#ed edger

[scythlyven-art]

Comparison of my puppet banners!

The first one I made back in 2017 and I definitely still love it but it was time for a change~

**Please click on them for better quality**

[fl1nt-and-st33l]

I found Ed’s new business

[theinvisiblespoon]

Front of a Building - Chapter 4: Memories Painted With Much Brighter Ink

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Man, these guys sure are acting out of character. I wonder why…? Chapter title is by Dodie, from the song When. Taglist: @princessbelix @kaner-va @lemme-talk-to-ya-plants @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @darkfixation @nikkyshows @nammies @the-asexual-reaper @forgottenbehindtheinternet @littleteenblog @pain-in-my-aesthetic @ironwoman359 Word count: 1352

Someone was laughing. It was dark, and he blinked harder, attempting to clear the blackness with no results. The name came to his lips without his consent.

“Celine?”

The laughing was all around him, and unintelligible whispers too. The scene came to him like a light switch being turned on. A woman in black was running away from him, the endless path of gray stretching on forever, the void on both sides. He ran after her instinctively, knowing he had to catch her. The whispers grew in volume, and the path became steeper. Everything ached; he was so tired, exhausted even. She climbed easily, but he fell behind, slipping out of reach, falling and falling into the endless void, darkness surrounding him…

A man caught him, strong arms enveloping him. He could see a dark suit, a black ribbon, and he was warm… The man whispered in his ear, voice dark and unforgiving.

“You should have died then, not me. How could you let me die when you deserved it more?”

He shook his head wildly, blinking tears back from his eyes. The name came easily, too.

“Damien, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“Not sorry enough.” The man dropped him again, and he fell endlessly into the cold void, falling and falling…

A voice. Scared? Fading, in and out.

“...it’s okay...Will...wake up…”

He opened his eyes. Dark stood above him, his aura weak and flickering. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he was breathing heavily. The sun beat down on the two of them. They were on the roof of a building, he realized. Had he been shot? He turned his head and saw a man in a police uniform laying on the roof also. No, he wasn't, he couldn't be d-... The joke dawned on him. He was sleeping, silly him. He began to laugh, slow at first, but soon it was hysterical. His own words whispered to him.

“...the same thing I ask myself every day...where did it all go so wrong?”

He was falling again, and he knew he wouldn’t stop, flipping over and over in his fall, still laughing as the tears rolled off of his face, leaving a trail behind him in flight. But still, he fell, and he knew the ground would find him in the end, and he was falling and falling as the whispers became screams filling his ears and he begged for them to stop just stop screaming please and he fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and—

Wilford bolted upright, breathing heavily. A few stray tears paved their way down his face.

“...hahaha…” What was he laughing at? His dream slipped from his mind like water through shaking hands. It was dark out, and the stars spun slowly in the sky. Why was he crying on such a beautiful night? He turned over in his blankets and fell back asleep.

Poor Wilford would forget all about this in the morning.

Won’t you, Wilford?

“I brought breakfast!” cried Bim in a singsong tone. This was one of the rare times all of the egos had breakfast together, and because the day was Saturday, Chef Iplier wasn’t cooking. The thud of the greasy takeout bags hitting the table had most of the egos letting out indistinct noises of approval.

Ed Edger was the first to dig in. “Damn swell to have a nice greasy meal here! No offense to you, o’ course, Chef.”

“While I don’t very much appreciate greasy foods,” conceded the Chef, “I’m glad we can all have a meal together where I’m not off in the corner cooking.”

“It is an appealing deviation in routine,” agreed Google, taking nothing.

Silver Shepherd was handed a breakfast sandwich as his hands were heavily encumbered.

Yan stared dreamily out of a window, forgetting to eat again.

King of the Squirrels took an entire bag, presumably to later feed his army.

Bing took a radically spiced hash browns bag, saying “Sweet, Bim!”

Jim eagerly took two breakfast burritos, one for him and one for his brother. “Thanks, not-Jim!”

“It’s nothing, Jims,” Bim replied with a stunning smile. “Host, aren’t you going to eat anything?”

“...the Host would like to respectfully turn down any food Bim Trimmer has made or offered to the Host—”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Host! What’s so bad about fast food?”

“...the Host would like to inquire exactly how fast the food was made—”

Bim chuckled good-naturedly. “If you have something against minimum wage high schoolers, take it up with them, not me.”

The ensuing conversation distracted the egos from seeing Dr. Iplier glance repeatedly at the door. He only drank black coffee, forgetting to sweeten it. His precious labcoat had a number of small stains. The doctor stopped himself from looking around at the closed door once again, the ache in his neck worsening. When had he become so paranoid? He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

Wilford sat next to him, spirited and carefree, enjoying an omelet. Dr. Iplier nudged him gently, wondering if his question was ill-advised. The name had been on his mind since that day three weeks ago. No one had seen Dark since, but Wilford was such a close friend, and if anyone knew, it was him.

Wilford looked over at the disheveled doctor, knowing immediately something was on his mind.

“Wilford…” How should he phrase this? “Do you—well, do you or Dark, I mean—”

“Breathe for a second, old chap.” Wilford frowned at himself. He had never said ‘old chap’ before, had he? He pushed this thought aside and listened to the very flustered Doctor sitting next to him.

“Wilford…” Why are you so worried? Just ask the question. “...do you know anyone named William?”

Wilford stopped, a bite of omelet halfway to his lips. He stared blankly at the Doctor who was silently aware something was wrong. The sound around him faded to a quiet, monotonous buzz.

William. William? He had never known anyone with that name. Had he? A faint sound of whispering grew. Long gone and fuzzy memories fought their way to the surface. A woman in black. A man in a suit. A red figure on the ground. A body, falling from him, his fault. All his fault.

His fork clattered to the plate, meal forgotten. Everyone was looking at Wilford, concerned of the sudden distraught expression on his face. A small choked sound escaped past his lips.

“...everyone except Wilford, Dr. Iplier, and the Host leaves the room quickly and quietly—”

In a matter of seconds, the room was empty except for those three. The only noise came from the Host’s quiet narration and Wilford’s heavy breathing. Wilford was now shaking slightly. The Doctor looked incredibly alarmed, reaching for the man’s shoulder desperately.

“Wilford, are you—”

“...Dr. Iplier puts his hand down at the command of the Host, who has stood up from his chair and made his way around to their side of the table. The Host then asks Dr. Iplier what the hell he asked Wilford Warfstache—”

“All I asked was if he knew someone named William!” the Doctor said defensively.

“...the Host sighs, and Wilford Warfstache falls asleep right then and there—” Dr. Iplier moved the plate out of the way just in time for the shaking man to collapse on the kitchen table. “—The Host, once making sure he was alright, began to make his way to the door.”

“Hey!” exclaimed the Doctor, “What’s going on? Why is everyone acting strange?”

“...the Host suggests that, if the Doctor really wishes to know, he should talk with the oldest egos here—”

Dr. Iplier looked down at Warfstache. “You mean Dark and Wilford? No conversations with them ever go well when I—”

“...The Host interrupts Dr. Iplier before he can finish speaking. The Host tells him that those two are not the two oldest egos in the Manor. As the Host steps out into the hallway, he tells Dr. Iplier that the oldest egos are, in fact, the Jims.”

The door slammed on a sleeping man and stunned silence.

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[alien-o-art]

D̶̦͉̣͎͈̮͖̉͗̆̎̇͢͡͡ḭ̸̞̥̞̝͑͊͛̅̀̌͘͜ḓ̢̢͈̻̞͓̙͈̉̔̓̂͟͠ y̶̡̛͍͕̝̱̖̞̌́̎͑͑͆̅͘ǫ̨͎̱̜̼̥̮͕̍̈̉̒̋̄̿̉͘ͅu͕̠̲̖̳̅̈̐͗̏ m̴̡̤͙̪̪͆̀͆̎̉͑̃̉͌͢i̴̡̛̭̮̠̯̍͒͞͞š̡̛̛̤̜͉̤͔̪͗̈́̊͛̐̈͞s̵͓̱͉̬̯̓͑̉̈͊͐̽͗́͆͜ ṳ̱̼̞͍̱̌̊̓̽̄͒̕s̛̗̪͉͈̣̣̦͒̎̌̓̽͟?̶̟̪͔͕͓́̌̌͂̒̒͛̚͢͟͞

[lunanightingaleart]

Just a quick thought

Maybe this isn't a new ego at all. Maybe this whole Mark thing isn't Mark making a new ego based off of Monika or Mr. Smiley from presentable liberty. Maybe this is some of his older egos. I know this sounds a but far fetched....but maybe it's not actor Mark. Maybe it's Bim. I know hold your fire. But the last ego we saw was technically Bim, on tumblr. He's an actor, he doesn't care if someone dies because his while show kills people. He laughs awkwardly as you can see in that little role play thing Mark did. We like to think only Dark would want to take Mark over, but in all reality all of the egos want control back. Just like at the conference meeting. But there is something wrong. Perhaps there's is a new entity, but if it is than its an entity that takes the Mark egos and amplifies them to dangerous levels. All Bim wanted was to be a star, a host of his own game show before it was shut down because it was too dangerous. What if his desire for fame and glory took him too far? He has the same face as Mark, so he would become too eager for everyone wearing a mask that looks like him, or a fan art that looks just like him. Wilford and Dark are the most popular of the egos, he's taking then out so he can be more popular. Or worse, this entity is trying to throw us off by pretending to be the other egos, but his view of then is very drastically different from our view of them. Maybe that's why it started as mark, then shifted to Bim, and now it's turning into Ed Edger possibly with the cheese rush thing. The whole finding out people's information is ducking creepy and the Fandom needs to stop that bulls hit before they get security at their door, but I'd like to point out you know who also has information on everyone, and could in a sense make it easier for creepy people to find information on innocent accounts? Google. Fucking google. He knows the personal information on everyone, but he usually doesn't bother with it because he couldn't care less. What if an entity that at that moment takes on Google's personality, gains all of this information and makes or allows fans to know it, letting then do what they want with the information? We've all realized this isn't Mark. But the question still stands, just who are we up against here? Is it all the lower egos working together? Or a new entity with very exaggerated personality?

Now that I've gotten that out of the way let me say this again. People are taking this way too far. None of this is Mark's fault and the fact that people are taking this joke into dangerous levels is sad and pathetic. Mark's community is meant for loving caring people, not toxic waste who's ready to jump on a bandwagon at any second because it's popular or because they could easily manipulate others. I'm sorry for those who have been wronged, and those who wrong others can get the fuck out of the fandom. We do not want you here.

Quick Edit: I know that Ed Edger is supposed to be retired because of the whole cyndago thing I get it I understand. Frankly I don't know what exactly to call the yee haw boy howdy mark so I'll be calling him Ed until we got another name for him. Maybe a Minor. Minor Mark? Oh well