#the madman in pink / wilford warfstache

[coolmayordamien]

Writing Request (if you're still taking them):

Dark/Wilford sick-fic with comfort? I don't mind if it's Dark or Wil that's sick, but I can imagine either of them being reluctant to stay in bed for different reasons, lol

You got it!

Darkiplier/Wilford Warfstache

Summary: Dark isn't feeling well. Wilford knows what to do.

Tags: Sickfic, silliness, this is way longer than it has any right to be,

Wilford's eyes flashed with concern as he pressed the back of his hand against Dark's forehead. The man with the pink mustache dutifully ignored his grayscale partner's rumbling complaints, although he did pay careful attention to the deep, wracking coughs that Dark couldn't seem to repress.

"That's a fever, sugar," he said regretfully. "And that there's a nasty sounding cough. You, my dear Dark, are not only merely sick--you're really most sincerely sick."

"I'm perfectly fine, Wil," Dark scowled, trying to duck out of Wilford's grip. The pair had been together long enough for the entity to know what happened when he became unwell. He wanted to get out of that situation as fast as he-

Without having taken a single step, Dark found himself tucked securely into bed, trapped by sheets that had been arranged with military precision. He was also dressed in his pajamas-nope, actually, those were Wilford's pajamas. Dark's closet definitely didn't contain such things as a hot pink long-sleeved sleep shirt covered in flaming black hearts. He bet that if he could manage to un-tuck himself, he would find out that the pants matched.

"Don't pout," Wilford warned from above him, wagging a finger. "You just lie back and look pretty. Ol' Wilfy's gonna take good care of you."

Dark absolutely did not pout, although he did release an annoyed huff as he flopped back into the pillows. He flushed a little as Wil fussed with his coverings, making sure that he was warm enough, and then moreso when his partner pressed a loving kiss to his forehead.

"I'm going to get you some soup! Soup is what you need to get better. And lots of kisses, but that will have to wait until after the soup," the madman rambled. "You be good now, alright?"

"Alright," Dark agreed pleasantly.

--

Dark finally managed to wiggle his way out of his partner's restrictive blankets, refusing to acknowledge exactly how long that it had taken him. He didn't want to upset Wil, but he really needed to get some work done. And stretch his legs. And basically do anything other than just sitting in bed, bored to tears.

Besides, he wasn't that sick. It was just a cough. He didn't even feel that tired, he thought quietly pulling open the door.

Only to reveal Wilford standing on the other side, holding a steaming bowl of soup and a glass of water. They stared at each other for a moment in perfect silence before Wil's eyes crinkled cheerfully.

"Hello, my love!" He sang out, gesturing with the items in his hands. "If you'll just let me put these down, I have a question for you."

"I can explain-" Dark said hesitantly, breaking out into a cold sweat as Wilford moved into the room, carefully placing his burdens on a side table. The mustached man spun on his heel, hands on his hips and a grin on his face.

"Don't be so nervous, darling, it's not a hard question. I just want to know where exactly you think that you're going," Wilford wondered, tapping a finger against his own cheek in contemplation.

Dark searched desperately for the right answer before slowly saying, "No...where?"

"Good answer, my love," Wilford laughed, tucking him into bed. Dark really wished he'd stop teleporting him around; it was sort of making him dizzy. "Now eat your soup before it gets cold. I'll just be down the hall, filming an interview."

Wilford checked his temperature again, kissing his cheek. "By the way sugar, that was strike one."

Fuck.

--

Dark slid open the window as quietly as he could, making sure that there were no witnesses down on the ground. He coughed twice, painfully, and his head whipped around to search for his looming lover. There was no sign of him, thankfully.

He was only on the second story. It couldn't be that hard to climb down two stories.

He made it about two feet before a voice called out from below him, "Strike two, love."

He shrieked. He fell. He was caught in strong arms, and then gently placed into bed.

Damn it.

--

He could just open a portal-

"Strike three, Dark. You're out."

Shit.

--

Dark coughed so hard that he retched, slumping back into the pillows with a groan. He was drenched with sweat, burning up from the inside out, and everything ached.

"I know, I know," Wilford crooned, dabbing at his forehead with a warm rag. "I'm sorry to say that you did this to yourself, my love."

"Yeah, I know," Dark sighed, cuddling into Wilford's side. "This is a little...much, though."

The madman smirked, stroking his dark love's damp hair. "It's just until you feel better, sweetheart. I can't have you sick. It upsets me."

"I don't want to upset you," the monochrome man said softly. "Thanks for taking care of me, Wil."

"Silly," Wilford teased, gently tapping his nose. "I love you."

"I love you too," Dark's voice was muffled, as he had buried his face in his lover's side to prevent further boops. "Can you unchain me now? The ankle cuff itches."

"Not a chance."

[mosonyusz]

I'm sorry Mr. Iplier, but a broken and crazy character shouldn't be as relatable to me as Wilford is. It miiiiiight be because of my fucked up mental health, but man, you made Wilford Motherloving Warfstache a bit too relatable and understandable. /lh

Anyways, Wilford forever will be the best character ever, and I love him way too much, ADHD and pan/bi icon, I fucking love him.

[liarinlife]

tags.

[more perhaps to be added!]

[franklyshipping]

Impish Impersonations ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

HERE WE HAVE ANOTHER AWESOME ANON PROMPT WITH OUR FAVOURTE EMO, AND OUR FAVOURITE ANNOYING BUBBLEGUM BOY! LET’S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @darkipli-ler

Wilford Warfstache was….bold. Well, bold is the kind word. Frankly, he was a reckless madman who did many things that he often ended up regretting, like eating lots of chillies, baking naked, and doing impressions of his friends and peers directly to their faces. Most of the egos didn’t mind to be honest, mainly because Wilford’s impressions were quite funny….however, there was one ego who certainly didn’t appreciate being mocked in that manner. Dark. Right now he was pink in the face with embarrassed at the sight of Wilford sitting in HIS office chair, with his hands steepled on the desk and his head lightly tilted to the side. Dark was going to get Wilford for this.

‘Wilford if you continue to mock me in this manner….then you shall severely regret it.’

‘Is that so? Well, if you continue to encroach upon my incredibly sleek and over-dramatic office space, then you shall severely regret it.’

Wilford retorted, steepling his fingers on the desk as he fought to keep himself well-postured and stoic, with pointedly pursed lips to enhance his intense impression of the man before him. Dark’s cheeks went pink as he ended up replying with pursed lips.

‘Wilford this is MY office!’

Wilford sighed through his nose at this, before reclining in the leather desk chair as he responded.

‘And yet, I am the one situated behind the desk whilst you are standing and twittering like a buffoon.’

‘Wilford I do NOT twitter!’

Wilford raised a cool, amused eyebrow at that, and spoke as he casually straightened his bowtie.

‘Ah, that’s Darkiplier Dark Lord of Extra-ness to you!’

Dark bristled, and Wilford really had to try and fight back a smile, but Dark could see how his eyes were twinkling with his annoying giddiness. Wilford thrived on annoying people especially him, and especially with embarrassing, silly impressions like this. Dark couldn’t help but get riled, which only made Wilford even more enthusiastic. Dark growled to him now.

‘Why do you always do this, hm? Do you really get so much pleasure out of irritating and humiliating me?’

Wilford smirked now, and he winked as he made his voice go even lower and posher than Dark’s actual voice.

‘Oh most certainly, and besides, what precisely can you do to stop me?’

Dark gritted his teeth at Wilford’s arrogance, also, he didn’t sound that bloody posh! Dark was so done, and all he wanted was to make Wilford regret humiliating him. So, Dark surged around the desk towards him, letting his form glitch and swell so that black, inky tendrils could shoot from his chest and wrap around Wilford. The tendrils forced Wilford to stand up ramrod straight and forced his arms out to his sides as Dark got nose to nose with him and growled.

‘I’m going to make you wish you’d annoyed someone else today. You are insufferable, I don’t think anyone else has ever gotten on my nerves more….’

Dark trailed off, and relishes for a few moments in how Wilford got visibly flustered and nervous and squirmy as he realised how utterly vulnerable he was. In that moment too however, Dark found himself recounting his own words in his head, and Wilford gulped when Dark suddenly smiled wolfishly, and cupped his jaw as he purred.

‘….and with that in mind….tell me Wilford, how are your nerves these days?’

Wilford certainly didn’t have the confidence to maintain his impression now, and continued to squirm as he replied to Dark’s question as calmly as possible….because he knew exactly what Dark was referring to.

‘Ah….wh-whatever do you mean old boy?’

‘Oh you know what I mean dear….and there is precisely nothing you can do to stop me.’

Wilford gulped at Dark’s sneer, before squealing and descending into cackles; Dark was never the kind of person to go in slowly. Two inky, black tendrils had slid up into Wilford’s armpits and were wriggling with reckless abandon, and Wilford instantly struggled adorably.

‘ACK-NOHOHO W-WAHAHAIT DAHAHAHARKY!!’

Dark chuckled, cocking his head at Wilford with satisfied amusement as he replied.

‘Oho Wilford, Wilford, Wilford, we’ve known each other for oh so long now….you know that your words are meaningless now.’

Wilford shook his head, grinning brightly and blushing pink like his moustache as he looked at Dark imploringly.

‘YOHOHOU DOHOHON’T HAHAHAVE TOHOHO!!’

Dark scoffed, and made the tips of the tendrils wiggle faster in the depths of Wilford’s hollows, making Wilford squeal as Dark chuckled.

‘Oh but I do. Not only because this type of torture is the only way to get through to you….but also because I oh so enjoy how ticklish you are. It’s such a pretty, perfect weakness, and exploiting it gives me much pleasure.’

Wilford threw his head back with flustered mirth, his heart pounding as Dark’s teasing swirled in his mind and gave him goose-bumps. Dark’s weapon was his words, and he was a master of their use.

‘YOHOHOU’RE SOHOHO MEHEHEAN!!’

‘Oh, says the man who was imitating me to my face for the sole reason of humiliating me!’

Dark retorted as Wilford cackled, before the moustached man gasped and tittered as the tendrils moved down from his armpits, teasing down his ribs lightly. Wilford met Dark’s eyes and smiled a flustered smile when Dark purred and raised an eyebrow.

‘Well? Anything to say for yourself?’

Wilford giggled nervously as the tendrils snuck beneath his shirt and curled at the dips of his sides, and then he grinned with his tongue poking out through his teeth. What, even now, did you think Wilford Warfstache wouldn’t be a cheeky shit?

‘…..sh-shohould I w-wear a s-suit next time soho I’m mohore accurate?’

Dark gritted his teeth, before letting his tendrils slowly scratch and tease Wilford’s sides, making Wilford descend into giddy, high-pitched giggles and blush a darker red from the teasiness. Dark purred in an amused, affectionate tone, because he knew Wilford oh so well.

‘You’re really asking for it aren’t you?’

Wilford spluttered and stammered through his giggles.

‘N-Nahahat th-thihihihis s-s-….s-spehehecificahally!’

Dark raised an amused eyebrow, because they both knew that was a lie. Then he leant in and whispered huskily in Wilford’s ear, making him shudder cutely.

‘Ohh, but revenge is a dish best served with chills down the spine….don’t you agree?’

Wilford scrunched up adorably, his face screwing up as he shook his head.

‘N-Nohohoho Ihihi doho nahahat!’

‘Oh well, I suppose we must agree to disagree.’

Dark replied, before letting his tendrils spontaneously shoot down, wrap around Wilford’s thighs….and start squeezing and prodding the sensitive flesh ruthlessly. Wilford just absolutely shrieked with hyper-ticklish surprise and went into hysterical laughter.

‘AAAHHHOHMYFUCK-NAHAHAT THEHEHERE!!!’

Dark laughed a bright, diabolical laugh, his eyes shining and white teeth gleaming amidst his wolfish smile.

‘Oh but your thighs are your most ticklish spot on the whole of your wriggly little body dear, how can I not?’

‘PLEHEHEHEHEASE!!!’

Wilford cried out with wide, watery eyes as he thrashed about in his unrelenting restraints; Dark simply mused evilly.

‘Hmm, that little bit of begging was very sweet….beg for me a little more, and maybe I’ll consider mercy.’

Dark winked, and Wilford whined because it was so damn embarrassing, but it tickled so much and he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it forever. Dark’s tendrils were the most diabolical tickling instruments that existed, and Wilford knew that with Dark, nothing else would suffice, and so he squealed.

‘PLEHEHEHEASE OHOHOHO GAHAD DAHAHARK PLEHEHEASE!!!’

Dark smirked smugly, very much enjoying himself and wanting to milk it as much as he could. He crooned.

‘Ohhh I love when you cry out my name like that, go on, do it again for me, there’s a good boy.’

Wilford was utterly broken and flustered as hell, and was such a frantic mirth-filled mess that he cried out with a cracking voice.

‘DAHAHAHARK OHOHOHO PLEHEHEEEASE!!!’

Dark beamed with great satisfaction, and let his tendrils uncurl and fade away so that he could wrap his arms around Wilford’s weak body supportively, and Dark purred with a smile as Wilford curled into his embrace with residual giggles.

‘Okay dear, you have earned your mercy, I’ve got you Wilford….’

Wilford gasped with his cute breathlessness, immediately hugging Dark back as he garbled in an adorable, giggly voice.

‘Yohou gohot me gohooood Darky.’

Dark chuckled, and rubbed Wilford’s back a little before releasing him so he could regain his steadiness on his feet. Dark kept his hands softly resting on Wilford’s elbows as he cocked his head at him with a curious smile….he knew Wilford liked being tickled, but he had a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that there was more to Wilford’s intentions this time.

‘Why do you insist on doing these impressions of me, you know how they rile me.’

Wilford smiled bashfully, and a tad awkwardly, before going quiet for a few moment; this certainly piqued Dark’s curiosity. Dark watched patiently as Wilford nibbled his lip in thought, before speaking in an unusually subdued way as he rubbed the back of his neck.

‘….with you being shut up in here workin’ all the time I just d-didn’t know how else to….get ya to divert…..to spend time with me…’

Dark’s eyes softened, and he felt his fractured heart tremble at the sound of Wilford saying he essentially would risk all manner of Dark’s wrath just to be able to spend time with him. Dark cupped Wilford’s face with his hands as he replied tenderly, with a genuine smile.

‘Wilford, no matter what, no matter the things that may come up that I have to address….none of them come close to even just a second of being in the same room as you. You make me feel better….more than anything, and believe me, in all things you are my preference.’

Wilford gasped softly and started to grin, and Dark chuckled affectionately when Wilford started to lightly wiggle on the spot. The tell-tale sign of his excited, happy energy building inside him.

‘D-Does that mean we can….cuddle and watch movies?’

Dark laughed softly and nodded, pinching Wilford’s cheek lightly as he replied.

‘Yes you gargantuan sap-‘

‘YAY! Okay come on come on I have a list come on!’

Dark laughed even more, right from the heart, as Wilford dragged him out of his office by his hand….and Dark felt his heart almost beat like it was alive again as he got close to the wildest man in the history of man. Because everyone needs a someone to do things with. Friend, family member, lover, doesn’t matter. Just one someone can make all the difference to life.

WOOOO HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID WOOOO LUV YOUS XX

[lostcybertronian]

Egotober- Day 20

Prompt: Leaves

Pairing: Authorstache (kinda)

---

Dusk was falling; the last, dying rays of sunlight filtered through the multicolored leaves, slowly fading into shadow as they reached the forest floor.

    Wilford Warfstache didn’t feel their fading warmth, nor did he notice the blue-purple streaking through what sky could be seen through the rapidly thinning foliage, nor did he see the first stars beginning to emerge, sparkling against the darkening sky. 

    His attention was focused downward, to the corpse sprawled atop a bed of dying leaves and pine needles, blanketed by the blood soaking its clothes, adorned with a ragged exit wound that blossomed across its forehead like a macabre flower.

    He’d managed to get the corpse rolled onto its back- dirtying his hands and shirt in the process, he’d have to get it dry-cleaned- and now, as he stared at it, he found himself struggling to remember why he was there in the first place; why did Dark tell him to haul his ass out into the middle of nowhere, again?

    He studied the corpse carefully, eyes roaming over its deathly white skin, dotted with red, over its slightly parted lips, and wide-open, brown eyes. He didn’t recognize him, and the guy hadn’t seemed to recognize him either, though Wilford hadn’t really been able to see, having put a bullet in the back of his skull the moment he’d turned tail to run.

    The sudden sound of a dog barking shattered the heavy quiet. Wilford jerked his head up in time to see a Golden Retriever lunge from the shadows, barking its head off and straining against its neon leash in a desperate attempt to reach him.

    “Oh- oh my god.” At the other end of the leash was a young woman, her mouth agape, eyes wide with horror as she beheld the bloodied body at Wilford’s feet. Then her fight-or-flight instincts kicked in and immediately she scrambled back, fighting to control the dog with one hand while yanking her phone from her jacket pocket with the other. “I’m calling the police!” She shrieked, voice drowning out the rustling footsteps and frantic barking that was quickly fading away as she fled the scene.

    “Oh, come on! It was an accident, I swear!” He called after her, but she was already gone. He bent, snatching up the arms and beginning to drag him away, further into the underbrush. He had to get rid of this guy, before the police got here. Dark would have his ass if he got arrested again.

    He only got a few feet before he was dropping the corpse with a dull thud, abandoning that plan in favor of pulling his phone from thin air. It appeared in his hand with a pop and a cloud of pink glitter. He’d have to call Dark to come get him. 

    But as the screen flickered to life, revealing a lockscreen background of the 

Author passed out asleep on the cabin floor, an idea sprung to life: the Author was a writer! He’d know how to get rid of a body. 

    Wilford’s thumbs flew across the screen as he dialed the Author’s number, smearing blood across it in the process. He ignored it, holding the device up to his ear just as the Author picked up with an irritated, “what do you want?”

    “I want your ass over here,” was the answer. “So drop what you’re doin’, cause I’ve got a body to bury and fuzz on the way.”

Annoyance immediately turned to delight, and the Author barked a laugh. “Wilford, you bastard!” He exclaimed. “Having all the fun without me, I see. Ah, but I do like a challenge. I’ll be right over.”

Then, with a click, he hung up. 

—

It wasn’t long before flashlight beams pierced through the trees and the deep-throated howls of police dogs broke the night. 

Wilford spat out his lollipop stick and scrambled to his feet, kicking up leaves and pine needles and a plethora of candy wrappers. He whipped out his gun as the officers and their dogs grew closer and closer, the sounds of their footsteps crunching over leaves and dry twigs echoing off the trees, their shouts of “he’s got something!” and “go get ‘im, bud!”  hurting his ears. But still, Wilford braced himself. They’d be right on top of him any second now- 

    A finger tapped his shoulder. He yelped and spun, nearly clocking the Author in the head with the muzzle of his revolver. 

    “It’s just me, you idiot!” The Author hissed, “and be quiet! They’ll hear you.”

    “Go sit on a stick!” Wilford fired back, careful to keep his voice at least a tiny bit quieter than it was before. He tucked his gun into his waistband and dropped to a squat, reaching for the corpse’s stiffening arms. “Help me with this.”

    “No. You need to create a distraction. Something to draw the cops off our trail.” The Author bent, picking up the corpse and heaving it over his shoulder. “I’ve got this. Meet me at the cabin if you don’t get arrested. And next time-” he started back into the darkness- “don’t go to a public park to shoot somebody in the head. Fucking idiot.”

    He disappeared, leaving Wilford to it. The madman’s grin lit the shadows as he drew his gun once more, only pausing to wave his hand and clear the area of candy wrappers before slinking off into the undergrowth.

    This would be fun.

[wwoww-au]

Wizards Aren’t Witches

A week had gone by since Dark had healed enough to get back to work, and they were itching to get back on the case. Thankfully, an old document recently found had given a lead as to where Warfstache was: a small town in northern England, 1620. They rubbed at the faded bruises on their wrists as they sped through the halls of Crime Department headquarters, nimbly avoiding obstacles. They stopped when they reached an unassuming door adorned with a shining gold plaque, a simple image of an hourglass carved into it. They took a deep breath and opened the door.

They had been in the room what felt like a thousand times before, the place where Time wizards opened portals for WC employees to jump through history. The room was large and circular, with a high vaulted ceiling that seemingly went on for miles. Various clocks, hourglasses, watches, and sundials of all kinds hung from the walls, each displaying a different time. The muted sounds of ticking and chimes echoed off the marble floors. To the right of the door stood a faded couch next to an old wooden wardrobe, always filled with clothing appropriate to whatever period they would be travelling to. Across the room stood a man in a blue suit and hat, checking the time on an ornate gold pocket watch. They recognized him as Jameson Jackson, or JJ as he liked to be called, one of the Committee’s go-to Time cores for jobs like this.

Dark cleared their throat to get Jameson’s attention. “I’m sorry I’m late,” they said bluntly.

“Don’t be. According to me you’re right on time, and I’m sure to someone else you’re early.” He closed the watch and tucked it into his pockets with a leisurely smile. He was normally a very quiet man, but when he did speak he always said the strangest things. Typical for a Time wizard.

“Can we just get this over with?” Dark tapped their foot impatiently. As eager as they were to get on the case, they hated this part. Time travel wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience, leaving anyone not naturally Time cored with a feeling of discomfort and slight nausea. Jameson gave a simple nod, and pointed towards the wardrobe. He opened his mouth to speak before Dark interrupted. “For the last time, I’m not changing into some silly costume. I look fine.” They tugged at their trenchcoat as they stepped towards the center of the room.

Jameson stood opposite of him. Eyes closed, he held his hands out in front of him, dark blue energy radiating off the fingertips. A small ring of blue and gold sparks formed in the very center of the room, slowly growing in size until it was a few feet in diameter. The clocks on the walls began to change the shown time, moving backwards at various speeds and stopping at 4:31. The marble tile of the floor faded away and became a small drop to a patch of dirt covered in dead leaves and twigs. The clocks began to chime in unison, the sound reverberating off of every surface in the room as more and more joined in. Jameson kept his eyes shut, anything to keep him from breaking his concentration.

Dark called out across the portal, raising their voice to be heard over the cacophony of bells and chimes. “I’ll send you a communication when I need extraction.” The gripped their cane as if to brace for impact, and hopped into the portal.

As soon as they were through, the ring closed and the floor returned to normal. Jameson’s eyes snapped open and he fell forward onto his knees, the fatigue of using all that energy to open a time portal hitting him all at once. The clocks stopped their incessant chiming, falling back to their dull, rhythmic ticking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Time marched on.

.

.

.

Dark landed roughly on the leaf covered floor, stumbling and placing a hand on a nearby tree until the time-travel dizziness went away. They glanced up to see a few gold and blue sparks fizzle out of existence. As soon as their stomach settled, they took a look around at their surroundings.

They were in a lightly forested wood, surrounded by tall thin beech trees. The ground was covered in a mushy mixture of mulchy leaves and dirty snow, soaking the ground underfoot. It was very cold, and they could see their breath billowing in the air. As the dizziness subsided they spotted some faint smoke off in the distance- probably coming from a settlement of some kind. It would be best if they could avoid civilization for as long as possible. They’d learned it was inconvenient to mess with the locals, especially ones as finicky about magic as those in this time period.

The first thing they had to do was locate Wilford. This was usually pretty easy, as he preferred to be near loud parties, and if there weren’t any he would start one. They didn’t expect him to be too hard to find, but as they looked around they couldn’t see any signs of a party. The woods were quiet aside from the occasional bird call, and they couldn’t see anything that screamed “time travelling madman”.

That is, until the serene stillness of the forest was interrupted by a blaring boombox falling from the sky a mere foot in front of them. They jumped back, frantically looking up to see a dissipating spiral of gold sparks and pink bubbles, similar to the portal they just came through. They rushed forward and turned off the boombox, hoping that no one from the nearby town heard it.

“Ah, you found my music! Now I can start getting the rest of the party together!” a familiar voice called behind them. They whipped around to see Wilford trotting out from behind one of the trees, a dopey smile on his face and a few dead leaves stuck in his wild pink hair. Dark gained their composure and pointed an accusing finger at the man before them.

“Wilford Warfstache, you’re under arrest for stealing the Time Wand from the Wizard Commi-” they firmly stated with utmost confidence before getting interrupted by the criminal shushing them.

“Boring… just like the rest of this drab time period. Let’s talk about that later. Now is the time for a party.” He pulled the ancient wand from the holster on his belt. He waved it with a flick of his wrist, producing a small bubbly portal next to his hand and pulling out a martini glass full of a fizzing green liquid.

“That is one of the most important artifacts to wizardkind, will you stop waving it around like it’s a toy!” Dark said as loud as they could, letting their anger build up into a ball of red and blue magic forming around their clenched fist. “You’re coming with me, thief!” They raised their fist and launched the spell at the criminal, only for Wilford to take a nonchalant step to the side. The magic flew passed him and burned a hole in the tree a few feet behind him instead. Wilford turned to look at the smoldering tree.

“Good job with that one, you almost hit me that time!” He smiled and turned around, giving them a thumbs up.

“God DAMN IT!” Dark yelled in frustration, ignoring the pain yelling caused their throat. They knew they couldn’t waste anymore time trying to use magic they could barely control, so they picked up a rock instead. They chucked it at Wilford as hard as they could; in response the madman flicked the wand in his hand, opening another small portal in front of him. Dark barely had enough time to react when the other end appeared behind them, the rock beaning them in the back of the head.

Wilford began to space out as the other started screaming a string of obscenities at him. This felt familiar. He would end up in some new place, a new time, left with nothing to do but wander around looking for something that would clear the fog that clouded his mind. Nothing but a blur of abstract shapes and colors that almost became clear, but as soon as he reached out to touch them, they vanished. The only constant was the one person who always came back to try to put an end to the fun.

He stared at the ground for a moment, forgetting his train of thought completely as a small, blue beetle scurried across his shoe. He smiled at it, little things like this always cheered him up when he got lost in unpleasant memories, or lack thereof. “Hello there, little friend,” he cooed, bending down to pick up the beetle and holding it up to get a better look at the blue shine of its shell. He smiled, and tucked it into his pocket. “What was I doing? Ah yes, a party.”

Dark quit their frustrated yelling as soon he spoke again. “No!” they shouted. They stomped forward, trying to snatch the wand out of Will’s nimble hands. “Hand over that wand right now!”

Wilford held it above his head, just out of reach of the short detective. “But I still need it, the fun is only just beginning!” he giggled, twirling his wand to open yet another portal, this time resulting in several large multicolored streamers to rain down onto Dark’s head, leaving them momentarily stunned. Wilford leaned his arm on their shoulder as they tried to tear off the streamers, but they shoved him away violently and backed up.

“Enough of this nonsense, thief! Hand over the wand or I’ll-”

“Witch!”

The two wizards turned to face a young girl, pointing at them with a fearful and accusatory look. The town must have been closer than they’d thought. A couple more townsfolk stood behind her, mumbling and looking at the odd pair with frightened stares. Dark took a cautious step away, but Wilford stayed put.

“No, no, no, there’s been a misunderstanding!” Wilford said, pocketing the wand. “We’re not witches, we’re wizards. There’s a difference you see…”

“You’re not helping,” Dark spoke through gritted teeth, eyes darting between the small mob of angry townspeople that had gathered in front of them. They muttered amongst each other, and Dark was just barely able to pick up words like “witch” and “the devil”. Wilford turned to face the worried detective, confident smile never wavering.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll talk us out of this. Everything will be just fine.”

.

.

.

“Everything will be just fine,” Dark said in a sarcastic tone, struggling against the ropes that bound them to the stake, back to back with Wilford. The town had had a stake set up already for a previously scheduled burning, but had decided that the “devil and the witch” were more important targets. Wilford had tried to explain to them that he knew Satan and that he was neither of them, which only caused a shudder to run up Dark’s spine and did not help their situation at all.

“Well I thought they’d be more reasonable!” Wilford huffed. “Turns out there’s just no reasoning with people in Halloween costumes.” The criminal made no effort to get loose from the bonds. Dark continued their struggle, pulling at the ropes as hard as they could. At the very least they still had their cane with them, lying at their feet to burn with them.

“Can you please focus?! Can’t you open a portal and get us out of here?!” Dark exclaimed, panic growing as the town’s judge began to list off the charges.

“I can’t,” Wilford said, unphased by the growing severity of the situation.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“What- you just summoned all that party crap back there!”

“It’s different. People portals are different than thing portals. I need more time to be able to open another one.”

“I hate that that makes sense…” Dark thrashed against the ropes, their struggle only getting more frantic as a few townsfolk near the front of the crowd began lighting torches.

“…and shall burn for their crimes,” finished the judge. He hadn’t been reading from an actual list, as they hadn’t taken the time to make one, but instead he’d been reading excerpts from the Bible and adding in some connecting wording of his own.

“Come on, hurry it up!” Dark hissed. They’d gotten their bindings loose just enough to try and unknot them, but there wouldn’t be enough time and they wouldn’t be able to simply run past the mob surrounding them.

“No need to be so impatient, work on getting these stupid bindings off first. Not that I’m not into it, but they’re so restrictive,” Warfstache said calmly while attempting to take a sip from the martini in his hands. He couldn’t quite reach it due to the ropes hindering his movement, and one of the more brave townsfolk snatched it out of his hand and smashed it onto the pire before jumping back. Wilford’s face fell in shock. “Hey, I was using that!”

They were out of time, the townsfolk bearing torches marched forward, lighting the pyre. The flames quickly grew, spreading closer to the two wizards. Dark’s breathing picked up as they peddled their feet, trying to move away from the  encroaching flames.

“No!” they screamed. A shockwave of energy flew out around them, knocking a few of the surrounding townsfolk back. They felt the ropes fall from their around them. They looked at their hands in shock, seeing a dissolving red mist fading around their fingertips.

“This has been a fun party, but you took my drink so we’re going to get going now!” Wilford shouted to the angry crowd. He grabbed Dark by the arm and lifted the wand, a firm smile on his face. “Time to go!” With a flick of his wrist, a portal opened below them.

Dark landed on the snowy forest floor with a dull thud, head spinning from the sudden teleportation. They only had a brief moment to rest before half of the stake they were just tied to fell through the portal. They rolled out of the way, narrowly dodging the heavy piece of wood as it crashed to the ground just before the portal closed. They stood up on shaking legs, brushing the dirt and ash off of their coat and quickly snatching up their cane where it had landed undamaged.

Wilford appeared next to them sporting a goofy smile, as if he hadn’t just made an escape from a fiery death. “Not my best escape, but that was fun! Hey, what was that thing you did back there? Normally you suck at magic!”

Dark shot him a dirty look. “Your coat is on fire.”

Wilford glanced down, unphased by the small flame gathering at the bottom of his trenchcoat. “Huh, it seems it is.”

Dark opened their mouth to retort, but was silenced by the growing volume of distant shouts. Through the trees, the could see a few far off figures, angry townsfolk who must have figured they’d escaped into the forest. They rustled around in their pockets, but it seemed they had lost their standard issue magic handcuffs in the scuffle, which would be a problem when Warfstache tried to escape. “Come on,” they grumbled. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Well, yeah,” Wilford scoffed. “We are still in the woods.”

“That’s not what I-  whatever.” Not about to lose him now, they grabbed Wilford by the back of his coat. Dragging the thief behind them, they hurried as fast as they could deeper into the forest. It was a difficult to go very fast since Will refused to move faster than a walk, but they kept their fist clamped in place and soldiered onwards.

They could hear the people behind them. It sounded like they had sent out search parties, which meant they didn’t have very long.

“Ooh, search parties! Gosh, I just love me a party! A shame they don’t have any silvery light balls,” Wilford mused.

“Yeah yeah, just stay right there and don’t you dare move,” Dark ordered, letting go of Wilford temporarily. They needed to focus to get the spell right, and their window of escape was closing fast.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wilford said, already walking in a circle.

Dark shot him a dirty look before turning their concentration elsewhere. They pushed back one of the sleeves of their trench coat to reveal the old silver watch they wore. Holding their other hand over it, they recalled the special communicator spell Jameson had taught them when they first started travelling through time. They gritted their teeth as the face of the watch started to flash between hues of red and blue, finally settling on a dark shade of blue.

“JJ, I need extraction right now. There was a run in with some of the locals, they’re hostile. I have Warfstache with me- hey! I told you not to move!” They took their eyes off the glowing watch to see Wilford slowly making his way away from them. “Open the portal to 6:42.”

With those final words, the light flickered away. Dark exhaled, unaware they had been holding their breath.

“Well that was anticlimactic. I was expecting something, you know, more exciting, instead of just a simple communication spell. I’m disappointed in you, Dark.” Wilford gave a little “tut tut” and shook his head, patting the top of Dark’s hair in a sort of classic disappointed father way. Dark reeled back and slapped his hand away, glaring at him in frustrated anger. They could hear the townspeople growing closer.

Dark heard the muffled sound of dozens upon dozens of clocks chiming all at once just before a blue and gold portal opened up a few feet away. They straightened up, sliding their sleeve back over their wristwatch before turning to face the criminal.

“Alright, Warfstache, go through the portal now, and no funny business,” Dark said, using their cane to gesture him towards it. They were so tense, they could feel their body shaking. They were this close to finally bringing in the criminal they’d been hunting for forever now. This close.

“Aww, what’s the fun in that? But alright, if you insist!” And before they could blink, Warfstache had fallen through a bubbly portal that closed up behind him.

Dark stood there, stunned, for approximately two seconds before letting out an ear shattering scream.

“FUUUUUUCKKKK!!! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!!!” they shouted, grabbing a rock and throwing it against a tree in anger.They had him! They had him right there and he just slipped through their fingers! They continued to yell obscenities as they stomped through the portal and back into JJ’s office. “FUCK,” they yelled again as they collapsed into the pile of pillows on the faded couch, voice quickly devolving into a coughing fit.

Jameson simply looked on in quiet understanding. This had happened so many times he could barely keep track. Every week or so they would go out to catch Warfstache, only to return more frustrated than the last time. With every passing day their hopes of catching the criminal dwindled. Soon Dark’s coughing subsided and they rose from the couch, clearing their throat.

“I’ll go make my report to Abe, tell him I lost him again. I’ll be back as soon as I find another lead,” they grumbled hoarsely. And with that, they turned on their heel and left the room, coat trailing behind them. Even after all this time, they were still determined to find Warfstache. They would not rest until they brought him to justice, no matter how long it took.

[hollenka99]

...Ouch

Summary: When Mark suggested he let Wilford Warfstache interview him, Jack didn't think it would end up like this. One thing's for sure, he's not listening to Mark's ideas again. Based on a-heist-of-words' Egoctober 2018 prompt, "...ouch..." and Warfstache Interviews Markiplier.

Warnings: Wilford has a knife so y’know... attempted stabbing.

The studio audience cheered appropriately as the title card played. It looked like a good turn out, maybe 90% of the seats were filled. Mark was there too, somewhere. Jack was interested to see what kind of questions this Warfstache guy was going to ask him. Mark had mentioned the reporter to Jack several months ago. He explained the man was always looking for someone new to question. He guaranteed the interview would be memorable. That was to be seen.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and of course, all other configurations of being. My name is Wilford Warfstache and boy, do we have a great guest for you tonight. Some call him the worst Irishman, some call him a leprechaun, most people just call him Green Pewdiepie... please welcome Mr Jacksepticeye!"

Um, okay. Weird introduction but whatever. Mark did say Wilford Warfstache was eccentric.

"Welcome sir." "Hi." He gave the audience a little wave. "Our producer couldn't find another way to boost our ratings." Right then... "So, you play video games for a living?" "Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that. It's a pretty cool job to have." "Now what exactly is it that you do while playing these treacherous virtual brain dumpsters?" "Well, I wouldn't call them brain dumpsters." He gives a small laugh. "I basically record myself playing a game, do a little commentating and post it to YouTube. We're called Let's Players; there's quite a few of us on YouTube." "So you commentate?" "Yeah." "So what is it exactly that you, Jacksepticeye, commentate?" "Video games. People come to my channel to watch me react to the game I'm playing that video." "Ooh!" Warfstache encouraged the audience to have a similar response. "Reaction to what?"

He was going to kill Mark.

"Video. Games." He tried not to sound like a dick, he swore he did. His interviewer's reaction was unintelligible. "And now on to the nitty-gritty!" That was more like it. Maybe this interview had just started off weak. "Hell yeah." "Now what games would you say have been the biggest draw to your channel?" "Oh, that's easy. Yeah, everyone seems to love my videos on Skate 3, Grand Theft Auto... Happy Wheels is a big one too." The crowd cheered at the mention of Happy Wheels. "Yeah! Screw you, Billy." He joked. "So which one of these games would you say is your favourite?" "You know, I get asked this all the time and I still can't choose. Um..." The boom operator lost their grip. It went right into his mouth.

Mark was dead. Jack was never listening to his suggestions again.

"Boy, you got a lot of fans." But... he wasn't quite done answering the last question. Never mind, he didn't have a solid answer anyway. The sooner this interview was over, the sooner he could return to bitching about Irish showers. "Yeah, over 6 million subscribers. It's crazy how many people want to watch my content." "That is baffling!" "I feel the same. But I'm thankful for every last one. If it wasn't for them, I'd still be stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere by myself. I've also gotten to know some awesome people because of it." "Anyway, have you ever met any of these 'fans'?" "All the time! I just came back from PAX West and there were a whole bunch of them. You get to meet a lot at conventions but a few will spot you in the street. They're all really sweet so I-"

"Murder their entire family?" Where the hell did that come from? "What?! No! No, of course I don't." "So you admit it!" Warfstache accused. "You heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen. The Jacksepticeye has just admitted to never murdering anyone." "I... yeah, I never murdered anyone." Jack scanned the audience to see if they were hallucinating the same ludicrous bullshit he was. "Look, this is going in a really weird direction. Can we go back to normal questions?" "Sounds like someone's getting impatient." "Dude, you literally just accused me of murder. I only agreed to this interview because I was told it would be different. I don't know why Mark ever recommended you. I think you might be-"

Warfstache pulled a tiny dagger from his trousers. Yeah, the guy was clearly insane. Was that Jack's cue to get the hell out of here? Yes, it certainly sounded like it. Very distinct sirens of 'Get the fuck away from this madman' were blaring.

The blade barely missed him during Warfstache's first attempt to stab him. He leaped out of the chair. A moving target was less likely to be killed than a seated one. That didn't stop the reporter from drawing closer.

Jack didn't even know what he was doing. Once his survival instincts kicked in, everything was on autopilot. So how the hell the scuffle ended with Warfstache bleeding and him holding the knife would forever remain a mystery. He'd stabbed someone. Oh God, he was going to be responsible for someone's death.

"...Ouch." Wilford looked annoyed. Why was he annoyed? The guy had just been stabbed in the gut. He was bleeding. Why was he just standing there? Why was he acting like it was nothing?

Somebody grabbed him. They didn't wait for his mind to catch up with his involuntarily steps. His other arm hurt.

"Okay, that should be far enough." The member of security halted by an exit. "Are you injured?" "Uh..." Jack's sleeve was turning red. Oh shit. "Doesn't look deep but we should get you a bandage or two." "Sure." Honestly, he was ready to switch his brain off for a while. "Yeah, we've got a Code Pink. The guest doesn't appear to be in immediate danger but keep an eye on Warfstache. I'm taking the guest to the infirmary to treat his arm. Update me if anything happens." The guard spoke into a walkie-talkie. The walk to the infirmary was much gentler. "Does this happen often if you have a code for it?" "He's not the most stable individual. I heard he shot someone off the first floor once."

His brain was resembling a dial-up. Who allowed a murderer to host his own program? Why wasn't he locked up?

Disinfecting the slash on his arm stung. Although, it was better to wince than lose it to an infection. Now his arm was being treated, he could relax slightly. The maniac reporter still lingered in his mind.

"Will Warfstache be okay? I mean, I did stab him." "That guy? Oh yeah, you'd think he was invincible the way he brushes off injuries. He's something else, I'm telling you." "You can say that again. Still..." "Trust me, he will be back in action within 24 hours. You don't need to go all Lady Macbeth."

A half Korean man frantically burst into the infirmary. He scanned the room erratically before catching sight of the Irishman with recently dyed green hair. Jack was pissed and Mark leaked anxiety.

"There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you. Did he get you?" Mark's eyes landing on his friend's bandaged arm was a sufficient answer. "We need to talk." Jack glared.

[id-never-letyoudown]

A Muse List

Wilford Warfstache: reality warping semi-madman. He goes through time and just rolls with the punches. Knows at least a dozen alternate versions of the same person. Makes multiverse ships technically canon. Sometimes he forgets which timeline he's in and acts like a kid who fell asleep in the car and woke up in bed. Kinda OP, but I I'll discuss anything big with the other mun beforehand. For now it's just small stuff. -tagged: pink stache whiplash

Dark: literally watch Damien. Only this Damien had ties to the mafia, which Celine was heavily against. Also Damien and Will had a romantic relationship, highschool sweethearts, promise ring. Then Damien started running for mayor, Wil met Celine, feels were had. (ps: he's got both sets of genitalia, cuz everyone forgets.) -tagged: 3d dream

Fordwil Stachewarf: started as a joke of a bizarro!Wil and now, welp, here he is. He's a manipulative green haired asshole. A creep. He does not "roll with the punches", if one version of you likes him then he will expect all of them to, and he will take. Stuff with him can get hella triggery so I don't use him often. He's a total hardass. -tagged: green jerk

Chase: ha, an average bro. Trickshots. Memes. Bad puns and scraped knees. Anxiety ridden and depressed. Tries to drink away the pain. Also he's a werewolf and used to have hella bad anger issues, they have gotten better, but when it's that time of the month it's easy for him to slip. -tagged: sad awoo

Dr. Iplier: ;A; after losing his V-card to his highschool sweetheart who was moving away, three months later when he tries to break it off, she tells him she's pregnant. So they have a shotgun wedding. Also his family disowned him for this. He had to balance college, a job, and financially caring for his long distance, pregnant, wife. The boy was stressed, and he vented to her. Very next day she says she lost the baby. And ol' doc blamed himself. They've been married since, and whenever he brought up separating she would bring up the baby. He hired a PI who uncovered that there never was a baby to begin with, so now he's just "fuck you, fuuuuck yoooou." Now he's trying to get her to divorce him so she won't take everything. -tagged: doctor love me

Host: ah hah, favorite boi. My Host did used to be the Author, and after getting his ass handed to him, started looking for ways to really amp up his abilities. He found It(not the clown, fck off)and offered a deal "I'll give you a vessel, in exchange for power" and It misinterpreted and took HIS body instead of letting him find someone else. Over the years he's realized his mistakes and has become much more humble. Basically: Host is a host to a being not of this world or even dimension. -tagged: host2

Yan: goes from "not feeling a thing" to "feeling too much" real quick. If you see him being peppy and cheerful, it's an act so ppl don't question him. He wants to feel. So whenever he gets feelings for someone he often takes it too far. Much too far. Also he's a kitsune h e r e -tagged: bloody cute

Winston: fucking pink, pompadour, greaser demon. Him big. Tol. Stronk. Very protective of his partners, especially if they're human. Big teddybear. Loves animals and works as a mechanic. His town? Almost everyone is a demon there, they just wear glamours all the time. -tagged: big pink

Anti: fucking glitchy glitch tech demon. Acts like a computer virus. Very bitter. Up Dark's ass. He has feelios that he refuses to deal with, so he just annoys Dark and insists on being by him most of the time. He likes Dark because he's one of the few who don't take his bullshit and aren't scared of him. -tagged: virus boi

Bing: saaah dude. Super laidback unless he's alone, then he gets to work and is actually semi serious. He's got a few defects, mainly with his eyes, so he wears shades. Default safemode, the dial(yes, dial)is on the back of his neck. Ppl confuse this for volume too often. Notch one: he can cuss. Notch two: he can look up lewds. Notches from then on just increase how raunchy he can be and the frequency of his lewd statements. Very last notch: he can FUCK. also, he has a detachable dick, like, he can still feel it when it's not attached, thanks to bluetooth. Weird man. -tagged: robruh

Virgil/Anxiety: anxious bab with a sarcastic tongue and foul mouth. Total pessimist. Will not go out of his way to interact with people. Loves puns and dad jokes and Disney. Sings. Acts like a damn cat tbh. But surprise! Him a spider. Has giant spider legs coming out of his back that he hides -tagged: smokey eye

Patton/Morality: god, fckin. He's trying so hard. He wants to be the bestest friend/father figure that he can be. Sometimes he holds his own feelings in and bottles them up. -cough-surprise binch, daddy kink and puns. -tagged: pun papa

AD: h e y, I know we all have headcanons n shit, but my Dark would have tried to get their pal DA out of the mirror and into a body, after things settled, somehow. It would have taken him years, but he would have. Course it didn't go quite as planned. By then whatever remained of the DA was far too gone, turns up being stuck in a broken mirror realm can really fuck you up. And eventually turn you into a demon. AD is not the DA anymore, all they remember is that night and that night only.

Any semblance of the DA they once had is now gone. Now they're out for revenge, and when you're able to travel through reflections that can come quite easily. Ofc they look like Mark(more specifically Dark, as he was the one who both put them in and took them out of the broken mirror that was keeping them tied to the manor), only hella scarred and with white streaks all throughout their hair. Their eyes are mirrors, which is just fckin creepy. Personality wise they don't trust easy. A smartass with a sharp tongue. Brutally honest. Redeeming quality? If they see someone/something that's vulnerable they'll protecc. -tagged: spitting image

Kink(Klancy): a kinky mtherfcker. Used to be in a hella abusive relationship with someone who called beating and using him with no regard for his safety at all "bdsm". And it was Klancy's first and only romantic relationship. It wasn't until his bad, horrid excuse of a dom took them to an actual, legit bdsm club that he realized what the dom was doing was abuse. So he dumped him, and Jeremiah and his buddies helped get his stuff. Klancy decided that from now on he'd take his sex life in his own hands. He isn't currently looking for a a relationship, but I'm a shipping hoe so if y'all are up for a slow burn, hit him up -tagged: kink it up

Eric: hoooooo b o y, well, his backstory was awful before. Now it's uh, downright trigger worthy. I won't go into detail, let's just say Pops has a bad touch way of getting Eric to "calm down". He is a quiet, anxious boy. We all know his canon story. He feels guilty that he's the only one of his siblings living now. And Derek doesn't help. He's moved out and with Klancy, because I want them to be friends and you can fite me in the pit. Klancy-aside from Host-is the only one that knows what Derek's been doing since uh, Klancy being Klancy decided he'd try the dad on for size and Derek said some questionable things in the heat of the moment. Klancy has practically adopted Eric, he'll fight Derek.

Eric is a nervous wreck and easy to manipulate. Which makes him perfect for juicy, angsty threads. -tagged: yellow handkercheif

Periwinkle: a defective Google unit made with an experimental sensory system, it made him incredibly sensitive to the point of pain. So he wears clothes from head to toe, along with a helmet, Daft Punk style. He works at a nearby Google place, doing surveys with owners of Google units. He fakes being emotionless when on the clock, as he's been threatened with deactivation due to violent outbursts. -tagged: off limits

Copiplier: his name's Leslie, Officer Morgan. He prefers being called Lee. He abides by the l a w!! No exceptions. Whenever someone makes a noise complaint or some other with the office, he's the one that shows up. Mostly because none of the other officers want to deal with t h a t mountain of paperwork. His hair's on the long side, man bun long. And he buff. When I say he looks good in the uniform I mean "gets mistaken for a stripper" good. Which is fair, because for some time he was a stripper, before police academy(cough, he still is, on the weekends). Strict boi is kinda dense and ever since Yukio gave him some damn pocky he's been addicted to it. Which is great, since he used to be a smoker. -tagged: oh officer

[whovianofmidgard]

Familiar Wounds

Notes: Thanks @auraphantom for the title suggestion, ya saved me hours of thinking and staring into the void This is angst with some hurt/comfort sprinkled in

 Dark has seen a fair amount of corpses throughout the years. Some his own doing, a few from the various other egos, and most of them were one Wilford Warfstache's mad handiwork. It was nothing really, most of them didn't even bat an eye when a dead body turned up, and aside from a stern scolding the issue was quickly forgotten.

However, some causes of death were a little too familiar for the demon's comfort. A gaping bullet wound would make Dark frown and turn away. A mangled body from a significant fall would leave his aura frizzled and a twinge of uneasiness in his gut. He always shoved those thoughts aside and angrily marched off, leaving the dirty work to someone else.

One incident came unexpected though.

Dark and Wilford were out finishing some pesky unanticipated job quite literally. The pair stood on a balcony, the eccentric pink man proudly brandishing his gun as his demonic partner held a squirming man by the collar, the victim's upper body dangerously pushed over the railing in threat.

"I've had enough. You are just a waste of our time." Dark sound almost bored as he addressed the man struggling in his hand. "Wil, take care of him quick. We're finished here."

Wilford's eyes lit up with crazy glee and with a grin he aimed. "Well if you say so... Bang!"

The actual 'bang' followed a fraction of a second later. Dark felt the body grow heavy in his hand as it went limp and he let go of the weight. The pair watched it fall over the balcony and impact with an unpleasant sound. The bullet to the chest was not the only place it was bleeding from now.

"I say, that's a nasty fall." Wil looked over the railing as he aloofly pocketed his gun. He then spun away from the sight and reached a hand for Dark to take.

"Oh well, he'll just have to walk it off. Isn't that right Darky?" His other hand fiddled with a strap of his pink suspenders.

Dark didn't respond. He was still looking at the corpse below, broken and bloody and unmoving. He stared, and he stared...and stared.

The demon was unable to pull his eyes away from it. 'Too familiar' his mind raced. The sight was awfully familiar...and somewhere along the way Dark got lost.

He was the District Attorney, his body screaming in pain, his bones aching and broken, the old bullet wound distracting. Dark idly placed a hand where he felt the phantom pain in his chest and silently mouthed a small 'ouch'.

He was the Mayor, struck with grief to see his most trusted friend go in such a horrid way.

He was the Seer, heartbroken that it was Wil...

Wilford didn't understand what was going on. He cocked an eye at Dark's unmoving form, pink moustache twitching as he pulled a face in confusion. All he saw was the grey ego's glazed over eyes staring down at the body and his red and blue colors retracted so close to Dark they were merely a thin outline around him. The ever present shadow around him clung close to his form and seemed to dense. Wil wondered if the darkness would grow thick enough to be impenetrable like a wall.

"Dark? You okay?" the crazed man asked. He took a tentative step closer to his partner and when no answer came he grew worried.

"What happened, did I do something wrong?"

No response.

Wilford placed a hand on Dark's shoulder. He noted that his arm passed through the shadowy aura without any resistance. "Darky, you told me to do it so what's wrong?"

The pink man tried gently calling out to his demon until he grew frustrated. "Snap out of it, goddammit, or I'll slap you back to me!"

Wil huffed annoyed but didn't go through with his threat. His hands were now squeezing Dark's fingers as the madman slowly grew frantic with his pleading, not knowing what to do.

"Darky please, baby Darkling, why are you doing this? Dark. DARK! DAAAARK!!!"

Dark startled at the shout, his aura bursting out wildly for a short moment before retreating back into its small protective cocoon state. He looked at Wilford with a dazed expression, barely managing to gasp out a tiny "wha...?"

A small relief washed over Wilford and he sighed. "You with me, Dark?"

The broken ego blinked, trying and failing to get out of his mind set.

"...yes," he answered regardless.

"Are you okay?" It took a while for Dark to process the question. Wil waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts, thumbs gently rubbing Dark's hands.

"I'm...fine," he lied.

Wilford didn't pry any further and gave a firm nod. "We're going home." With that he pulled his dazed demon close and warped themselves into Dark's room with a flourish of pink smoke, the faint scent of cotton candy and a small pop.

Wil led Dark to his bed and made him sit. The grey ego was still out of it, his gaze switching between staring off to see something only he could and fixating on Wil, who had helped loosen his tie and shake off his suit jacket and was now sitting by his side.

Dark slumped into Wilford's side, burying his face in the other's shoulder, and took a deep and heavy breath.

"I'm...not fine." he admitted. His voice was half swallowed in Wil's yellow shirt.

"Awww, Darky. Can I somehow help?"

Dark thought about it. "I don't think so. Just don't go anywhere."

Wil hugged him and placed a quick kiss onto the crown of black hair. The pink ego didn't go anywhere.

[falseroar]

Can You Wake Up? Part 5: A Difficult Read

((Links to Part 4: Warning Signs and Part 1: Great Things))

After that, you drifted in and out of sleep. Every time you woke up, Mark, Dark, Wilford, or some combination of the three was beside your bed. When it was just one of them, either Dr. Iplier or Google was in the room with him, the doctor usually at his desk while the android stood in the corner nearest the door, his head slightly bowed and his eyes unfocused on anything in particular.

Except for the one time when you woke up to find the curtains drawn around your bed again. You couldn’t move your head, but you were lying at enough of an angle to see that the curtains were the wrong color. There were a lot of voices coming from the other side of the curtain, all hushed, and you could hear the beep and whir of medical machines besides those of your own. Were there other patients here? You hadn’t noticed any before.

Through a gap in the curtains you could see a man in a white coat, a doctor, but not Dr. Iplier. He had one hand on the curtain around your bed while he spoke to a nurse you had never seen before, both too engrossed in their own conversation to notice that you were awake.

Their voices sounded muffled and distorted, like they were talking underwater. You took in a breath to speak and your chest throbbed with a sharp pain, waking you up.

You sat up, one hand to your chest until you finished coughing. The familiar curtains were back, only half drawn around your bed so that you could clearly see most of the rest of the room. Someone had removed the IV from your hand, and your sudden movement knocked off the pads connecting you to the heart monitor. At first you thought you were alone, no sign of Mark or any of his egos or the strange doctor and nurse, until you heard the Host’s quiet murmuring and spotted him sitting in a chair next to the doctor’s desk.

“Y/N notices the Host. The Host agreed to stay here while Dr. Iplier checked on one of the egos who apparently decided to eat glue. The Host does not know why this would be appealing, but some of the younger egos are very impressionable. Wilford Warfstache is to return soon and keep Y/N company while Markiplier and Dark discuss Y/N.”

“Discuss me?” You moved so that your legs were hanging off the bed and quickly pulled the blanket so that it covered you. You looked at the Host out of reflex, but his head was tilted toward the ground, the bandages around his eyes white and freshly changed. “What does that mean?”

“They are debating on where Y/N is to stay, as Y/N does not seem to have anywhere else to go. Google has performed multiple searches and found no record of Y/N, either in the present or in the past as the district attorney. Google is still searching with no result.” The Host tilted his head as if listening to something and continued, “The others have left clothes for Y/N on the chair, if they wish to get dressed. The Host is given to understand that the shirt is one that Google no longer uses, after the last time Wilford took over laundry duty.”

You looked over at the clothes and saw a fluorescent pink shirt with a barely visible ‘G’ on the chest lying on top of a pair of blue jeans which looked newer. You weren’t entirely sure what kind of fabric the shirt was made from, and noticed that the ‘G’ had something that looked suspiciously like a port for a plug on the inside.

“Wilford is no longer allowed in the laundry room,” the Host added.

“Thank you,” you said. At this point you didn’t care what the clothes looked like as long as they weren’t covered in blood and didn’t have a gaping hole in the front. You had to lean on the bed at first, but standing up was easier than you expected it to be. Now that you thought about it, your neck didn’t even give that familiar twinge any more when you turned it.

You pulled the curtains shut before changing, mostly out of habit. Sure the Host couldn’t see anything, at least as far as you could tell, but you weren’t about to change in front of him. Besides, someone could come in.

“If Y/N has a question for the Host, then the Host would suggest asking now while the opportunity is available.”

You guessed that you shouldn’t be surprised he knew. Pulling on the shirt over your bandage was more difficult than you expected, especially with your hands still wrapped up, but it gave you some extra time to put your thoughts together before you pulled back the curtains and looked at the ego.

“You narrate people and things, what’s going on, what they’re doing, right?”

“That is one of the Host’s abilities, yes.”

“Then you know that I’m not the district attorney, the person that Mark and Dark think that I am, right?”

The Host hesitated. “Y/N is…difficult for the Host to read. Y/N confuses the Host, whenever he tries. The Host sees fragments, broken pieces that do not fit together. Just as the Host cannot see Y/N’s visions, memories of the past and future, the Host can only see the effect they have on Y/N.”

“Did you just say future?” You thought back to the things you saw, right after you got here. “You mean some of that stuff hasn’t happened yet?”

You remembered Wilford jumping onto your bed last night to sit next to you, laughing like the madman that he was. You had seen that before, hadn’t you? Did that mean what you saw with Mark, with the thing that looked like Mark, could happen too?

“From the Host’s experience, they may not happen at all. The future is even more difficult to read than Y/N, and even observation may be enough to change it.”

“Okay…” You took a deep breath, trying to let this all sink in. It hadn’t worked yet, but you kept trying. “So, you can’t tell me if this is real or not?”

“Would Y/N believe the Host if he did? It is not the place of the Host to tell Y/N what is real for them. Even as the Author, the Host could not completely force others to accept a reality they refused to believe in, as much as he tried. Since then, the Host has found more…subtle ways to achieve what the Host wants. Others will try, but in time Y/N must decide for themselves.”

It wasn’t hard to guess who the Host meant by “others”, when apparently Mark and Dark were off by themselves somewhere arguing about what to do with you.

The Host turned his head toward the door, but that was the only warning you got before Wilford Warfstache burst into the room, pushing a wheelchair.

“Look what I found!” he bellowed with a grin.

The Host frowned, and something that sounded suspiciously like surprise filled his voice as he said, “The Host was under the impression that Wilford went to retrieve breakfast for Y/N.”

“Yes, but then I thought, why be in this stuffy room? Why not take Y/N to breakfast?” Wilford turned to you. “What do you say, Y/N? Want to go for a spin? Ooh, I like the shirt.”

“That sounds great,” you said. It felt like you had been sleeping for days, so any chance to get out of this room and clear your head sounded like a wonderful idea. “But I think I can walk there, we don’t need the wheelchair.”

“Then why don’t you push me?” Wilford said, his eyes lighting up.

“The Host reminds Wilford that Markiplier and Dark will not approve of Y/N leaving the infirmary and meeting the other egos.”

Wilford tilted his head. “Are you going to stop us, Hosty?”

“No, the Host simply wished to remind Wilford of possible consequences. The Host would like to come with Y/N and Wilford, to observe…And because the Host has not eaten breakfast either.”

“Brilliant! Lead the way, Hosty!” Wilford said as he plopped into the wheelchair.

You took hold of the handles, unable to suppress a smile. Dreams and visions and worrying about what happens next could wait until after breakfast.

((End of Part 5. Thank you as always for reading! And no, the glue drinker was not Goopiplier (this time).

Link to Part 6: Great Googly Moogly

Tagging @silver-owl413 @determinedrevolutionary @cherrybomb-jaguar @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork ))

[the-real-bubblegum-bitch]

Madman (angst)

Summary: Wilford Warfstache, famous serial killer, adulterer, madman, has been found innocent by reason of insanity. He probably would have been better off in prison.

Word count: 603

Tw: insanity, inaccurate mental hospital.

@colonel-william-protection-army, @ironwoman359, @shitload-of-muses

A/N Important note: I know this is not at all accurate to how real mental hospitals are today. I just really wanted to write angst with it. Real mental hospitals don’t put patients in straightjackets unless they really need to. Instead, they use things like group therapy to help people. For someone like Wilford, it probably wouldn’t be necessary to use a straightjacket ever, since he isn’t an inherently violent person without a gun. If you feel like you’re really losing your mind, a mental hospital will usually be the best option. Please, call a crisis hotline if you find yourself struggling like that.

Finally.

Wilford Warfstache, serial killer, adulterer, madman, had been caught. The egos had all refused any testimony that would incriminate him, and in the end, he had been determined to be innocent by reason of insanity.

He probably would have been better off in prison. Prison, he could escape, but when placed in a straight jacket and a white padded room without stimulation, he was made to think about his past by necessity. He could escape a prison, but he could never escape his own mind.

Dark watched the madman through the two-way mirror as he rolled around, laughing. “I-I was only joking, I-I didn’t mean to, i-it was an accident, he-he asked me to, D-DAMIAN!” The madman suddenly yelled.

The name stung Dark inside. The part of him that was the house couldn’t control the others’ emotions. It hurt even more when the man, whose mustache, by this point, had grown out, and was black instead of pink, called out his other name. It was so painful to watch him like this. He so wished he could let his aura scream, but he had been told to keep the ringing as quiet as possible for the patients.

“C-CELINE! Celine… oh, sun, come out now…”

Dark could see him now, in his red suspenders, stumbling through the manner, calling his name —no, names. The madman, no longer Colonel William, just a fragment of the man he would stake his life on, walking around an empty house calling for people who were no longer living. It half-broke him.

“We’re prepared for you to go in there, if you’d like,” the nurse said.

Dark nodded, following her into the padded cell. Wilford gave him that smile, that same smile when he was obsessed with something.

“Damian!” Will exclaimed, sitting up suddenly, his eyes, wild with absolute insanity, started to twitch. “Damian, Damian, old-old friend, M-mayor of the city, BULLY!” He laughed. “Y-you believe me, right?”

Dark’s shell cracked like static as he approached the man.

“Y-YOU don’t think I’m a murderer, Damian! …D-do you?”

Finally, Dark split into the two Wilford trusted most. Both parts ran to hug him, though the confused nurse tried to hold them back.

“D-Damian! Celine! I was looking for you two!” He tried to hug back, but the straightjacket made it near impossible.

“No no, it’s okay, don’t struggle,” Celine said, wrapping her arms around him. Damian nodded. “We’re-we’re here now.”

Will slurred as he looked at them, smiling, brokenly. “I-I, I love you guys!”

Both Celine and Damian were crying now. “We-we love you too, Colonel,” Celine said, with a sad smirk.

Damian was too busy crying to respond.

They stayed hugging like that, losing their sense of time, until the nurse said, “Visiting hours are over. It’s time to wrap it up.”

Celine gave him a kiss before remerging with Damian, giving Will a sad smile. “I love you, Warfstache,” Dark said. “I’ll be back next week to see you again.”

“W-Wait!” Will looked at his friend with wide, hurt eyes. “P-please don’t go.”

Dark frowned as he pulled away from the embrace. “I have to, Wilford. I wish I could stay, trust me, but I have to go. Visiting hours are over.”

“Wait!” Wilford called. “Damian! Celine! YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE ME LIKE THIS I WAITED SO LONG I LOOKED SO HARD TO FIND YOU WAIT! DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE!” He kicked violently at the padded ground, screaming. “YOU CAN’T TAKE THEM AWAY PLEASE DON’T TAKE THEM AWAY DON’T TAKE THEM AWAY!!!”

The padded door closed behind them, leaving William Wilford Warfstache the madman crying.

“Don’t leave me alone… p-please… I didn’t mean to kill you. I… I’m sorry.”

[meliecho]

Hearts and Heroes: One Shot - Chpt. 1 - Weekend Warriors

Summary:  Setting up for a new mission, but something doesn't sit right with Mark...

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

The dream world. Recreation room of the Markihub...

 “Hah! Connect 4! I win. You loose. Time to pay the piper, old man,” Mark waggled his fingers in the direction of the pink-mustached gentleman frowning at him across the small game table. “And by 'piper,' I mean me, and by 'old man,' I mean you.”

Wilford Warfstache speared a metallic disk that resembled a poker chip with a dagger and pointed it at his competitor. “You win this round, Markiboy.”

“What do you mean ‘this round? You lost to me 5 times in a row,” Mark’s lack of intimidation shown through in a victorious smirk. “I am the King of Connect 4. You knew this when you challenged me.”

“It’s not very sporting of you to mock the loser, Mark. There could be…pointy repercussions.”

Mark adopted a perfectly mirrored mannerism with a red game token between two fingers. “And it’s not very sporting to back out of a bet in a gentleman’s game, Warfy. You’ve racked up quit a tab, my good man. Are you going to pony up, or do you…not have the brass?”

Wilford huffed air across his bushy mustache. “Your blatant misuse of a euphemism for the dangly bits of the vulnerable nether region only shows your lack of proper upbringing.”

He dropped the impression. “Oh yeah? Well, what would you say?”

Wilford leaned back, idly playing with the disk on the end of the blade. “I’d simply take it outside and battle it out in fisty-cuffs mano-a-mano and end with a shooty to the face.”

Mark blinked behind his slim black-framed wire glasses. “You call that better?”

“I call it effective.”

He shrugged. “Eh. Can’t argue there.”

“Much as I’d like to stay and chew the fat, I have business to attend to.” Wilford stretched his arms over his head, dagger and all, and stood. “This has been a bully of a time. ‘GG,’ as the kids say.”

“Hold it, Speedy McDodgerson,” Mark held out his hand. “The Dream Points. You owe me 500.”

Wilford wordlessly flicked the dagger with the disk speared through into the table in front of him, gently rattling the remaining game tokens.

Mark removed the disk and peered through the hole. “Hey, this is only 300!”

“Compensation for the dagger,” Wilford waved it off as he walked away.

“Compen—What kind of dagger costs 200 DrP?! Who's your supplier, anyway?!”

“It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mark. Come around again soon.” And with that, the weaponsmonger escaped back to his shop of damage-dealing goodies.

“Mother f—“ Mark ground his teeth. Wilford had this planned the whole time. “Grifted by a stab-happy madman in pink suspenders. Story of my life.”

Even though he was dreaming, and knew he was dreaming, Markiplier didn't have control over what anyone else did in this hub. This constant, safe haven in the dream world was one of who-knew-how-many in existence. It was home to those bearing a glowing pink heart on their left sleeve: the mark of the hero. Even if they arrived in a tank top, the heart remained, proving that it was imprinted on the soul of the person, and would shine through no matter what they wore.

This hub --ingeniously deemed 'The Markihub' --technically belonged to him, though he hadn't heard anyone else refer to it as that besides himself. But who cares! This was his hub, so he could call it whatever he damn well pleased. He could call it the 'Hub-booski' and no one could object. ...Actually, that one wasn't that bad. He'd put it in his mental 'save' file for later...just in case. He and the permanent residents had a little more power than the others who came and went, but other than that, everyone moved around with the same level of free will.

He turned the silver dagger over in the light, then shrugged and lazily swiped his middle finger—for emphasis on this particular situation—down the air at chest height in time to a half-second thought-command of 'menu.' As predicted, the commonly used and familiar, semi-transparent menu screen popped up. He tapped on the 'Items' option listed at the top –right above 'Go Home,' the teleporter back to the hub. As a Hero Class, he was the only one here with this option. It could be extracted and given to anyone, but not replicated. This was listed above 'Wake Up' (akin to Log Out), 'Current Mission' (basic mission briefing info), and 'Party' (self explanatory with sub categories like ‘add,’ ‘leave,’ and ‘member details’).

He added this new item to his inventory under ‘weapons.’ The dagger evaporated in his hand. At that exact moment, its icon and name appeared on the short list.

“'Fate Sealer.' Ballsy name. Hopefully damage-causing enough for the price.” It might come in handy later during a rescue mission. It was a crying shame this mechanic didn't exist in the waking world. That would make carrying things much easier. He'd hack into it and add in a 'Skip Rush Hour Bullshit' option.

The second bell sent its low tone through the recreation room. A few people hanging out with their teammates got up to attend to the second shift. He left with them to pick up a few more supplies before the third bell rang signaling the third shift – his shift.

He heard the 'fwoosh!' of the portal opening to someone's dream as he passed through the center of the hub on his way to Octodad's store. The midshift teams waited patiently to go through when their assigned mission came up. A few fidgeted from nervousness.

“Good luck guys!” He called out to them. “And remember: I'm handsome. And don't you forget it.”

Some of them chuckled. Others rolled their eyes. Either way, he got them to relax a little before setting off on a mission. Objective: cleared.

He used the newly obtained DrP to stock up on mostly Ultra balls—per usual—a couple of full hearts, chicken and dumplings (those long missions can get rough, man), some hot sauce in case anyone passed out, and a piece of toast. Just one. He hated using that item with a clear and absolute passion, but something nagged at him to walk away with at least one today.

Being the dream world, everyone here was instructed to pay closer attention to said 'naggy feels,' due to one not-so-simple but obvious reason: They weren't physically here. They were spirits, souls, consciousness. Whatever label people wanted to put to it, that was them. So stuff with the physical body didn't matter here –except eating. Whatever you ate upped energy or gave you boosts in battle with their enemy, the Terrorlings. When someone gets the urge to say 'I have a bad feeling about this,' it's a good idea not to ignore it, because it's coming from their subconscious that's being a douche and not letting their spirit in on the whole plan.

Mark added the goods to his inventory, bid the 8 armed bad-human-cosplaying octopus adieu, and left.

“Hey, Mark!” A high pitched voice called out from across the hall.

“Hey, Tim. What's up, little buddy?” He looked down at his feet as the small sentient brown wooden box bobbled over.

“Good, I caught you. It's about your mission.”

“What about it?”

“You're not going alone, are you?”

“No. I've got my team.”

Tim smiled. “So you decided to quit playing solo after all?”

He shrugged. “Hey, I don't play 'solo.' I join newbies and whatever team needs help, you know that.”

“But you never called any of them 'my team' before.”

“Eh, well, they were the ones to dive into my nightmare and pull my ass out of the fire. I owe 'em. Besides, they're good people. It's not so bad being on a team. Kinda takes me back to my roots.”

Although he had his original team that always aided him in the waking world, they, too, had obligations to their own hubs in the dream world. He loved it when they could get together for those rare group missions, though.

His new team here adopted him. He wasn’t an elitist outsider tagging along. He was one of them, subjected to the same rules as they were (almost—well, he is the only Hero Class after all), but shockingly enough, he wasn’t the team leader. He had to abide by the leader’s ultimate decision like everyone else. “Anyway, is there something you need help with?

Tim held up a piece of paper. “I checked the file just in case I'd need to prep for higher damage injuries. Nothing really dangerous popped out at me, but I noticed something weird. I pulled the hard copy to make sure. Look at the initiation date.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Hm? One year ago? This is a typo. The month and day are the same.”

“That's what I thought, too. I checked it with Google. He said he doesn't make typos.”

Mark pursed his lips. “Mmhmm. Sure. Right. Uh huh. Ok. Yeah. Ask him about Google Feud next time.”

“But—”

“Relax. It'll be fine.” It was then that the upward look of concern from Tiny Box Tim surpassed the surface of 'this could be a dangerous mission,' into more poignant territory with years of personal history behind it. Mark crouched down and patted him lightly on top of his head...er...body, and his voice took on a sincere, disarming tone. “I'll be fine. Don't worry, little buddy. This looks rough on the outside, but it’s gooey in the middle. My team and I can handle it. We've been through worse.”

Tim took the paper back when Mark handed it over and looked up as the other stood, towering over him. “Mmm…Ok. But I still have a bad feeling about this. You’re not completely back to normal yet. You went through something not a lot of people can come back from. It’s only been a few weeks, and PAX stretched you thin.”

“Hey, give me a little credit here. I’m a lot better off than I was.”

“That’s true,” Tim had to agree. “And I’m proud of you for that.” He knew Mark had an excellent support system in the waking world. He was recovering, and thankfully, those who knew him and even those who didn’t, flooded his notifications with positive messages.

The ‘Mark’ that returned to an empty hub the next night after he’d defeated Dark just sat on the stage staring at all the vacant seats once filled with the souls of those who believed in their missions, and in him. Tiny Box Tim, as his first Somni and closest to him, was the only resident of the hub to remain. He could sense Mark’s raw, eviscerated state. He was a mess. Because of the negativity flooding the hub, Mark wondered if anyone would even want to come back at all. Tim assured him that they would. They’d sat alone in silence until five people suddenly appeared at the back of the room. Both of them hadn’t expected anyone to show up for a while yet, but he could tell his friend was happy that it was the five who’d saved him. Mark saw them off on their mission, but didn’t leave on his own until a few days later when Blue extended the offer to join her team for the third time. He’d accepted. He had a duty to the hub, to the people who’d found their way back, and most importantly to himself to move forward. A little bit of ‘fuck you’ energy was all he needed to give him that essential push.

“Just do me a favor and be extra careful, ok, Mark?”

“You got it. We'll be in and out with time to spare. It'll be easy-peazy-lemon-squeeze-me.”

The tiny box boy didn't look any less placated by that answer.

A slim pillar of sky-blue luminescence swirled up from the floor in the main room lasting the length of a second. The figure of a teenage girl in a knee-length blue dress and knee socks materialized within its apex.

“Hey, Blue.” Mark cast Tiny Box Tim a reassuring nod before joining his teammate.

“Oh, hey, Mark.” She smiled. Seeing her other team member, and the leader of the hub they called a second home, warmed her heart every time. She still wasn't sure why he acquiesced to her being this particular team's leader—she was ready to give up the title after extending the offer to join her team--, but she respected and appreciated his faith in her. “Where's everyone else?”

“Not here yet. You are numero uno.”

“I hope they get here soon. I was afraid I'd be late. We all decided this would be the weekend we'd go full throttle and do as much as we can.”

“You're all sleeping in?” Mark folded his arms.

Blue nodded. “That's the plan. Also fixing our sleep schedules, too. Those last few missions really threw off Peach. She blew up the group chat at 3am last night binge watching an anime Jade suggested. Went through a whole box of Cinnamon Squares.”

“Yikes.”

The areas to their left and right lit up from three more identical shifting columns of light.

Red stretched his arms over his head and yawned. Tufts of black hair stuck out from beneath his favorite, worn, red cotton beanie.

Purple waved softly to everyone with a small smile and a light, “I'm not late. Yay!”

Peach danced lightly on her tip toes. “This is gonna be the best weekend ever! I cleared all my plans to make sure I could get to bed early each night.”

“What about that show you were watching?” Blue asked.

“I finished it this morning,” she sound proudly.

Red eyed her like she'd grown a second head. “This morning? As in...'before-the-butt-crack-of-dawn' this morning?”

She nodded, still smiling. “It was so good. The feels alone!”

Purple furrowed her brow in concern. “How many boxes of cereal did you eat in the past few days?”

“I don't know, but we're out, now.” She shrugged.

The group exchanged glances, and an unspoken agreement that their weather mage's sleep schedule needed to be fixed first.

The quick 'woosh' of a pillar of light formed just outside the group. Their last team member's form appeared. “You guys are already here?” Jade stepped into the nearest open space.

“We were just waiting on you,” Mark said casually.

“I watched the whole show,” Peach's smile never disappeared. “It's so good!”

Jade's face lit up. “I know, right?”

“Please tell me there's a season 2.”

“Hell yeah! Who's your favorite?”

“I like them all! But mostly the guy with the—“

“I know you're excited, but we have a mission to go on. We gotta focus,” Blue interrupted.

“Right, right,” Peach settled down, “Sorry.”

“Ok. Everybody take five to get what you need, then meet back here. Sound good?” Blue said.

Everyone nodded and scattered to refill their supplies. A few minutes later, they returned to the main room of the hub and gathered at the wide-open area in front of the portal's spawn point. Peach and Jade took their places last, having talked about their new favorite in-common show as much as they could before embarking.

The bell for the third shift echoed its low tone through the hall, alerting everyone in the hub. People appeared within columns of light, and some filtered in from the surrounding rooms.

“That's our cue,” Red cracked his neck. “Let's do this.”

The air crackled ahead of them. A dark vortex formed from a point no larger than a thumbnail and quickly blossomed out to form a dark blue, violet, and black event horizon wide enough to easily encompass two people standing shoulder to shoulder. Its center was thick and black as ink, swirling as if time itself gave way to the will of the universe.

The first time they saw this, everyone—including Mark—felt trepidation. They were both excited and afraid to step through into the unknown. This portal created a wormhole connection into one person's dream, like an Einstein-Rosen bridge in space, but within the ethereal and mailable dream world that seemed to punt physics out the window.

Sometimes the sight of this incredible phenomenon struck him with awe at what it could do, and what it allowed him and many others to accomplish: saving the spirits of those crying out for help.

The waking world knew nothing of this.

Mark turned his back on the portal to address the team. “Normally I'd say this is one where we can go in for the snipes and be back by lunch. It seems pretty cut and dry, but...” he glanced in the distance to the hall leading to the infirmary. Regardless of his own machismo, hearing Tim say 'I have a bad feeling about this' was rare, and didn't sit well in his gut –like that ghost pepper. What the hell was he thinking? “...just remember not to let your guard down, ok? It may look tame, but very often it's a rouse; A cleaver, dubious rouse. As dubious as rouses get.”

“I don't care what it 'do,' it 'be us' who take it down,” Jade thumbed toward themselves. “We're pros. We got this. Now let's go kick some Terrorling ass!” They jumped through the portal with a loud battle cry, 'Lerooy Jenkins!'

Peach followed with a light 'woohoo!' and leaped in.

Red simply face palmed at his companions and stepped through.

“Whoever you are, don't worry,” Purple set her jaw in determination, “We'll find you.” And with that resolve steeling her bravery, she leaped through after her friends.

Blue and Mark stepped up last. “You seem a little out of it, Mark. Everything all right?”

“What, me? Nah, it's good. It's all gravy. We can take whatever this nightmare throws at us. Let's start off the weekend with a bang!”

Blue grinned at the animated finger guns and quickly knelt down at a small hole off to the side in the wall. A few tiny mouse sounds emitted from it. She smiled. “Squeaks for luck,” then gave him a thumbs up and jumped through the portal. She trusted her friends—all of them. They'll save this person and be on to the next mission before they knew it.

Mark followed through. The portal closed, locking them into the connection to the other person's nightmare. It quickly reset for the next team.

Though he had confidence in his team, he still couldn't shake Tim's warning. Something about this mission might go tits up if they weren't prepared. Mark, as a veteran of rescuing people in the dream world, knew that all too well. This one, however...felt different.

And that worried him most of all.

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

TBC

Prologue: A Light in the Darkness

Chapter 1: Weekend Warriors

Chapter 2: Something’s Suspishy

Chapter 3: Chasing the Sun

Chapter 4: The Nightmare’s Truth

Chapter 5: Light and Shadow

Chapter 6: Lifeline - part 1

Chapter 7: Lifeline - part 2

Chapter 8: Phantom Power

Chapter 9: Mark’s Past

Chapter 10: A Second Chance

Chapter 11: Learning to Breathe

Epilogue: Ad Infinitum

[tealquacks]

i rlly like how you wrote damien! could we maybe get some more of damien interacting with the egos?

Oh sorry! I just woke up, but sure, pal!!!

After the incident with the peace lilly, Damien heard no knocks on his door until five hours later, when Bim opened the door again, a tray in hand.

“Like I said, I would bring you food!” He said with a smile.

Damien huffed out a breath, taking the tray. There was a bowl of macaroni, a box of cheez-its, a large mug of hot cocoa and a few odd looking cookies.

“Comfort food,” Bim explained, “Benji told me that you liked macaroni, and the Colonel said-”

Damien set the tray down, looking at Bim.

“The Colonel’s here?” His heart was beating hard in his chest, and he was scared that Bim could hear it too.

“Uh-huh, and the butler! Benjamin? There’s also the-”

Damien practically shoved him aside, running out of his room. It hurt to do so without his cane, but he had to find them, he had to find the Colonel. He rounded a corner, and he saw someone.

Yellow shirt, ridiculous mustache and a gun.But not William.

“Colonel..?” He asked. The man smiled, pink hair in his face and pink mustache ridiculous looking on his face.

“Oh! You must be the Mayor, Dark told me all about you! Lord, you’ve been locked up your room for so long I thought you were dead or something!”

Damien staggered back, feeling his face go pale.

“W-where’s the Colonel..?”

The pink man snorted, grabbing Damien’s arm.

“Well, in a way, I am him. Sort of. I’m Wilford Warfstache, master of hard-hitting journalism, but I’m also a bit of your pal.”

“What?”

“I’m not as air-headed as I seem!” Wilford proudly declared as he walked, dragging Damien behind him. “Now, let me give you the grand tour!”

“I really would not like a grand tour. What I would like is to see Willi- the Colonel. Where is he?”

Wilford snorted, relentlessly pulling him. Damien fought against the madmans grip to no avail. He considered shouting for William, but the halls were empty.

They rounded a corner, Wilford beginning to giggle violently. Suddenly, they stopped.

And Damien was face to face with Dark. The blue of his aura pulsed as he saw the pair, gaze immediately flickering to Wilford.

“Darling, what did I say about manhandling our… guests?” He cracked his neck, hard.

“I’m just trying to help him find his boy, Darkipoo!”

Damien felt his face go red. “The Colonel is not my boy!”

Wilford looked at him oddly, but let go of his wrist. Still panicked, he turned and ran, down the unfamiliar halls and corridors back to his room. He flung open the door and slammed it behind him, securely locking it. He had to find the Colonel….

But it could wait. All he knew was that he never wanted to see the other egos ever again. Especially Wilford.

[iamvegorott]

The Real Monster

Did someone ask for some Darkiplier and Wilford Warfstache angst? No? Well, you’re getting it anyway. 

This story was inspired by a post made by @I-mysterygirl-I that said “ A short story? about Wiford finding out that we killed Dark (in A date with Markiplier) saying that he trusted us and we are the only monster here. Because I like to make me suffer” and me being the person that I am, I decided to give it a try and add my own little twists to it. 

Summary: Set at the Vanilla ending of 'A Date with Markiplier'. You shot Dark and now you have a gun pointed at your face by a pink-mustached madman.

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You stood there in shock, gun in your hands and entire body trembling. You shot him. You shot him and now he’s dead. You just killed someone, whatever the hell he was but he was a living, breathing person not that long ago and he’s now laying on the ground, a blood puddle slowly getting larger and larger as it seeped from the hole in his chest that you caused.

You knew that Mark spoke to you but the words were only sounds as he neared you. Mark took the gun from your hands and tossed it aside, still speaking to you as he opened his arms for a hug. You were ready for the embrace but the hug never came. You looked up and saw that Mark was frozen in place, at first you thought that he was teasing you. A poke to his stomach told you that this was no joke.

“I hate you.” A voice with an unrecognizable accent spoke. “I only know two things about you and I hate every single fiber of your being.” A man stepped out from behind Mark, his attire not matching the harshness that was coming from his mouth.

His physical appearance was the same as Mark’s and the khakis and yellow shirt seemed normal. The man also wore pink suspenders and while they seemed a little silly it was the bright-pink mustache that was making it hard for you to believe that this was real. This had to be a horrible prank. Right? You opened your mouth to respond but was cut off.

“You killed him! You killed him for what!? Because he loved you!? Because he offered you everything that you could dream of and more!? You killed him because you wanted to be with that!?” The man glared at Mark and began circling around him. Like a shark and his prey. “This thing is nothing.” Venom came out of the man’s mouth. “He is weak and will eventually die, taking you with him. Murder you can come back from...age is not.” The man stopped and was now staring at you. You were very confused, what did this man mean by being able to come back from murder? “Dark could keep you alive forever, you could have joined us as we jumped from dimension to dimension, never having to face the consequences of our actions.” The man began laughing, loudly, holding his head as he did so.

You leaned a little to look at the man on the ground again. Dark? Was that the name of the man who...loved you? An immortal being that could bounce between dimensions? Why would someone...thing...want anything to do with you? What could you have done to catch his attention?

“I honestly don’t know what he saw in you either.” The man chuckled, making you stiffen. Did he read your thoughts? “He really wanted to fuck over the Mark of this dimension and then he saw you.” He was now talking as if everything was fine, that he wasn’t upset and that he was joking with an old friend. “He kept saying that there was something different in your aura or something. I never understood that bullshit, all I understand is this.” The man pulled out a gun, making you swallow thickly as he waved it about as if it was a toy. “I could kill you.” The man’s tone suddenly got serious again as he aimed the gun at your face. “A simple pull of the trigger and you’d be out. You’d come back. They always come back. But coming back is worse than hell itself. The pain of putting your body back together after being forced to swim in an empty void, holding on to your consciousness by a thread. It’s worse than what you can ever imagine it being.” The man was laughing again. “I’ve put countless of people through that and I don’t care, because they always come back, they come back better than ever. Stronger and smarter. It’s hilarious!” The gun was being waved in the air again for a moment before being pointed back at you. “And I should put you through the pain of it. Because I care for no one. No one has my empathy. Except for one. Only one person has earned it. And you are the reason he’s in hell right now!” The gun trembled a little and you could feel your heart crawling up into your throat. “I want to put a bullet through your brain! Just one squeeze and you’d feel what Dark is feeling right now! I want to! I want to so fucking badly! But I can’t! I can’t do that to Dark!” The man lowered the gun and spoke softly. “I’ve been called heartless and insane. Dark’s been called a demon, a manipulator, a monster, but do you know who the real monster is?” The gun was back up. “You.”

“Wilford.” You felt the need to vomit when you saw Dark standing next to the man named Wilford. “Wilford, I’m back.” Dark placed a hand on Wilford's shoulder.

“Let me kill them. Please, let me kill them.” Wilford begged. “I’ve killed hundreds, maybe thousands, before, why would this one be different?”

“I have never stopped you before. I’ve let you kill whoever you’ve wanted and cleaned up the mess without a single word of complaint.” Dark gave Wilford’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m only going to ask you to do this for me once. The likelihood of this ever happening again is slim to none. Lower the gun.” Wilford kept his hand where it was. “Will. Please. I’m asking as a friend.”

“You’re lucky, you know that,” Wilford stated, eyes sending daggers into your soul as he finally lowered his hand. “Enjoy your pathetic life.” He spat before stepping back, arms crossing.

“I wish you luck with him.” Dark gestured towards Mark. “May you never regret the worst decision of your life.” Dark snapped his fingers and you stumbled back, pain shooting into your eyes. You opened them and saw there was a shatter in your right eye as if glass had been broken and static was coming through the cracks. “Goodbye.” You watched as Dark turned away with Wilford, the two men walking through the puddle of blood as if it was nothing. You blinked rapidly, tears streaming down your face as panic filled your entire body.

After a long blink, you flinched when you were suddenly face-first in Mark’s chest and the man’s arms were around you. The shatter in your eye was now gone.

“It’s alright, it’s alright.” Mark soothed as he wiped away your tears with his thumbs. You stared at the ground, now clean. No body. No blood. Nothing. You felt Mark hold your hand and lead you away. You looked over your shoulder and had a sudden surge of dread. Did you make a mistake?  

[kitkat1003]

Cracking the Barrel

HERE‘S PART ONE OF WHO THE FUCK KNOWS HOW MANY

@voiceintheradio u wanted this and @snarkyowl AHHHH

Dark sits in his room.

He never does much else. His therapist tells him that getting out more will make things easier, will take away stress, but-You’re never going anywhere, the hand gripping his shirt and dragging him away from the door that had been desperately clawed at once lockpicking had failed’s owner whispers, the light from the door disappearing as he’s dragged back farther and farther-Dark can’t find it in himself to move, to get up and brave going to the outdoors when so many things could go wrong on the way.

Still, his stomach rumbles, and since Dark is too tired to cook that means he has to go out and pick something up.  With a sigh, he gets up from his desk-work from his teaching job, an online course that requires minimal talking to actual people and more control is left unfinished on his computer-and puts on his suitcoat.  He buttons it up, fixes his tie, and cracks his neck.  His therapist says that the motions where he smooths his coat, where he moves his neck; she says those are his.  Damien always has his cane in his hands-Dark has seen it in his closet, and wonders what would happen should he get rid of it-and Celine loves to play with his hair and wear a veil-again, in his closet-as well as play with the supernatural.  His third is apparently mute, quiet and one to follow others orders rather than their own. Again, according to his therapist, the third has neither a name nor a noticeable gender identity, but they’re at the very least kind.

The notes she gets from the hypnotherapy Dark allows himself to partake in is placed on his bedside table, and are the only reason he remembers that these excess personalities exist in his head.  They’re the reason he knows his name.  His name-David Christopher Iplier- doesn’t feel like his own anymore, much like the moments and things he does when he isn’t himself don’t make sense.  

Celine likes to go to bars and flirt, or do a séance.  Damien likes to work, even though half the time he has no idea what he’s doing.  The third likes to relax, to drink expensive alcohol and read.

His heart reflects it all, with the red and blue behind his black colored soul-it’s easier to hide cracks on his heart, at least-and the gray outline.  People ask Dark about it sometimes, why it drips and why it has so many colors.  He usually doesn’t answer, just stares.  

He hates people. There are only two he tolerates, that being his cousin Edward and of course Amy.  Edward calls him every other week, and Dark makes up something new every time so as to assuage the worries of the overworked physician, but he worries that he isn’t very convincing.

Walking is a chore, but Dark only drives when he has somewhere far to go.  The Cracker Barrel isn’t that far away, fortunately, and the people who work there know him well enough that he can simply call and ask for his usual.

Sometimes he doesn’t make it there at all, because the memories that come with leaving the house-a cop, finding him curled up in a ball in the basement, brows furrowed.  He’d been so small in the man’s arms, and when he had been taken outside, he’d panicked. “I’m not supposed to leave!  I’ll get in trouble!  Please!” The worried eyes never left him until he was sedated, and Dark wonders if the man is still alive-make him become someone else.

The Cracker Barrel people understand, but Dark thinks it’s because his therapist-Amy Nelson, a sweetheart in her own right-also goes there with her boyfriend-almost excessively- and has most likely explained things.

He’d called during the dinner rush, so his meal isn’t done when he arrives.  That’s an annoyance, because that means he has to sit around and wait for his meal, hoping that no one will sit next to him or try and talk to him.  It also means he must subject his eyes to the menagerie of colors and effects bursting from each person’s heart splayed in front for their chests, and for that he keeps his gaze to the floor.

If he just keeps his head down while he waits, he’ll be left alone.  Hopefully.

He isn’t lucky today, apparently, because two minutes in a madman wearing a bright yellow button up shirt with bright pink suspenders and bowtie that starkly contrast his dark skin tone dashes in, bright-eyed and loud and everything Dark doesn’t want to deal with right now.  It seems like he’s in the same predicament Dark is in, and of course he sits down right next to Dark, and wow is his mustache pink too?

What a weirdo.

For a few moments, Dark is given the closest thing to peace and quiet that one can have in a crowded restaurant full of voices and colors, before fate decides once again to make him hate his life by having the man turn to him and start talking.

“Can you believe this service?  They outta work on their readiness if they’re gonna take calls!” The words are obviously crafted to entice conversation or argument, so much so that Dark rolls his eyes, sighing.

“It’s the dinner rush. They’re going to be busy,” Is his monotone reply, and the man’s eyes light up.  Dammit, he’d given him enough to continue.  Now he’ll never get the idiot to shut up.

“Hmm, I suppose you may be right.  Anywho, I’m Wilford Warfstache.  I’m sure you’ve heard of me?”  Just like that, the subject is changed, not that Dark is surprised.  People like him-Wilford, he supposes-like to talk and talk, saying anything to get a response so they can talk some more.

As for the name, it is somewhat familiar.  Dark doesn’t watch TV often, but he is aware of the Wilford Warfstache Interviews.  The host, Wilford Warfstache, is a scripted character eccentric with an affinity for murder and terrible humor.  It’s not the most popular of shows, nowhere near a big hit, but just well-liked enough that you’d be out of touch not to at least know it exists.

Not that Dark feels like telling Wilford that.  The man seems to have a big enough ego as is.

“Should I have?” Is his snarky response, and the way Wilford’s face contorts into offense is beautiful, in its own way.  He chuckles lightly, and Wilford blinks, anger melting away before his lips twitch back into a grin.

“You rapscallion!  You know exactly who I am!” The man wiggles his mustache, and Dark takes a moment to stare at Wilford’s heart, ignoring the man’s antics.

It’s pink, because of course it is, and from its valves comes cotton candy-He wouldn’t be surprised if Wilford tried to eat some of it-the same as his eyes.  It’s perfectly normal looking, but Dark can almost see a sliver of something else behind it, as if the pink is a mirage.

A flash of warm brown dashes forth, if only for a moment, and Dark doesn’t have time to question it before he’s called to grab his order.  Wilford is called up right after, and he walks with Dark out the door.

When Dark looks over at Wilford, only because it would be impolite to not say goodbye after they had their odd conversation of sorts, he has to double-take because holy shit Wilford is actually nibbling on the cotton candy spilling out from his heart.  It’s so startling that Dark actually barks out a laugh, causing Wilford to turn and look at him, still chewing on cotton candy.  Dark immediately schools his expression, clearing his throat into his closed fist, but Wilford grins anyway, dark brown skin crinkling around the edges of his pink eyes-Dark hadn’t noticed how fake the smile had been earlier, how the joy had been forced, an act, but now he can see the difference when Wilford actually looks happy-before he claps Dark on the back.

“I’ll see you around,” A wink, a wiggle from his mustache, and then he’s off, jogging to his car and setting the food in the backseat before driving off.

Dark stares at where Wilford used to be for a long time, the ghost of Wilford’s hand on his back causing his sting to tingle.

When was the last time someone other than Amy or Edward talked to him in an actual conversation?  Touched him, even?  He can’t remember, but his heart drips with black sludge onto his shoes, and he sighs. 

He hadn’t even told Wilford his name.

By the time he gets home, his food is cold.

[icantpickaurlsothisisit]

Wilford Warfstache’s Pet

Author Note: Hey! I had this Idea stuck in my head for a bit and thought it was funny. So hope you all enjoy. More notes at the bottom if your interested.

“Have I told you how lovely you are?” A man with a blue dress shirt, khakis pants, and yellow suspenders asked. His dark hair freshly combed and his pink mustache straighten and curled at the ends. Wilford Warfstache was up and ready for the day.

Me on the other hand…

I literally just woke up and walked into the kitchen. I haven’t feed Phil yet, or myself in all honestly. I’m wearing my Average pj pants and my huge yellow Yoshi shirt that is reserved for sleeping. I’m convince my hair is sticking up in weird places from bedhead. And I have morning breath.

Who complements people when they first get up? Wilford Warfstache, as it looks like. 

I yawned. “How am I lovely again?” I open a box of chocolate poptarts and grabs a pack. I sat down at the bar in the kitchen. Maybe I did something nice and Wilford wanted to say thank you in his weird way again. Wilford slides into the seat next to me. He propped his arm up and smiled big.

“Your voice is a medley I carve to hear.” Wilford purred. I opened my poptarts and started to eat one. This this new. “Your hair is a beautiful milk chocolate that has the touch of silk; long, majestic and awe strucking!” Wilford held out his hands toward my long brown hair for emphasis. It was pulled back in its normal ponytail. I slept in this ponytail.

“Your lips are red as roses and soft as a baby’s skin.” My lips are chapped and a pale pink at my guess. “You move with the grace of a gazelle.” I’m clumsy. I should stop him while he’s ahead. “Your eyes are like deep pools of water.” But I kinda want to see how far he’ll go. “I get lost in the blue voids if I stare too long…” He looked off in the distance for dramatic effect.

His pause went one a little too long so I spoke up. “Where is this coming from.” I asked with my mouth half full. “Ima klutz; and my lips are chapped by the way.”

Wilford looked over and wriggled his stache. “Can’t a guy compliment his roommate?” He smiled a wide tooth smile.

“You can, but why in the morning when I look like shit?” I smirked at the man. “I honestly thought you were goin’ call me a sweetheart for something I did. Like when I fix your door from squeaking a month ago.” I took another bit of my poptart.

“Well you are a Sweetheart!” Wilford exclaimed. “And you don’t look like shit.” I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Okay… You could look better, but it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

“Aww. Thank you!” I really appreciate the compliment. “But again why are you complimenting me? Did I do something?” I asked and bit into my poptart again.

“Well… no. I wanted to asked you something.” Wilford squared his shoulders and ducked his head a little.

I narrowed my eyes at him and smirked. “You were tryin’ to butter me up to say ‘yes’, weren’t tcha’.”

He huffed. “Yes…”

“Well shoot. What you want to asked so badly?”

“… Can I have a pet? …” He asked softly.

Confused, I said “But we already have a pet.” Then I remember. “Who I forgot to feed! Oh God! Phil! I’m so sorry!” I abandoned my poptart on the bar as I got up to go to the fridges for strawberries.

Wilford followed me. “Wait! We do? Since when did we have a pet? And why haven’t I seen it?!” I got the strawberries out of the left fridge.

I turned to the man and looked at him in disbelief. “You brought him home! Remember! You sat him on the bar one night and went to your room! I found him the next morning upset, so I put him in the spare fridge.”

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about! And why is he in the fridge!?” Wilford was borderline yelling at this point, so I just open the right fridge to show him Phil.

Phil gurgled happily at us. He was a cute pancake monster with tiny dot eyes. He was five fluff pancakes high with no arms nor feet. He was forever covered in syrup and in a decorated tub I made him. The tub was made of ceramic and glazed yellow with boats and cats on the sides. He saw the strawberries and open up his mouth toward the sky waiting for them.

“That’s Phil?” Wilford asked. “What is he doing?” He leaned in closer to get a better look of Phil.

“He’s waiting for me to feed him. He love strawberries.” I dropped a strawberry into his mouth. He hummed as he ate. He ate a few more strawberries until he sank down in his tub and hummed. Wilford just watched with interest. “You full?” Phil opened his mouth once more. “No? Alright then, one more.” He hummed happily as he ate. “You full?” He just hummed on without a care. “Okay then.” I shut the door. Look up to Wilford, who is five inches taller than me, waiting for a comment.

“…” Wilford was still staring at the fridge. He pointed to the fridge. “I don’t remember bring that home.”

“That was a year ago.” I tried to jog his memory with the time of the event.

It had a different effect. “A year! Those pancakes should be bad by now! How are they still fresh!?” He asked bewildered.

I pinched the bridge of my nose out of frustration. “I don’t know! He’s a forever pancake!” I look at him. “But the point is we already have a pet.” Wilford tried to speak, but I cut him off with “If you remember him or not.”

“Well! Can I have another pet?!” The pink mustached man exclaimed.

I thought a moment. “As long as it’s legal and it doesn’t eat Phil, then sure. Why not.” I don’t see the harm in another pet.

“Great! I already have the name picked out. Ima call him Rex!” Wilford was already half way through the kitchen. I guess he was going out to get Rex.

“Cool. You know I have a great Uncle named Rex.” I told Wilford as he got his keys off the key rack.

“Really?”

“Yea, he’s a retired rocket scientist.” I sat back down at the bar.

“You don’t say?” Wilfred leaned on the bar from the other side. “Hey, you think this handsome reporter could get an interview with him. Not everyday I get interview a former rocket scientist.” He smiled.

“If you can guarantee me you won’t hurt or kill him, and if he’s okay with it. Then sure you can interview him.” I explained to Wilford. “I’ll write a letter to him asking about it.”

“Thank you Sweetheart! And I can guarantee with a 110 percent assurance than he will live through the interview. And now if you’ll excuse me. I gotta go and interview a few wrestlers!” He grabbed his pink coat and pink hat as he walked to the front door.

“Alright! Be careful and don’t break them to bad!” I called out.

“Oh, please! Don’t you know who I am!” Wilford turned back to the bar to look at me. He was halfway out the door. “I’m Wilford Warfstache! I take no shit from nobody!” and with that, the door slammed shut. I hear the lock click a second later.

“Cool. Ima finish my poptart.”

It’s close to 6 pm now. I’m wearing jeans, a grey tank top, and a blue, plaid short sleeve button-up that is unbuttoned. The sun was still out, but the day have gotten a lot cooler. Wilford wasn’t home yet and I was feeding Phil blueberries and strawberries. He really like fruit the best, but he’s willing to eat other stuff too.

Wilford burst through the front door jumping up and down from excitement. He was still wearing his clothes from earlier, minus the hat. “Hey, didja have a good day? You look really happy.” I closed Phil’s fridge door.

“I GOT REX!” Wilford yelled and threw his arms up in the air from pure joy. “COME LOOK AT ‘IM!” He ran outside to the front yard like a madman. Well… he’s already slightly a madman, but who cares.

I grabbed my glasses and walked after Wilford to the front yard. I got to the door and- “Ooooooooooh noooohohohoooooo.” I hid behind the door frame in terror. “WILFORD! GET INSIDE!” I screamed.

“What?! Why!? You haven’t met him yet!” Wilford cried. He was standing on the lawn with…

“THERE’S A TRICERATOPS EATING THE BUSHES!!!” I pointed to the grey beast eating the neighbor’s hedges. Oh God… if there’s a triceratops then a T-rex is not far from the truth, or here.

“I know! Ain’t he great! I got him a collar and everything!” Wilford grinned madly. Okay, I care if he slightly a madman now.

“THAT’S REX!?” I screeched in horror. “HOW?! WHERE DID YOU GET IT!?” I stared at him for a second. “DINOSAURS ARE EXTINCT!”

“With great difficulty.” The pink stached madman cryptically proclaimed. The dinosaur was indeed wearing a collar. It was pink, of course. “He’s perfect! Perfectly legal too, can’t eat Phil, can’t even get in the house to be honest. Oh! Best part is he love watermelons! I’ve told you how my brother gets attack by space melons every month, right?” The man was smiling like a little kid in the toy aisle of the store.

My throat hurts from screaming, so I just nod at Wilford. His brother Melone always did have an excess amount of watermelons he couldn’t eat. A man can eat only so many watermelons… Honestly I thought Phil was a space pancake when I hear that story the first time… And saw the crates of watermelons too.

I took a deep breath to collect myself. Wilford was petting the dinosaur. I found my voice again. “You are feeding and walking it. I want no part of him. At least until I talked to my sister, or anyone with sanity about this.”

“Alright! If you say so.” Wilford started to climb up the beast. I shut the door. I stared at the oak wood for a minute unmoved. There’s a dinosaur in the yard. There’s a dinosaur in the yard. There’s a dinosaur in the yard. There’s a dinosaur in the yard. There’s a dinosaur in the yard.

Turning around and walking to find my phone, I never needed it more in my life than in this moment.

Author Notes: Hey again! Did you guys like Wilford’s dinosaur? I don’t know why a triceratops to me is funny, but my family also thought it was funny. So yeah. I based the roommate off myself because I originally thought of it that way. I was trying to sleep, and I like to think up stories when I do. It helps me fall asleep. The funniest stuff is thought up when a lack of sleep is involve; in my opinion at least.

Fun fact: I actually do have a great Uncle Rex that is a retired rocket scientist. He’s really cool, and old. He’ll be 85 this year, I think. Maybe 84. He’s still awesome though.