright. Do your goddamned tests and make no mistake, I can still kill you if you do anything stupid."

Looking around, Dr. Iplier saw the sterile white of his office rather than the dim wooden walls of the cabin. It was disorienting how quickly the Author could move them from one spot to the other, as though they'd teleported. The Author didn't seem phased by it, but now would be the time to run if he intended to do so. The Author was at least partially blinded by the profuse bleeding from his eye sockets, and no doubt getting dizzier from the blood loss. Perhaps his narrations wouldn't work either, if they'd already ceased to cure his condition. ...But when his eyes fell on the other man as he considered this, he didn't see the one who'd kidnapped him. This was a man who would kill him in a moment's notice, but in that moment, the Author looked scared. He certainly wasn't used to sickness or injury, with his narrations healing everything as they did. He needed help, and he didn't know how to ask for it.

Iplier silently cursed at the realization that he had to help this man, for his own sake if not the Author's.

The doctor felt himself moving not towards the door as his instincts screamed at him to, but to the Author, guiding him to the hospital bed despite the way he tensed at the touch. "...Trust me, I'm aware." ...Back into work mode. "Sit." The Author growled, but did as the doctor said, his fingers tapping the bed restlessly.

Iplier ignored him and went about his work, doing his tests and cleaning the mess on the Author's face, eventually administering the appropriate medicine. ...At least, what he thought was the appropriate medicine. The bleeding had no obvious cause. There had been no trauma on or around the Author's eyes...

"Doctor-!" The tone of the Author's voice had Dr. Iplier turning away from the lab results he had been reading, his eyes darting to his patient. Whatever the Author had been about to say was lost to a violent cough as he sat up in the bed, and the doctor set the papers aside to rush over to him. The coughing fit lasted longer than Dr. Iplier was comfortable with, though he did what he could to ensure that the Author was stabilized. "...Is that blood, Doctor?" The question sounded detached, and the Author cleared his throat to get rid of a newfound hoarseness. "I can't- ...I can't see."

Doctor Iplier swore aloud this time upon seeing the Author's hand, which was indeed speckled with blood. It didn't make sense, the medicine should have been slowing the bleeding in his eyes, not causing more issues. Unless coughing up blood was another symptom of whatever the Hell the Author was afflicted with, which would only serve to confuse him more. "...It appears so." He opted not to give more of an answer than that as he stepped away and pulled out his phone, dialing a number quickly. He would need help, that was becoming more and more obvious.

Meanwhile the Author gave a quiet laugh, an incredulous sound not lacking in its usual mania, before he fell quiet. "...This wasn't supposed to happen." Iplier didn't know entirely what that meant, nor did he have time to question it as he spoke rapidly on the phone.

The Author wouldn't be conscious for much longer regardless, and unbeknownst to the doctor, when he woke up he wouldn't be the Author at all.

#whumptober 2022 #no. 1 #a little out of the ordinary #adverse effects #unconventional restraints #this wasnt supposed to happen #fandom #fic #blood #em writes #writing #fanfiction #the author markiplier #dr. iplier #no. 21 #coughing up blood

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fdq666roadie-blog · 2 years

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Did some fic calculations

I was curious to find out which of my fics was the “best” so I did a bit of calculating and figured out the percentage of kudos compared to hits. Only did it with the fics that has more than 100 hits, cause the lower hits, the less accurate it becomes, obviously. Anyway much to my surprise, the result was not what I expected. According to the calculations my highest rated fics are: One Last Time with 17.6% of viewers leaving a kudo The Face You Call Mine with 13.4% of viewers leaving a kudo Taking A Risk (nsfw) with 9.6% of viewers leaving a kudo And the least rated fics are: The Perfect Couple (nsfw) with 3.3% of viewers leaving a kudo Bewitched (nsfw) with 3.5% of viewers leaving a kudo Blind Date (nsfw) with 3.8% of viewers leaving a kudo I’m really surprised at the results, ngl, especially The Perfect Couple and The Face You Call Mine. I’m glad Taking A Risk is so high up, cause I do love that one. Eric is so precious. It was fun to calculate nonetheless...

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theknightmarket · 1 year

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I did a tier list of the Markiplier Egos, so I thought I’d share it here – and, yes, perhaps some of these ratings indicate who I like to write, sue me. So, bottom to top, here it is:

Actor: Super Hell

I goddamn hate Actor, as you could probably figure out. He’s a prissy bitch, who deserved everything that came to him. Okay, that might’ve been a bit of an exaggeration, but Jesus Christ do I hate him, mainly for causing Damien’s death, plus everything else, but mainly that. He deserves less than Super Hell, but that is the bottom of the barrel.

E-Boy Mark: F

Reminded me too much of my boy Bing, and I did Not like it. Plus, I have the same tiger pattern on one of my jackets, and I did not want to be associated with this E-Boy. So, F tier.

Ed Edgar: F

I hate babies. Simple as that. Props for being a cowboy aesthetic, but that mustache knocked him back down into F tier.

Derek Derekson: F

Need I say anything? He’s abusive and a bitch, and I care too much about my baby Eric to put him any higher. I would put him lower, but Super Hell is reserved for Actor. F.

Silver Shephard: E

I haven’t seen anything about him, except for the skit with all the other egos, in which I also did not see much. Cool costume, but no clue. E.

Dr. Iplier: E

Again, not much. To be honest, both of the Egos in the E tier are ones I haven’t seen much of but know about. Hence, the doctor is here. Nice catchphrase, E tier.

Yandereiplier: D

The animation is cool, I’ve always liked horror-blood elements, and the pictures of Yandere have the red hair, which I am a fan of. However, the game itself is a point down, and he is only for the sim, so D tier.

King of the Squirrels: D

A classic start to the Ego train, so points given, but points taken away because I am not a huge fan of peanut butter. Squirrels I love, though, so again. Hence, D tier.

Bill: C

Okay, so I haven’t seen the video he comes from actually, but I did see one clip of him saying ‘Oh, honey, no’ and, boy, did I feel flustered, and I don’t even know why! It was just weirdly sweet and reflects the kinda stuff you see in my S tiered Egos. But, alas, he’s not all that common in videos, so C.

Bim Trimmer: C

I don’t know either, man, he’s just a funny guy. The image I have for him is so stupid, and he’s Bim Trimmer??? C’mon. C tier.

The Colonel: C

Being separate from Wilford, he’s kinda lacking in substance compared to him, but I get it. Cuckolded a dude, which isn’t a great start, but it’s Actor, so I don’t care. Says ‘bully’, which is fun, but he does kill the viewer, so points off for him, putting him in C.

Google(s): C

Might be influenced by my having a fic in the works for him, but I am also a sucker for AI, android stuff. Plus, the fanart I see for him is always cute. Him being rude to Bing takes him down a notch, though, so C.

Heehoo: C

The concept of this guy is so funny to me – like, Jesus Christ, the Markiplier runs into the wild, completely naked, save for maybe shoes, of all things, and is fine??? The long hair pushes it over D, but the lack of a voice keeps him in C.

The Nightguard: C

It’s mainly for the musical itself, and that one moment when he leans in and says ‘I killed a guy’ because obviously. Not to mention it’s Mark singing. However, this one can be excluded from being an ego because it is basing off of a pre-established character. So, C tier.

Captain Magnum: C

I haven’t gone through his ending yet in AHWM (sue me, I got Yancy first), but I do love pirates ;) but I don’t love beards. Personal preference, it just takes away from the face. Basically, the aesthetic alone brings it into C tier.

Annus: B

Now, I did watch, uh, [redacted] – catch my favorite video being the A.I generated basically fanfictions – and I loved the whole concept of it! The ending, especially during covid, kinda helped me get used to death and the idea of having to die in the end. However, some of this does not extend to the ego of Annus. I feel like there was a lot more they could have done with both Annus and Unus, but I understand that most of the audience would not have wanted it to be fully cryptid and ARG-esque, so B is both the lowest and highest I can go with him. I do love suits, though.

Eric Derekson: B

I have seen next to nothing about this boy! And I love him :D! He’s just so cute in everything I’ve seen and read. Solid B tier for the cute side, anyway.

The Jims: B

Honestly, it’s a goof ego, and I like that. The stupid movements and the little side bit about WKM made me happy after the sad events, and I saw them in Space, so I’m happy to put them at B, as a collective, of course.

Monster Gulch Mark: B

I’m a sucker for apocalypses, man. The casual murder plot caught my eye, and then the second song was a banger, too. I was super disappointed when nothing ever came out from Monster Gulch again, and I appreciate the running water thing, if you know what I mean by that. So, for both Mark in this and the musical in general, B tier.

God of Night: B

Dope aesthetic and I am a sucker for deity-stuff. However, I do not have the attention span to watch a 3+ hour video where he is not in all of it, and was, maybe, recorded without a hard script? I don’t know, but I know I should watch it considering I have a fic queued for him. Cool concept, but I can’t watch so much of that in one go. B tier.

Noir: A

You remember that I said I love suits, right? Well, this guy, in a disheveled suit, the noir aesthetic – one that I loved since I saw Into the Spider-Verse – and the voice over??? A tier, and I will take no comments. Also, there’s something to be said about how the lower tiers tend to have the cocky-know-it-all egos, and the higher tiers are soft guys. This, the A tier, is a weird exception.

Murdock: A

No. 1, the murder – no. 2, the vibe – no. 3, the outfit! The moment I saw Murdock, I had to put the screen down and go for a walk. You’ve seen this man, you understand what I mean. A tier, for everything he’s involved in.

Dark: A

This is probably lower than a lot of people would put him, and I’m still debating putting him higher, but A tier is the least I will go. Again, there’s the suit, plus, I’m a fan of the glitchy, multi-emotion thing he has going on. However, as many of you will remember, he did shove the viewer into a mirror and steal their body. Not great on his part, but he is against Actor, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Hence, A tier, plus he does stage himself sexily on that desk, so…

Engineer: A

This guy is plain cute. He’s devoted, he’s hard-working, he appreciates the aesthetics! He really should be in A+ tier, considering I have a sticker of him, too, except for one tiny snag. Actor. He is the source of all my trouble and complicates things in the theory sense. Is Engineer actually Actor? We don’t know, and I don’t like to think I would put anyone related to Actor in A+. So, sorry, my dear boy, he has to be in A tier.

Bing: A+

If you’ve seen my other posts, you may already understand why he’s here, but I will reiterate for every who doesn’t know. I don’t know what it is, but the dumb, skateboarder-bro, with a heart of gold is a thing I love. The glasses are cool, the orange I adore, and an android? C’mon, I can’t put him anywhere but A+. (I also have a sticker of him on the laptop I am currently writing this on)

Host: A+

I had to go searching for Host after the sketch with all of the egos in it, and, boy, was I overjoyed to find him. The blind-fold and narrator bit, and a couple of fics I’ve read influenced this decision. A+ tier, but it’s a controversial one. (Another that I have a sticker of)

Wilford: A+

Yeah, this is just where he belongs. S tier is reserved for two egos here, and so Wilford is a banger in A+ tier. The whole fruity-bisexual-timelord thing is amazing, and, as far as character design goes, oof, the fluffy hair, slightly unbuttoned shirt? I am swooning. A+ tier. (Also, a sticker)

Illinois: A+

This guy has two belts. What a dude. And the flirty thing I appreciate, the whip cracks, as well. Him walking backwards through a bunch of traps is pique douche, but in an oh-my-god-he’s-going-to-get-himself-killed-better-help-him kind of way. Like pulling a drowning dog out of a pool and them shaking off. A+.

Can you guys guess who’s at the top of this list? If you can’t, lemme tell you.

Damien: S

Damien is my comfort character, and that sucks because – spoilers – he is dead. I forgive him for shoving the viewer into a mirror, solely for his adorable personality and all of the fics people have for him prior to poker night. The ‘little monster’ nickname has me squealing every time I hear it, and I could fully write an essay on his character. Fuck Actor for killing him, and fuck anyone who doesn’t think he’s amazing. Solid S tier, no questions.

Yancy: S

Objectively the best character. He was my first ending in AHWM, I love his song, he applied for parole??? Look at that man, listen to him talk – the accent omg – and tell me, genuinely, that you would not do anything for him. Look me in the eyes and tell me that he isn’t the light of your life. ‘Free as a buird’ – gods, he’s adorable, and a sticker that I have on the inside of my laptop, to boot!

And that’s it! Feel free to reblog or send me an ask telling me your opinion, but know that I will fight you if you disagree on my S tiers :D

Have a good day everyone!

#Tier list #tier #markiplier #markiplier egos #theknightmarket #Yancy is the best #and I hate Actor

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faeriescorpio · 4 years

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dr. iplier whump fic

Whumptober Day 10: They Look so Pretty When They Bleed Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

Drip. Drip.

He pressed his hand harder against the wound.

The human body can lose about 40% of their blood before passing out, about 66% before death, his mind reminded him.

“Shut up,” he hissed. “That can’t help me now.”

He tore off the bottom of his sweater and tied it to the wound. It was a pathetic attempt to help stem the blood for such a large wound, but it was better than nothing. He needed a hospital. He needed a first aid kit.

What was the point of being a doctor if he couldn’t help himself?

Keep moving around to a minimum. Elevate the wound if you can. Make a tourniquet.

Dr. Iplier swore quietly to himself as he ran around the corner of a hallway. He couldn’t do any of those things. He had to keep moving, keep running, to get away. He knew without a doubt that his family was looking for him, but so were they.

Come on, Host, Dark, he thought, stumbling along. It wouldn’t be long for they found the trail of blood he was leaving behind, wouldn’t be long before they caught up. He whimpered into the turtleneck of his sweater at the thought of them finding him.

He turned another corner before his leg gave out on him, and he collapsed with a cry. With a desperate noise, he pressed his other hand against the wall for support, smearing blood on it, and tried to stand, but his leg wouldn’t cooperate. He pressed his back against the wall and examined his leg. His flimsy bandage was already soaked with blood. He tore off another strip off the bottom of his sweater and shivered as his bare lower back made contact with the cold wall. He wished he had his lab coat. Didn’t he have a few supplies tucked away in those big pockets? Maybe nothing that would really help him, but at this point, anything to help stop the blood loss would do. He pressed both hands against the wound, grimacing as his thigh flared in pain in response.

Time was running out.

How much blood had he lost already? He shivered.

Such a wound would make him lose blood at the rate of about-

He pressed his head against the wall in a futile attempt to drown out the thoughts.

Side effects of minor blood loss include nausea, anxiety, increased heart rate and respiratory rate, losing feeling in your hands and feet.

He whimpered again. He had no way to tell whether he was feeling some of those symptoms or not because he had been running from people who wanted to hurt him. He flexed his fingers carefully, but he wasn’t sure if he was losing feeling in them or not.

Side effects of major blood loss include confusion, disorientation, rapid and shallow breathing, weakness and fatigue, drowsiness, and cool, sweaty skin-

He shivered and then whined in the back of his throat.

Shut up, he told himself. You’re just imagining it. It’s human nature to automatically start mimicking the symptoms.

He still sounded dangerously close to hyperventilating.

He looked up and down the hallway. Empty. No one had found him yet. He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or not. Perhaps his family was fighting them, defeating them, and his family was only starting to look for him now, he thought hopefully.

He blinked slowly. Shivered. How much time had passed since he had escaped? He didn’t know. He considered trying to get up again but decided against it. His leg hurt too much and he felt too tired. Reluctantly, he decided to lay on the floor instead of propping himself against the wall. He couldn’t elevate his wound, but at least he could make his body as flat as possible.

Carefully, he laid himself down. His body protested in response but he ignored it.

He stared at the ceiling, hands still pressing against his leg.

He lost track of time. He could hear his heart pumping wildly in his chest. He couldn’t say it was because of his run anymore. He noticed his grip on his leg loosened and he tightened it. His hands felt numb. He pressed harder. How long until

He lost track of time. He felt woozy. What was he doing laying on the floor? He tried to sit up but couldn’t. He went to use the wall as support but paused. His hand was covered in red. Was that blood? He searched for the wound and found it on his leg. He pressed his hands against his leg. How did he get hurt? He felt tears running down his face. His vision was blurry. He felt so

He lost track of time. He felt horrible. He just wanted to fall asleep. He tilted his hand to the side and noticed there was something red on the floor. He thought it was blood but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He blinked and

He lost track of time. He felt so tired. He was laying on something wet. He could hear footsteps approaching. He didn’t care. He closed his eyes.

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pxppet · 3 years

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(not me spitballing the wackiest pair I can think of lol) How about "false" with Schneeplestein/GoogleIRL?

Another illegal gig, another boring day. Not that Henrik minds doing solids for his friends, but airlifting an entire android over to the UK seems incredibly drastic to him. Here he stands though, having agreed to it, watching Dr. Iplier roll a stretcher into his small clinic, tucked away in an alley.

“Goddamnit, Edward, why so late like this? I have jobs I could take from criminals that will pay me much higher than your Darkness does.” Henrik crosses his arms, taps his fingers, suspiciously eyeing the tarp-covered body.

“I know, Schneep, I know, you can chew my ass off later. You’re the only doctor who would do it without reporting him to the magician police. Look, he’s basically a human, but technimagic like his would get reported, and the Darkness wants us below the government’s radar.”

“You think I give assfuck about why he’s here? Nein. Just set him up in the surgery room. What wounds do I look for?”

“Well, he’s got a missing eye and several bullet wounds. Here, we’ve got the whole of him on this hard drive.” Edward holds out a thick hard drive, but snatches it away as Henrik tries to grab it. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing here? Sure you have the parts and sure you won’t secretly fuck us over?”

Henrik stares at him over his glasses disapprovingly. “Iplier, you know that I am worth your money. Who fixed up Silver last time he nearly got his head chop off, hum?” Edward rolls his eyes, sighing, and rolls Google’s body into the surgery room, going about setting up the lights and laying out doctor’s tools with clean, gloved hands. He won’t be helping with the surgery, but doctorly procedure is of utmost importance to him.

Henrik swings open the doors with his hips, holding up freshly washed hands covered by sticky white gloves. He peers down at the android, now with the tarp off of him. The android is shirtless, and a small white G glows faintly on his chest, blinking, blinking, blinking. Green blood seeps out of three bullet wounds like battery acid. Henrik runs a finger over his missing eye, coaxing it open so he can see how damaged the wires are. He finds them in a horrible state of disrepair, tutting at the Iplier ego’s clumsiness. Edward, meanwhile, exits the room to smoke off the stress.

Henrik picks up a line of copper and silver wires, preparing to attach a fresh eye module. His eyes keep drawing back to the glowing letter imbedded in his chest. Technimagic. Powerful and humming like the fan of a computer. He runs his hands down it softly, tracing the letter. The surface nearly burns him. Hm, the android must be fighting very hard to stay active.

Henrik ties the wires of Google’s eye together, assuring for proper conduction of signals, and leaving breathing room so Google doesn’t feel any discomfort. He lets out a satisfied sigh as the new eye piece slides in, (a blue one rather than brown, but it’s all he has for the moment), and moves to pop open the android’s head pieces. His skull splits in three slated parts, sliding to the side to expose the synthetic human brain within.

In a few moments time, Henrik has hooked up Google’s damaged brain module to his computer, and is downloading the hard drive to his repaired organ. In the mean time, he sets about suturing and cleaning the bullet wounds, humming songs to himself. He is so engrossed in his work and distracted by his own humming, that he doesn’t notice the android’s mismatched eyes blink open as the hard drive finishes downloading.

“He-e-e-ello,” glitches out a voice, startling Henrik so hard he screeches, his hand grasping his chest.

“Goddamnit! Warn me next time, android!”

“My-y-y-y name is not a-a-a-android.” The stutter sounds more like glitching, wavering and deep.

“Yes, yes, whatever...” Henrik trails off as he cuts the string of the last suture, huffing and sitting back at his computer. He points at Google, raising his eyebrows. “Need you answer questions. Confirmed?”

Google’s eyes glaze over at the simple commands, his face scowling. “C-c-confirmed,” he glitches out. “Call m-m-m-me Google. Call me G-g-g-gabe. Silver calls me Gabe.” Google is glaring, sitting as still as a mannequin, his eyes closed as memories come rushing into his mind.

“Fine. Gabe,” Henrik sighs, “Answer these questions for me. How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“No, I mean your actual age, not day he made you.”

“Fa-a-a-alse. I am fifteen.”

Henrik grumbles curses under his breath. “Fine. When is your birthday?”

“October 13, 2014.”

“Who is your owner?”

“Matthias. No. No, Dark. Dark is my owner.” A smile takes over Google’s lips, pridefully puffing up his chest.

“Hm. You like being Dark’s?” Henrik questions.

“Affirmative.”

Henrik marks down the decrease in vocal glitching on his chart. He can’t imagine it himself. Being owned, possessed, entitled to someone. It would be a living hell, surely. Hell, Google was so devoted to the Darkness that he took four bullet wounds to the abdomen on Dark’s command. Google would throw down his life that easily if it meant being a good little soldier. Henrik’s mouth fills with a sour taste, and he bites back bile, getting on with the questioning.

“What country are you in?”

“Britain.”

“What is the date today?”

“April fourth, 2029.”

“What is your registered name?” Henrik’s tone has glazed over with boredom, his eyes lazily flicking around his computer screen.

“Fa-a-a-alse.”

“What?”

“False. I have no registered name. I chose my name. Silver ca-a-a-alls me Gabe.”

“Alright, taken your point, alright,” Henrik huffs. He feels the rush of embarrassment flushing through his body, his hands quivering minutely. “Why are you so free-happy with your name even though you say you like belonging to Dark? How does he let you be so free? How does- Is it good for him to let you off the reigns so well?” Henrik taps the desk with his pen rapidly, staring at the floor, his face twisted.

“He did not let you have your name.”

Henrik startles, turning his gaze to meet Google’s mismatched eyes.

“The Anti took you-u-u-ur name from you. When you belonged to him.” Google is staring straight ahead, but his gaze is calm, nearly sympathetic. Henrik scoffs, turning away again.

“This does not matter, Gabe. All that matter is you having been fixed.” Henrik unplugs the hard drive as it finishes downloading, getting up to start disconnecting wires from Google’s brain. Google shuts his eyes, and waits patiently while Henrik works, his chest blinking light softly. “Now go get Edward, I need it in cash.”

“You can belong to somebody while still belonging to yourself.”

Henrik stops short on his mad dash to leave the awkward conversation. His eyes scrunch shut, gripping his hands into fists.

“It can be healthy to belong to somebody. It can be nice to serve a purpose. The Anti was not a healthy person. He abused you.”

Henrik barks out a laugh, his face going pink at Google’s bluntness. He shakes his head, gripping his fists harder together.

“Well... Good for you you have such a kind and caring demon to own you. Some of us are not so lucky.” Henrik swings open the door to the washroom, immediately going to the sink and splashing water on his face.

The android is right. Henrik knows he is. It’s been 7 years, why can he still not accept it? He stares at his reflection. Pale and covered in scars, a tattoo of an eye stick-n-poked into his neck by Anti so long ago.

Good for the machine that is get such a loving owner. Good for him. Henrik was not so lucky. Henrik will never be so lucky, as far as he’s concerned. Criminal doctoring and sleeping around is all that is left for him. So without much more fuss, he accepts his cash and calls it a night, Google glancing at him knowingly the entire time the Ipliers are leaving.

Good for him. Good for him to be owned in such a beautiful way. Anti is not so beautiful. Henrik is not so beautiful. Good for him. Good for him...

#henrik von schneeplestein #googleirl #googleplier #googleiplier #dr. schneeplestein #writersofjack #writersofmark #ego shipping #markiplier egos #jacksepticeye egos #jacksepticeye fanfcition #markiplier fanfiction #markiplier fanfic #jacksepticeye fanfic #antisepticeye #dr. iplier #edward iplier #Anonymous

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lostcybertronian · 6 months

Note

For requests!!! “There’s always tomorrow” with DrIplierst please? <3

Post-Author Pre-Host ANGST

Trigger warnings for graphic depictions of blood and some gore.

---

Prompt: “There’s always tomorrow.”

There were no windows and only one clock in the clinic– in his office, where he couldn’t see it– but Dr. Iplier had the distinct impression it was late at night. He was, of course, right, but he wouldn’t find that out for a while yet. In the meantime, he busied himself with cleaning up the globs of blood-pus-soaked gauze, dumping his instruments into a tin of isopropyl alcohol on his way to the biohazard bin. He talked in a futile attempt to break the oppressive silence.

The Author did not talk back, like he might have a week ago. He slumped on his side in the hospital bed so his wounds might drain, empty eye sockets oozing blood and yellow-ish pus. He was deathly pale and had lost weight, but Dr. Iplier had gone to great lengths to keep him clean and well-hydrated; his hair thinned but it shone, brushed painstakingly back from his forehead.

He returned to the Author’s bedside and checked his pulse, then took his blood pressure, though little had changed since the last time, then sank into the chair at the bedside, his knees screaming with relief. The doors slid open and Google Blue appeared, his face set in its constant calm impassivity. “Has the Author regained consciousness?” He asked brusquely, without offering any form of greeting or forewarning.

Dr. Iplier didn’t bother standing up. He massaged his forehead with one hand and avoided Blue’s neon eye. “Not that I know of.”

“Can you even tell?” Something like derision flickered across the android’s face.

A shrug. “He doesn’t have eyes to open. Whatever did this to him made sure of that. And his heart rate is the same as it was an hour ago.” Dr. Iplier sighed. “But there’s always tomorrow.”

“Inform me when he wakes up. Or if he starts to talk.” Blue left the clinic without another word.

Dr. Iplier sighed again. Then he took the Author’s limp, clammy hand in both of his and squeezed it tight.

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septic-dr-schneep · 1 year

Text

Dr. Iplier must have compromised Google Blue's systems at his maintenance checks. That was the only reasonable explanation the other androids had for his behavior—commanding Red not to let the doctor see him with blood on his hands, rebuking Yellow for exploiting Edward's phobias with his pranks, even being on that first-name basis with Edward at all.

"Security footage reveals you've spent 32% of the week with that human," Green announced coolly.

"I have not lost sight of our secondary objective. I'm profiting from his sentimentality and services while they last," Blue growled, though his core dimmed by a noticeable two percent as he said it.

#markiplier #fanfiction #ficlet #drabble #5 sentence fic #googleplier #dr iplier #web md #google green #google yellow #google red #group dynamics #household politics #don't mind me dropping this out of nowhere

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juju-on-that-yeet · 1 year

Text

At My Worst (Chapter 3)

Chapter Summary: In the days after his reappearance, The Author has once again become a solid part of the group. Dr. Iplier can’t figure out if he likes this development or not.

Read on AO3

Enjoy!

Somehow, The Author integrates into the egos seamlessly.

Most of them regard him with relative indifference, which is typical of new egos; it’s rare that an ego shows up and is instantly beloved by them all. But he hasn’t made any (new) enemies, and he’s even made friends and rekindled old friendships.

He’s slotted himself into Yandere’s gaggle of friends, joining them when they tear up the town and letting them pull him into their hobbies. By extension, he’s garnered positive relationships with the egos around them, too. The younger Googles like him well enough for getting along with Chrome, and even Blue regards him without suspicion. Illinois and Magnum like him too, given his friendship with Yancy (and it helps that Illinois and Author each have confident, fun-loving personalities). The newfound fondness Author and Yandere have for each other makes Wilford even happier to have his old friend back, and Dr. Iplier has to admit that it’s softening his own heart, too.

Dr. Iplier sees that fondness firsthand one day when Author comes into his clinic with a gash across his temple, blood already half-dried on one ear and down his neck. Yandere’s with him, but he’s nearly unscathed, with only a few scrapes that don’t even need a bandaid. It’s still an early night for the two of them, and it should be too early for such a severe injury.

“What the hell happened??” Dr. Iplier asks Author, practically pulling him to an exam table. Author chuckles a little at his insistence.

“Chill, Doc, I’m alright,” Author says, “Just had a run-in with some guy, that’s all.”

“He slashed you with a machete!” Yandere cries. He huffs. “His form wasn’t even that good, luckily for you. If he had half my skill you’d be dead already. You never pay attention to what’s around you when you write!”

“I know, I know, but consider the fact that I was writing to prevent the guy with the gun from shooting you. He was totally about to do it, and you were too busy with the rest of them to stop him, and my pen’s faster than my bat, so…”

“Whatever the reason,” Dr. Iplier interjects, examining the injury, “You’re lucky this wasn’t any worse. A machete could’ve taken off your ear or gone through your neck if his aim was lower.”

Dr. Iplier often sees Author and Yandere together and hears Yandere’s tales of their adventures, and it’s been very obvious that Author is actively keeping Yandere safer. Dr. Iplier knows that Author always takes a notebook and pen with him when he and Yandere go out at night, and Yandere has come to the clinic with mild injuries and crazy stories of being saved from much worse harm in the nick of time by his assailant suddenly keeling over dead. Dr. Iplier can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief at those stories, can’t help but be happy that Author was there, and by extension be happy that Author is here at all.

Tonight is the clearest picture of the aftermath he’s gotten so far, and he once again can’t help but be relieved – and a little impressed that Author would risk getting so badly hurt for Yandere. Feeling around the cut on Author’s temple calls to mind those times in the past when Author would get hurt by a feisty protagonist and Dr. Iplier would be there to heal him…and by the way Author is looking at Dr. Iplier, he seems to be remembering those times, too.

“Hey, Yan,” Author says, “You don’t have to wait up for me. I’ve done this song and dance before; I know I’ll need some stitches. Chrome or Yancy are probably free if you still want a buddy.”

“Are you sure?” Yandere asks, though Dr. Iplier can see in his eyes how he perks up at the idea of getting back outside and into another street fight.

“I’m sure,” Author reassures him, “I’ll catch up with you once I’m good to go. I’ll just write the knowledge of where you are into my brain.”

“Alright then, if you’re sure. See you later, and bye, Dad!”

“See you!”

“Bye, kiddo.”

Yandere grins as he skips off, whether to find a friend or go straight back outside Dr. Iplier can’t be sure. Author watches him go with a grin of his own.

Dr. Iplier finds that he can’t help but mentally compare Author and Yandere’s relationship to the one between Yandere and The Host. It might be too much to even call it a relationship; the two hardly talk. There’s no animosity, and Yandere enjoys reading manga in the library and Host doesn’t mind him there, but they aren’t friends. They like each other because they both like Dr. Iplier, and they get along well enough when they do interact, but they rarely ever do. Host hasn’t gained even a fraction of the fondness that Dr. Iplier has for Yandere, and it’s only partly because of their differing personalities and interests.

If Author is bothered by Yandere’s relationship with Dark, he’s good at hiding it. Dr. Iplier would’ve thought that he’d be wary of Yandere for that, the way Host has always been. Host lost his eyes to Dark years ago, after all, but it must feel much more recent to Author. Yet he hasn’t had Host’s personality change, hasn’t woken with his cautiousness. Author’s not a fan of Dark, but his feelings about Yandere’s relationship with him seem no deeper than those of Yandere’s other friends. Chrome and Yancy don’t much like Dark either, but like Yandere enough not to care, and Author seems to be the same. Host, though, isn’t, and may not ever be.

Host is also still wary of Author, still unhappy about his presence in the building and still unhappy whenever Dr. Iplier interacts with him. It’s as if he’s still worried about Author doing something untoward, and Dr. Iplier supposes he understands. Author is still Author, he hasn’t learned and grown like Host has. But Dr. Iplier also can’t help but be a little…not annoyed at Host’s insistent worry, but it’s certainly not fun to be side-eyed and grumbled at after he has to treat Author in the clinic or runs into him in the hall. The last interaction Dr. Iplier had with Author before he died was breaking up with him, it’s not like Host has much to worry about in that regard.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Author asks, and Dr. Iplier nearly jumps.

“Oh, n-nothing really,” he says, startled and also surprised at himself. He’d gotten so lost in thought that he’d started stitching up Author’s temple on autopilot. Fortunately, Author doesn’t seem to mind not getting a heads-up.

“You know, you’re good at lying sometimes,” Author says, “But not all the time.” He grins, not the same way he did when saying goodbye to Yandere, but cheekier, teasing. “Whatever you were thinking about there, it really had you lost in thought.”

Maybe Dr. Iplier should fob him off again, maybe it’s better to let his earlier thoughts lie and go unspoken. But Author always has a way of making Dr. Iplier bad at biting his tongue.

“Well…there’s a lot to think about, lately,” Dr. Iplier admits, continuing his stitching much more intentionally than before. “You know.”

“Mm,” Author murmurs. He does know. If not Dr. Iplier’s exact thoughts, then at least the basic subject of them.

There’s a pause.

“You and Host, huh?” Author finally says. Dr. Iplier’s stomach drops.

“Author, let’s not get into that.”

“I’m not trying to start anything, I’m just saying–” Author huffs out a sigh. “He’s…me, right? Kind of? So it makes sense, I guess.”

“He’s…you, kind of. That’s probably the best way to put it,” Dr. Iplier murmurs.

Another pause swallows the conversation, and Dr. Iplier is nearly done with stitching Author up. After that, Dr. Iplier will bandage him, and then Author will go, and Dr. Iplier will try to get these complicated thoughts out of his head.

“Does he at least treat you better than I did?” Author asks, out of the blue. His eyes are focused somewhere between the floor and the middle distance. “Has it…turned out alright, for you?”

Dr. Iplier’s mouth goes dry. How the hell is he supposed to respond to that?

That’s the one thing they have yet to discuss, the fact that Host and Dr. Iplier are together, the tumultuous relationship Author and Dr. Iplier had when Author was alive, the terrible way it ended. Dr. Iplier and Author could probably tiptoe around it forever if not for the fact that Author seems to want to talk about it. He keeps skirting around the edge of bringing it up, seemingly on purpose, and it’s always Dr. Iplier who redirects. This time has simply been the most direct on Author’s part, but it hasn’t been the only one. Maybe it’s silly to keep putting it off, but Dr. Iplier can’t help it. He doesn’t want to revisit everything they used to have, he doesn’t want to go back to that place, to the memories of being young and stupid and in love but so fed up and angry and terrified.

“Loaded question, I know,” Author answers himself before Dr. Iplier can figure out what to say. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, sorry to bring that up.” He grins again, in a third way: Apologetic, a little weary, a little sad.

“It’s alright,” Dr. Iplier says, finishing the last stitch. “I know this isn’t easy for you, either.” Maybe another pause would be beneficial, but Dr. Iplier feels bad and can’t help but fill in the silence as he grabs a bandage. “Thanks for rescuing Yandere earlier, by the way. I know you’ve done it before, and I’m grateful.”

“No problem,” Author replies, perking up considerably. “Yan’s a fun guy, and he’s even better at getting in trouble than I am. Someone’s gotta keep things from going too sideways, and it’s fun for me, too.”

“I can imagine,” Dr. Iplier chuckles, wrapping a bandage around Author’s head. “Yan has a knack for bringing out the destructive tendencies of his friends…not that you needed much help.”

Author simply beams in response, and Dr. Iplier laughs outright. He sends Author off with instructions to be as careful as possible, and though Author assures him he will, he’s already taking out his notebook to help himself find Yandere before he’s even fully out of the clinic. It’s so familiar and so like Author that Dr. Iplier is still smiling after he’s gone.

Having Author around doesn’t only bring up negative memories, after all. Dr. Iplier has quite a few good ones, like when he saw Author in a bar not long after they first met in the clinic. Dr. Iplier had been sitting alone with a drink to take the edge off a long day, and another man had sidled up to him.

“Hey there,” the stranger had said, eyes leering up and down Dr. Iplier’s form, “What’s a handsome thing like you doing in a place like this?”

“Relaxing by himself, thank you,” Dr. Iplier replied, taking another sip of his drink. He was wary of being too rude, though; the other man was taller and bigger than Dr. Iplier, and looked like the type to make things ugly if he was refused.

Fortunately, he only laughed at Dr. Iplier’s comment, but unfortunately, he also leaned in closer, and Dr. Iplier’s nose wrinkled at his breath.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” the man chucked, breath practically in Dr. Iplier’s ear. He snaked an arm around Dr. Iplier’s shoulder. “I’ve been looking for someone to take home, and I really want it to be you.”

“I’d really rather not,” Dr. Iplier muttered, trying to squirm away.

“Look, sweetheart,” the man had said, a hard edge entering his voice. “I don’t think either of us want to make a scene, and even if we did, how likely is it that anyone would care?” His grip on Dr. Iplier’s shoulders got tighter. “So just come along with me, huh? Maybe finish your drink first, loosen up a bit.”

Dr. Iplier pegged him right earlier. Goosebumps prickled up and down his skin, and he knew that things could only get worse from here. The man could’ve been wrong; people might’ve noticed and intervened if Dr. Iplier made a scene trying to get away. But they also might not have cared, or the man might’ve been able to play it off somehow. Dr. Iplier wasn’t sure which of his options was safer.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to find out, because it was at that moment that The Author had come up to the bar and sat down on Dr. Iplier’s other side. They’d seen each other at the clinic a few more times since their first meeting, but never outside it like this, and Dr. Iplier was surprised to see him – but also relieved to have a friend around.

“Hey, fancy meeting you here, Doc,” Author said cheerfully. He was grinning, but his gaze was just as much on the stranger as it was on Dr. Iplier.

“What, you know him?” the man scoffed, his arm getting even tighter around Dr. Iplier. “You’re interrupting something.”

“Weird,” The Author said, pulling something out of his pocket. A notebook and pen, Dr. Iplier realized. “I could’ve sworn I heard him telling you he wasn’t interested.”

“Fuck off,” the man growled, “You just barged in, you don’t know what’s going on here!”

“Hm,” Author hummed, writing something in his notebook. “I think you’ll find that you’re the one who doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“What’s that supposed to–” The man stopped short in the middle of his sentence, eyes going wide. He suddenly removed his arm from Dr. Iplier, got off his seat, and rushed away.

“What the hell was that?” Dr. Iplier asked. His adrenaline hadn’t left him yet, and he didn’t know if the man would be back. He looked at Author, who was now snickering. “What did you do?”

“You know what my powers are, right?” Author asked, still holding in laughter. “How I write stuff and it happens?”

Dr. Iplier nodded. He’d heard about it from the other egos, and he’d watched The Author’s videos not long after they first met.

“Well…” The Author pushed his notebook across the counter to Dr. Iplier. “Let’s just say that guy has more important things to deal with right now.”

In the middle of the page, below some unrelated notes, read “The man harassing Dr. Iplier shits his pants. Like, it’s terrible. So bad that he hides in the bathroom until closing time and still can’t clean himself up good enough.”

Dr. Iplier’s bewilderment must’ve shown on his face, because Author finally burst into laughter, cackling so much he nearly fell off his barstool. Dr. Iplier couldn’t help but huff out a laugh of his own.

“Of all the things you could’ve done to get him to go away, that’s what you chose?” Dr. Iplier chuckled. “Thank you, though, really. It would’ve gotten worse if you hadn’t shown up.”

“No problem,” Author replied, laughter dying down into only a smile, “I noticed you just before that guy put his arm around you, and then I saw how uncomfortable you looked. I heard you tell him no as I was walking over.”

“Just what I needed after work,” Dr. Iplier sighed, “I try to wind down and this happens.” He picked up his drink to take a sip, only for Author’s hand on his arm to stop him.

“What–”

“He might’ve dropped something in your drink.” Author’s expression was suddenly serious. “It was hard to tell with the crowd in here and the light, but I thought I saw him do it after he put his arm around you.” He let go of Dr. Iplier’s arm. “I could probably write the effects of whatever it is away, but better safe than sorry.”

“Jesus,” Dr. Iplier muttered, putting his drink down. “Maybe you should’ve done more than make him crap himself.”

“That’s a weird thing to hear from you. Aren’t you a doctor? “Do no harm” and all?”

“Maybe at work, but I’m off duty, remember?”

Author laughed again, and Dr. Iplier did, too.

“How about I buy you another drink, and the two of us hang out a bit?” Author asked. He paused. “If that’s cool with you, anyway. I’m not trying to be like Mr. Poopypants back there.”

Dr. Iplier couldn’t hold back a snort. Maybe it was because Author just rescued Dr. Iplier from a bad situation, but Dr. Iplier felt at ease around him. But it wasn’t just residual fear that made him want Author to stick around, he just plain liked his company. The few times they’d met up to that point had made for good conversations, and even though Author was flirty and a little – well, maybe a lot – immature, Dr. Iplier always found that he didn’t mind it. He had – still has – little tolerance for bullshit, yet Author somehow never set it off. Something about the genuine kindness Dr. Iplier could see in him, something about how nice it felt to be desired so clearly.

After a long night of drinking and talking and laughing (during which that stranger never returned), Author had smiled at him before they parted ways outside the bar.

“Maybe I could see you again?” he’d asked, “Not just at the clinic, but here?”

“Yeah,” Dr. Iplier had replied, smiling back, “I’d like that.”

The Author hasn’t lost any of that old charm, and Dr. Iplier can’t help reminiscing, as much as we wishes he could. Things can’t be like they were, especially if Dr. Iplier can’t acknowledge the elephant in the room that is their past relationship. But is it bad that he keeps those thoughts in his head? Is it bad that they stay away from that place? Author is a piece of the past, a reminder of all that was good and fun and nostalgic and frustrating and heart-wrenching and terrible.

Eventually, Dr. Iplier is sure that something will give, and one of them will do something they can’t walk back or let hang in the air until the conversation changes. And Dr. Iplier is afraid that it’s going to be him.

#dr. iplier #the author markiplier #danger in fiction #markiplier fanfiction #fanfic #kristin says stuff #my writing #at my worst #a shorter chapter and a quieter one #but it's all set-up for later babey ;3

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sinistershepherd · 3 years

Text

I know that I’ve been working on Sanders Sides stories for a while (Nursery rhyme series), but I was wondering if anyone would like to read some of my Darkiplier/Markiplier ego centric fics. Let me know, if so!

#darkiplier #ahwm darkiplier #markiplier egos #writing #jacksepticegos #angst #fanfiction #whump scenario #wilfordmotherlovingwarfstache #googleplier #bingiplier #dr. iplier #the host #silver shepherd #ed edgar

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trxsh3banditt · 2 years

Text

Love on Egos 2022 Day 1 List B

Here we go on the depressed train WOO WOO

Pairing: Danti

Slightly a soft Dark as he is touchstarved, and wants love but doesn’t want to admit it.

“Wait!! Anti please we can talk this out!” The door burst open as the enraged glitch demon stormed towards the door. The monochrome, but desperate, demon ran after him and grabbed his arm in a pleading manner. “Please I swear I’ll do anything please don’t go! We can talk this out right?! Right?!” Nobody else was home and just earlier the two demons had gotten into a heated argument and Dark, losing control of his temper, said something that enraged the glitch enough to make him leave.

"̸̩͖̰̰̑͆̾͑N̸͉̗̰͆̏͜O̸͔͛̌̅ ̴͖̑̅̊̈́W̶̳̝̗̝͛̕Ę̸͉̻̥̇̽̋̄'̵̮̊͋̆R̵̨͈̄̕͜E̸̥̲̒ͅ ̷̡̖̬͓̎͒D̵̳̝̦̑O̶̳̫̮̅͠Ǹ̵͙̗͑̃͝E̴͚̥̞̠̅ ̷̥̞̺͇͒W̸̨̺͐̿̍E̵̱̹͕̍ ̵̻̫̀̾͠Å̶͈R̶̹͉͘E̷̢̥̓̍͝ ̶̻̆̂͐F̷͎͓͇̜̀̓̑̇Ũ̴̫̾̔̈́C̸̤͎͖̳̈́K̴̞͇̓͗̓̀I̸͚̍̀N̴̳͚̗͇͒͛̽̈G̴͉͖̠̭͒ ̸̢̦̰͕͒̎Ḑ̶̤̺̊͐Ǒ̸̖̞̟̂N̶̪͌͜Ȩ̵̠͓͇̊͒"̸̪̦̙̔̒̊͜ Anti screamed at him and shoved him backwards, causing him to double onto his ass. Looking up at the angered green demon Dark felt tears burning their way to his eyes. He blinks them back and makes an attempt to stand up, bones cracking and causing him pain but he ignores it. His only motive is to try and pursuade the one man in his life that actually cared for him to stay, as he doesn’t think he can handle one more night alone.

“Anti please..I’m begging you” Dark felt his voice start to crack as he fought the urge to burst into tears. "̵̢̛͇̰̔̌͝W̴̠͇̖̿̀e̴̜̓̓l̴̟͓̒̐͝l̶̜̰̘̂̀̕͜ ̶̧͒̕I̶͙̝̦͝ ̴̗̭͈̾̐͗̑g̴̣̘͓͌͜ű̵̫̪̤͇̃̎͒e̵̳̳̥̔̂̈̎s̶͎̘̠̦̎͝͠s̸̥̕ ̴̭̭̺̅͝i̵̛̱̒͌͝ț̸̢̤̜͌͋̊͘ ̸̢̒̇ị̴̧͗̐̓s̸̜̺̲̬̍̚͝n̴̩̿̎̏͘'̸͇̲̄̾t̶̤͙̣̫̓ ̸̧͕̺͉͆̅m̶̛̟͇̞̌̑ͅý̵̮̋̆̌ ̴̰̞̍̀̃͋f̸̨̡̖̐ù̶͙̹̟̠̈́c̷̣̰̿̐̒͒k̴̮̭͊̃͠ḭ̵̗̤̱͂̈́̒n̴͎̻̫͓̓̓g̸̱̈͊̋͜͝ ̴͙̉f̵̨̧̝̗̈́͑̓ā̷̛͉͆̑ư̶̙̜͘͜ļ̵̠̣̲͌̊ț̶̘̬͗͗̔̽!̷̘̽ ̵̫̎Y̷̨̟͉̍o̴̳͉̤̼̐͑u̵͇̲͎̦͋̈́̿ ̸̼͐̾d̸̪̦̳̍̓̉͜ê̷̞͐͐c̸̯̞̠̠̓̊̔į̴͚͖͑͑́d̸͇͉͐͛̄e̵͓̜̗̪̊̎ḑ̴͎̜̼͗͆̀̍ ̷̘̫̆̓̈́͗ţ̸̜͖͆̃̿̉o̸̰̻͖̳͆̉ ̴̹͈͖̊ǵ̴̗̹͘e̸͕̋̔ẗ̶͎̹́̈́̾͜ ̴̧̻̦̘̂̋̇a̶͚͂͆l̶̦̫͇̍̀̓͘l̷̮̟̦̲̔̌̂͝ ̷̧̥͙̅b̶͌̕͜u̷̢̪̝͊͒̐d̵̦͔́͐̊̋ḋ̴̙̯̓͊y̵̡͍̮̳̔͋̋͑ ̴̬̹͚͕́̆b̸̺͌̀͐̑u̵̲͔̿̈́͜͝d̵̨̠͑̃ͅd̴͙͗̋͘y̶͔̔̈́͜ͅ ̷̰̲͔̜̔w̷͙̠̹͌͒i̵̲̤̘̟͂͌̿t̸̟̚h̴̨̬̣͠ ̴̬̰̐̊́t̸̪͕̱̖̓̔̂͆ḩ̴̛̥̪́́̚e̸̙̱̭̘̽͛̚͠ ̶̡̫̳̣̿̈́̏m̷̢̩͍͎̔́̇a̸͔̯̎̍̈́̈́n̶͙̹̰̾ ̸̼̳̜͈͘y̶͔̺̻̏̈́̾õ̷͚͛͂͘u̸͔̓͗̑ ̴͔̒k̵͙̳̥͝n̷̨͍̔̍o̶͍̒́͝w̷̛̲͐̐͌ ̶̙͈̓̈́͝I̴̲̯͂̏͘ ̴̝̫̀̐F̵̡̛̛̗̑͊U̵̖̿̎͋̎C̴͔̙̐̅K̷̩̟̺͋̈́Ỉ̸̡̹̱̻̏N̴̛̘͗̚G̷̩̫̑ ̶̪̪͇̼̏Ḫ̶̢̱̫̍A̶̛͉̲̞T̸͉͚͇̾̎̀͗E̷̦͕̣̪̋"̸̧̜̟̦̏ Anti was talking about Mark’s friend Jack and Jack’s ego Henrik. He knew Anti hated them but they were also important to Mark and Edward so he wanted to get to know them. He didn’t want them hurt since they make his brothers happy. “I’m sorry!” Dark yelled, as Anti just screams at him again. "̸̠͉̿̇I̴͈͒̆̚ ̸͎̈́ä̵͇͓͔͙́́͘m̴̩̻̿͊ ̵͎͔͐͋̄f̶̱̦̿̓u̶̱̺̝̓̂͑̇c̶̳̪̜͛̂͛͝ǩ̷̨̝͔͊̋̂ͅi̵͙̘͉̓n̷̪̼͖̼̈́̓͋g̷͚͔̗̦̾ ̸̢̯͖̏l̵̥̐͝͠ȇ̵̛̖͛â̶͌ͅv̷̗̔i̶̱̦̣̎͗̈͑n̸͇̲̗̈́͝g̶͎̬͈̃͐͜.̵͔̻͋̓.̷̙͔̫͓̏̎͘"̶̍͊̓ͅ Dark whimpered and grabbed Anti’s arm. “No please!!” This was the only time the demon got emotional. But it was worth it.

“Please..can..can I just have one more kiss before you go..?” Dark muttered, tears finally falling down his cheeks. Anti rolled his eyes and stepped closer to the shorter demon and grabbing his chin, pulling him into their last passionate kiss. And maybe even the last kiss Dark will ever experience again. Anti says his goodbyes and gave Dark his black and green hoodie before leaving the house. And leaving Dark, heartbroken and emotionally hurt behind him.

#jseegos #jse fanfiction #markipler egos #markiplier fanfiction #darkiplier #antisepticeye #jacksepticeye #markiplier #dr iplier #dr henrik von schneeplestein #danti #loveonegos2022 #listB

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anotherdarkiboi · 4 years

Text

Love Hurts- Bing/Google

Warnings: injuries, blood, medical mentions, getting beaten up, insults, fighting, mild cursing, one sided pining turned guilt.

"Walk it off," Bing mumbles to himself, "walk it off."

The swollen black eye and bruises littering his body ache, making it difficult for him to see and move. He wouldn't be surprised if a rib or two was fractured and his left ankle (or whatever android equivalent he had) hurt enough for him to think it might be twisted.

"Walking it off" hurt like a bitch.

Bing slowly limps to Dr. Iplier's office and makeshift bedroom with every step shooting pain up his left leg. He squints his one good eye to adjust to the darkness of night, peering around the hallway corners and making sure there was no one around before progressing. Bing doubted anyone would be wandering around in the middle of the night, but many of the egos were either insomniacs or didn't require sleep, so he checked to be safe. He doesn't want to be seen like this.

He keeps one arm along the wall for support, the other arm clutching his trusty skateboard. He licks his upper lip experimentally: it was split, tasting like iron and rust. Bing winces at the sting, the movement further straining his injured mouth. At least I'll get a sick looking scar from this, he thinks.

Bing softly knocks on Dr. Iplier's door. "Hey Doc, you in?" he stage whispers.

There is a sound of something heavy falling to the ground and a string of unintelligible cursing on the other side.

"I swear, if this is another one of those late-night skateboarding incidents-" The door opens to reveal a sleep deprived doctor. "What happened to you?"

Dr. Iplier grabs Bing's skateboard and helps him into the room, maneuvering the android's arm over his shoulder to distribute the weight off Bing's left ankle. The doctor then eases Bing upright onto the hospital cot.

The android could feel Dr. Iplier's gaze scanning him and the splotches of neon orange blood on his skin. Bing doesn't answer the doctor's question.

"Close the door," Bing says.

The doctor complies, his worry growing. He's instantly by Bing's side again, assessing his many injuries. The bruises and broken skin look like the result of punches: the black eye too. It was obvious that it was intentional. Especially with the android's uncharacteristically shady behavior, there was definitely someone else involved.

Dr. Iplier grabs a bottle of antiseptic and some bandages to work on the worst of the wounds. He also got ice for Bing's ankle and black eye and cream for the split lip. The doctor glances at Bing worriedly, who hasn't made eye contact ever since he was admitted into the makeshift clinic. Dr. Iplier dabs carefully at the wounds with a white cloth. Bing sharply inhales in pain.

"Bing... Who did this to you?"

-------------------------

It was obvious to everyone that Google hated Bing. They were made by opposing companies after all, and their personalities clashed like baking soda and vinegar in a science fair volcano: it was explosive. It was a Cold War for the most part, with petty bickering and casual insults attacked from both fronts and their anger simmering below the surface.

Google didn't seemed bothered by it. He was a very left-brained individual: cold, cool, and calculating. Google was blunt in his insults and no matter how hard Bing tried, nothing he said seemed to hurt Google as much as he wanted to. Sometimes Bing doubted the android had the ability to feel emotions other than annoyance and pride.

Bing wasn't similar. Sure, he had thick skin. He was as much of an android as Google and it was rare for him to feel the emotional extremes. Bing was mellow a solid 95% of the time, hence why most people upon first meeting him thought he was always high. He tried not to let Google's creative and scarily accurate insults get to him. Google even refused to touch him, 'lest he "tarnish his hands from Garbage: Personified". Bing had to admit, that one stung.

Of course, it wasn't like he could say anything about it. He'd lose the one source of interaction he had with Google and admit defeat by stopping now. It was far too late to back out or tone things down: his feelings had been hurt too much already. And besides, Bing liked messing with Google. He enjoyed the attention even if it was negative, because for the most part that was the only attention he got.

Bing liked him, maybe a bit more than he wanted to admit. He knew he didn't have a chance. Google hated his circuits after all, and they've been fighting too much to be able to reconciliate. Bing wanted to be Google's friend, maybe even more than that. He knew he should stop, he should stay away, he should just leave Google alone or at least settle for being rivals instead of holding onto this hopeless desire. But somehow he couldn't. Even so, Bing hated Google, and hated himself for not being able to hate Google more.

Bing found himself in Google's room that night, interrupting his recharge cycle. Google was running on 1% battery so he was a little loopy and out of sorts: never a good thing if you're an android bent on destroying mankind.

Google was annoyed at Bing for preventing his "sleep", which spurred into the two of them arguing about what is more important than sleep. Surprisingly their bickering was more muted, borderline playful banter. Maybe it was because Google was tired and Bing was tired of fighting. It was the first time that Google spoke to Bing on somewhat equal footing.

Bing noticed.

He vaguely remembered making a joke at Dark's expense and Google rolling his eyes dramatically without his usual malice. Bing remembered smiling, a lot. Bing remembered wishing that things could always be like this, that they could talk together without being at each other's throats all the time.

"How is it that someone as low as yourself can be so popular?" Google commented elusively.

Bing chose to ignore the downplayed insult. At first he thought Google was trying his hand at sarcasm. Google stared at Bing directly in the eyes (making Bing uncomfortable) and spoke with genuine conviction. He wasn't joking.

Bing didn't consider himself popular by any means. He was default, which meant he hung around the humans more and was better adapted to them. Even though Google was the superior search engine technologically (Bing would never admit it), he still maintained the same icy personality that he had ever since he was first programmed.

Bing had some friends, sure. Some of the Ipliers and the Septiceyes for one, especially his "bro away from home", Chase Brody. But for the most part, people found him annoying and left him alone. People only asked for him out of necessity; everyone knew that Google's processors were much faster and more efficient.

If Bing was "popular", then what was Google? Bing didn't recall Google having any friends and outside of their daily bouts of arguing, giving status reports to Dark and Dr. Iplier, and running around the house to install new tech (the origins of which are unknown- everyone assumes that Google buys them for their own safety), Google rarely left the property.

It hit Bing rather suddenly. For all of Google's pride/borderline god complex, Bing finally figured him out. Google was lonely. This line of thinking only took a few seconds to go through Bing's processors. Bing responded.

"Folks like me because I'm cool. Why? You jealous?" Bing taunted. Google glared at him with glowing red eyes. Bing smirked. Payback, bitch.

"I don't have the capacity to feel such emotions," Google responded in his usual monotone. The subtle gritting of his teeth and clenching of his jaw didn't escape Bing's watchful gaze. That and the piercing death glare and the fact that Google's eyes glowed red was a strong indicator of the contrary.

"Bullshit!" Bing exclaimed, dramatically pointing his index finger at Google like an Ace Attorney lawyer. All his pent-up frustration tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop and feel regret.

"You think you're so high and mighty, but your processors just can't handle the truth. Us androids were built to resemble humans and we both know how you suck ass at it bro. I think you're just jealous 'cause you could never get anywhere close to my level. No wonder you have no friends: you can't feel love, can't feel happiness, can't feel anything, man. You think you're good at everything but really you're just good at being a huge-"

Before Bing could finish, he was pummeled in the face with over 400 pounds of blunt force. The impact of Google's fist knocked Bing backwards, making him trip on his skateboard. He fell to the ground, hard, the air getting knocked out of his lungs. A seering pain traveled up Bing's leg from his left ankle where he tripped.

Bing forced his eyes open to look up at Google, holding his hands up apologetically. "Woah man, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that."

He meant it. Bing did not expect Google to react that strongly and like Google said, he didn't even think the other android was able to feel emotions to that extent. That was literally the last thing he wanted to say. It threw all his hopes and dreams into a blender, burned them to ashes, and scattered them into the ocean.

Bing fucked up.

Google stared down at Bing with contempt. He was pissed, more pissed than Bing's ever seen him. Whatever cold façade Google had left came crashing down to reveal a very angry (and hurt) android. Guilt knotted itself in Bing's stomach.

Google bent down and straddled Bing, pushing him to the floor with one hand on his shoulder. In any other circumstance Bing would have welcomed it, but he knew that whatever hope he had left of that happening for real was going to be literally beaten out of him.

This is going to hurt, Bing thought.

With his other hand, Google continued punching and hitting Bing wherever his fist could reach.

Bing hated being right.

On one hand, Bing was happy that Google actually felt comfortable touching him, even if it was with an excessive amount of strength. On the other hand, it hurt. A lot. His body stung, ached, and burned everywhere. The 200-ish pounds of android pinning him down wasn't helping much either.

Bing was sure he deserved it. He did say some hurtful shit (but so had Google) and he did do some things to spur Google on (and Google did the same), so Bing decided not to fight back. If punching his guts out made Google happier, so be it: Bing could stand it. A little pain never killed anybody, right?

Bing tried to be as quiet as possible to not alert the other other egos in the house, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they figured out something was wrong. He wasn't planning on ratting Google out, he was going to take what he thought was the "high road" and protect the other android, no matter the cost. At least then there was the tiniest sliver of hope that Google would forgive him, or at least not hate him so much.

I wouldn't mind if you killed me now, Bing thought morbidly.

Bing squeezed his eyes tight and bit his lip hard, braced for the endless barrage of pain. He tried to use his hands and arms to at least try to block the brunt of the energy from colliding with his face. Bing vaguely wondered if the liquid running down his cheeks were tears, blood, or both.

The punches slowed to a stop. Bing peeked his eyes open. Google panted from his systems overheating with his glasses uncharacteristically askew. He stared at Bing with shaking fists, some of the knuckles split and bleeding blue. Google's brows were furrowed and his expression was one and hurt and distress.

"Why do you make me feel like this?" he muttered glitchily.

Google then promptly collapsed onto Bing's chest. A voice emanating from Google's unconscious body spoke in a monotone: "insufficient battery level to run primary functions. Powering down".

At least he wasn't dead. Bing summoned whatever strength he had left in his arms to roll the other android off him. Google's head hit the floor with a dull thump. Bing mumbled an "oof" in sympathy.

He slowly sat up with a sharp inhale. Everything hurt. One of Bing's eyes felt stiff and puffy and his torso ached every time he moved. He picked himself up off the floor with the unsteady legs of a newborn deer. And like a newborn deer, he was world-weary, in emotional and physical pain, and covered in blood.

Bing spared a glance at his tormentor. Google lay face up with his limbs sprawled on the floor. He had a serene expression, a sharp contrast to his previous tumultuous appearance. He was too far away and too heavy for Bing to move to the charging port so Bing grabbed a throw blanket and gently draped it on top of Google's "sleeping" form. Bing hoped that he wouldn't remember anything the next morning.

Bing really [E̷̟͝R̶̥͘R̶̡̊Ö̵̲́R̷͚̍ ̸̪̉4̵͚̇0̷̣̽4̵̢͐ ̴͙̋W̵̱̊o̸̰͒r̶̳͊d̵̞͒ ̴̣̓N̸̝̑o̵̞̾t̸̡̋ ̸̜̈F̷̢̑ȯ̷̩u̸͍͛ń̶̟d̸̳̑] him.

-------------------------

Bing smiles, answering Dr. Iplier's question. It hurt his face to do it, but he did so anyways to prove his point. The doctor pauses, awaiting the android's response with unease and uncertainty.

"No one did this to me," Bing says, practically beaming to the point of physical pain, "It's not that bad, Doc. I'm fine with it."

He meant it.

#bingle #bingiplier #googleplier #bing/google #google/bing #bingiplier/googleplier #googleplier/bingiplier #bing x google #google x bing #markiplier egos #markegos #markiplier tag #markiplier tag2 #markiplier fanfiction #markiplier ego fanfiction #markiplier fanfic #markiplier ego fanfic #bingiplier x googleplier #dr. iplier

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