I’m Only Reblogging My Own Story Because This Comment Is Making Me Laugh So Hard That I’m Trying

Late.

A/N: Quick little drabble based on a sketch by @piligy

It was quiet, but that wasn't unusual. Most people preferred to work with some sort of soft background noise, music or a podcast, just something to drown out the rest of the world. He didn't need that. For him, the world was as quiet or as loud as he chose. He sighed, shuffling through the papers in front of him again. He'd been at it for hours now, trying to go over every detail of their latest plan, keeping track of subscriber counts, of tour schedules and show dates, of time since their last...encounters. It was infuriatingly scattered and unorganized. The egotisical bastard had always been hard to predict, but now that he wasn't...him, anymore, it was almost impossible to know definitively if his predictions were going to be accurate. He stood, rubbing his eternally stiff neck as he cracked it again with a grunt. Something else cracked behind him, and his lips quirked into a small smile. He strode slowly to the end of the room, taking his suit jacket off the hook and shrugging it back over his shoulders as the walked. Walking back to the desk and toward the fireplace behind it, he found himself studying the large mirror over the mantle. It was ornately framed, once silver but now tarnished with age, and bore several large cracks across the surface of the glass. No one dared to ask him why he had kept such an old, broken decoration instead of replacing it. He would never explain if they did. Right now, though, the cracks in the glass weren't the most interesting part of the old mirror. A silohette was staring back at him, and it wasn't his reflection. It was indistinct, blurred like an out-of-focus camera picture, but more fluid, like standing smoke. The fuzzy apendage that might have been it's hand was lying flat against the glass.

"You're up late, old friend." His voice echoed more than it should have in the small room. He took another step, adjusting his jacket as he leaned forward on the desk. "I'm not surprised, really. You never did like to see me working late, did you?" He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and with it pulled back, he almost looked like a different person. The shadow-y figure made a gesture that he seemed to understand. "Not yet. Not just yet. There is still much to do. But I'm taking care of it, aren't I?" He rounded the desk again, and put his hand on the glass, touching it with just his fingertips. The glass creaked as if it were under great pressure, as if, had he put his hand flat against it, it would shatter completely. The figure drew back slightly from the touch, and he raised an eyebrow at them. "Oh, but what's the matter? Don't you trust me anymore? I told you..." The monochrome room seemed to suddenly glow blue and red, the colors shaking unsteadily. His voice seemed to have too many layers, as if several people were talking at once. "We would do this together."

And then there’s me:

She looked like sunlight on the water, warm and cold at the same time, eyes like whiskey and hair like ice, a too-soft cardigan over a Metallica t-shirt and ink all over her fingers when she reached for the book in my hand. When she spoke, it was like listening to the ice crack under your feet as you slip through to the freezing depths, or the first chord in a rock song shredded out on the steel strings of an electric guitar.

“Please let go of my book. You’re gonna rip it.”

Are you a “can’t write dialogue” writer or a “can’t describe anything” writer

Mark out here doing what he does best and giving his fanbase a damn heart attack.

He did an amazing job, I hope he does more kinda backstories like that but maybe with less heart ache

Bruh yes.

I always feel so bad for wilf cause you can just see him slowly lose his grip throughout wkm and it’s really sad

He’s always been one of my favorites, and seeing him slowly lose it is just so heartbreaking. But I’ve gotta give Mark props for his acting in WKM, it was phenomenal.

So Question.

Would anyone be interested in commissioned writing from me? I was thinking of looking into comprable work pricing and opening up to writing fiction (fan and original), and some nonfiction, for commissions. Is that something anyone would be willing to do?

Okay but we were in Damien’s headspace...this could very well have been the same moment.

I feel like these parts fit together!

@markiplier

Ta dah! Just a quick sketch but I’m happy with it

A Really Rather Dumb Bet (Schneep and Chase Drabble).

A/N: Because everyone needs a little more fluff and comedy for these two fools.

The horrid crashing sound was more than enough to send Henrik careening out of bed. It wasn't as if he wasn't used to loud noises, he made plenty of them himself and hell, he was good friends with Jack. It was just that this particular loud sound had been made at two o'clock in the morning when he'd thought he was alone in the house. Anyone else might have been inclined to do something rational, like call the police or go back to sleep. Henrik, however, knew much better, which was why he swung his door open with great gusto, walking confidently into the living room, brandishing a stethoscope like a garrot and yelling "WHO IS IT ZAT DARES TO DISTURB ZE REST OFF ZE GREAT HENRIK VON SCHNEEPLESTEIN?! VHAT CRIMINAL IS STUPID ENOUGH TO CONTEST HIM?!" Honestly, even in the fluorescent pink pajama shorts and haphazard glasses, he struck an intimidating figure. What greeted him was not an awestruck-and-or-blinded-by-the-neon-PJs burgler, but a broken window, a collapsed side table, a few scattered remote pieces and magazine pages, and a very dissheveled, very drunk, widely grinning Chase Brody. "DOC! AH'M -hic- SO HAPPY TAH SEEEE YOOOOOU!" This was met with a blank stare, to which Chase pouted considerably. "Aw, c'mon -hic- Schneeps, you've gotta be h-hic-happy to see me too. I hav'n ev'n seen you in like...like...ever!" "Chase, vhat ze fuck?" The good doctor shook his head and went to help his terribly inebriated friend to sit on the couch. "First off all, vhy are you here at two in ze morgen?" "Because I wanna see-" "See me, ya, I got zhat. Sank you, ze sought is appreciated." Clearly he wasn't going to get a better explanation. "Second question, zhen: vhy did you come through ze vindow?" "The door was locked." He would have facepalmed if he'd had a free arm that wasn't busy trying to shove said window back into the gaping hole it'd created on the way down. "Off course. And vhy are you drunk as an Irish sailing skunk?" "Because Marv gave me -hic- some awesome whiskey! And bet me -hic hic- I couldn't finish it all in one go! I won! Ha!" Chase laughed. The laughing quickly turned into a vague wretching. He turned very green and Henrik didn't wait to be asked before he pointed down the hall to the open bathroom door. For a drunk man, Chase moved surprisingly quickly and with surprisingly few casualties. Henrik only had to dive to catch one vase and three paintings before the door shut behind him. He sighed. Tomorrow, he supposed, he'd have to get some more answers out of that man, and a sound apology from Marvin. Tonight, though, he simply went to the closet in the hall and pulled the door open to reveal a set of shelves with extra linens on them. He ran a finger down the edges of the shelving. JJ, Marvin, Angus, Robbie...ah, there it is! Chase. He pulled out a set of Nerf sheets, and began to make up a bed on the couch. BANG! CRASH! THUMP! "Hennnnnn-!"

Sigh.

He stood, straightening his shorts. A doctor's duties never cease.

Who Killed Markiplier? Here’s What Happened.

Guys, it’s been a long road, and we’re not even close to done yet. But based on all the previous evidence, I’ve come up with something of a story line/theory. I present to you, good people of the internet and the Markiplier fandom, who I think killed Markiplier:

THE PAST

Mark, the Colonel, and Damien were all childhood friends. Mark and Damien started with the same social status, very middle class, but the Colonel comes from an old military family with lots of money and power, which is why he inherits the manor. They stayed friends as they grew older and gained status, Damien through politics, the Colonel through the army, and Mark through the entertainment industry, though to keep himself afloat, he moves in with the Colonel. (Based on the pictures, "I will not be called a murderer in my own home!", and the Colonel's initial theory.)

At some point, they were introduced to Celine, and she became fast friends with them all. They all developed feelings for her, and tried to impress her in various ways, but Mark went the farthest. Unbeknownst to any of them, he made a deal with a larger force for her heart, which angered both Damien and the Colonel. But while Damien wanted to keep his friendships in tact, the Colonel, always the most firey of the three, had a massive argument with Mark, insisting that the fame had gone to his head. Mark wouldn't explain the deal, and so the fight gets so bad that the Colonel is kicked out of his own home by Mark, who's now under the force's influence, and drops out of touch with Mark and Celine. Damien can't pick a side, so stays in touch with both of them. (Based on George the Groundskeeper’s speech about why he won’t enter the manor, the Possession, the Colonel and Damien's argument, and the pictures.)

It was shortly after this that Celine and Damien discovered what Mark had done. Damien wanted to keep it quiet, per his aspirations for office and the bad publicity it would cause both him and Mark, but Celine was disgusted, and left them both to find answers on her own. Damien and Mark stayed friends, but were more distant than they had been. This is where we come in. We befriend Damien and Mark sometime after all of this, and are never told about it. Damien rises to the position of Mayor, Mark grows more famous, and we're appointed DA. (Based on our invitation, our not knowing the Colonel previously, "I don't need anyone's help, especially yours," Celine's occult interests and Damien's reactions to them, and the pictures.)

THE PRESENT

Now the deal Mark made had to have some provisions. Maybe one of them was a time constraint. He had 15 years to enjoy his fame, and then the being would come to collect his end of the bargain, and maybe Mark didn't know what the reprocussions would be. When the day was coming up, however, Mark knew he wanted to see all of his friends one last time, so he invited them back to the manor, on the pretext of a poker night. Celine refused, but had a bad feeling about it, and too late decided to come and warn her old friends. Damien of course accepted, and managed to convince the Colonel to come back. We accepted, thinking nothing of it. Mark also invites the Detective, less as a friend, though he was one, albeit not as close, but more as a precaution, needing to know that his staff was trustworthy and wouldn't be suspected, no matter what, and knowing that there would likely be some kind of crime to investigate later, when he either died or disappeared. (Based on the Detective's speech about knowing Mark, the security footage, "I might be dead tomorrow," Celine knowing the party is happening, the Colonel appearing voluntarily and in a decent mood.)

In the night, after all the festivities are over, everyone goes to bed, except for the Colonel, who's still mad as hell, and very drunk, and very vulnerable. The Force strikes, using the Colonel as a vessel, and fights with and eventually kills Mark, then goes dormant. It stays in him until it's summoned out by Celine the next night. (Based on the party montage, the finding of the body, the Colonel's behavior in Chapter 2, and the Possession.)

But remember guys, this is just a theory. It’s not set in stone, and it doesn’t explain everything. I would love to hear what you guys think, and what I might have missed, and I can’t wait for Chapter 4 tomorrow.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Extras: The Bedroom The Audio Clip The Tumblr Teasers (1, 2, 3, 4)