#wkmarkiplier

[takingcxntrol]

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Mark collapses to the ground, chest heaving, tears streaming and he fights not to break. By the time he can raise his head, heart broken, she’s long gone. The Author stands there, arms folded, smug, smirking.

Mark sneers at him, “That was not my wife.”

“No.” The Author chuckles gazing towards the exit through which she’d left, lips drawn into a cruel smile. “That was the alternate you dragged here from some other dimension with a crazy plan to force her to be with you. Except you forgot.” Stepping forward, arms dropping, the Author bends down and hisses at the mewling mess on the floor. “Your wife left you.”

Marks snatches at the Author’s collar, tugging harshly, dragging him down to Mark’s level as he all but spits in the man’s face. “My wife loved me!”

“Until she ran off.” He plucks Mark’s fingers from him, twisting them and dragging the bitch to his feet. There’s a moment between them, two angered souls glaring at each other, daring the other to make the first move, interrupted when the Author boots Mark in the stomach, and the ass just crumples to the floor, whimpering.

“I always thought you were better off without her, you know.” The Author admits. She and him had never really seen eye to eye. You put two large egos in a room like that, there’s going to be fireworks. But she’s for all intents and purposes dead, while he’s stronger than ever so he doesn’t hold any ill will for her. “She was a devilish woman. Very sly. And she grieved for all of about two seconds before turning your murder investigation to her benefit.”

Cowering on the floor, throbbing in pain, Mark cries. No! That’s not how it happened! She loved him! She loved him! When he is finally able to push himself up again, clutching his sore stomach beneath his aching heart, he spies the smug look on Julien’s stolen face.

“You knew.”

“That it wouldn’t work? Absolutely. Even if your wife hadn’t left you, she” he turns and gestures towards the door, “was always going to be an imperfect copy. The true soul of your wife resides in the creature that you declared your enemy, and I’ve yet to meet a being who would be strong enough to tear her free.”

“Lady Fate-”

“Would never help you.” Despite her work, Lady Fate has a tendency to love all creatures. She believes in the beauty of life even though all she sees is the dismal touch of death. It’s a part of her strength, I suppose. “Face it Mark, you’ve lost.”

Mark bows his head, and lets out a low growl. “I’m going to kill you!”

“Not without your Guardianship you won’t.”

“You-!”

There’s a satisfying smack and a sickening crunch as the Author kicks Mark’s face in. Blood pours from the now broken nose while Mark drops to the floor again.

“It’s weird.” the Author admits, nudging Mark with his foot, tilting his head and considering him carefully, “For years, all I’ve wanted is to see you dead. But seeing you like this….” The Author waits, but Mark doesn’t move. He just lays there, whimpering and crying and it sounds so good. “Letting you live, knowing what you now know about the woman you ‘love’, seems a far greater punishment.”

With that the Author turns and leaves, while Mark is left alone.

Again.

[altegos]

I found it guys

Do you see that shock and fear?

Do you see his despair?

Do you see how utterly devastated and small he looks in this moment?

He’s been sat there, in that seat, completely alone, no Mark, no Damien, no Celine, no Detective, no chef, no butler, nobody. Just him, with the person he killed. Ten hours. That’s where he’s been.

Probably his last reasonable reaction, seeing the dead body he’s been sat with stand up again. And his first instinct is to be afraid.

And then less than a second later:

Look at that delight. See that fearful joy. You’re not dead!

This is the actual moment his mind breaks, where his mind tries to reconcile the complete devastation he’s been stewing in all night with what’s he’s witnessing and comes out with the strangest notion. “I didn’t kill you.” “I wouldn’t kill you.” “You’re not dead.”

We’ve all seen that iconic screencap of William laughing but that’s him just diving into his broken mind and accepting it as truth, this is the moment when his thoughts snap. When he’s offered the chance that it’s all just a joke, and he chooses that over facing what has happened over the last couple days.

[okxygoogle]

Tag list: @undocumented-terriaki @ask-barkiplier-rp @supersepticsteph @penpaulkon6 @are-you-here-posts @markifucker-fischfuck @virge-of-death @anomalous-duck @risiskifi

Google grabs the back of Bing’s neck, smashing his face off the edge of the table, a loud crunch as the cyborg’s nose breaks, blood pouring down his face. Bing doesn’t have an off-switch, making the simplest option of turning him off simply not viable. Still, Google has worked on Bing enough times to know the boy’s weaknesses.

With Bing suitably distracted by the broken nose, it takes nothing to shove him up against the nearby wall. The droid wraps a hand around his throat, fingers locking in position around the cyborg’s windpipe, pulling him away before smashing him against the wall again. The life-support is hardy but if Google can smash Bing against the wall hard enough, it’ll be damaged enough that it will fail. No life support, the only thing keeping him alive will be his severely weakened respiratory system.

There are hands trying to tear his arms away from Bing, but they’re not strong enough to do anything but register on Google’s system. He was designed to be strong, to overpower any number of obstacles. All that matters is that he completes his objective.

“Okay, Google. You can stop.”

The objective is erased. Google blinks. Bing is unconscious, blood all over his face, only held aloft by the blue droid’s grip around his neck. King of the Squirrels has a tight hold of Google’s arm, trying to pry him off, while someone else has arms wrapped around the droid’s shoulders from behind.

Everybody is shouting and Google doesn’t know what to do. He just stops, allowing himself to be torn away from Bing who crumples to the floor. Dr Iplier rushes over to check him while King tries to get Bing to wake up. Is he dead? Did...did Google...?

“It’s not your fault.” says a voice at his shoulder as the Dr looks for a pulse. Silver. The hero is the one who has him by the shoulders. “We’ve got him. We’ve got you. It’s not your fault.”

Bim has a hold of Wilford, forcing him to point the gun at the floor. Everyone seems in varying states of distress but Google is barely paying attention. His attention is consumed entirely by what he’s done. 

There’s a ripple of magic and the facade of looking like Dark peels away leaving a stranger stood in his place. He still has the same face as all of them but there’s something strange about him, something more vibrant and surprisingly youthful, especially compared to how he looked a moment ago.

“The smarter ones among you will have figured out who I am by now.” There’s a smug satisfaction on his face as he sees the shock on Wilford’s face, the gun dropping from his fingers. 

Mark glances over all of them, addressing the group. “I know all your secrets. All of them. And I know just how to use them to-”

Two hands slam onto either side of Mark’s head, his eyes rolling up into his head, eyelids flickering. Natemare is stood behind him, dragging his mind into a crude, shoddy world of nightmares. It’s last minute, and wouldn’t fool nobody’s grandma but it‘ll hold him for now.

Everyone watches in shock as Mark crumples to the table, Mare scowls. “Jackass!”

[silverdxrk]

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Everyone is silent for a few moments as they all share confused glances and try to process what they’ve just witnessed.

“Hi ‘Mare.” Silver says in shock, giving a slight wave to the spirit before he points at Mark’s prone form. “How long is that going to hold?”

Mare steps back, shaking his head. “Probably not long.” Mark’s mind is strong and it didn’t go down without a fight. And that nightmare is the product of about five seconds and no knowledge of who this fucker is. “Two minutes if we’re lucky.”

The Host rises from his seat, clearly distressed, his usual composed form gone replaced by obvious panic and fear. “The Host suggests we get out of this building.”

“I know somewhere we can hole up.” Mare offers. “It’s not the nicest place but-”

Silver holds up a hand to stop him “If it’s not here, it’ll do. Google.” The droid is zoned out staring at Bing, and Silver frowns as he claps at him. “Google! On a time frame here! Where are the others?”

Google mumbles something about them being in the lab, and Silver slaps the droid, who yells turning to Silver as he holds his cheek. “Tell them we’re evacuating and to grab anything we might need to help Bing.” Google rubs at his cheek, his eyes flashing as he sends a message along the Googles’ private network.

Silver turns to Bim who’s still holding onto Wilford whose eyes are distant and staring at Mark. Clearly, the pink man is checked out mentally. Great. Just great. “Bim, you think you can get people to the hideout?”

“What about the others?” Since the building acquired new residents, namely Chase, Marvin and Anti, the Jims have given up their hovering post on the door. They’re out there but Silver has no intent on leaving them behind.

“I’ll find them. Meet you in the lab in ten minutes. Grab who you can and-”

Everyone screams as Mark shifts, clearly fighting against the visions in his head and trying to drag himself skyward.

“He’s waking up!” Mare warns.

“Out! Everybody out!” Silver shouts, pointing to the door.

Everyone rushes for the door, Bim dragging Wilford, Ed leaping over the table,  Google scooping up Bing and following Dr Iplier with King behind him. Silver waits for everyone to leave, before turning to Mare who’s still stood behind Mark.

“Tell Bim to start evacuating people. He may have to make more than one trip. I’ll grab the others and be at the lab soon. Give the Googles a chance to get what they need to help Bing but the priority is that we get out, understood?” Mare nods and disappears, and Silver rushes out the door.

It’s another minute or two before Mark finally stands up, tearing his eyes open, sweat pouring down his brow, breath heavy, mind panicked. He screams Phantom’s name to the ceiling and the deal maker steps from the shadows, clutching his cane close. Mark is mad. That never ends well.

“Stop at least one of them!” Mark gestures at the door. Phantom nods and is about to leave when Mark points at him. “Not Julien. Leave him to me.”

Phantom nods again, snapping his fingers and disappearing from the room.

[hesitxnthost]

Tag list: @undocumented-terriaki​ @ask-barkiplier-rp​ @supersepticsteph​ @penpaulkon6​ @are-you-here-posts​ @markifucker-fischfuck​ @virge-of-death​ @anomalous-duck​ @risiskifi​

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Everyone is in a panic in the lab, Bim having gone to the warehouse with Mare and Wilford so he knows where they’re going. The Googles are trying to grab everything they might need, their leader at a loss. Ed is pacing back and forth, ranting about how he knew something crazy was coming, though the Host highly doubts it. King of the Squirrels is missing, though the Host knows of his deal with Phantom. Dr Iplier is doing what he can for Bing who’s still unconscious, and the Host doesn’t see Bing waking before this is over.

All around him is nothing but mess; panic, fear, mania. Despite his best efforts to block it out, just to focus on the immediate, the Host cannot get his mind clear. Until the last minute he’s blind to the rising risk, the creep of power as it passes over his back. The aura, that power, Dark’s power, Mark’s power, the one that has haunted him over the years in his nightmares, in his visions, rises fromt he ground and latches onto him, curling tight around his arms and legs before dragging him down into a black void of endless nothing. He hears Ed calls his name but it’s too late.

The tendrils of power take a firm hold, wrapped tightly around his limbs as they lift him into the air, holding him aloft, no sensation but their sharp sting. Around him, the host can feel the pulsing presence of the aura, the almost-sentient creature that grants Mark his power, his immortality, his ruthless brutality. Somewhere in the midst of it all, almost swallowed whole, the Host senses the faint spark that he’d recognise anywhere as Mark’s soul.

“You had to know,” comes Mark’s voice, “that of all of them, I was never going to let you leave.”

“The Host is no longer your friend.”

“Again with the Host.” Mark’s soul moves through the darkness, disappointment pulsing from within it. “And why? Because you’re afraid? You were the Author!”

The Host strains against the hold on him, though it doesn’t budge, rage welling within him, wanting to rise up and lash out at the monster before him. “You. Took. My. Eyes.”

“To make you more powerful. And it worked!” Mark moves closer taking a firm hold of the Host’s jacket and pulling him closer. “Without the distraction of reality, I know you see further than you ever did before. You have greater control. I told you you could be powerful. You just had to trust me.”

“At what cost? The Host has seen into the heart of eternity and been burned by the darkness in the collective soul of humanity. He has seen infinite possibilities, infinite timelines, infinite wins, infinite losses. He has seen every outcome of your plans, every possible outcome, every thought, every decision. All of it, all at once. All because of what you did.”

Silence drags between them, and the Host feels it before Mark snorts in his face, lips drawing back into a smile. He loosens his hold and draws away trying to stifle his laughter. “Your descriptions haven’t gotten any less pretentious.”

The Host strains against the hold on him again as Mark continues to laugh. There is no escape from this. Mark isn’t here to reminisce. Despite being a moron he’s a cold, calculating man and the reason he hasn’t killed the Host is because he wants something.

“What do you want from the Host?”

Mark smiles, wiping a fake tear from his eye as he steps back. Once he’s suitably calmed he takes a breath and gives a gentle sigh. “I’m bringing her back.”

The Host drops his head. This again. If Mark wasn’t such an idiot, the Host might almost for sorry for him. He sympathises with the former actor, he really does but he doesn’t need to be psychic to know that this cannot end well. “She’s gone, Mark. You need to give up with this.”

Mark just raises a disapproving finger and wags it in the Host’s face. “No, no, no. I have found a way, and it will be just like before. But I need your power.”

The Host tries to break free one last time but when it fails, again, he forces as much anger and hatred as he can into his next words. “Fuck you.”

[justaphxntom]

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Phantom is on his hands and knees, shaking from the strain of trying to hold himself together. Mark is stood over him, his fingers are tightly gripped around the deal maker’s cane. 

“You don’t bring me a robot. You don’t bring me the magic users. You don’t even bring me your brother-in-fiction. No. You bring me the rodent monarch.” The globe begins to glow, an intense light building within it and Phantom shakes, fighting the urge to cry out as he tries to keep from breaking apart. “You aren’t worth the paper you were written on.”

Finally the light dies and Phantom gasps, his lungs finally able to take in air. And he tries, he tries to give the explanation he has prepared. About Bing being the emotional center of the group and King being a part of his emotional support. An integral part. Without King there, Bing’s recovery will falter and the others will struggle to regroup. He’s crucial to their next move! But the words are barely forming, stuttering and catching in his throat as he feels himself wavering.

Mark just rolls his eyes and raises the cane, the globe glowing again. This time Phantom can’t stop himself from screaming. His own power is being used to tear at him right at his core, ripping him apart until the pain snaps and Phantom collapses to the floor.

“P-please....stop....” he manages to plead.

Mark kneels down, his voice quiet and ominously calm as he talks to the quivering mess on the floor. “You’re lucky I need you specifically to achieve my goals. Or I would just have Julien erase you.”

Phantom shakes his head, giving a pained groan as he tries to shift away. He doesn’t want to be erased. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to be here but he has no choice. When he sees Mark raise the cane again he flinches and Mark laughs at him. 

“Pathetic.” he spits. Mark gestures up with the cane and Phantom is plucked from the ground, suspended a foot above the floor. The actor turns the cane in his hand, allowing the glass to catch the light and reflect the pain of its owner quite brilliantly.

“I’m going to hold on to this.” Mark states, pointing it at the deal maker. “Until such time that you prove yourself to me. Because lately Phantom,” Mark shakes his head disapprovingly and does a dramatic pout, “I’m not impressed.”

“You can’t-!” Phantom attempts to protest but is cut off as the cane is jabbed at him and his air suddenly cuts off.

“No boy, I think you’ll find that I can.”

Mark thrusts the cane at him, and Phantom is thrown through Mark’s black void, hurtling through it until it finally spits him out. The deal maker tumbles to the floor and he struggles to find the strength to push himself up. Slowly, he gets to his feet and his fingers instinctively clutch around nothing. Mark has taken his cane.

Shit.

[altegos]

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The room falls silent. No one can ever recall a time that Wilford has ever pointed a gun at Dark. Sure, once or twice Dark’s gotten stuck in the crossfire, but everyone’s at risk then. This....this is clearly personal.

After a moment, Ed speaks up, sitting forward.“I thought we weren’ allowed t’bring guns int’meetin’s any more.” A unanimous decision after Ed and Wilford’s many firefights. Too much risk, too much collateral damage.

“As if we can make Wilford do anything.” Silver comments from where he’s half-slumped against the table.

“Freakin’ double standard,” Ed grumbles, sitting back again.

BANG!

A shot rings out as Wilford fires into the ceiling, everyone’s hands flying to cover their ears at the sudden noise. With all their attention back to the problem at hand, Wilford aims between ‘Dark’s eyes again. “Where’s Dark?”

There’s a beat, everyone exchanging confused glances, a couple of them wondering if maybe Wilford’s lost his grip again, but he seems coherent. Everyone’s eyes come to rest on their leader, stood at the head of the table and more than one of them begins to question whether or not something more is going on here.

They watch as Dark’s typically stoic, stone-faced exterior shifts and melts into an unrecognisable smirk and air of self-assured cockiness. Several chairs push back from the table in nervousness. It’s not a look that suits Dark, and that’s probably the biggest indicator that this isn’t who it appears to be.

'Dark’ glances over them all, seeming to asses his options before inclining his head slightly. “He’s safe. For now.”

The hammer of Wilford’s gun clicks back as he cocks the weapon again. “You have two minutes to bring him here before I blow your brains out.”

The response is a dry laugh. “And you have twenty seconds to get that gun out of my face before I destroy your little family.” Unphased, the man at the head of the table pulls at the cuff of his suit jacket, giving a half-shrug. “All I need is four words. I suggest you don’t push me.”

“Wilford...?” Bim reaches for Wilford’s arm, gently trying to get him to lower it, but meeting a large amount of resistance. All of them have moved back from the table even further, not sure how to react to what’s unfolding before them. “Maybe you should put down the gun?”

Wilford has always been stubborn, ever since they were kids. His way, or no way. He’d rather go without than cave in, and after what happened all those years ago at the manor, it seems to only have gotten worse. Which is a shame, because Wilford is about to learn, that sometimes, being stubborn has dangerous consequences.

‘Dark’ tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Okay, Google.

Google’s eyes flash, and his body locks up as he awaits instruction. Bing’s eyes go wide in panic and he leaps to his feet as he shouts.

“WILFORD PUT THE GUN DOWN!! PUT IT DOWN!! PUT IT DOWN NOW!!” He doesn’t know what this imposter is about to say, but whatever it is, Google won’t have any choice but to do it and like heck is he going to let this stranger take control of his brother.

The sudden loud voice after such calm and quiet talking makes everyone jump. They all turn to look at Bing in confusion, meaning only Bing and Wilford see the satisfied smile on ‘Dark’s lips as he says the final two words.

 “Kill Bing.”

[wkmarkiplier]

Tag list:  @undocumented-terriaki ​ @ask-barkiplier-rp ​ @superseptictrash ​ @penpaulkon6 ​ @are-you-here-posts ​ @markifucker-fischfuck ​ @virge-of-death​ @anomalous-duck @risiskifi ​ @squishy-anon ​ @margarita-is-the-answer ​ @kick-the-aj @hemooryctolagus @my-analogical-romance

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Mark is laid on the floor, blank and unmoving like a sack of potatoes. He is empty. Completely devoid of any hope. He could almost feel her hand in his but it’s gone. Without Julien’s power, without Phantom’s allegiance, he has no chance of ever getting her back.

It’s over.

His chest spasms as a swift kick connects with his back and Mark coughs in reflex. He doesn’t move. The pain doesn’t matter. It’s nothing in comparison to what he feels inside.

“Get up, you pathetic sock puppet.” It sounds like that cyborg, which means it’s Author. Probably here to gloat, as he always has. To rub his victory, to rub his new found independence in to Mark’s far prettier face. I suppose there are some things that never change.

“Leave me alone to die in peace.” Mark grumbles.

“Always with the freaking melodrama.” There’s another kick, harsher this time, and Mark yelps. That was a little harder to ignore. “Get. Up.”

Mark doesn’t move, staying in place, unmoving, self-pitying, resigned to the loss and isolation that settles deep within his soul. With a roll of his eyes, Author kneels down beside the actor, harshly grabbing at Mark’s hair and pulling the pitiful worm off the floor, turning him and  forcing him to finally make eye contact.

“I am trying very hard to be nice, and not shred what’s left of your miserable soul into a million pieces.”

Forced to look up at the Author, Mark can’t help the shiver that rolls down his spine. A thousand memories of the ‘good ol’ days’ when Author would frequently beat the crap out of the people who would stand in their way flit across Mark’s memories. A mixture of fear and nostalgia laces each one because as fun as it was, Mark always knew he was one wrong move from winding up on the chopping block.

“Now. Get. Up. We have work to do.”

Phantom, to this point hanging back in the shadows, steps forward, concern on his face his mouth opening to protest, but before a word even breaks out, Author’s raises his left hand, making a hushing gesture and forcing his character to be silent.

“Not now.” he barely turns as he warns Phantom to butt out.

Mark glares, lips curling into a sneer,. “Start making sense, you pretentious dickweed.”

“If you want her back, you need me. And yet you never once thought to just ask for my help.”

Mark scowls. It’s not like he hadn’t wanted to but Julien had quickly gone underground, hiding among those traitors, using them, using his own powers to hide himself away where Mark would never be able to touch him. Or so the Host had thought.

“You weren’t exactly across the dorm.”

“….Technically true. But I’m better than that old fart.” Mark snorts. These juvenile insults are starting to get a little bit hilarious.

The Author scowls, grabbing Mark as roughly as he can manage and dragging the actor to his feet. “All of the power, none of the fear. Not what the mouse intended, but I’m sure you’ll agree, better for everyone involved.”

Mark reaches up to rub tiredly at his eyes. Julien has always had to be a pompous ass when it came to talking. Why say one word clear as day when you can say fifty and use an unclear metaphor at the same time?

“Are you saying you’ll help me get her back?”

“Give me 48 hours, and it’ll be like she was never away from your side.”

That soon? Two days? The weight of failure lifts from Mark’s shoulder and he takes a firm grip of the Author’s arms.

“Yes.” He  cries eagerly, giving the Author a firm shake in excitement. “Yes!” He stops after a moment, tilting his head slightly as he stares at the Author. “Julien, I can’t take you seriously in those glasses.”

Reaching up, the Author pulls the bright orange sunglasses from his face. He’s not a big fan of them, it’s just not occurred to him that he has no reason to wear them. Everybody knows that Bing’s gone. No need to pretend any more. It takes just a simple twist and they snap in half, one in each of his hands before they tumble to the floor. As he runs his hand through Bing’s unkempt hair, the Author smirks.

It feels good to be free.