Um, may I request a Hurt/Comfort fic with Dark and Author being best bros, like, the moment they met, they clicked immediately, each other's sarcasm and morbid humor buds, and when Author 'died' and was remade into Host, Dark sees echoes of his old friend in Host, and that's why Dark is oftentimes nicer to Host in comparison to other egos. (Other than Wil. Every Dark has a Wilford shaped soft spot lol)
Dark couldn't help but stare, sometimes.
He knew the Host hated it. Hated being reminded who he used to be, what he used to do. But Dark...well, he always had a hard time with letting go. It was why he showed up to that ill-fated party all those years ago. In the hopes of rekindling old friendships long-since gone sour.
With the Host, it was different. He was still here. An ever-present reminder. Their laugh was the same, in the rare instance either of them ever let out a full belly laugh. The Host's dry wit -- though perhaps less crass -- was still the same. And that grin...that will always be the same, no matter how much the Host liked to hide it.
"Is Darkiplier alright? The Host can feel him...staring. Again."
Dark blinked, and offered an apologetic smile that he knew the Host couldn't see. "...My apologies, Host. I was simply...lost in thought. Reminiscing."
The Host's expression twisted slightly, a grimace that spoke volumes of his opinion. "Why does Darkiplier insist on reliving the past? Surely there are better things to 'reminisce' about."
At that, Dark actually laughed, before sighing. "Reliving the past is sort of my schtick, Host. It's who I am. What I am. And it's hard to forget...when you share more similarities than you'd like to admit."
The Host's grimace fully twisted into a scowl, and he stood abruptly from where he and Dark had been sitting at the kitchen table, both nursing a mug of tea and basking in what had once been quiet. "The Author was a monster. He tortured and maimed and killed for nothing but his own pleasure. The Host is nothing like him."
Dark didn't argue. They'd had this conversation many times before already. The Host pinched the bridge of his nose, his bandages starting to darken as he bled with his stress, and he slammed his free hand onto the table. "Fine, if Darkiplier wants the memories so badly -- he can have them."
With a few muttered words, the table was suddenly filled with dozens of old notebooks, a few piles of published books, and stacks of loose pieces of paper, disheveled and some of it rotting. Dark raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"
"His work." The Host's voice was flat, distanced. "All of it. The Host doesn't want it. He left it rotting in that cabin for a reason. But if Darkiplier insists on bringing up the past -- he can have it."
Dark's eyes went wide, and he reached for the first of many notebooks. He didn't realize the Author kept them all. When he touched it, the Host flinched as if he'd been shocked, and spun on his heel, storming out of the room. Dark didn't stop him. He had a feeling this was as nice and thoughtful as the man was going to get when it came to the Author, letting Dark keep the material rather than burning it or letting it continue to waste away. He cracked open the cover, and ran his fingers over the long-dried ink. The Author's handwriting was messy and illegible in some places, and Dark was out of practice when it came to his mad scribbles...but he began to read.
The Host was not the Author. But he was his echo, and Dark was glad enough for that.
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Commission dump of my version of the egos!
Commission dump of my versions of the egos Dark, Googleplier, and Ivyiplier! Author is @doctordiscord123’s version, that I got for them! All done by the wonderful @scamoosh!!!
Plus an extra closeup of my Dark’s eye
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