#darkiplites

[awesomehollowhelios]

It’s like 3am here and I just woke up to Mark making tumblr explode with the dance to shame all dances. I must say I am very excited that I now know how to summon Darkiplier whenever I want lol. Now can we know the dance that will summon Markiplier next? markiplier

[marshmallow-floof]

Of course when Darkiplites get hit they make that overwhelmingly cute squishy plushie sound.

Duh.

[marshmallow-floof]

Hi, I'm new to the fandom, so I'm sorry if this is a well-known thing but how exactly do darkiplites breath out miasma?

Actually, this hasn't really been asked before, so its not a bother. As a certain chimney is responsible for the majority of miasma-based Darkiplites damn asshole he is it usually goes like this:

Dark removes the majority of your soul and replaces it with his 'own', otherwise known as the miasma, and since that's mostly inhaled, it corrupts your whole being from the lungs out. Bloodstream, form, all of it becomes miasma in one way or another. Though, because it starts at the lungs, then blood, then mind, the lungs are the most corrupted, and thus, the part of the body most adapted to support the miasma, and the lungs are full of it. 

However, the miasma mixing with the blood creates this sorta sludge-like substance that has the glossy effect like crude oil. It's because usually, even though most of the soul is removed, at least a wisp or two are left by the end, and the miasma corrupts this as well, making the blood carry less oxygen and more miasma into the lungs, powering up the internal fog machine inside there. They don't run out of miasma, they bleed miasma, everything is just a sticky black mess in there. Sure, you still die from too much miasma...they're not immune to that, not in the slightest.

[marshmallow-floof]

Halloween

Even though many of them didn’t really need a costume, they all still dressed up, the majority merely going as ghosts, unable to set up an elaborate outfit, trying to keep some sort of normalcy or tradition to the celebration, not wanting to remember their circumstances. The Darkiplites who could turn into shadows or clouds of miasma flew under their white sheets, hovering over the ground, becoming actual flying ghosts, if being slightly visibly hindered, while those with wings joined them in the sky, scouting out houses with decorations and trying to steer the pack of Darkiplites in the correct direction without crashing into each other or other objects. Those who were stuck on the land walked under the floating group of spirits, make-up done messily, trying to catch any sweets that fell out of the baskets from those above as they fought and bumped each other, distorted growls of agitation echoing amongst the excited chatter.

When they finally came across a house riddled with decorations, the Darkiplites became nervous, not really sure about how to tackle actual uncorrupted people in conversation while not removing their soul or corrupting their minds. A queue quickly formed, shoving and trying to push in ahead, as the whole Darkiplite community wanted to be first to get sweets, but didn’t want to actually knock on the door. Fortunately for them, the commotion raised the attention by the inhabitants of the house, who slowly opened the door in confusion at seeing so many…people…waiting at their door. A loud intake of breath was the Darkiplites’ response, frozen in fear, slightly in awe of seeing proper, real-life, untainted people for so long, without a threat of being injured. A low, nervous distorted mumble of nonsense eventually broke out from the crowd, forgetting that they were unintelligible to the people standing in front of them, who continued to stare at them blankly, before holding out a bowl of sweets to them, gaining a excited screech from them all as they rushed forward, trying to take as many as possible before being pushed back by the others.  One Darkiplite, however, got a little too excited, accidently forgetting its place for a moment and ripping the soul out of the owner in a giddy trance, much to the horror of the others, as the rest of the ghosts gathered whacked them on the back of the head, disgraced, before flying away angrily, not allowing them near the pile of sugar, forgetting about the shocked uncorrupted watching them take off into the darkened sky.

Unfortunately, in addition to the overwhelming ecstatic nature of the group, along with the moon glimmering brightly on them while they waited, and their internal compass not being too great, the familiar lunar madness soon set in, causing the Darkiplites to drop out of the sky, staring up at the silver sphere intensely, getting lost and separating from the main group as their thoughts became muddled. Their numbers slowly decreased, becoming lost in a world of lights, just wanting to stop and touch the bright objects, the smells of candy becoming overwhelming and adding to their disorientation. Whimpering, they tried to find the source of the smells, while wanting to touch the moon, drunkenly staggering around in circles, losing the ability to function and eventually falling unconscious, unable to deal with the endless information wrapping around their minds and crashing to the ground, curling up into a ball and sleeping, much to the shock of people below.

The next day, mysterious people, dressed entirely in black, wandered the streets, occasionally breaking into people’s homes and gardens, dragging sleeping ghosts off the ground and away into the darkness, refusing to speak to anyone who questioned who they were. The humans were too frightened of asking many questions, they had suffered a long, confusing night, and let them be taken away, making a mental note to buy more candy for that family next year, or to pretend to not be in. Groans of pain came from the ghosts as they were picked up, the sheets shaking slightly to show some form of life underneath, and they tried to ignore the slight burning smell coming from the people as they were taken, a few daring to wave at the shocked families gawping at them.

The Darks then decided that it would be best that the Darkiplites didn’t go out on Halloween, or at least required some sort of rules when leaving, but, as a tradition, year after year the exact same thing would happen, much to the continuing horror of the neighbourhood nearby.

[marshmallow-floof]

Rogue Darkiplites who miraculously manage to escape execution or being caught have to find dark places to live in order to survive, as they will be exiled from any main Darkiplite areas. This is why you may occasionally think that something's hiding in your closet or under the bed, and often, that shadow you thought you saw just move probably did. 

They rarely attack.

[marshmallow-floof]

Requiem

Based on the Song of the Pitch Black Forest x

Our iron fortress, the pitch black forest is as formidable as ever, standing firm in the middle of the dark, no light daring to breach its spiked borders as metal pierces skin and animalistic screams call out like birdsong to anyone who dares to listen. Tomorrow is yesterday, the days repeating, the air full of dust and dirt as we work in silence, trapped in a limbo of pitch black…how dark…dark as ever…

The mind twists and warps, this corrupted realm endlessly changing, altering the set rules of life to suit its creator, to cause suffering to those below his gaze. A fish flies in the sky, being strangled by the smoke coiled around it tightly, gasping and kicking its helpless legs before suffocating, while a bird swims in the water, held under by grieving hands as the last bubbles rise to the surface. Sanity slips away from those trapped here, watching as an egg that prances around the feet of a fellow inmate gets crushed, blood flying from the broken body underfoot, and yet, nobody says a word, except for a mirror that sings along with the lament of the Darkiplites, the sound howled and screeched by the minds of the many, the tortured and the suffering.

Singing his praises at gunpoint, the pitch black forest is a deadly machine of his, a truly wondrous place of despair and abandonment, idolised by the naïve. Again and again, the morning always is the same bleak empty void, the frozen air welcomed by a chorus of tiresome words spoken in hushed, corrupted voices…eternal pitch black…how dark…dark as ever…

Of course, when you try to listen for us, when you decide to throw your life away to come here, you won’t be able to hear the echoes of misery that cling to this place, instead, you’ll see a mirage of joy and happiness, a fog with a sweet scent descending over your eyes. It will only be later, when smoke fills your lungs and your head, poisoning you, that looking back at the clock on the steel, unbreakable walls, you see it turns backwards, with horrified eyes, and only then, when it is far too late, do you realise your mistake…while he smiles at you, a smirk carved into those disgusting features as the darkness pulls you away, forever.

There’s no escape now, the pitch black forest is, as always, a labyrinth in your heart, a stone maze within your mind, designed to drive the personality, your own self, out of your body. Nothing makes sense, run fast if you want, but even so, the angry beast inside you, it’s running slow, trailing more poison into your bloodstream with every step. There’s nowhere to go, nothing you can do in this world of nothingness, it’ll rip out your chest one day or another…consumed by the pitch black…how dark…dark as ever…

When they arrived, everyone always knew what they thought was everything, they knew exactly where that place is and what the transformation would be like…so cocky, thinking that they would be empowered…able to control the world. But now look at us all…no-one ever knows anything, no-one had ever known where that place is now, the agony involved…have we been abandoned by whatever forces control the light…cast away into this nightmare…? Will nobody come…rescue us?

Unnatural…artificial…the pitch black forest is death itself, something that keeps on moving, regardless of time, space or any force. We’re lost on this unknown plane of existence, unable to see around us…unable to see any final destination ahead. It comes to those who require it…the new victims of a curse far worse than death…and we’ll continue to call out our warnings in broken sounds, hoping that someone can be spared our shrouded fate. We wonder…the end…is it near or is it far? Escape the pitch black, how dark…dark….

I͡s͟ ͡i̷t͏͏ ҉͘ne͟à͞r ̶̧o͏r͢͟ ̧̢i͟҉s͝͞ ́ì̢͢t̢̡̕ f̷̴ar͝͡͝?͞ ̶̧͢E͢sc͘ap̸͢e̵ ̛͡ţ̛h̀e̵ ҉̧p͠͞͝i̶t҉̀c͜h̷́ ̸̡bļ̵a͟c̷͠k̛̕.͢͏͝.̵̡.h̷͘ow ͝d́҉a͏̨r͢k..̧͜͡.͟͜d҉̨a̶͝r͞k͜.͢͟.҉..

[marshmallow-floof]

Darkiplite connections.

If only explaining them were as easy.

However, there is a danger to this. Some Darks can abuse this ability, strengthening and weakening the bond at will, leaving deep psychological scarring on their victim, before making it appear as if all is well when examined. Wounds can, if a physical bond is strong enough, be transferred onto the other person, leaving both involved weak and injured, with both dying if a wound is fatal, though this is usually only if a Darkiplite connected to a Dark is killed. The other way around, the Darkiplite takes a massive hit on their brain function, most likely going insane from the lack of presence in their minds, the equilibrium of energy going crazy as they try to cope without the extra power of the bond. They become slow, slumping to the ground, reactions non-existent as some slip into a comatose state, never to wake up. Strong emotions are forced onto the other person, which can break the weaker-minded. These consequences make destroying rogues difficult as in most cases, two people will be lost, but fortunately, connections rarely break naturally.

Triple bonds have been rumoured about, and require experimentation into. Claims have arose about spontaneous combustion when these bonds are made, suggesting that Darkiplite minds cannot handle the stress of two people in there at once, but some Darks appear to be connected in these unknown triple bonds. After all, it is unknown how these bonds are made in the first place, if they can be broken without damaging the other involved, or if, as some have suggested, that our Darks do not exist, and are only projections of our inner selves, explaining why if a Darkiplite is killed, both die, but if the Dark dies, the Darkiplite can survive in most cases, despite lower brain functions.

I a-advise...to look into them. Triple bonds could be more damage than they're worth. Scan them, then decide. 

[marshmallow-floof]

1imb0

Not with a shout, but a whisper.

"How unfortunate for those Darkiplites who regret their decision...knowing that they are now trapped here...until the end of days."