#chefiplier

Chefiplier: Microwave for 40 minutes. :)

Darkiplier: Why were you microwaving a lemon?

Chefiplier: I read that boiling lemons cover up bad smells (I wanted to cover up the smells of burnt oranges) but I don’t own any pots.

Darkiplier: You burnt an orange too?! How?! 

Edward slept with his brother’s coat. Rather, he curled into a quivering ball in the darkness with Chef Iplier’s coat bundled up against him, face hidden pathetically in the nearest sleeve. In desperation he imagined warmth and solidity. When was the last time he hugged him?

Lost in the fabric were faint traces of peanut butter, cinnamon, pumpkin spice…Evan’s favorite flavors to work with. Edward had never appreciated them as intensely as he should have and now he could barely make out the scent through the tears that clogged his sinuses and throat. His voice was gone, lost through too many sobs. What was there for him to say anymore?

“They can’t stop us all!”: Mark, Actor, Silver, Ed Edgar, & Colonel William

“If we Naruto run we can dodge the bullets!”: Yandere, Bim, Niko (Cooliplier), Bing, & Oliver

“Please don’t go, they absolutely can stop you all.”: Host, Eric, Priest, Dr. Iplier, Damien, Cameraman Jim, & Lance

“Have fun dying, lol”: Dark, Derek, Malcolm (Chefiplier), & Evan

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“You’re making a mess”, Chef scolds, swiping the bit of red frosting off Artie’s nose, though there’s a twinkle of amusement in his eyes that softens his tone. “Look at you, you look like Rudolf!”

Artie pouts at him, rubbing at his nose and only succeeding in smearing more frosting onto his floury face, white powder sprinkling onto his shirt. His formally white apron is spattered with cake batter and bright red splotches of red food dye, flour dusting his dark hair and face. “I was just supposed to decorate, why’d I let you rope me into the actual cake making bit?” he whines eyeing the bits of egg yolk still under his short fingernails. 

“Because we both know nothing would get done if I let you just sit there and watch while I prepared the batter”, Chef says reasonably, using a rag to clean his hands, his own apron far cleaner than Artie’s. 

“How is this any better”, Artie grumbles, gesturing to the mess in the kitchen and the pile of dirty bowls in the kitchen. Chef leans down to kiss his nose, red frosting coloring his lips when he straightens.