While sick in bed I kept thinking, or rather my brain kept thinking with or without my input, about the sheer overwhelming volume of fiction human beings have produced, like the number of myths, legends, novels, comics, games, movies, plays, original characters and even dreams and imaginary friends felt so vast and all encompassing that it seemed to dwarf all of our other achievements as a species and the sheer immensity and pointlessness of it all felt almost terrifying until suddenly my foggy mind was like “whoa, whoa, wait, WAIT A MINUTE….THAT’S WHAT WE ARE!!!!!! WE’RE THE STORYTELLER PLANET, THAT’S OUR THING IN THE UNIVERSE!”
So that turned into all these scenarios where for whatever reason most other sentience races could have technological power beyond our comprehension but still no knack for concocting even rudimentary child-level fiction and are so easily entertained by any shit we can make up that it’s basically our superpower
Humans end up paying their way across the galaxy just making things up as they go along and even our worst most garbage pieces of media become an almost priceless commodity.
You’re cornered by a tentareaver from the bloodstar or
whatever and she’s all “SO, EARTHBEAST…TELL ME ONE OF THESE FAMOUS FICSHUNS OF YOURS AND I’LL CONSIDER SPARING YOUR LIFE”
*sigh*…okay, once upon a time there was a tentareaver…
“WAS SHE OF THE FLESHRENDER CASTE????”
….Yes, the most beautiful fleshrender in her whole clusterhive.
#humans confirmed for space bards MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY
Only, lots of humans go, “My stories are all crap. You just don’t understand.”
And their nonhuman friends go, “No I don’t. Your stories are mindblowing. How can you just come up with these things?”
“They’re just drabbles and junk!”
“Awesome drabbles and junk…?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
—
On the other hand, the “super-awesome-amazing” writing that humans are referring to as “actual writing/stories” are restricted materials for non-humans because they can be dangerous to the unprepared minds.
Memetic logic bombs.
Published human fiction must go through a vetting committee before they are pronounced “safe” for non-human consumption.
I have a slightly hard time figuring out how a culture that has no concept of fiction could appreciate fiction.
BUT. Let’s take a leaf out of Michael Ende’s book, more or less literally, and say that they may have stories, but they can’t make up stories. (Where did the original stories come from? Shhh. Who knows. Someone else make up that part.)
So it’s not so much that humans are storytellers as that they’re story-makers, and that’s what so blows the collective universe’s mind.
“Where did the original stories come from?”
Uplift scenario, perhaps. Species A was given sapience and a set of stories by Species B, who went extinct and/or lost interest in Species A long ago.
Also, they could just be recountings of actual historical events, perhaps still perfectly accurate or perhaps skewed through centuries of misremembered details. Some have narrative, because even real life does sometimes, while others are just very dry – but it’s what they’ve got.
And then comes along these weirdly tented story makers. These “humans” who are first overheard telling tales to their young to help them get ready for sleep by telling them stories, all the once upon a time stuff handed down with new twists based o a changed sky, asteroid belt, moon number, and new races as heroes and villians. The other species are astounded by the ability of these creatures to weave stories of complexity they wave off as “nonsense.”
“Those are just fairy tales,” the human says.
“What are fairies?” Demand their fellow inhabitants.
“Little people, with like wings and magic powers.” The human shrugs. “They’re not real”
“You mean the arboreal races of N’Sylerth?”
“No, just made up creatures to make sense of things early people didn’t understand. ”
“Wait, your kind just makes up creatures?”
“Only in folklore.”
“What’s folklore?”
And that’s how humans were found to be the story makers.
Okay, I saw the question of how aliens could enjoy stories when they can’t make them and immediately thought of blind spots in knowledge. It’s easy to miss something obvious, although a culture that enjoys them are likely to try to make their own.
But how about the idea that aliens are supremely bad at storytelling? They recount historical events as the facts of the event: how many people died, what was the cause, who were the major players.
Then humans come along and say “what is this shit? THIS is how you tell a story!”
Oh, and that tentareaver bit has so much more potential;
The human shifted, carefully sliding her hand towards her sidearm. “Yes, the fleshreaver caste. The most beautiful and deadly of any in the fleshreavers. She was feared by all.”
Sarah was almost angry about how stupid this creature was.
“So, one time, this tentareaver found a human. The human was fast and fired off a lucky shot into the tentareaver’s weak spot, but this one was so strong… Uh… Actually, what is the weak spot on your species?”
‘no way can this actually work, Sarah thought to herself.
“The base of the eyestalk,” the tentareaver replied naively.
“Yeah, so this human shoots the tentareaver in the base of the eyestalk, but this beautiful tentareaver is so strong she shrugs it off like it was a slap.”
Finally maneuvering her hand to her sidearm, Sarah pulls it out and fires a shot point blank into the base of the tentareaver’s eyestalk.
As the tentareaver is writhing on the ground in agony, Sarah comments “Youre not that tentareaver.”
But what if aliens do have stories and Martha and things but they’re not an art and there’s no, like, literary criticism. Sure, technically they have stories but not like humans. Even humans took a while to get to making novels and stuff, but now you have to practice a lot to make a good story and we have people whose job it is to analyze why stories are good and compelling and we spend a lot of time figuring out how to make stories more successful/appealing and what if the aliens never had that? We have whole industries based on stories whereas the aliens just have some myths that might fluctuate a bit and there are some people who are interested in them but it’s nothing compared to what humans have
I like the idea that there is a race out there that has their historical stories, but not only do they lack the concept of making things up to make things more interesting, but they have no clue how to make the historical accounts engaging. They memorize their history out of a sense of duty and add to it as major events dictate, but stories aren’t something that anyone has ever considered being or becoming interesting apart from learning about the mistakes of the past.
They encounter humans and become addicted, paying good storytellers extremely good money to make their histories enjoyable to listen to.
Ok but guys…Imagine the tallest, scariest and most dangerous aliens in the whole galaxy visiting a daycare every day for “story time”. Imagine them sitting on those tiny plastic chairs listening with sparkling eyes and mouth wide open to the tale of a little fairy and her friends. Imagine them staying longer to look at the children create even more stories with their dolls, legos robots etc…
Another Darkiplier fic! A little fluff, nothing major really. Maybe some angst? Nothing mentioned but hinted?
I felt like I needed to write something for Dark since I haven’t really focused on just him in a while. Enjoy!
Your home seemed…off. Something was wrong, Dark could sense that much as he entered your home. The air felt heavier than normal. Like some selfish entity had soaked out the warmth from the walls. Dark’s form twitched as he searched the house for you. The silence making him uneasy. A strange sensation for one such as him. “(Y/N)!” He called out. His lone voice like a thunder-clap through the empty rooms. He grinded his teeth, trying to distract his mind from the unpleasant thoughts that clawed at his sanity. “(Y/N)! Are you home?” He asked the still hallways.
No, you should be home. Dark knew your schedule better than you did. He wouldn’t have wasted his time arriving if you weren’t going to be here to welcome him.
Then, somewhere in the house, he heard a floorboard creak.
So quiet, he almost mistook the sound for a trick of his rattling thoughts. He followed the noise to the room he had failed to search.
Your bedroom.
He was confused to find you unharmed. You sat by your window, your eyes absent and staring. Thoughtful; but Dark could see the gloom playing with your features. “Why didn’t you answer me?” He asked, reining in his anger. You glanced at him, your fingers busying themselves with the sleeves of your jumper. “I…I didn’t feel like it,” You said, as if it clarified everything. Dark’s features twitched, but he pushed down his anger and moved closer to you.
Why weren’t you smiling? Why were your eyes, once so bright and vibrant, so distant from him?
“What happened?” Dark asked. “Did someone hurt you?” The grin you formed was emotionless. There to trick than amuse him. “Nothing happened. I’m just…not feeling well today.” Dark’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. His fingers brushed against your forehead, feeling no heat or sweat, he removed his touch with more questions than answers. “You’re not ill,” He stated. “What is the matter? Let me help, at least.” You finally looked up at him. Meeting his gaze with an expression Dark couldn’t make out.
Where was your laughter? That siren song that made his world brighter?
There is no colour in your gaze. What has happened?
You stood and Dark stepped back. Allowing you to move without his interference in your space. You let your gaze drop to the ground. Examining the shine on his shoes for a moment, trying to form some sort of way to tell him why you were so…you didn’t even have a word to describe it yourself.
“Can you do something for me, Dark?” You asked. Your voice was so small, so quiet, Dark felt something inside him twist. He nodded, “What is it, my dear?” “Could you lift up your arms and make a circle?” You asked. Dark tilted his head, confused by the request. But obeyed nonetheless.
You ducked under his intertwined hands and pressed yourself against his chest. As you rested your head on his shoulder, you felt Dark stiffen and hiss quietly. It was a few seconds before Dark relaxed, and his arms encircled your body, almost crushing you against him.
“You could have just asked,” He purred into your hair. You grinned softly into his suit and he squeezed your waist. He didn’t understand why, but he could already feel your warmth seeping back into the walls.
Dark sat on the couch, one leg over the other, and a book in both hands. He delicately turned a page, then continued to straighten his tie. Typically aware of everything that went on around him, his focus was in stead deep with in the inked words reflecting from his sharp eyes. So buried in the world of flowing letters and imagination, he didn’t notice a pair of eyes watching him from the kitchen. Wilford Warfstache crinkled his nose, with squinted eyes and huffed.
“Look at him. He’s always so grouchy looking. Even when doing something as simple as reading.”, he criticized the darker ego.
Bing closed the fridge behind him, walking over and opening a can of soda.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile dude. So not cool.”, he took a swing.
“It ain’t good bruh, causes total stress!”, Bing said putting the drink down and pointing at Wilford.
Wilford sat against the island, twisting and twirling the ends of his mustache in thought. He was trying to think of ways to get the dangerous entity to smile. Partially because he had never seen him do so, mostly just smirks or dark grins. Honestly though, Wilford mostly just wanted to mess with him. While it would be interesting to see Dark’s lips turn up in a non menacing way, he also really liked to annoy him. Hmm, but how would he go about this without getting his head severed? A loud belch beside him made him grimace, and Wilford turned to see Bing.
“That was like…a ten bruh.”, Bing smiled, waving a hang lose sign.
Wilford smirked an idea coming to mind.
“Heya Bing~”, Warfstache slurred, turning in his seat.
Bing finished taking another sip of his drink, completely dense of the other ego’s underlining tone. “Suh dude?!”
“You like challenges right?”
“Ah dude! I freakin love challenges! Bottle flip challenge, maniquin challenge, don’t laugh challenge, food challenges-”
“Alright, alright I get it!”, Wilford cut him off, a bit annoyed with Bing. “How about this~”
Bing watched with interest as Wilford stood up, walking over and wiggling his finger before pointing into his chest. “How about a challenge to see who can get darky over there to crack a smile? A genuine one~!”
Bing thought for a second, his brows furrowing,“ Mmmm, I don’t know bout that bruh…”
A lot of things may have gone over the AI’s head, but even he was smart enough to know that Dark was a force to be reckoned with. He had lived with Google for a while before moving in with you, Wilford, and Dark. And even though him and Google may have not gotten along exactly, even his former roommate warned him of the dark entity sitting in the living room.
“Oh what’s the worry~?”, Wilford slurred, turning and wrapping an arm around the others shoulders.
“Too scared to take up a challenge Bing?”, Wilford grinned glancing up from under his lashes.
“What?! No way bruh!! Challenges are like, my thing!!”, Bing snapped stepping away offended.
“Great!”, Wilford clapped,“ Then you’ll have no problem with going first!”
“Wait, what?”
Bing didn’t have a moment to protest as Wilford shoved him forward to the kitchen entrance harshly. He glanced back at Wilford, who smiled and waved. Bing considered backing out, but his boldness stopped him. There was no way he’d back out of a challenge! He was Bing, and he was going to show that suspender wearing ego and every other ego that he was totally cool and could do anything.
Wilford watched with an amused smile as Bing made his way into the leaving room, skateboard by his side and striding up to Dark. Before he could see Bing utter a word to the other, his attention was drawn away when you had come into the house.
“Hey, what’s up?”, you greeted with a soft smile, laying down your bag on the counter.
You knew something was up as soon as you walked in and saw the shit eating grin on Wilford’s face. The two of you along with Dark had been living together for a long while now, and had become quite familiar with each other’s habits. You especially knew when Wilford was up to something, and it didn’t usually end well.
“Trying to get darkness over there to give us a good ol smile~”, he replied scooting next to you.
Looking over into the living room, you saw Bing, your newest roommate, speaking to Dark. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but what ever it was it had made the dark entity mad. Dark had stood up abruptly and grabbed hold of Bings shirt, catching the other completely off guard. You couldn’t hear what Dark was saying in this moment either, but what ever it was it made Bing look like he was about to piss himself. Letting go of the terrified ego, Dark sat back down and continued to read, as though nothing had happened, and Bing shakily made his way back over to you and Wilford.
“What’d he say to you?”, you asked concerned for your newest roommate.
Bing’s voice slightly trembled as he looked up at you,“I’d rather not r-repeat it.”
You frowned and glanced over at Wilford as he chuckled amused,“And what’d you say to make him want to cut your throat? I’ve never seen him get mad that quickly.”
Bing glanced at you and quickly looked away when you made eye contact,“ I-I’d rather not repeat that either bruh, for like…the safety of my life and stuff ya know?!”
Wilford smirked and brushed his mustache,“ I suppose I win then~!”
“What?! Not uh!!”, Bing snapped back to his usual self.
“What do you mean ‘not uh’? Of course I did! You lost, your disqualified, there for I win!”
“Mmmm actually~”, you cooed beside them.
Both boys turned towards you, seeing the delicate smirk upon your face. “You don’t win Wilford. There’s still one person other then you who hasn’t tried.”
“Oh, and who would that be doll~?”, he slurred with a raised brow, leaning on his elbow close to you.
“Me~”, you winked.
“…you can’t be serious.”, both ego’s said at once.
“Of course I’m serious!”, you grinned.
“Sorry to say it bruh, but Dark is colder then well…uh, cool?”, Bing tried scratching his cheek.
“I hate to agree with the five here, but he’s right (y,n). You’ll only have your feelings crushed by that manipulative ass hat.”, Wilford confirmed, twirling the ends of his stache.
You scoffed,“If I make him smile, you both owe me ice cream.”
“Fine, but it’s your death bed.”, Wilford said raising his hands.
“Good luck, bruh! You’ll need it.”, Bing wished you off as you strode confidentially into the living room.
Dark sighed softly, leaving a bookmark in the second to last chapter of his book before closing it. Cracking his neck, he felt satisfied at the sounds of popping joints.
“Hey Dark~”
Said man looked up, his eyes narrowed expecting to see Wilford, but slightly calmed when he saw it was you.
“Yes? What is it?”, he asked coldly.
You smiled and sat down beside him.
“Oh nothing~”
“Bullshit.”
“What? I can’t just hang out with my roommate?”
Dark narrowed his eyes skeptically,“ I know you (y,n). Now what do you want?”
You sighed, giving up your facade and sprawling down over his lap. You felt him stiffen some, but he didn’t make any notion of pushing you off.
“Okay, so maybe I do want something.”
“And what would that be?”, he asked with his usual, unamused expression.
“Well um…”, your eyes flicked around the ceiling, refusing to look at his face.
Dark watched you with a blank stare, his body relaxing some and becoming used to the warmth that you provided. Biting the bottom of your lip, you finally looked up at him. He raised a brow wondering what was bothering you so much to make you fidgety. Waving your hand down, you motioned for him to come closer. Again he raised his brow, but leaned in none the less. Lifting up a little, you cupped your hands by your mouth and whispered into his ear.
Meanwhile, Wilford and Bing sat on the edge of their seats in the kitchen, trying their hardest to hear what was being said. They were honestly shocked that Dark had even let you lay on him like that. To say the least, both boys were pouting slightly because of it.
Finishing what you had to say, you leaned your head back down in Dark’s lap, looking up at him with a tiny smile. Dark was still leaned forward, processing what you had just told him. Glancing down at you, his dark eyes met your (e,c) ones, and in that moment, he lost it. He threw his head back and a noise strange to the ears of the other two ego’s filled the house.
Dark was…laughing!
Not that sadistic, physcotic cackle that had been deemed his only form of showing any hint of closeness to feeling joy. No, he was laughing purely. It was deep and wholesome, completely foreign to Wilford Warfstache and Bing. Their mouths hung open, eyes wide as Dark’s laugh calmed and he wiped away a stray tear. You smiled below him, teeth showing and eyes crinkled at the edges.
“Well?”, you giggled.
Dark breathed in a soft laugh,“You’re utterly redicioulus, that’s all I have to say.”
“But you laughed~”, you pointed out endearingly.
Dark chuckled shaking his head slightly and…was that…a smile? Indeed it was. A genuine, heart felt smile spread across Darkiplier himself.
~xXx~
(A/N: what is this?! A darkiplier imagine?! Why yes, I do think its is! -3-/ )
