I learned that this account means a lot to me looking back on it, and it makes me happy to see that a few of you have truly stuck around.
When I started all this I never even imagined I would form bonds with the people who read these silly little fan stories. I never imagined people would take me seriously, or would even look at my page.
When I started this I had nothing. No friends, no hobbies, no outlet. Heck, I was convinced that the world was a simulation for a good long while. This was my escape. Mark and Jack were my escape.
I’m not saying they aren’t to this day, but I’ve taken a step back from the community and what it’s becoming. It saddens me that both of them have evolved to beautiful heights without me, but the world moves on when one remains stagnant for long enough.
I’ve experienced a lot in the past year. Honestly 2018 has really sucked. But I’m moving forward, and I hope a few of you will come with me.
I’m not deleting this account. It’s not going anywhere. I might put some stuff on Wattpad if I get motivated enough, but other than that my stories will always be here for you to enjoy.
My platform has shifted to where those who motivate me present themselves. I’m starting to do YouTube stuff. I’m not going to commit to any sort of schedule right now, because my availability is about to drastically decrease, but you’ll get something new from time to time.
I even did one of those “animation meme” things, which you can find here. It’s got my avatar in it this time around, considering I’m actually going to make this channel my own. When I first tested the waters it was definitely a fan channel, but moving forward I realized I need to make a place for me, and for anyone like me. You don’t have to fit a niche to be welcomed here, and you don’t have to like anything specific to enjoy your stay. I’m just putting content out into the void in hopes that someone enjoys it.
Imagine if you will, Jack's egos trying to find Anti a date who doesn't run screaming when his neck starts bleeding all over, and Anti's progressively more and more exasperated responses
((Trying something new. Hope you enjoy!))
Chase tugged on Anti’s wrist as they sped down the sidewalk.
“Could you please explain what’s about to happen?” Anti begged.
Anti had become very submissive about the others recently. They weren’t really bothering him, so he didn’t have any reason to bother them.
Until today. Chase was giving him every reason to–
“For the last time, I’ll tell you when we get there!”
They continued to run along the busy streets of Brighton. Anti could tell it was Brighton because of the lack of sunlight and the smell of the ocean nearby.
They stopped in front of a small coffee shop.
“We’re here!”
Anti looked up at the little shop. It was surrounded by shops and stores looking much more extravagant and full. It looked… dinky.
“And why are we here?”
Chase twiddled his thumbs and bit his lip for a moment before finally telling him.
“Isetupablinddate.” He squeaked without pauses.
“You what?!” Anti’s face scrunched up with a combination of embarrassment and anger. “Oh you’re so dead Brody!”
“Well…” Chase backed away slowly, “I wasn’t the only one.”
Out of nowhere, Henrik and Marvin came charging. Both of them pinned Anti down. Henrik handed Chase a bandage.
As Anti thrashed and tried to glitch away, Chase wrapped the bandage around his neck with a disturbing speed.
And all at once Anti was pushed into the coffee shop and left all alone. Well, he wasn’t really alone. There was a girl sitting near the window, who he had not seen beforehand. He hoped she didn’t see the previous events transpire.
She looked up at him from the book she was reading. She gave a small smile.
Shit.
He inched towards her. She stood.
“Hello!” She grinned. “Are you Jack?”
Anti gulped.
“Er–yup! That’s me!” He reached out to shake her hand. She accepted.
They sat down.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, the barista called out from behind the counter.
“Would ya’ like an’ thing, sir?”
“Oh, yes I’ll take a small black coffee.”
“Would ya’ like an’ thing with that, sir?”
“Lots of sugar, please.”
A few moments later, she came out from behind the counter with a steaming cup in her hands.
Anti gave a small nod. His face stayed blank.
“Sugar, huh?” The girl sitting across from him asked. He had almost forgot he was there.
“Oh–um, yes.”
Without thinking, Anti scratched his bandage. His neck wound was becoming itchy.
“I’m more of a cream kind of girl myself,” She smiled, “But I can take a bit of sugar now and th–” Uh-oh.
Anti’s hand was covered in blood.
She saw. She saw the blood that had seeped through the bandages.
She dropped the coffee she was holding in her hands. It was scalding, and it splattered all over the table.
Anti’s form stuttered a bit as the blazing coffee made contact with his skin.
She got up and ran from the table, tumbling over her own feet as she flung the door open.
It was okay. Anti wasn’t interested.
He stood up, placed some money on the table, and left in the opposite direction.
The others were constantly asking what happened. Weeks had passed, and they still hadn’t gotten any information out of Anti.
One day while Sean and Signe were out in town, Anti decided to prowl around the kitchen. He wanted some sweets.
As he passed Signe and Sean’s room, he heard whispers.
“This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever come up with.”
“No! I swear it’ll work!”
“Henrik wouldn’t approve. Neither would Jackie.”
Considering all of their voices were very similar, Anti was having a hard time telling the difference between Marvin and Chase’s voices.
“I don’t care. He deserves to be happy. You see the way he looks at Signe…”
Anti would have blushed. Instead his body decided to warp and flicker. He kept listening.
“Grrr… Fine. Just please, don’t get you or her hurt.”
“Got it.”
Anti heard one of them enter the Void.
“What are you planning?”
A few days passed. Anti had not been approached by any of the others, but he did go out of his way to make sure Signe was okay every so often. She seemed fine. If anything, she seemed better.
That was, until Anti was once again dragged to the small coffee shop on the busy street. He barely argued.
“Is this some kind of joke?” He asked Chase.
“No. I–” Chase paused, “I think you’ll like this one. Really.”
Anti’s eyes moved towards his neck. No one could like him with that.
Chase offered a bandage again, and for some strange reason Anti accepted it. He wrapped it around his own neck multiple times, ensuring that nothing would bleed through.
Anti stepped in the shop at his own accord.
Someone familiar was sitting in the corner. But at the same time, she looked like a completely different person.
Chase stepped through with Anti. They walked towards the woman.
“What the–?!” Anti became extremely flustered.
It was Signe.
But it wasn’t.
“How–?!”
“Anti,” Chase stepped forward. “Meet Antii. As in Antiishu.”
Antiishu had brown hair that made her look cold. She was wearing a very pretty shade of red lipstick, along with a shirt that matched exactly. Her eyes were green, and they looked like ice. They hypnotized him instantly. The pupil was also coated in the icy green, and the whites of her eyes were black.
She gave him a smile. She had fangs.
And he was head over heels for her.
“Shall I leave you two alone?” Chase asked with a grin.
“Get out, Brody.” Anti said blankly, his eyes still fixed upon her’s.
Chase stepped out.
“So,” She smiled. It seemed wicked. “You’re that idiot’s other?”
She was referring to Sean.
Anti gave a nod.
“I don’t understand how someone could be so head over heels for him,” Antii insisted. Anti was let down a bit. Did this mean she wouldn’t like him? “Because she is.”“I guess it’s a good thing,” She sighed.
“What?”
“That you and him are opposites.”
“Why would that be?”
“Because I hate him so much if I had the opportunity he would be dead instantly.”
Anti’s heart fluttered.
“I suppose we agree on something,” Anti’s smile grew wider.
“I mean,” Antiishu leaned into him. “There are certain things about him I don’t hate,”
((Since Mark confirmed that the Host is not returning to any of his videos, I’ve decided to release my interpretation as to how the Host transitioned from the Host to the Author. Enjoy.))
((Oh, and uh… tad bit of a gore warning.))
The Author paced around his tiny jail cell with a desperate need to create. From the outside his mind appeared to be as empty and bland as the cell he was kept in. Grey. The concrete floor and walls were ridden with all sorts of stains and residue from who knows what. The bed was covered in a bland white comforter. At least, it was supposed to be white, but with the reeking yellow and grey streaks scattered along the sheets no one could call it anything but the color of hopelessness.
What they don’t see, however; is the gears turning and shifting. That bland wall is the Author’s next canvas, just waiting to be scrawled upon. Those sheets were the spot at which he drifted away into slumber, plotting how he was supposed to escape from this horrid place.
The Author had been arrested and taken into custody the same day they discover he abducted Ryan. Someone had anonymously contacted the police, and he was nearly left on a silver platter.
He had not been granted any writing utensils, nor any paper. After proving his psychotic ramblings about being able to bring writing to life the prison spontaneously transferred him into a mental institution. Little did they know it was not under their own accord that they did so. Nor was it under their own circumstances that they forgot about the incident. All they remembered is that he shall not write, no matter what the reasoning.
He had made plenty of attempts to rid them of this notion, but he had not been able to get his hands on something to write with.
“I’d like to write a letter,” he’d say, “I’m an avid artist,” he’d tell them, “I need to express myself.”
He had given them everything.
“Excuse me,” His eyes rolled as he leaned against his metal door. He peered through the iron bars near the top.
One of the guards rounded the corner.
“I need to use the restroom,” The Author told him. This was no lie. He did in fact need to relieve himself.
The guard opened the door and let him into the single stalled bathroom. The Author closed the door on him.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His hair had been growing out for a few months, and his facial hair had become scruffy. He rubbed his chin.
His white sweatpants and thin white t-shirt almost enabled you to see through him. Not through the clothes, but through his skin and into his soul. Right above his chest read “John Doe” in bold letters. Half of the people there had the same name tag.
He used the toilet then stared in the mirror for what felt like forever. His reflection seemed to darken. His skin looked like it was turning grey.
He began to walk out of the bathroom, but stopped as he realized that his reflection was not following him out. It stood with a straight face.
The Author waved his hand. The reflection made a lackluster attempt at mimicking him.
“Hello?” The Author said feebly.
“Hello,” The reflection said back.
The Author gasped. Was he truly loosing his mind after all?
“What is your name?” The reflection asked.
The Author waited a moment.
“John Doe.” He said as he pointed to the name tag.
“No. I asked for your name.” The reflection glared. “If we’re going to work as a unit I suggest you start obeying me truthfully,”
“Now hold on just a minute–”
“I’d rather not waste time. I can only keep it still for so long.” The reflection glanced towards the door, where the guard seemed to have gone oddly quiet.
The Author stayed silent.
“I understand you. We understand each other,” His voice became deeper, almost more hypnotic. “We’ve both been guided by forces that promise everything. A happy life. Wealth. Success.”
“Fame.” The Author added.
“Yes. Well, you see, those forces abandoned us. With me it left the scars of a few damaged minds. But for you it left something a bit more… powerful. Potent.” The Author was lured in by his words. “With you it left a gift. You see, I was also given a gift, but yours appears to be more… controllable.”
The Author nodded slowly, seemingly oblivious that the reflection’s gift was being used at this very moment.
“We need to take complete control. We need to take it from the man who took it from the both of us.”
The Author nodded. He happily obeyed the other words that came out of the mouth of his reflection, but he had one question.
“What was the force? The power? What gave us our… gifts?” The Author had always wondered. He assumed that this was the time to ask.
“That engrossing power happened to use both of us. It abused us. It dragged us in thinking that the best way was down. It played and directed us as if we were performers. I suppose the power is that of the Hou–”
“The Host?!” The Author perked up, almost completely out of his trance.
“The what?”
“The Host! When ancient Greek stories and myths were told by Bards they performed for the Host! He was typically holding them against their will and making them give a satisfactory performance. If they didn’t uphold, they would be disposed of.” The Author seemed to be reveling in his discovery. “Yes, yes! We were the Bards! We created our own performance and it disposed of us when it was done!”
The reflection slowly nodded. His pupils were dilated.
Let’s let him think that.
“Yes. You are correct. Now, in order to restore ourselves you need to retrieve something for me.”
“Yes! Anything!”
“It would likely be where they keep possessions… yes, yes I need you to go where they keep your things when you enter. There’s something that I need you to bring to me. You’ll know what it is. Get it and come back here in exactly one week’s time. I will help you get there. Be quick.”
The reflection disappeared, and the Author was left with something to look forward to.
A few of the doctors began to question him about why his eyes had turned a strange blend of purple, blue, and red. John Doe just answered that it was probably the lights.
One mysterious day he discovered three things hidden under his pillow. A scalpel, a journal, and a pen. He wanted to save the pen. He wouldn’t want to run out of ink when he needed it. Or paper.
He wandered the halls with a goofy grin on his face, waiting for the right day. It was all he could think about. He had no idea what he was supposed to find.
A week had finally passed, and he yet again asked the guard if he could use the restroom.
As the door opened, the guard froze in place. Everything seemed to stand in black and white. Nothing moved.
Similarly to the way floating feels, The Author was watching his body travel below him. It knew just where to walk. He knew just where to walk. As he passed guards and security officers they all seemed to be frozen, all without any color on them.
He walked into a large room with a lot of shelves, and felt a warm presence lure him. He followed it to a box with a small crystal ball that showed him all of the pretty colors. He scooped it up and walked back out the door and to the bathroom.
As he looked at his reflection, he noticed it was like a sick joke. It provided the illusion that he was moving his arms and legs, but he really wasn’t. His purple eyes revealed that he was being controlled.
With a large breathe of air he returned to his almost normal self.
“Alright,” he said, “Now what is this thing?”
“That?” said his reflection, “That is my–I mean a friend’s crystal ball. It was stolen from her. She thought that the thief ended up in here at some point, and that she would have had it on her.”
“Alright,” The Author rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s go to the Host!”
“Oh. That.” The reflection said as it reached out of the mirror and took the crystal ball. “Here’s the thing… We have both been effected by the Host. The only problem is that it’s been in different ways.”
“Well, how do you mean?” The Author asked nervously. He was starting to feel reluctant about all of this.
“You see, in the scenario I was placed in I was the Bard and the Host was a separate entity.” The reflection took a breathe in. “And well, that’s different for you.”
“What’re you–?”
“Don’t you get it? You were the Host. You were the Host and you forced that poor boy to be your Bard. I don’t think we can exactly relate on that level,”
“B-but you said that–there was a man who took everything from us! And that we needed to get him!” The Author stammered.
“Hm. Perhaps one day you will understand the many reasons to go after this man. But not yet. Now, all that you need to know is that you are the one who took your life away. No one else is to blame for that.”
“GAH! Stop that!” The Author covered his eyes. He slammed his back against the wall.
“Oh? You like my little gift?” Dark played on, “While you got the power to control one kid, I got the power to control everyone.”
“I-I can control people too!” The Author panted.
“Only if you have your lousy pen and paper on hand. You’re welcome for that, by the way. You wouldn’t last long without it.”
“Maybe if I can’t see him, the whispers will go away…”
“I’m sorry,” Dark purred, “Is this bothering you?”
The Author began wildly screaming and thrashing as he raced out of the room, hearing nothing but ringing and a deep laughter. It seemed to follow him to his cell.
The Author trembled as he yanked his pen and notebook out from under his pillow. Then he remembered to grab the scalpel.
“You were so blind,” Dark said as he stepped through the cell door, dressed in a suit and tie. “You couldn’t even see how gruesome you made the world around you!” His voice seemed to grow louder. It was everywhere. It was everything.
The Author clicked his pen, and as it made contact with the paper it was snapped in two by his uncontrollable hands. He tore the notebook apart out of frustration.
“You couldn’t even see past my little ruse,”
With only a moment to think, the Author knew what he must do.
“THE REFLECTION VANISHES AND SO DOES EVERY PART OF CONTROL IT BROUGHT WITH IT!” The Author screamed.
When he opened his eyes, Dark was gone.
He sat, sobbing into his lap.
He knew what he had to do.
He pulled the scalpel out of his pocket.
“Then the Host punished the Bard by turning him into him.” He eyed down the scalpel. “The Host punished him by preventing him from truly seeing. He couldn’t see clearly before. w h y l e t h i m s e e n o w ?” He said as his shaky hand neared his left eye.
The last thing either of his eyes saw was the blade digging, scooping, and scraping into them.
His hands, now covered in blood, slid and etched along the walls. They wrote only four words.
Hi!! I was the one about darkstache, and I am so sorry about your abusive relationship, NO ONE should have to go through that. Well, how about this: Wilford's birthday. Dark pretty much forces everyone at gunpoint (even the Septic Egos if you want to) to help make a pink cake. Needless to say, stuff happens. NOT DARKSTACHE, JUST A BRO MAKING A CAKE FOR ANOTHER BR- well, okay, that does sound like darkstache... just as friend doing something nice for another friend.
((Oh my goodness you’re fine! Don’t worry! I was going to have to address it at some point or other anyway.
I have actually just fallen in love with your idea! Here we go!))
“You want me to what?” Anti stared at Dark with disbelief.
“I said, get in the van.” Dark growled. His gun aimed at Anti’s forehead without hesitation. It motioned for him to get in.
“Why on fuckin’ earth would I get into that?!” Anti’s hand pointed accusingly towards the white van.
It’s interior decorating was very odd. There appeared to be a TV supported by bungee cables that was sitting on top of a mini fridge, a strange amount of both Christmas and Halloween decorations hanging on the walls, and an arsenal of dog toys sprawled about on the floor.
“No time. Now if you value the pitiful existence you call a life, I suggest you step into the van.” Dark’s eyebrows leered.
Anti grumbled as he peeked into the van, only to see that there were four other people sitting oddly close to one another on the bed (or was it a couch?).
The last thing Anti heard was the word “Surprise,” uttered from behind him as his face was shoved into darkness.
He woke up what felt like only a few moments later only to see that the four people he caught a glimpse of earlier were Chase, Henrik, Marvin, and Jackie.
They were all bound with rope, their mouths shut with duct-tape.
Anti smiled.
They looked terrified.
Anti glitched to the passenger seat, next to where Dark was nonchalantly steering the large white van.
“So…” Anti glanced to their captives, “Where’r we goin’?”
Dark stayed silent.
Anti knew how to break him.
“Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”
Dark held his hand up.
“I almost forgot,” He waved his hand and suddenly Anti was thrusted back onto the sofa bed, bound by rope, and mouth taped shut.
The only thing they heard was muttering.
“Did I get enough? I had to have, how much could they need? They’re not animals!”
They gave each other nervous glances.
“And why is inter-demensional traffic so bad lately! Can’t a man ride past dimension 37 without construction?!”
Henrik’s eyebrows rose with curiosity.
“I’m speeding. I have to speed. We’re not gonna make it in time, and it may cost me a ticket from the dimensional rift warrens, but we are going to be there, and we are going to be there on time!”
After what felt like hours, they finally arrived.
With tons of influence within his voice, Dark encouraged them to step into the office building and upstairs.
He continued his nervous muttering as the tied up gang walked up the stairs swaying, almost like they had been put under a spell. Their eyes were clouded with a light purple color. They fluctuated from purple, to red, to blue.
They entered the office, where they were greeted with a very similar looking scene.
Ed Edgar was taking a cake out of the oven, while Google Blue was preparing to frost it with bright pink icing. The Googles and the Host seemed to be the only ones who had control over their bodies. Google Red and the Host were preparing streamers, all twisting in their hands and popping pink. Google Yellow and Green seemed to be putting up a banner that in bubbly pink handwriting read “Happy Birthday!” Silver and Bim were organizing the presents into an aesthetically pleasing pile, being guided by Dark’s corrections. Dr. Iplier was putting out the snacks, which included about every existing food that had pink sprinkles. The King of the Squirrels was also there.
Mark and Amy shortly followed Dark and the Septic-egos in, Mark wringing his hands and Amy staring at the room in awe.
“This isn’t a good idea.” Mark said nervously.
“Oh come on, that’s just because you tried to kill him.” Amy argued. She walked past the Septic-egos and over to Dark.
“Nice work. Couldn’t have done it better…” She said as Dark tried to scoot away from her. She grabbed his shoulder. He hissed and writhed as though he had been burned. “Remember our deal?” She asked. Dark gave an irritated nod. “Then let them go.”
“Ugh. Fine.” Dark rolled his eyes, and with a snap of his fingers everyone regained their consciousness. Then almost every single one of them (including Mark) dashed for the door.
Dark swung it shut.
“No! You are all going to endure this!” He growled, “For him!”
Most of Mark’s egos gave each other nervous glances. Then they returned and sat around the table. Jack’s egos followed, not understanding what he was talking about but being too afraid to question.
Amy motioned for everyone to hide, and she turned the lights off.
Everyone hid in the dark, all waiting for what was to come.
All you could hear were slight whispers like “Ouch! That was my foot!” and “No! Why couldn’t you have gone to the other side?” and “Jim! Move! You too, Jim!”
They all silenced with the sound of approaching footsteps.
Amy ran away from the light switch to hide.
The door opened.
“Hey Google do you know where I put my–?”
“SURPRISE!”
Wilford reached for the gun in his pocket out of instinct, only to bring it back empty handed.
“What the–?!”
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WIL!” They all cheered.
Wilford stood in the doorway, awestruck. His mouth was agape.
“Wh-what do you think?” Bim asked nervously.
Something began to drip down Wilford’s cheeks. He was leaking.
“I love it.” He wiped the drips way. “Now, let them eat cake!”
The odd tension that sat in the air moments before was suddenly gone as everyone bonded over food and cake. At some point Ed asked Marvin to pull some vodka out of a hat, and as that happened more and more alcohol seemed to make it’s way into the room.
Mark obviously refused. Dark hadn’t had alcohol for a very long time, and he still intended on steering clear. That was, until Will offered him a small glass of wine.
“I can’t resist,” Dark said with a very distant smile. He took the glass. He took no sips.
Wilford went to open his presents.
The boxes were filled with candy, funny hats, and clothes. The one thing that stood out was when Will pulled out a small pin that looked like a circle with wings on it..
He looked around in the crowd to give thanks, but he realized the package had no card.
Everyone responded with a shrug as he wandered around the crowd.
Later in the night, after cleaning up, Wilford found a small piece of white paper left on his bedside counter. In crisp cursive were the words
“For Wil,From Celine and Damien”
Wil put the pin under his pillow and fell fast asleep.
Hmm... Probably should have mentioned this earlier, but I’m not super into shipping the egos, or shipping in general with this fanbase. I 100% understand the appeal and I don’t mean to offend you or anything!! Please feel free to like what you want to like within this community, and don’t let me stop you! Trust me there are many other writers who would love to write this stuff! (And I’m sorry to say I don’t do the best with writing relationships because i am a single-pringle who’s only been in one extremely mentally abusive relationship :P)
Hey guys. It’s been a while, but I need to start writing again. If you have any requests, send them my way through my inbox and I’ll see what I can turn it into!
(Been working on this one for a while, so it’s a bit longer. Happy holidays!)
Sean and Signe put up the last stocking.
Then they stood and basked in their glory.
Their tree was luscious and well decorated, despite it being plastic. The decorations popped and sparkled with the Christmas lights.
“It looks amazing,” Sean gaped. Signe was very good with color coordination. The entire house was sparkling with red, green, and gold.
“It’s our first Christmas in the house,” Signe nuzzled into Sean’s arm. “I had to make it beautiful.”
“Well, you did an amazing job, Woosher.”
“Thanks coffee bean.”
They stood for a moment, admiring the coziness.
Signe let out a sudden gasp.
“What time is it?!”
“It’s about--” Sean looked at the clock. His eyes popped open. “Shit! We’re gonna be late!”
In a mad frenzy they gathered their things.
“Do you have the presents?” Sean called down the stairs.
“Yeah! It’s upstairs in the closet!”
“Why’s it in the closet?”
“I was scared Sam would open them! They were snoopin’!”
Sean did his best to carry as many of the presents as he could.
“There are only a few left,” He told Signe as she headed upstairs to get the second armful.
She came down the stairs with her arms full of gifts.
“Did you get the sweaters?”
“No, my arms are too full.” Signe set the gifts down and went to get the “Santa Bag” as Sean called it. It was pretty much just a pretty looking red back that was big enough to carry all of their presents.
Sean raced to get their ugly Christmas sweaters.
He sifted through the closet until he found them on their hooks.
They were both essentially the same sweater, except one of them said “Mommy Claus“ and the other said “Daddy Claus.”
Sean slipped on the Mommy Claus sweater as planned.
As Signe finished putting all of the gifts in the bag, Sean tossed the Daddy Clause sweater at her.
“Ready?”
“Yup!”
Sean’s egos had been hard at work with decorations.
Marvin was putting tinsel in every location he was physically able.
Henrik and Chase were preparing dinner.
Sam, Jacque, and Robbie were decorating the tree.
And Jackieboyman was trying to figure out how vinyls work.
“Robbie, move it a smidge to the left.”
Robbie moved the ornament he had just placed, and stared at Jacque with a “are you proud of me mom?” face.
“No. My left.”
Jack and Signe rang the doorbell.
“I got it!” Sam called out. They got up and raced to the door.
Sam swung it open to see Sean and Signe in Elf hats, carrying a bag bigger than Sam.
“Signe!” Sam gave Signe a big hug. Sean rolled his eyes with a laugh. “I guess you’re cool too,” Sam laughed at Sean.
Sean scooped them into a hug.
“How’s your first Christmas been, kiddo?”
“Super fun!”
Out of nowhere Marvin sprints through the living room.
He stands in front of the door and blows a handful of fake snow into Sean and Signe’s faces.
“Merry Christmas!” He squealed. He darted off to toss some snow on Jacque, who angrily shook his fists at the teleporting magician.
“Signe! Sean!” Chase greeted, “Glad you could both make it!”
He pulled them into a hug. Over Chase’s shoulder, he could barely spot Henrik and Grayson carving a steaming turkey.
“I would give you both a hug but I am a mess right now,” Henrik laughed.
“Need any help?” Signe offered.
“Oh thank you, but we are just about done. You can go help with the tree! I’m sure they’d love your help.” Henrik smiled as he carved.
Signe brought the massive bag of presents to the tree, which was already beyond full of gifts.
“Are those for us?” Sam asked excitedly.
“Yup! Wanna help me put them under the tree?”
Sam nodded eagerly.
Sean finally realized how much Jackie was struggling.
“Need some help?”
“Augh! You scared me,” Jackie gasped. He looked down at the floor and twiddled his thumbs. “Y-yes please...”
Sean put the vinyl Jackie was struggling with onto the record player. It began spinning to the tune of Christmassy tunes.
“Y’know it’s okay to ask for help,” Sean told Jackie, “Even if you think it’s not.”
Jackie nodded.
“Jackie!” Henrik called out, “Your biscuits are about to burn!”
“Shoot!” Jackie ran off. Then he stopped. “Thanks. Sean.“
Sean gave a smile and a nod.
A little while later everyone gathered around the Christmas tree.
“Go ahead, Sam.” Chase smiled.
Robbie lifted Sam up, just so they were tall enough to reach the top of the tree.
Sam stuck the star on top.
There was applause.
“Let’s eat!”
Dinner was fantastic.
Everyone was taking time to enjoy themselves, and to be happy about where they were.
They all laughed and told stories together.
Chase had originally come up with the idea to wear Christmas sweaters.
Chase’s had a shark tangled up in Christmas lights on it.
Henrik’s had a reindeer.
Sam’s was the Jacksepticeye sweater.
Jackie’s had Deadpool’s face on it with a Christmas hat.
Marvin’s had a star.
Grayson’s had a Christmas tree.
Jacque’s had Christmas lights that actually lit up.
Robbie had a really adorable snowman.
They all looked like a family.
After they finished dessert, Sam became jumpy to open presents.
“Okay, okay!” Chase finally gave in. “Let’s get into those presents!”
Sam tore through wrapping paper and ribbons.
“Whoa!” Sam pulled out a pair of Spider-Man web shooters. “Thanks guys!” They hugged Signe and Sean.
Sam got the Spider-Man gloves, an authentic doctor teddy bear surgery kit from Henrik, a B-B gun from Chase, a magician’s starter kit from Marvin, a gardening set from Grayson, a pack of easels and paint from Jacque, and posable zombie figurine from Robbie.
“Thank you all so much!” They smiled.
Everyone looked at Jackie. He hadn’t put anything for Sam under the tree.
Jackie was standing with his arms behind his back.
“I--um... forgot to wrap it,” He said nervously. None of them had seen Jackie so nervous before.
“That’s okay,” Sam chuckled.
Jackie hesitantly pulled out what he had for Sam. It was a large green and blue cape. It had a septiceye in the center, and blue lettering said “Septiceye Sam.”
“I made it,” Jackie smiled, “Because I know how much you like superheroes, I wanted to show you that you’re one too.”
Sam squealed. They tossed it over their shoulders.
It was a perfect fit.
Everyone had gotten a present for Sam, but they also did a secret Santa for one another.
They all went searching for their gifts.
Sean tore his open first.
“Whoa!” He grinned as he turned around the lamp. It was a lamp with tiny cut out star designs and a lightbulb inside.
Signe opened hers next. It was a tiny cactus with a pink flower resting on top.
“Thank you!” She said as she admired it’s tiny pot.
Chase was next.
His present was a t-shirt that said “Bro Hard or Bro Home.”
“I think I’m in love...”
Henrik opened up a collected set of Neal Shusterman’s Unwind,
“You know I have a mind for dystopia!”
Jackie’s stood about 3 inches taller than he did. He tore the wrapping paper off of it.
It was a 6 foot tall cardboard cut out of Ryan Reynolds dressed as Deadpool.
Jackie let out a squeal.
Marvin opened up a deck of playing cards all designed to look like different types of fruit.
Grayson opened a set of candles all shaped like flowers. They smelled like heaven.
Jacque opened a set of copic markers and almost started crying.
Robbie opened up a small duck plush. He didn’t understand what it was, but he began hugging it and knew their bond had formed for eternity.
“Uh..?” Sam wandered to the back of the tree. “Who is this from?”
He held up a medium sized gift wrapped in brown paper. It was sealed with electrical tape.
Sean swiped it out of their hand.
“Maybe you shouldn’t open that...”
“Please? It’s for me!”
Sean let out a sigh.
“Fine... don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Sam opened up the present.
It was a small brown bear with a green ribbon tied around it’s neck. Underneath the ribbon was black thread that must have been used to sew it’s head back on. At least, Sean thought that.
On the ribbon was Sam’s name embroidered in blue.
The brown paper had something written on the inside of it. The handwriting was sharp and in such black ink that it bled through the paper.
“Merry Christmas, kiddo.
From: Santi”
Jack stood outside the house with a tiny smile on his face. He had to fight so hard in order to get that present to Sam. It was all he had. He wanted to walk inside. He wanted to be a part of a family again.
But Anti regained control.
“Why am I wearing a Christmas sweater with the Grinch's face on it?” he wondered aloud as he headed away to spend his Christmas alone.
Hey everyone!
So today is my birthday, but I thought I’d give a present to the community!
Here’s a short vid of Mark singing happy birthday at his Chicago tour!
(Ps this has been scheduled to post, so by now I’ve likely forgotten about it)
So here’s a short animation for @the-ego-fic-train
I’m sorry this took so long, I didn’t mean to but me, being my lazy self, didn’t complete this until a few minutes ago. This is for the part ‘clues everywhere’ or something like that, I don’t remember the exact words.
Submissions are open until next Friday!! If you are interested in the art PLEASE LET ME KNOW! I don't have nearly enough artists and I am not putting this to waste.
WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS DETAILS OF GORE, SELF HARM, SUICIDE, AND DEPRESSION. IF YOU ARE A PERSON WHO MAY BE TRIGGERED BY THESE OR SIMILAR TOPICS PLEASE REFRAIN FROM READING THIS.
Pt 1
Mark’s plan was ready to be put into action.
But before he did anything he decided to go for a swim.
With him he carried a heavy weight, and not a metaphorical one either. A literal group 150 lbs weights he had to roll to the poolside. He put them all on one dumbbell.
Using the same garden hose he had for the last attempt he made, he tied it to his ankle. He tied the other end to the weight.
He made sure it was tied tightly.
This could ruin all of the plans they had made. It could destroy the past year and a half worth of work. It wasn’t Mark’s work. He knew that.
It was the house’s work. And when he was done being it’s puppet he could finally be freed from this life.
At this point it was just for fun.
Mark fell into the pool. He floated for a moment and let himself forget about what he was about to do.
The shadows didn’t let him forget. They were whispering, trying to get him to stop.
He knew they were liars. It took him way too long to figure it out, and now he doesn’t have a choice.
The pool is outside of the house, but so is the gate. They could handle it.
Mark latched his hands onto the dumbell and rolled it into the water.
The rope roughly yanked his ankle, forcing his face underneath the surface of the water.
At first it was peaceful. Then his lungs started burning.
It felt like he had breathed in fire. He watched his air leave his mouth and felt his body instinctually float.
His eyes closed.
The next time he opened them he was sprawled out on the pool deck. The dumbbell was nowhere to be seen.
That’s the house.
The Chef walked past him nonchalantly. Mark’s “black outs” had become normal to the chef.
“Sir, I recommend you hurry and get dressed. The new butler will be here momentari--”
A new face approached the two of them.
“Um, excuse me?” He asked nervously. “Would this be the home of Mr. Markiplier?”
“Who’re you?”
“I’m here for the butler job,” He twiddles his thumbs. “I was told to just come over.”
“Ah, yes.” Mark popped up from laying on the concrete. “Fetch me my robe.”
WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS DETAILS OF GORE, SELF HARM, SUICIDE, AND DEPRESSION. IF YOU ARE A PERSON WHO MAY BE TRIGGERED BY THESE OR SIMILAR TOPICS PLEASE REFRAIN FROM READING THIS.
Pt 1
Mark no longer feels anything. But he’s learned to put on a mask. How do you think he became such a well-known actor?
Work is improving. He’s doing more projects that he likes to think would have interested him before he was left broken.
But the thing he’s most proud of is not his work. At least, not from his job.
Mark sits and stares at the walls of his office.
They are beautifully coated with details, secrets, pictures, and descriptions of the plan he came up with. The plan he discovered. The seed that was planted.
Mark prohibits anyone from entering the room. The shadows help him with that. They help him with a lot of things. They helped him with his plan.
The house has slowly become an endless amalgamation of walls, none of which have any distinction. It’s like walking through a maze.
No one has noticed. No one needs to notice.
Mark sits on his bed, waiting for any ounce of motivation to enter his mind.
The spell breaks for a mere 23 minutes, and before Mark knows it he’s tying a noose out of a garden hose.
“The gardener won’t mind if I borrow this,” He said as he snipped off one end of the hose. The rubber was hard to cut. It would be strong enough.
Mark went up to what he believed was the oldest room in the house and tied the other end of the hose to one of the rafters.
He excitedly raced away to grab a chair.
It’d been months since his last scare. That was the closest it got to actual death.
“Now the house doesn’t let me leave unless I’m under it’s spell.” He muttered. “Time to prove it wrong!”
He slowly set the chair on the wooden floor, peering around the empty room as if someone-or rather something-was watching him.
He hopped onto the chair and stood. He wrapped the hose around his neck.
He straightened his back, and kicked the chair out from under him.
He bit through his tongue immediately. There was a tad bit of flailing, most of it from the part of him that still feared death. That part was near nonexistent.
He felt his body sway as his vision went to black.
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