Aug 25, 2022
So, this is what I called a certified downhill CLASSIC
Don’t question it
seen from Russia
seen from France
seen from Türkiye
seen from Poland
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Thailand
seen from Netherlands
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Netherlands
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
So, this is what I called a certified downhill CLASSIC
Don’t question it
the doctors will see you know
Dr.iplier and dr.schneepstein!
Snapcube’s Real Time Fandub Sonic Adventures 2 but every character is a Markiplier Ego
I'm hearin' voices in my head And everything they said It's never making any sense
I was inspired by fischyplier’s post
Lyrics: Branded by Nathan Sharp
Synthetic Monster
Summary: In which Dark is a much different monster.
Prompt: Goretober, Extra Limbs
Warnings: dark has two pairs of arms, low self esteem, bad self image, self doubt, gender confusion, I use both he and she to describe dark in the first half which might be a lil confusing, mental breakdown, surgery mention.
Note: day nine of Goretober. This ones a bit shorter, but I hope y’all like it!! I also had zero idea of what to title this.
———
Striding down the hall is different. Awkward, jilting.
He’s thankful that he still has two legs, not more, but walking is still strange. Her extra set of arms make the usual, swinging motion difficult to maintain. Her arms will bump into each other and it’s hard to keep her focus on walking when she has his focus on finding a smooth motion for his arms.
Walking should be easy. Her legs are still her legs, no extra add ons or manipulations. But it’s hard, for some reason, and he crouches in the hall, simultaneously hugging herself and hiding his face.
It’s overwhelming, almost, his mind torn apart and spread thin to control the extra set of arms, the thin pair sitting halfway down his ribcage. They ache, causing her a pain that’s precisely the opposite of phantom pain.
Something new is there, that shouldn’t be, and it aches. Phantom pain is the pain of something gone that used to be there. Opposite.
Similarly painful, equally jolting, despairingly difficult opposite.
It shouldn’t be this hard to cope. To come to terms and learn to control his limbs, old and new alike. Basic motor functions are thrown off wack, like he’d been on bed rest for years and was now trying to run. The memory is there, but her body is unable to conform to his wishes.
Try as she might, she cannot simply ignore the malformation done to him. The surgery and the stitches and the firey pain. He’s disfigured now, a freak.
Gray skinned, red and blue aura, too many limbs, freak. The kind of person put on stage at a circus for others to laugh at and mock.
Fingers digging into his sides, fingers digging into her scalp, she breathes raggedly. It’s too much, this new pair of arms. Her mind is torn to shreds, unused to controlling so much, unable to put arm movement in the background as unconscious thought. No, it was constantly at the forefront, standing in the spotlight and screaming ‘I’m a freak!’
He hates that she’s a freak.
Once, he was beloved, mayor of the town, seer to the less fortunate. She’d had a husband, a runaway lover, the peacefulness of singlehood. Old memories clash against each other, one screaming him while the other shouts her. He doesn’t know who he is anymore, if he’s still a he or her or something else.
Once upon a time, she was normal. No matter which life or body you look at, she — they? — was normal. Normal couldn’t be used to describe her now. Not since the manor. Not since the dreadful surgery that had made her a monster.
Stitched together, harsh black crisscrossing scars that would probably never heal right, she’ll never be normal again.
It feels crammed, in his body. Despite the extra room, it feels cramped. She can feel the mesh of the two souls within him, of the sibling duo forced together. There’s a harsh line, where they meet, fighting against each other and against itself.
Dark decides that he’s a they, now. Despite the masculine body, she is half female. There’s no better word that can appease both his mindsets, so they will have to do.
It’s a weight off their mind, deciding that. The half that they think is Celine, or what used to be her, settles a little. Two edges blend together a little more. Their mind and the yelling, arguing within it, settle.
More at peace. Mentally a little saner, a little more stable than before, but still not up to par, still not used to the new body and the difficulties of controlling it.
It was hard, having more body parts to be in control of. Disorienting, mind meltingly hard.
Practice makes perfect, so they’re trying. Really, really trying, but trying seems to only lead to more pain and more instability and to a mental breakdown, like they’re doing now. Sitting with their knees up, hugging themselves, and crying.
They don’t cry. At least, they’d like not to, but that just seems like yet another pointlessly out of reach goal. A child’s wish, worth no more than a wisp of smoke in the wind. So they do cry. Unwillingly, and that just makes them cry more, cry harder.
Why did this have to be so damn hard?
It didn’t, is the answer. This body, the disfiguration, didn’t need to happen. But they — Celine and Damien — had fallen prey to a man starving for revenge, for the perfect villain to their story. Stitching them together, taking parts of her and adding it to him, making a monster, had been his solution. A perfect villain, in his words.
He’d mangled them, marking them with harsh, unprofessional x’s all so he could be a better ‘hero’. To make his story more interesting. He’d wanted to be unique, to have a rival that was equally so and apparently neither of them were enough on their own, but together — literally, forced together — they were.
It was sickening, what he did.
And they — Dark — were going to make him pay for it. He’d turned them into something unsightly, something that others could only see as evil, and they would enact their revenge.
Mark had asked for a villain. Angry, boiling, they were more then willing to oblige. Once they perfected use of their body, there would be hell to pay.
———
Masterlist
TAGGING: @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @electricprincess888 @berrie-b @mackenziplier @gerardwayslips @risiskifi @cawestad @theinvisiblespoon @californiakxng @just-another-starfish @superawesomeamazingname @moonstonefox12 @bones-and-tomes @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @itsbumblebunnybee @noisyfreakpersonlover @nightmarejim @schuyleryette @withjust-a-bite @statictay @muraae @harmonyofstars @cosmic-frapuccino @jmweezy (tags are open)
How You Interact: Morning Routines (Part 2)
Part 1
Angus The Survival Hunter
Angus, being the outdoors guy he is, is always up at dawn. He doesn’t get up for a while though. He cuddles with you. Lightly presses kisses to your cheek and enjoying the quiet time he finally gets to have with you. When it nears the time you get up, Angus will drag himself from the blankets and make you something. Breakfast in bed is very common whenever Angus is home with you. That, and spending half the day in bed doing nothing.
Dr. Iplier
This guy never gets any sleep. And his morning routine doesn't start till late in the afternoon. When he feels you move to get out of bed, he’ll tug you back under the blankets. Very rarely spending time with you, he wants to hold you. Even while he’s sleeping. He’ll whine and grunt if you try to leave. Kissing your forehead and relenting when you bribe him with coffee and some breakfast.
Phantom
Phantom is a definite night owl. And sometimes, his work carries on into the morning. You’ll find yourself sleeping alone alot, but on the occasion he does sleep, he’s a late riser. Not because he’s sleeping, but because he enjoys lazing in bed with you. Holding you close, whispering nonsense to you. Random topics being swapped between you. Nothing but you and him in bed talking. It takes a while for the two of you to get out of bed, but even then it’s a little lazy. Unless work hurries Phantom into rushing.
Dark, Anti, and Virgil fusion?
The Watcher is always watching.
Every move you make.
Every breath you take.
He knows when your time’s up, but he’ll never tell.
He enjoys watching people suffer.
He enjoys watching you die.
He’ll set up games for you to play, like Jigsaw, or that son from resident evil 7.
He’ll laugh at your misery.
He’ll drink your blood.
Always watching.
Always.
@bim-trimmer-protection-squad Bim Boi in that flowery Tux!!