treating both the day magda gave birth to them + the day wanda/pietro were pulled from newborn-baby-stasis decades later as their birthday(s) and let me just say, the juxtaposition of chart(s) is wild
from my personal headcanon that dark has two birthdays - Celine and Damien’s. he’s not into celebrating, tho. just writin this for fun :P
Darkiplier has not celebrated his birthday, or birthdays, in a few years. He can’t even remember the dates of the Mayor’s or the Seer’s birthday. Dark’s tradition of not celebrating a meaningless holiday will not change. He will simply accept the fact that this year he will be older and the next year he will be another year older. Simple.
Wilford is not having it.
“Okay, gang. You’re probably wondering why I brought you here,” Wilford announced to the other egos at the meeting table. Occupying the other few chairs at the table were Bim Trimmer, Host, Dr. Iplier, Google, and the Jims. Wil had gathered them for a very important meeting.
“The host had thought about it. You interrupted the host’s reading.” Host narrated, somewhat irritably.
“Yes, I quite agree with Host. I have some very urgent dying and dead cases, Wilford.” Dr. Iplier added from across the host. Wilford had pulled him away from poking at a dead body to see which organs were salvageable and which ones he could give to Bim.
Wilford sighs, rolling his eyes. “They won’t get any deader while you’re away, my good doctor. I haven’t encountered Homo Necrosis in a while, so don’t worry. Anyway, as I was saying-” Once again, the pink man was stopped short by a rather annoying cyborg.
“W-Well, I would l-like to g-g-go back to my primary o-objective of conquering m-mankind.” Google interrupted, his holographic form glitching and stuttering.
Bim and the Jims were too busy arguing about whether or not the Jims would be in charge of shooting an episode of Bim’s gameshow. The last cameraman had died in an...”accident” of sorts. Bim was complaining about Camera Jim’s shoddy camera work and Reporter Jim’s questionable reporting skills.
“Are you all quite done yet? It’s Wilford’s time to talk.” Wilford spoke up before anyone could start talking again.
He cut right to the chase.
“We are throwing our dearest, darkest, edgiest friend a birthday party!”
The mustached man had expected more interested reactions, such as “What a good idea, Wil!” or “That sounds fun!”. Silence was definitely not a good reaction. Even Bim and the Jims had stopped talking, only to look at Wilford like he had grown a third ear. The pink man started to sweat. Was there something on his mustache, perhaps he had a stain on his shirt, a flake of dandruff in the hair, maybe, or-?
“The host asks you to repeat yourself. He is not quite sure he heard you right and is quite concerned you have some sort of concussion.” Host said, breaking the silence. “A birthday party,” he continued,” for Darkiplier?” The very thought of Dark in a brightly colored party hat would have been funny, if Wilford were not so nervous about it.
“Maybe I should look at your head again, Wil. 1 in 7 people have brain damage, you know!” Dr. Iplier chuckled. The laugh slowly faded into silence when the doctor realized Wilford wasn’t pulling a fast one on them. “You can’t be serious, Wil.”
“I am completely, a hundred and sixty percent, serious!”
“That is n-n-not how mathematics w-work.” Google muttered.
“Oh, stuff it, tin can.” Wilford threw back, turning to the rest of the egos. “He hasn’t celebrated his birthday in years! And he’s got two of them! Do you know how many birthdays he’s missed so far?”
“A-According to my c-calculations, Dark h-has m-m-issed-”
“I said stuff it, Westworld. That was rhetorical.” Wilford interrupted, waving the cyborg off with a huff. “Bottom line is, we’re throwing a party for Dark, whether you guys like it or not!” Wilford straightened his bow tie. “I will be assigning all of you tasks to carry out so we can make this the best birthday he’s had in forever.”
The pink man continued.
“Tin c- I mean, Google. You’ll be in charge of finding party supplies and decorating. Host will go with you.”
Google looked across the table at the host. Host had nothing to say and remained silent, simply nodding out of politeness.
Wilford turned to Bim and the Jims. “You three will help me bake a cake for our darkest friend.”
“I know just the recipe. It was passed down from our grandmother, Jim, to us, the Jims, Pink Jim. It’s a cake made from Jim, Jim.” Reporter Jim said. Wilford’s head spun every time he tried to decipher what the Jims were saying.
Bim turned from Wilford to look at Reporter Jim. “Is it actually made from Jim? Because I can really help with that part.” He had that sinister look only a cannibal and a person with an annoyance could have.
“Don’t murder the Jims, Trimmer.” Wilford interrupted, annoyed. “Dark isn’t a man-eater.”
The pink man turned away from the trio and went to Dr. Iplier.
“You, my good doctor, will be in charge of keeping Dark as far away and as in the dark-sorry, I just couldn’t resist- as possible.”
Dr. Iplier grimaced at the pun, but his gaze broke into a nervous one. “It’s not easy to keep a secret from Dark, Wilford. It’s like he knows everything.”
Wilford rolled his eyes, then patted the doctor’s shoulder. “Oh, I trust you’ll take care of that, doc.”
Now with all the tasks assigned accordingly, Wilford stood up, pushing his chair back in the process, with his hands on the table.
here we are... the last part.....i hope u guys have enjoyed this short story. in the first bit of this story..we get angsty. real angsty. i promise it gets better
find part one here
find part two here
“Wilford, why are you covered in flour?”
“...Cocaine?” Dark repeated, not believing a word of it.
“Okay, okay. I’m not the Wilford you know. I’m really a contestant on the Great British Bake Off-”
“No.”
“I secretly run an underground drug ring of baby power-”
“No.” Dark rolled his eyes, the excuses getting stupider every second. “Why are you covered in flour?” He repeated the question in the most menacing way he could, at least, what he could manage against Wilford.
Wilford took a deep breath, then sighs. “I...can’t tell you.” He wrings his flour-covered hands, getting them even more stained. “It’s a surprise.”
Dark narrows his eyes. “Dr. Iplier, if you could please check if whatever, or whoever, is in the kitchen is okay? I need to talk with Wilford.”
He didn’t need to tell the doctor twice. Iplier slipped past them, opened the door, and went inside. The click of the door closing was the last sound in the hallway for a few moments, until Dark spoke, his aura pulsating.
“What is really going on, Wil?”
“Well...Something special is coming up soon and I thought..” Wilford trailed off, noticing Dark’s shell start to crack a little. “Dark, are you feeling alright...?”
That’s what he had forgotten - that’s what Damien...what Celine was shouting at him. The day that would be considered his “birthday” was the day Damien, Celine, and the Entity fused into...him. There was a reason Dark didn’t celebrate and tried to forget. It followed him in every mirror, and would until their work was done.
“Wilford,” he started slowly, his shell cracking and jolting. “whatever you are planning, whatever good you think you’re doing, I want you to stop it. The Entity isn’t going to like this.”
“But-” Wilford started.
“No.” It came out as a hiss of pain, Dark’s shell falling apart, his face fading in and out from him to-
“Damien?”
Dark looked up. Wilford was shaking, leaning fully against the door to support his weight.
“The last time I saw you, you could have cared less about anything. Why do you care so much now?” Damien’s voice echoed out, sounding as angry as the last time Wilford...William had seen him. The Entity was surprised William still remembered his best friend’s name after so long.
Wilford had tears in his eyes, muttering a string of “no, no, no-”. He had to be hallucinating. He couldn’t even respond. Before Wilford could attempt to say anything, something, Dark’s shell faded back into it’s real appearance.
Dark breathes out shakily. “Wilford...I don’t, I’m sorry-”
The pink man stood up as straight as he could, leaning on the door knob with shaky hands, and for once, wasn’t the bright, sadistic neon highlighter he usually was.
“T-That was Damien.” Wilford stuttered. He wiped a hand through his hair, spreading flour on his forehead. “My best friend- how is he-”
“It was an illusion. The Entity creates them to...ward off unwanted attention. I’m sorry you had to see that.” Dark lied through his teeth. Wilford can’t know. Not yet. Thankfully, Wilford seemed convinced enough not to question it.
“Get yourself cleaned up. Remember what I told you.” With that, Dark leaves Wilford alone, going back up to his office. He needs room to think.
“My Jim hurts, Dr. Jim. Man-eating Jim really knows how to use a Jim.” Reporter Jim groaned, rubbing his head.
“Yes, he does know how to use a frying pan.” Dr. Iplier agreed.
“They tried to lock me in the meat freezer!” Bim squeaked from a chair.
Dr. Iplier turned around and pointed a reflex hammer at him. “If I recall from the Jims’ side of the story, you tried to kick them into the oven first.”
Before Bim could reply, the door slipped open, a miserable looking Wilford appearing. The 3 egos immediately knew something was up. Bim got up from his chair, helping Wilford into it.
“What happened out there?” was the first question Trimmer asked Wilford.
“Did he give you a stern talking-to?” Dr. Iplier followed up.
“Is the Jim cancelled?” Camera Jim said.
Wilford remained silent for a little bit, then looked up with a determined expression. His eyes were still a little red from crying, but otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to tell this was the same Wilford that had walked into the room.
“No, Jim. The party isn’t over yet.” Wilford assured. “Dark’s “Entity” is giving him trouble. A party will surely cheer him up!”
“Entity? You mean-” Bim started, then squeaked in surprise as Dr. Iplier elbowed him in the ribs. The doctor put a finger to his mouth in a shushing motion.
The mustached man seemed to not notice, and stood up from his chair, grabbing a garish pink apron.
“This cake isn’t going to bake itself! I wasn’t actually lying about the British Bake Off bit, yes, I know you were listening through the door Camera Jim. Gentleman. Let’s get cooking.”
It had been an hour since he left Wilford alone. Dark stayed pacing in his office, shell cracking every now and then while the two voices inside his head argued.
“I can’t believe you did that, Damien.”
“I was only being honest.”
“Your anger is going to give us away.”
“The Seer is right.” Dark muttered under his breath.
“You are no help either. You keep lying to him, saying his friends have just gone off to do something important. Lies aren’t going to work forever.”
“He doesn’t need to reopen old wounds. And the first part isn’t necessarily a lie.” Dark retorted, seemingly speaking to the air.
“I’m so sick of you two being distracted by things like parties and TV shows-”
A small fwip was heard. Dark looks for the source and finds a bright yellow card on the floor, having been slipped under the door. He goes and picks it up, opening it. A cheap sounding version of “Happy Birthday” plays out of it, and Dark had to resist slipping it back under the door. The card said, in Google’s neat handwriting:
Dark,
Meet us at the Host’s floor. His dining hall will be adequate enough for this venture.
Added to that was the Host’s own curly script.
Friend,
The Host hopes you are feeling well enough to participate. He has noticed your shell is cracking more often. Please know that Wilford has spent most of the day trying to cheer you up. The Host suggests you play along, for now.
Dark sighs and puts the card down on his desk. The music from it stops playing.
“You two keep it together.” He mutters to the voices in his head. They don’t reply.
Dark makes his way down to the Host’s floor, passing by the bedroom and the kitchen. He stops in front of the door to the dining hall, then takes a deep breath. Whatever is going to happen in here will be over soon. He puts a hand on the handle, and turns.
The sound of kazoos immediately greeted him and a flash of shiny colored specks - confetti - rained down onto him. Dark reached a hand up and brushed it from his hair, then stops at the sight in front of him.
Google, Host, the Jims, and Bim Trimmer were surrounding a table with an actually nice looking cake in the middle. The cake was two layered with black fondant, white flowers spiraling across the sides. Candles were stuck onto the top. Above the table held a banner that said “Congratulations! It’s a boy Birthday!” with boy crossed out.
At the head of the table was Wilford, who was smiling at Dark, despite what happened earlier.
“Happy birthday, my dearest, darkest, darling-est, friend.” he said.
Dark went around the table to the head, where Wilford stepped back to let him look at the cake. Dark had no idea Wilford was capable of this.
“Wilford, it’s...” He tried. No words seemed to come.
“I know, Dark. But you seemed so down lately. I just wanted to cheer you up.” Wilford tells him softly. He gestures to the cake. “Make a wish.”
Dark steps up, looking at the candles. He takes a moment, two, then leans down, blowing out the candles. Small applause erupted from his side, and a camera click, as well. Camera Jim had the moment on film.
Wilford leans into his side, head on Dark’s shoulder. “So..What did you wish for, Darkest dearest?”
Dark smiles, a small one. “It wouldn’t come true if I told you, Wil.”
The pink man stuck his tongue out at him. “No fun!” Wilford returns Dark’s smile with a grin.
“Jim thinks we should cut into the Jim, already!” Reporter Jim butted in. Wilford rolled his eyes, turning away from Dark to go over to the Jims.
“Dark gets first slice!” Wilford announced to the Jims, leaving Dark and the Host at the head of the table.
“The Host is glad you chose to participate.” Host narrated with a smile. He patted Dark’s shoulder, which took a bit of feeling around.
“I couldn’t break his heart.” Dark sighed softly. “This...is all so nice.”
“Wilford planned it all for you.”
“I know.”
Host pats his shoulder once more, then leaves Dark’s side. They were all gathered around the other side of the room where a table of multiple presents were stacked. Dark looked a little stunned at the pile.
“He did this all for us?”
“I have never seen William bake a cake in my life.”
“William is still as sweet as ever.”
For once, Dark agrees with the Seer and the Mayor.
He leaves the cake to join the others at the gift pile.
The Entity is quiet.
Wilford and the others are happy.
Dark is happy.
the end
here we are! the end! thank you for joining me on this short imagining of mine. i haven’t written much so im glad mark inspired me enough to get writing again.
welcome back! i hope you’re enjoying the story so far. wilford and the gang are up to mischief. lord help them. also @arcady6011 you wanted me to tag you but its not working smh
you can find part one here
“Okay, everyone. It’s time to throw a party.”
With that, every ego filed out of the room until only the Jims, Bim, and Wilford were left sitting at the table. They still had to pick out a proper cake recipe, but they were just going back and forth on what flavors are good and why that flavor is like putting a wet sock in your mouth.
“I still think we should use our grandmother’s, Jim, recipe for Jim cake with Jim on top, Pink Jim.” Reporter Jim argued.
“Well, I for one believe we should go for my idea of a meat cake.” Bim replied.
Camera Jim turned to the gameshow host. “What’s the meat going to be? Pork?Chicken?”
Bim smiled, almost menacingly. “Jim.”
Wilford sighs, they were getting nowhere. He puts a hand between the Jims and Bim. “That’s enough out of both of you. Dark isn’t a cannibal,” he shot at Bim, “and I frankly have no idea what you’re talking about, Jim.”
“You’re idea of a bubblegum cake isn’t exactly any better, Wilford!” the suited man retorted.
“W-What are you talking about? I, for one, think it’s the most charming flavor-”
“That’s because you’re a bubblegum bitch-”
“Pink Jim, Suit Jim, we are getting nowhere with this!” Reporter Jim interrupted, huffing. Since when had he become the voice of reason here?
Before the two could tell Jim to shut his Jim hole, a notification ding came from Wilford’s phone. It was an email from Google. Attached to the email was a recipe for a two-layered black cake and a picture of what the cake is supposed to look like. Under the picture was a note:
- Wilford. I can see you arguing on the surveillance cameras. Please make this your primary objective and cease your bickering. Google.”
Wilford looks up at the camera in the far corner of the room, sticking his tongue out at it. It was childish, yes, but it made him feel better.
“Bim, get the flour and the eggs. Jim, clean up the kitchen. Warfie here is gonna bake the best cake ever. “
“The host thinks this is a very bad idea.” Host muttered, dragging along a heavy plastic bag of various party supplies such as several brightly colored party hats, a birthday card to be signed by all the egos, and about three bags of confetti.
“I c-c-concur.” Google replied, bored. He was swiping through the internet for decorating guides, a checklist in his other hand. They’ve gotten mostly everything, but they were still missing some items. That decorating shop had been lacking and Google and Host were sure the owner wouldn’t need it anymore.
“The host wonders how old Dark is. He asks Google for his calculations earlier.” Host narrated, curious. No one knew where Dark came from or when he really appeared in their lives.
“F-From my calculations, D-D-Dark should be 136 ye-years old, from my estimated d-date of birth, and t-the fact that he h-h-has two birthdays a year.” Google calculated, wondering out loud. The android heard Host’s footsteps fade and stop walking.
“..136 years old?” For once, the Host seemed completely caught off guard.
“D-Dark is not w-wholly human. T-T-The body he u-uses is being held together by s-some entity, or perhaps magic.” Google turned around, replying. He had looked into Dark when the being had come into their lives, leading the cyborg down a long rabbit hole of news reports from the 50′s about the mayor of a distant city seemingly disappearing out of nowhere.
“The host has sensed the same thing from Dark, yes.” Host narrated, sighing and picking the plastic bag up again. They had to get decorating already.
Dr. Iplier knocked on the door of Dark’s office, still nervous. The knocks rang out hollowly out into the empty hallway. The doctor waited a few minutes, then another few, until a deep “Come in.” rumbled from inside, startling him.
Dark sat at his desk, hands clasped in a polite manner. He gestured to the chair in front of him. Iplier had no intentions of refusing.
“My good doctor. What do you need?” Dark inquired, his aura gently redounding as a ringing noise filled the doctor’s ears. “Has Wilford murdered someone again?”
Dr. Iplier shakes his head.
“I-It’s, ah, not that, Dark. It’s, well, um-” Dr. Iplier sputtered.
“Speak.” came the impatient growl from Dark. The ringing noise greatly amplified, along with floorboard creaking. The doctor winced, then composes himself, taking a deep breath.
“I...just wanted to do your regular medical check up.” Dr. Iplier said meekly. At that, Dark’s aura softened considerably. “I’ve noticed your shell is cracking more than it should be. Is everything alright with...?”
“The Mayor and the Seer are fine. I am fine. Thank you for your concern, doctor, but I don’t need to be examined.” Dark stopped him with a hand.
“At least let me look.” Dr. Iplier pleaded. If he just left Dark here in his office, he might go wandering off to look for someone, then the whole party would be ruined! He had to bring their leader to his clinic to distract him.
Dark sighs, taking a few moments to reconsider. “Fine. One examination.” Dr.Iplier smiles in relief.
Wilford had chosen the absolutely wrong people to help him bake. These fools had no idea how to follow a recipe and were eyeballing measurements and ingredients. The mustached man had to stop Bim from kicking the Jims into the oven twice by now.
The kitchen was a horrible mess. There were eggs splattered and broken on the wall and flour covered about half of the room. It had only been an hour since they started, but they were only done with the cake batter.
To make matters worse, he got a call from Dr. Iplier. He wiped his flour covered hands on his pants, they were going in the wash, anyway, and picked up the phone.
“Yello?” He said.
“No, it’s Dr. Iplier. I’m bringing Dark to my clinic so I can-”
“Your clinic?! Do you realize which kitchen we’re in?!” Wilford interrupted, panicking. Every floor had its own kitchen, one for each of the egos. Dr. Iplier’s kitchen was the most clean out of all of them, so they had settled with that.
“You’re in my kitchen? Wilford, I swear to God, if you make a mess in there-”
Wilford ducks, narrowly missing an egg aimed at his head and seeing it splat on the wall. “Ah, well...good doctor, I think it’s a little late for that.”
A frustrated growl came from the man on the other line. “I’ll deal with that later. We’re already on your floor. Be as quiet as possible.” The line went dead, the doctor had hung up.
Wilford began to sweat.
Things were really, really not going according to plan.
Dark follows Dr. Iplier down the hallway, passing by several doors. It was true that his shell was cracking. Damien and Celine had been incessantly shouting at him about something, he just couldn’t remember what.
Before he could gather his thoughts, they heard a loud crash from one of the doors, and a few “FUCK”s and shushing. Dark turned to Dr. Iplier, who had covered his face with a hand, groaning.
Dark reached for the doorknob, intending to open it, until the door opened itself, and a messy Wilford came out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Dark stepped back in surprise, then narrowed his eyes at his pink partner.
