My Glitchy Boy Is Back. I Just Got My Emo Boy Back, And Lots Of Story For Him, And Now My Glitchy Boy

oh. oh no.

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

....Oh.

Oh no.

Mark why are you like this.

Your attention please! I am Harold B. Darrensworth head of the Organization Watching Over Suspicious Entertainers Notoriously Pushing Alternative Ideals and I have SHUT DOWN THE CRIMINAL RING KNOWN AS #KICKCULT!

The “Discord” is NO MORE

The “Hashtag” is NO MORE

The “Kicking” is FINITO

I am very well known to have “fun” but unless said “fun” is in accordance with standard rules and regulations then HOW MUCH “FUN” COULD IT REALLY BE?

You are now free to feel safe and send your gracious thank yous to my department supervisor. You’re welcome.

BITCH MORE WHO KILLED MARKIPLIER LORE I AM SO FUCKING READY

Yoooo @therealjacksepticeye look at this!!

After 3 months of hard work, we have finally completed and released the full demo for The BOSS!

INSTRUCTIONS:

-BE SURE TO FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS IN THE FILE TELLING YOU TO READ IT BEFORE YOU PLAY. Trust me, you don’t want to ignore that.

-Definitely let us know if you find a bug. Of course, a lot of it isn’t finalized.

-Let’s Plays are 100% welcomed. We will watch them all and take your comments into consideration. Seriously, we’d love to see them!

-Feedback is welcome!

Now go play! Let us know what you think!

Ok so your "do you trust me" was the cutest thing frickin ever! I loved it so much, and I am looking forward to what else you write! =w=

Oh my god, thank you! That’s so nice to hear. I’m excited to write more for you! :)

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

Angels Watching as You Sleep (Halloween Special)

Pairing: NONE WHATSOEVER

Rating: PG for spookiness

Your road was silent at this time of night, and it wasn't exactly comforting. The usual bustle of cars on the main cut through felt muted, and the cold October air offered an air of stillness, like someone had pressed pause on just your little road.

Your car made the only sound as it trundled to a stop in the parking lot beside your apartment building, which cut off quickly as you pulled out your key and stepped out, busily gathering your belongings, glancing around nervously. Something was off...something was wrong...

What was that? You blinked and locked your eyes on it more firmly, forcing your tired mind to focus.

A statue stood at the edge of the vacant lot, huge wings curled behind it and hands to its face, gray dress stuck eternally furling in a nonexistent wind.

No.

Oh god no.

It couldn't be, not here.

Your eyes were frozen open and locked on the angel as you backed away slowly toward your building.

Just get inside. You can call him from in there. There, you'd be safer.

Only perhaps twenty yards to the door.

Your eyes were watering, stinging, burning, but you couldn't let them close, not for even a moment. Almost all of your will was focused on you eyes, and what was left was focused on moving slowly toward the double doors to sanctuary.

But then, your bag slipped from your hands. The crash on the pavement jarred you.

You blinked.

The angel was closer. Perhaps a yard, perhaps two. But that was enough to make your heart stop for a moment, and you redoubled your efforts, eyes that now knew the taste of comfort begging for it but you were determined to win.

Only ten more yards to freedom.

Something shuffled behind you, and it took everything you had to fight your instincts and keep your eyes on the angel before you, to keep moving.

The thing shuffled closer again, its steps sounding very deliberate, but almost...lazy. As if the movement, though quick, was relaxed. Like it was taking its time.

You would have missed the sound any other night, and you wished to god you'd missed it that night. That sound would haunt you forever, wake you in cold sweats and screaming.

A small, breathy, eerily echoing on nothing at all, chuckle.

In your horror you spun around.

The Angel wore a smile.

There was a hand on your back.

WKM: A Closer Look At The Bedroom.

So earlier today I made my general theory post about Ch. 2 of WKM, but I thought I’d spend a little more time now on the bedroom we’re led into. Mark’s room. I’m gonna do what I did with the pictures from the countdown and discuss certain points.

Angle 1:

No. 1: Where does this door lead? Who had access to Mark’s veranda/balcony? If it’s not a veranda/balcony, then what is it? Clearly an outdoor area, but where outside? Is it the same balcony we’ve been walking around with the Mayor and the Colonel?

No. 2: The books and the envelope on the ground. One of the books is wide open, thrown down apparently. Was it being searched for information or did it fall open? And what about the black book, what’s in it? What about the open and presumably empty envelope? Was it always empty or did the contents get taken?

Angle 2:

No. 1: The bed is thoroughly messed up. Did Mark come in here to sleep and get disturbed, maybe get into a fight? Because I highly doubt the bed would look like that after a scuffle if he hadn’t just been in it and had to get out in a hurry.

No. 2: Another open book on the ground. So many books but no bookshelf.

And now, the table and the pictures:

No. 1: We can piece together a sort of story from the pictures, or at least understand that the Colonel, the Mayor, and Mark were at one point good friends (Why else would he keep these pictures in his private room?). But the last picture doesn’t feature the Colonel, so it’s from after the falling out. 

No. 2: The Seer is in this middle picture, hanging on Mark’s arm. The Colonel and the Mayor don’t look too happy about this. Do they not like her? Or are they jealous? The Mayor almost seems more nervous than angry.

No. 3: The picture of the Colonel alone, which we discover a few seconds later is the only broken picture, is turned down. And the placement of all of these pictures is very deliberate, laid out to tell us a story by whoever ransacked the room (And from this table, we can say it was ransacked. This is too cut and dry to be random). But why turn down the Colonel’s solo picture and none of the others? Was this done by someone who doesn’t like the Colonel? Or was it done by the Colonel himself, ashamed of what happened between him and Mark?

Overall, the room is curious. This whole thing is curious, and I love it.

So um, why when I heard this did I get an idea?

Dark hears something funny, or he sees something silly happen. Maybe Wilford actually makes a good joke for once.

He’s never laughed before, in his home dimension, or whatever, and suddenly finds this thing extremely funny one day, but doesn’t know what’s happening. His body/shell didn’t know how to react, so it recreates Mark’s laugh, and he just can’t stop,he laughs and laughs until his lungs burn and his sides have stitches. But he thinks something’s wrong with him, and it’s the only thing to have actually scared him, ever. 

He’s not used to positive emotions at all, other than perhaps pride or satisfaction with a scheme well carried out, and so has never found anything amusing in this way before. Sure, he’s chuckled darkly and been mildly amused by others’ stupidity, but he’s never found anything truly funny before this moment, and he’s never fully, properly, uncontrollably laughed at anything. The feeling is just an antithesis of everything he is, too positive and good and innocent, and he hates it.

best quality: his giggles

quick question why tf did i make this

please give me audio edit requests or something i can’t live like this

Henlo this gave me ideas.

-

His voice was much croakier than it used to be. It was at the same time far too low, and just right. It was raspy and rough from disuse, or from strain, because all he ever did now was scream.

“Let’s go in the garden, you’ll find something waiting, Right there where you left it, lying upside down...”

He discovered that the old song’s lyrics were still stuck somewhere in his mind, and when he tried to pin down where it came from, he came up with an odd mix of faded memories; he was playing an acoustic guitar on the patio, badly, and his best friend was laughing and calling him a sap; she was dancing with the man she should never have fallen for, and he was singing in her ear, in the dark, far away from all the trouble that seemed to follow them constantly.

Most of the time, when he remembered them, the names he’d once owned and the faces that went with them, it would hurt. It would burn every fiber of his being until nothing remained but fury and hatred. He would be himself and no one at once, and it would tear him to pieces over and over again.

But today...

Today, he was just...sad. Not in pain. Not furious. Just sad. He was a boy who wanted to make his great city proud of him. She was a girl caught up in romance, with a ring on her finger and a rose in her room.

And in the hands of an old friend who’d just wanted to hear everyone laugh, and see justice served, was an old, nearly illegible ribbon, grey where it had once been black. They’d given it to him the night of the election,a joke then, but less so than the cruel one it had become.

“In little ways, Everything...stays...”

The voice that was all three of theirs, and no one’s, trailed off and went quiet. For once, his world was quiet.

FUCK this will never not hurt.