Latest Posts by likepuppetsonastring - Page 5

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.

“PLEASE!”

That might have been the first time you’d ever heard Dark speak sincerely, or say the word “please” in any context other than sneering dismissive commentary.

He was hanging by one arm, trying desperately to get a hold with the other but failing because his hand was broken to shit, shattered into little pieces by the fall. If no help came for him, he’d fall into the crumbling void, and whether he’d die there or not you’d never know.

But you couldn’t seem to move.

“CAN’T YOU HEAR ME?! GET ME OUT OF HERE!” His voice was cracking underneath its echoes and distortion, and it was clear from his tone he’d given up on his “I need no one” attitude that’d been his trademark. He genuinely sounded afraid, and in that moment, so much like Mark.

That, you decided, was the reason that you scrambled over to the ledge and grabbed his arm, grunting from the pain of trying to pull him up. He scrambled along the wall and after a tense moment, managed to crumple onto the ground beside you. Neither of you moved for a long moment, just heaving in labored breaths and trying to get your sense back.

“Why?”

You turned to look at him, frowning in confusion. He was sitting up slightly, hunched forward and holding his broken ribs and hand. You struggled to sit up.

“W...why what?”

“Why did you save me?”

“You asked me to, asshole.”

He glared at you, but the usual deadly malice was missing. He just looked tired. “I’ve asked you for a thousand things. I’ve forced you to do a thousand things, and you...you had the chance to be free, to get rid of me, why didn’t you...?”

You sighed heavily, lying back down to stare at the...ceiling? Was it a ceiling or was it sky, or was it neither? You supposed it didn’t matter too much. “Because...you sounded afraid.”

“Why does that matter?” There was a little bit of anger in that one, but it didn’t seem to be directed at you.

“I’ve never heard you sound like that before. You sounded like...”

“Like him.”

A long pause. “Yes. And no.” He frowned at you, and you elaborated. “You sound like Mark, yes, but...mostly, you just sounded like a person. Any other person. Someone who didn’t want to die. And I don’t think I could live with myself if I let you fall, and there was any chance that you were...”

“What? Human?” A sigh, again, and then, disdainfully, “There is nothing human left in me.”

“Left?” That was a surprise. Since when had there been anything human about him at all? But he didn’t seem willing to tell you any more. You thought for a moment. “Well, it sounded to me like there was something left. Small as it was, it was there. Maybe...maybe whoever you were originally isn’t as far gone as you thought.”

The look he gave you then was terrifying. Not in his usual “I’m going to rip you apart just to see what makes you tick” way, but in a way that was more subtle, and more chilling. He looked at you as if you’d given him hope he didn’t want, and he looked very much like a man that was just too tired. Done up in that suit of his, disheveled and broken, he looked like he could’ve been some politician, caught up in some scandal he hated, just wanting to do the best he could to make the world better. He looked like a different person completely.

“What was your name?” The look hardened. “Before you were Dark, what was your name?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. That person is dead, and anything they were is dead along with them. What’s dead should stay that way.” He stood, cracking his neck sickeningly, and seeming to pop some of the bones in his chest back into place, and turned away, starting to walk. “If you can’t get up, then die here. If you can, then follow me so you don’t.”

You stood, certain he would be good to his word and let you die here if you didn’t. But you could never look at him the same way ever again.

If Darkiplier was reaching out to you, would you help or let let him die?

You choose.

Like = Kill

Reblog = Save

Some thoughts about the Dark!Robin that’s been going around.

So first of all, I’m loving the name “Deadpixl,” which’s been thrown around recently. Also, I’m loving the art and edits I’ve seen of him!!

Here’s a couple of headcanons. :)

-Deadpixl is a puppeteer. He’s the one who effectively created Anti, and is most in control of him. Anti has exactly one fear in the whole universe, and that’s Deadpixl.

-He hates the spotlight, preferring to work from behind the scenes to manipulate his way through the world. Unlike Dark, though, he’s not power-obsessed or revenge-driven. Nope, he just wants to see the world burn.

-If he is forced to act directly, however, he is terrifyingly strong and deadly smart. He’s a master of hypnosis, able to bring people under his control with just a few words.

-He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, so try joking or sassing him and you’re probably not gonna live to try it again.

I love dark sides so much! They’re such fun little fandom things, and they’re super fun to write. ;)

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

Is your blog title a reference to a wrestling song?

No, unfortunately, that would’ve been a lot cooler than what it actually is. XD Is there a song called “Like Puppets on a String”? I have to look that up now.

But no, actually it was just a generic reference to villains using other people as pawns, treating them “like puppets on a string”. It just happened to get really relevant to youtube dark sides. lol

Oh damn, I can’t find my other profile picture for this blog. :/ That’s annoying.

Probably. I wouldn’t be surprised.

Are these all the demons that Jim and Jim summoned

We’re just... Having fun sprEading some wonderfuL Positivity. That’s all.

“We’re just... Having fun sprEading some wonderfuL Positivity. That’s all.”

I’m a humble theorist, my poor lost friend, Can’t see why Anyone wouldn’t waNt thaT in their lives.

Oh hello haha. You have a lovely blog. Hahahaha

What up demon? I’m curious about you all, but at the same time...concerned...

Is anyone else getting Coraline vibes from this? Do something “small” in exchange for eternal happiness? Something’s not right about all this...

I’d add my theories to this but frankly...

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

oh fuck.

Nope!

A/N: I smell a fandom fire! What a good time for some nicely roasted angst!

Dark knew what this feeling was. He was all too familiar with it, wasn’t he? All the same, the familiar panic began to rise in his throat, and he stood suddenly at his desk, before grunting and hunching over it, one hand slamming down into the surface, cracking it in an attempt to steady himself, but it felt like the world was spinning.

It was very fast this time.

“Dark?”

Oh, no. No, Wil, you don’t need to see…

But Wilford was leaning heavily on the door frame, bubblegum-smile missing and face pale, eyes wide and deathly scared. Dark knew that look.

“It would seem it isn’t just me,” he said softly, trying to come around the desk to join him, but this caused the room to turn sickeningly on its side. He slid to the ground with a groan. Wilford made an effort to come to him at the same time, and collapsed to his knees halfway there.

“What’s happening? What’s…?”

“We’re dying, Wilford.”

The tears that had already been forming leaked out and onto his cheeks as he whispered, not even strong enough to summon his usual smile, “It’s…but it’s all a joke, isn’t it? It’s always been a joke, hasn’t it?”

“A cruel joke,” Dark agreed, slumping further onto the ground. He vaguely made out Wilford collapsing fully, heard him wheezing. “It’s not fair…it’s never been fair.”

They were quiet for a moment.

Suddenly, Wilford chuckled, and the sound of it brought real tears to Dark’s long-dried eyes. He didn’t know he could still do that. How interesting.

“Not quite the blaze of glory I had planned, is it, Dames?”

“So you do remember.”

He’d have nodded if he still could have. He couldn’t even see anymore, really. Vague, grey and blue and red shapes. He didn’t know if Wil could still hear him.

“Thank you, William.”

“It’s been my honor. Damien. Celine.”

There were no other words. Everything went black.

“Dark? I have some new concepts to go over with you, and we need to discuss this week’s schedule.” Bim knocked on his door, and was surprised when it gave way under his hands. Frowning, he stepped into the office.

It was oddly empty. The fire was still burning in the white marble fireplace on the far end of the room, and there were papers sitting on the desk, as if someone had been halfway through them and been interrupted. The chair was pushed back carelessly, and the thick rug was wrinkled in one corner.

Bim walked slowly over to the desk and picked up one of the papers. For a moment, it looked as if he were reading and old article, the tabloid headline stating “MURDERS AT MARKIPLIER MANOR REMAIN UNSOLVED”.

And then, the page was blank.

Bim wondered why the egos never used this office. It was nice, very stately. Fit for a politician.

Perhaps Google would like it. Always best to offer the boss the best spot in the building, and his current room wasn’t nearly enough. Why had they stuck him in that little side room again? Why had he let them? Maybe he liked the privacy.

He wandered off to find him, feeling vaguely as if he’d forgotten something important. But he was sure it was nothing.

A/N: I smell a fandom fire! What a good time for some nicely roasted angst!

Dark knew what this feeling was. He was all too familiar with it, wasn’t he? All the same, the familiar panic began to rise in his throat, and he stood suddenly at his desk, before grunting and hunching over it, one hand slamming down into the surface, cracking it in an attempt to steady himself, but it felt like the world was spinning.

It was very fast this time.

“Dark?”

Oh, no. No, Wil, you don’t need to see...

But Wilford was leaning heavily on the door frame, bubblegum-smile missing and face pale, eyes wide and deathly scared. Dark knew that look.

“It would seem it isn’t just me,” he said softly, trying to come around the desk to join him, but this caused the room to turn sickeningly on its side. He slid to the ground with a groan. Wilford made an effort to come to him at the same time, and collapsed to his knees halfway there.

“What’s happening? What’s...?”

“We’re dying, Wilford.”

The tears that had already been forming leaked out and onto his cheeks as he whispered, not even strong enough to summon his usual smile, “It’s...but it’s all a joke, isn’t it? It’s always been a joke, hasn’t it?”

“A cruel joke,” Dark agreed, slumping further onto the ground. He vaguely made out Wilford collapsing fully, heard him wheezing. “It’s not fair...it’s never been fair.”

They were quiet for a moment.

Suddenly, Wilford chuckled, and the sound of it brought real tears to Dark’s long-dried eyes. He didn’t know he could still do that. How interesting.

“Not quite the blaze of glory I had planned, is it, Dames?”

“So you do remember.”

He’d have nodded if he still could have. He couldn’t even see anymore, really. Vague, grey and blue and red shapes. He didn’t know if Wil could still hear him.

“Thank you, William.”

“It’s been my honor. Damien. Celine.”

There were no other words. Everything went black.

“Dark? I have some new concepts to go over with you, and we need to discuss this week’s schedule.” Bim knocked on his door, and was surprised when it gave way under his hands. Frowning, he stepped into the office.

It was oddly empty. The fire was still burning in the white marble fireplace on the far end of the room, and there were papers sitting on the desk, as if someone had been halfway through them and been interrupted. The chair was pushed back carelessly, and the thick rug was wrinkled in one corner.

Bim walked slowly over to the desk and picked up one of the papers. For a moment, it looked as if he were reading and old article, the tabloid headline stating “MURDERS AT MARKIPLIER MANOR REMAIN UNSOLVED”.

And then, the page was blank.

Bim wondered why the egos never used this office. It was nice, save for the broken desk and mirror, very stately. Fit for a politician.

Perhaps Google would like it. Always best to offer the boss the best spot in the building, and his current room wasn’t nearly enough. Why had they stuck him in that little side room again? Why had he let them? Maybe he liked the privacy.

He wandered off to find him, feeling vaguely as if he’d forgotten something important. But he was sure it was nothing.

You know what I want? A temporary, heartbreaking Damien return. Dark’s about to kill us but is stopped by the part of him that is still Damien. Before he can kill it for good, Damien regains control briefly and saves us, promising that he really did want to help us, and that he knows he is losing/has lost himself, and he’s so so sorry, old friend, he won’t ask for your forgiveness. But he will spare you now. He tells us to run.

Because he cares.

he cares

you nailed it!

I’ve never written fanfiction before in my life and honestly I’m shocked people like it

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."

should anyone be interested, and because these are actually writing/artsy related. go for it! i’ll answer to the best of my ability. :)

identity ask.........oh shit

if someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to?

have you ever found a writer who thinks just like you? if so, who?

list your fandoms and one character from each that you identify with.

do you like your name?  is there another name you think would fit you better?

do you think of yourself as a human being or a human doing? do you identify yourself by the things you do?

are you religious/spiritual?

do you care about your ethnicity?

what musical artists have you most felt connected to over your lifetime?

are you an artist?

do you have a creed?

describe your ideal day.

dog person or cat person?

inside or outdoors?

are you a musician?

five most influential books over your lifetime.

if you’d grown up in a different environment, do you think you’d have turned out the same?

would you say your tumblr is a fair representation of the “real you”?

what’s your patronus?

which Harry Potter house would you be in? or are you a muggle?

would you rather be in Middle Earth, Narnia, Hogwarts, or somewhere else?

do you love easily?

list the top five things you spend the most time doing, in order.

how often would you want to see your family every year?

have you ever felt like you had a “mind-meld” with someone?

could you live as a hermit?

how would you describe your gender/sexuality?

do you feel like your outside appearance is a fair representation of the “real you”?

on a scale from 1 to 10, how hard is it for someone to get under your skin?

three songs that you connect with right now.

pick one of your favorite quotes.

HEADCANON ACCEPTED

Ok so idk what made me think of this but imagine WKM Mark and Celine actually had a baby. Imagine the baby was orphaned after the events of WKM. Imagine he grew up with powers he never fully understood and no one to teach him how to use them. Imagine him having this innate desire for control. Imagine him, all grown up, becoming a best selling Author. Imagine him meeting Dark and Dark just freaking out.

So what I’m thinking is that this one was written by Asshole Mark.

Love... 

What a simple thing [This is sarcasm, obviously, as suggested by the rest of the poem, hinting at the bitterness reflected in the ending.]

The sweetest poison A blood-stained ring [The “sweetest poison” because love has only ever hurt this person and yet they pursue it. The “blood-stained ring” could mean a wedding ring, talking about a ruined marriage, the blood meaning injury or death related to the relationship.]   A tender kiss  A bitter sting  [The contrast between these two lead me to believe it’s referencing the same person, the SO of the speaker, and it’s referencing a betrayal, the “sting” being something this person has done to hurt the speaker.]

Eternal bliss A lonely king [”Eternal bliss” in a perfect relationship on the outside, but it’s meaningless now because they know what the SO did, they’ve been hurt, and so even if they’re still together in appearance, they are alone.] 

How much of this is even real? [This expands on the last part, the appearance of a happy marriage that is faked to some degree.]

This pain This love This somber wheel [They seem to be going through a cycle of trying to forgive them, and being hurt again. What the SO did is a recurring thing.] 

An endless turn of snake and tail An endless storm, malignant gale  [The speaker feels trapped by the relationship, hurt over and over again as if it’ll never end.]

Yet here I sit upon my throne My only truth... I am alone [They feel isolated from everyone else, in a position of wealth and power but with the only thing that really matters to them taken away, and so are becoming bitter.]

So in conclusion, this is from Asshole Mark’s perspective, when he was still married to Celine, growing more and more bitter, possibly before he made his ill-fated plan.

uuUHHHH

I support this theory! Ties the two together very well, I think.

Wait-

The thing we’ve all been connecting to Who Killed Markiplier is Darkiplier in A Date with Markiplier. But there’s one big detail we’re all missing-

The Meta Ending

When you say “Yes” to Mark’s proposal, it’s revealed that this is actually all part of a production. That you’re all actors. Even Mark. 

Turns out, actor Mark is an asshole. A selfish, conceited asshole.

And he also used to be well-known. A star. We know another asshole actor, one who was rich and famous. 

So is Meta Ending Mark WKM Mark? If he is, it brings more meaning to “FREEDOM!”, a video that follows the “PAY” path, but diverges when you make your decision to watch the Horror play.

Dark says Mark is a, “Bad man and does bad things to good people.” It’s so important to note that Dark hadn’t told a single lie. He never said he was Mark. He said that Mark was bad, that he needed to die, that he was a liar, yes, but if he was talking about WKM Mark, it would all be true. He also said that Mark was Dark, which isn’t a lie either looking at Mark’s limerick.

Hope you had a good holiday season! Good luck for the new year

And you as well! Hope you have a wonderful year ahead of you full of love, laughter, and luck.

Sorry my handwriting is a mess! I might draw anti with antlers at some stage tomorrow like I could imagine Marvin cursing him with them at some stage cause he keeps making the Christmas lights glitch out

Thank you for the drawing!!! Your handwriting is fine!! And that would be hilarious. XD

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

I can get a doodle of it done tonight maybe!

*squeeeeeeeeee*

There’s this black Santa hat in my house that says “bah humbug” on it and I can just imagine someone wrestling that onto dark

Oh my god someone draw that please. XD

Greyscale. (An #Overnightwatch Horror Drabble.)

The room was monochrome. Black and white video feed from the nine cameras flooded grey light over the black desk and office chair with the broken back. The white walls were just out of reach of the screen’s glow, looking more like fog than physical barriers. Black shoes tapped across the grey tile of the floor, dull and scuffed from years of work, and the pale face of the guard seemed to glow in the ambiance. The only color in the room was the silly, scarlet, festive hat on the guard’s head, sliding down slowly toward the steaming cup of coffee cradled in their hands, only to be pushed back up occasionally. Why they’d worn it to work, they’d forgotten hours ago, as the festive mood was dead in the air at two in the morning on a cold, lonely night. There had been no change in two hours. The longest gap of the night. The silence was beginning to get to them, but they dared not play music to sooth their nerves, for fear of missing...him. It’d started with small things. Shadows. Laughter. Small distortions. But as the hours had crept on, figures had shown up, the sounds had gotten louder and louder, and eventually, he had shown himself...but only in recordings. The guard and their network had gone to work worried, and excited. Now, they simply hoped to survive. A distortion, over one camera. The Kitchen. The sound of laughter so loud that the guard spilled their coffee as they jumped violently. Another recording. Lights flickering. More laughter. This was not the most frightening anomaly that had happened tonight. But it was the closest. The yellow light under the door flickered on and off, on and off, sporadically. Pounding began on the door to the office. The guard watched, one hand clutching the chair’s arm desperately, the other searching fruitlessly for some weapon. A second later it was over. He was gone.

The guard stayed stock still for a long moment, breathing far too heavily. After a while, they were sure that he was gone, at least for the moment, and sunk slowly into the coffee-stained chair, pulling out a phone and shooting a message to the network before returning to the watch, now too unwilling to go and replace their coffee as tears streamed down their pallid face.

2:34 AM

Sent from: 3rd Watch

To: 1st Watch, 2nd Watch, 4th Watch, etc.

He’s here. Getting stronger. Don’t know if I’ll make it to 4th. Will send analysis when I stop shaking.

2:35 AM

Sent from: 6th Watch

To: 1st Watch, 2nd Watch, 4th Watch, etc.

Need backup?

2:40 AM

Sent from: 4th Watch

To: 1st Watch, 2nd Watch, 4th Watch, etc.

3rd?

3:00 AM

Sent from: 4th Watch

To: 1st Watch, 2nd Watch, 4th Watch, etc.

We have a man down. Send backup.

3:16 AM

Sent from: Private Number

To: 1st Watch, 2nd Watch, 4th Watch, etc.

Ț̩̙͕̲̳͠ḭ͈̬͍ͥ̊̒͛ͭͥ̇cͬ́ͅk̯̜̹͍̳͉͖ ̫̱̺̱t̡̼̋ͮͣ̿̎͆o̢̙̰͖̼̙̓̀̈́ͬ̏ͭ̈́c̬̤̓̄ͥ̒͌ͤk̓̐̎҉͇̺̥͈͚,͏̤͉ ̢͈͈̫͚̦͊̀̚tͯ͋ͣͭĩ̴̞̼͔͔͒͗͛̌͐̒ͅc̰̖̠̼͔ͬ̒̿̈́ͪķ̘͎̼͍̫͐ͤ ͓̎̀ͦ͒͢t̩͓͉̬̗̾̾ͣo̬̬̖̤͗ͧ̒͊̋ͩ̚c͚̲ͭͭ̅ķ͔̖̥̥͇̂̏ͭ͛͐̔̐,̲͚̟̭̤̖͔͡ ͈̝ͤͬt̯͙̤̼̲͓͆ͥ͊̊i͚͑̀̋͑̇ͥ̚͢c̴k̭̮͔̮͖ͦͬͨ̎̅ͤ ̦̹̦ͨͥ͝t̤̝͐̾́̍́ö́ͮ̚ċ̦̝̜̲̲̰̾̌ͥ̍̈́͐̀k̦̬̩̭̬͍͚̎ͧ̈́́.̰̱̩̩̭̘̂

I feel like dark would secretly like Christmas though, I’m not sure why, I just feel like it’d be this little secret thing he gets happy about

He’d pretend to hate it, or have no reaction at all, but he’d drink the hot drinks that Wilf makes for him and duck under the fairy lights lining the door to the conference room, with a small smile when no one else is looking.

Like he gets so salty and bitter when it gets close to Christmas and none of the other egos can work out why

He just haaates it so much, and everyone’s like “yeah typical.” lol

I always imagine anti as kinda like the grinch, he detests Christmas much to the annoyance of chase

Oh absolutely.