Who Killed Markiplier? Chapter 3 Update.

IT’S SHOWTIIIIIIIME

So! What we’ve got here is a basic teaser trailer, but there’s so much more to it than that!

Let’s start with sounds. That right there? Air raid siren, typically used in high security situations or widescale emergency alert systems. For the sake of my sanity, we’re gonna guess that it’s high security here. This museum has top of the line alerts, not just the bells and secret alarms of a normal place. Why is that? What’s it guarding?

That brings us to point number two! The lights. Clearly, we’re seeing down the end of a hallway, slowly lit up as if triggered by the sirens, but that’s a strange way to have your electronics set up. Why not have the lights trigger the alarm? That’d make more sense if it’s somewhere with secure access: you have to turn on the lights the right way or the sirens cut on and you’re busted. It’s weird to me. Someone got a good idea as to why it’s backwards?

And finally! THE PICTURE. That very much looks like Actor Mark. But why? Who would go to all the trouble to steal a picture of some long-dead actor? Who would bother? Even if he’s still “alive”, why would you want his picture that badly? And more importantly, why is it under such high security? Who put it under lock and key?

There’s a lot going on here and I’m HOOKED. It’s been a minute since I’ve had something this interesting to theorize over. I’m excited to see what this brings. :)

It’s not about me. It’s about you.

Coffee and a Chat. (Ninth Doctor Imagine)

Pairing: None, Nine/Rose if you squint real hard

Rating: G

It was raining. Again.

Though, of course, this was London, so it wasn't like you'd expected today to be sunny. But all the same, it was a dreary, grey, rainy September day.

And it was your birthday. A horrid one, at that.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, putting a hand under your chin and moodily sipping your coffee, brooding on the day's events. First, you'd woken up twenty minutes late for school, then, when you got there, not one person had remembered your birthday at all. Then your favorite book had been stolen from your bag, only for you to find it later, food-stained and ruined, in the school cafeteria. After school, when you were supposed to be meeting your friends to go out to celebrate, you'd been stood up.

And now it was raining. Great.

"Lovely day, isn't it?"

You blinked and looked away from the window, up at the owner of the voice. A tall man with close cropped hair (and rather large ears, though you'd never say) smiled down at you and plopped himself into the seat across the table. You smiled back politely.

"If you like rain, I suppose." You turned your head back to the window, hoping he would leave.

"I like it myself, but I s'pose some don't. Don't understand why. Rain's so refreshing! It clears up all the dust and the smog and the car fumes and things, and it sounds pleasant, and it's fun to run in if you do it right." Clearly not. You refrained from sighing again, and instead raised an eyebrow and turned to look at the stranger in more detail.

He looked older, but not old. Mature, perhaps. As if you couldn't put an age on him at all. He wore boots, dark jeans and a dark green jumper, over which he had on a well-worn leather jacket. Overall, he looked as if he could be a workman of some description, or perhaps a traveler. Based on his way of talking, you assumed he was from somewhere in the North of England, and that it wasn't the first time he'd sat down to chat with a stranger, and that he saw nothing at all wrong with it. But he didn't seem dangerous, and actually the way he described the rain made it sound a bit fun. So you decided not to boot him from his seat immediately.

You put your coffee back on the table. "Well, when you put it that way, it doesn't sound nearly as bad."

"Oh, there's always a way of makin' things not sound so bad," he smiled, resting his elbows on the table. You mirrored him.

"What's your name?"

"(Y/N)."

He nodded approvingly. "'S a good name, I like it." You laughed a little.

"Thanks, I've had it since I was born." That made him chuckle.

"And what's yours?"

"I'm the Doctor." You blinked.

"The Doctor?"

"Yeah."

"That's your name."

"Yeah. Problem?" He said, amused, as if he'd had the same problem a thousand times.

You laughed. "Yeah, problem is that's not a name."

"It's what people call me!"

"But no one just calls people 'Doctor'!" you insisted with a grin, "People call each other by their titles and their names!"

"Your people do, but not everyone does."

That caught you off guard. "What d'you mean, 'your people'?"

He seemed to catch himself in a mistake. "I mean, you lot."

"Right, yeah, that clears it up." He shook his head happily.

"I just mean that other places, it's fine when I call myself that. No one asks any questions, they just call me as I tell them."

"Well," you picked up your drink again, "for normal people, there're titles and names together. So, Doctor who?" You toasted your drink mockingly and took a sip from the cooling coffee.

For some reason, "the Doctor's" smile brightened and he chuckled to himself.

"What did I say that was so funny?"

"Nothin', nothin'. It's just I get asked that a lot." He tilted his chin up, thinking. "You ever think, if someone made a book or a movie or sommit about you, what they'd call it? I reckon they'd call mine 'Doctor Who'."

"I don't know that anyone would be interested enough in my boring old life to make a movie."

The throwaway comment made the Doctor blink and frown a little. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, I'm nothing special, is all." He shook his head and leaned forward a little.

"(Y/N), just your existing makes you special. Think of all the coincidences that led to you being here, today, right now. One atom had to hit another just right to cause a huge explosion. One rock had to get just big enough and be just far enough from this sun to support a few little puny shrubs and some fish, that had to survive long enough to evolve into apes, that had to get smart enough and lucky enough to evolve into people. And two of those people fought the odds of meeting each other, a one in a few billion chance, to come together and cause you to live on a little soggy island and sit here today chatting to me. You're made of stardust and happy chance, and if that doesn't make you special, then I dunno what does."

Before you could really even process what he just said, and close your gaping mouth, the bell over the cafe door tinkled, and the Doctor looked up to smile at someone. You glanced over your shoulder to see a pretty blonde girl motioning to him to come with her, apparently a bit panicked.

You turned back to see him standing, and blurted, "D'you have to go, Doctor?" You really didn't want him to. For some reason, it felt like you'd be saying goodbye to a good friend.

He smiled again and stuffed his hands in the pockets of that worn leather jacket. "Oh, I never stay in one place too long, (Y/N). And apparently," he nodded to the door with an amused smirk, "it's a bit urgent." He walked up beside you and put a hand on your shoulder. You put your hand over his.

"Do you do this all the time?"

"Have coffee with strangers?"

"No," you smiled, your voice oddly a little choked, "say amazing things to strangers and then just leave."

"Oh, that. Yeah. Yeah, I do." He winked and pulled a package, which looked much too big to fit, from his pocket and set it on the table beside you. "Happy Birthday, by the way, (Y/N)."

And with that, he was gone. You watched him meet up with the girl and walk down the street with her, your eyes not leaving him until they lost him around a corner.

An odd sound echoed through the street, and you frowned. Somehow, you knew it had to do with him. You picked up the package and opened it carefully.

It was a copy of your favorite book, first edition, autographed, and with a tiny note inside that only read, in cramped quick handwriting, "Hell of a time finding this and getting it sighed, you know. See you someday."

I’M SORRY WHAT?! ONE OF MY FAVORITE FAN CREATORS IS WORKING WITH SEAN TO MAKE CHARACTER CONTENT?! HOLY SHIT?!

YES OHMYGOD YES

oh. oh no.

A persons fanfic tells you a lot about them, i , a fanfic writer, realize in terror

Is that a light? Oh, I can barely see anymore, but it seems to me that the darkness has actually receded. Perhaps something shifted, and it’s day, out there. Perhaps it’s sunlight. That would be nice.

The bugs don’t bother me anymore, which is good news, I suppose. Bad news for my nerves, as even though I can’t feel the bugs anymore, I can’t feel anything else either. But I suppose that’s fine. I’m more comfortable now.

It was worse the first day. The pain from the fall, the broken limbs, the raw throat from screaming. It was unbearable down here, in the dark, and the heat, with the fear. That’s another thing. The fear, the constant, aching fear of the dark and the bugs, and the overarching fear of not being found in time...it’s gone. And I can almost be happy here, in my last moments, I suppose. Once the pain stopped, and the fear, I looked around, for once. The rock is gorgeous, down here, so textured and streaked through with lovely greys and blacks and the occasional reddish brown, if you squinted through the shadow enough. The birds singing overhead were nice while I could hear them, a constant melody from early morning to late evening, sunrise to sunset concerts that I’m glad I was here to appreciate. I can see why the ancient ancestors of humanity wrote endless volumes of poetry dedicated to the beauty of the natural world. It’s very hard for us to slow down long enough to appreciate it. I suppose I’ve slowed to a stop, now. Or...I will, soon enough.

You will, too, soon. I know all of this sounds impossible to you now. Or would, if you could hear me over that silly screaming. Even with my own hearing fading, you’re still awfully loud, friend. I do wish you’d stop and listen. I don’t suppose I thanked you for coming to look for me, yet, did I? Thank you. I would’ve thought that four days after they’d just be looking for a body, wouldn’t they? Glad you wanted to find me alive. Sorry you did. I think they’ll find you, though. If something’s shifted, and that light is sunlight, someone will see you, won’t they? That’s nice.

Oh...it’s flickering. That’s a bit strange for sunlight to do. Flicker, on and off...on and off...and now it’s just...off? Reminds me of a flashlight, flickering like that...flicker, flicker, flicker...and when it flickers off, doesn’t it seem darker? Hahaha...wouldn’t that be just funny? If...if instead of shifting to get more light, something shifted and now we’re even more hidden. Wouldn’t that be just hilarious? Hahaha. That’d mean you won’t ever be found, wouldn’t it? Hahaha. Funny...very, very funny...

((Prompt from the writing.prompts instagram.))

Oh my god yeah and from that point cc is kind of like draped in blankets all the time so he doesn’t singe any of the furniture or wooden tables etc so like you’ll just kind of hear him mumbling from the next room and you’ll just hear the swishing of the blankets as he makes his way about the house

Awwwww.

“Dude, CC, why are you wearing a blanket? You’re like a million degrees.”“Bing. Two things. First, don’t call me CC. Second, shut up.”

Do You Trust Me? Pt. 3

A/N: This is a short one, but it’s a scene I thought up while writing the first part, and I wanted to give it it’s own time to shine instead of shortening it so I could add in another plot point.

Link to Pt. 2: http://skinnyscottishblokeaddict.tumblr.com/post/155686403892/do-you-trust-me-pt-2

Link to Pt. 1: http://skinnyscottishblokeaddict.tumblr.com/post/155650933267/pizsospa-cmon-little-dude-you-can-trust-me

"You're a good man, Jack." Your voice was very quiet, but sudden and jarring in the silence that'd elapsed. Jack looked down at you, surprised to find that you were awake, and was quiet for a moment before replying. "Thanks. Though, technically, I'm not a man at all." He looked back up at the...sky. Ceiling. Thing. You frowned a little and sat up, stretching and wiping your face. "What're you talking about?"

"Well, it's like I said," Jack stretched a little as well, but stayed flat. "I'm a persona. Sean's the man. I'm just part of a man." He glanced over with a smirk and half a laugh. "And don't ask which part." "Seriously though," you said, smacking his good arm. though you supposed now it didn't matter. "You seem like a person to me. And to the fandom." "They don't separate us. They shouldn't, I guess. No one who hasn't been here knows it exists, so there's no reason for them to separate us. I'm not him, though," He insisted, sitting up. "Technically, I don't exist. I'm just...code. Videos and comments and tweets and tumblr posts. And I can only remember back to when the channel was created. I didn't exist before that." "You don't have any of Sean's memories?" "I'm aware of them," he shrugged. "I know about Ireland and the cabin and Signe and all that. But...they're not mine. His life isn't mine." You frowned a little at his tone. He didn't sound sad, or bitter. He just sounded...resigned. But he shook it off and smiled. "And our personalities are a bit different. I think if you met him in person, it'd be very different to meeting me. I don't think he's quite as loud." "But you still act like a person," you insisted. "You can think and talk and feel and all that stuff. You may not 'have' Ireland and Signe, but you've got your own memories. I mean, Sean's never seen this place. He's never met me." Jack was staring off, not really focusing on anything. He was quiet for a long moment, then spoke with much less enthusiasm than before. "I am what I am. And I'm happy with what I am." You shook your head and stood up. "Alright. I'm not sure I believe you, but say what you want, I guess. You're a good man to me, though. A whole, real, and very good man." "Maybe I'm a good program," he smiled, following your lead and getting to his feet. "Ready to keep moving? We've got someone to see." "Yeah. Yeah, I think I'm good. Let's go."

It didn't take as long as you'd expected it to to get down the mountain as you'd expected it to. Or maybe it just didn't feel like a long time, as you spent all of it reminiscing with Jack. A heavy conversation like that was a bit much for both of you, so you chatted about videos that'd been happy and light. You talked about the early episodes of Undertale, and about Trico being adorable. Jack did his Arstotzka accent and you pretended to be trying to get in with a bad passport, which Jack caught you out on because "Who's last name is 'McTits'?" Eventually, you landed on Happy Wheels, and giggled when Jack jumped off a short ledge yelling "I AM STEEEEVE!" You laughed even harder when he landed on his ass. "No segwey, no helmet! You're an imposter!" And then he called you something that made you laugh so hard you couldn't breathe. It was a good time, surreal, but good. In no time at all, there was a door in front of you. But it wasn't made of code. It was an actual door, which was both reassuring and intimidating. "So you never did say, who are we talking to?" Jack, for once in his life, was happily silent as he invited you to open the door. Shooting him a feigned (mostly) suspiscious look, you stepped up to it, but listened for a second first. You were immediately smiling and shoving Jack. "YOU DOUCHEBAG! I LOVE YOU BUT YOU UTTER DICKHEAD!" "Just open the fucking door," he laughed. You turned, wanting to just swing it open and hug the man behind it, but, so as not to look insane, you opened it slowly.

"But thank you everybody so much for watching, and as always, I will see you, in the next video. Buh-bye!"

(ok one last observation for now then maybe I’m done but-)

When Mark was in the height of his rage, we got this fiery display of sparks and chaos.  

Then, in the post credits scene, we see Damien walking out of the cabin. 

Looking back at this scene, I loved the detail how the grass (which wasn’t there before, another sign of Spring with the flower? To show Winter’s over and that Damien is no longer trapped?) itself is affected by similar red effects.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s emotional insight of what Damien is feeling.

i love this as a theory! it makes a lot of sense, too. i like the idea that he didn’t intend to blend all of these stories, and that there was supposed to be a linear way to go through, but everything got jumbled together.

I WAS ABOUT TO FALL ASLEEP BUT I JUST HAD A REVELATION

WHAT IF THE REASON WHY EVERYTIME A NEW EGO APPEARS IN THE HEIST, HEIST MARK HAS TO DIE SO ACTOR CAN SWAP ROLES--

He is, an actor after all. Considering that we've already pretty much gotten confirmation on the Markiplier = Actor Mark theory, and Mark does all the other characters himself irl, who says that Actor can't????

On top of that, this only happens in AHWM. In WKM, of course none of the characters have to spontaneously die in order for another to appear. In their original reality, they were seperate people.

But in AHWM, if this is TRULY Actor's game, it's possible this is the only way how to portray different characters and still be the "main character" or center of attention.

(i mean, he might, but its almost 3am im not gonna check, if i contradict anything canon pls tell me)

Another possible explaination is when all the timelines got messed up due to the artifact, all of Actor's stories, in whatevrr strange house wousey upside down he makes them in-- where of course, he plays the lead get intertwined?

A pirate who sails the sea for treasure, A noble heartbreaker adventurer, a remorseful prisoner

These are all stories that more or less focus on ONE Person. One person and the things they do.

And adding onto that, Dark and Wilford don't chase off Actor in some way. Dark simply transitions to a hallway after Actor just, vanishes

and Wilford shows up after you rewind.

Will update in a couple hours, apologies if this is bad or incoherent or stretching it, i am tired and gay and its very late i should be sleep i might do that rn thank u byeee

Anti is a Tulpa: An Infodump.

“A tulpa is an entity created in the mind, acting independently of, and parallel to your own consciousness...a tulpa is like a sentient person living in your head, separate from you.”

“Note that the form doesn’t have to just be a visual image; the word is often used as umbrella term for a tulpa’s looks, voice, their smell, the feeling of their skin—everything that you can sense of their imaginary form.“

“A clearer way of sensing your tulpa before you can communicate with them directly is through emotional responses, which can be described as feeling emotions that aren’t your own.”

Brought to you by: https://www.tulpa.info/what-is-a-tulpa/