Please Tell Me What Stupidly Specific Assumptions You Have About Me Based On My Fic/theories.

WILFORD HAS A FULL, REAL NAME!!!! HE’S GOT A NAME!!!!

WILLIAM J BARNUM!!

AND HE’S NOT CRAZY AT ALL, HE’S TRYING TO UNDERSTAND AND HE CAN’T BECAUSE THERE’S TOO MUCH HAPPENING! HE’S AWARE THAT IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE AND THAT HE’S LOSING IT ALL AND IF THAT ISN’T THE SADDEST BIT OF THE STORY DUDE

@markiplier BRO YOU KNOW HOW TO BREAK MY FUCKING HEART AND MAKE ME LAUGH AT THE SAME TIME WTF

This is actually so helpful, thank you for putting these together!

Don’t Know Where to Start with Jacksepticeye and/or Markiplier Egos?

Jse Ego Starter Kit

Jse Ego Advanced Kit

Markiplier Ego Starter Kit

Markiplier Ego Advanced Kit

It’s usually tricky to find where to start when there is so much information, so I made a playlist for these 4 things. Videos on the starter playlists should be played in order. Hope this helps!

I’m only reblogging my own story because this comment is making me laugh so hard that I’m trying desperately not to wake up my brother in the next room, either by laughing too loudly or falling outta my chair. Glad you like it! XD

THIS IS NOT MINE. This is a Creepypasta I’ve heard a thousand times and don’t know the original owner of, but I love it dearly, it’s terrifying. You should look for the Jacksepticeye reading of it, that got me good the first time I heard it.

i’m incredibly impressed by this

also, isn’t this what our plan looks like in mark’s bag?

I posted this on my twitter but, I spent about three hours late last night making this monstrous thing, so please enjoy. It should have every single path and ending you could get in A Heist With Markiplier. I may add all of A Date With Markiplier later on @markiplier

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.

I’m thinking I’m just gonna stay out of the cult stuff. It’s...not really my style. But feel free to keep me posted if anything interesting comes of this!

Two in the Morning (Winchesters Imagine)

Pairing: Nothing really, Sam/Reader ish

Rating: PG for language

You were asleep. Everyone was, it was 2 am. And you were having a damn good dream, too.

And then they rolled up.  Doors slammed, there was a lot of shouting, and you were suddenly wide awake, standing in the middle of the motel room, pointing a sawed-off shotgun loaded with salt at the door.

"Dean we have to talk about this at some point!"

"Not tonight, Sammy! It's 2 am, and I wanna get some shut eye!"

So do I, you thought in annoyance. You froze, poised for action, when you heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. Then the door handle twisted, and it opened to reveal two hulking figures, shadowed and possibly malformed. The lights clicked on.

"Who the hell are you and how the hell did you get my key?"

It turned out that neither boy was malformed at all, just covered in about four layers of shirts each for some reason. The shocked looks on their faces made you pause. Had they expected you to sleep through that racket? Both boys' hands shot up, and the taller one dropped the set of keys he'd been holding. The shorter one, stepped forward, blocking what he could of the big one, and smiled in what he must have thought was a charming manner. It might've been, too, at any other time of day.

"Um...hi. Sorry, we must be in the wrong room, so if you don't mind, we'll just-"

"Don't move, Model Boy." He blinked, glanced at the bigger one and mouthing "Model Boy?". He shrugged, and Model Boy looked back at you, not moving. You stepped closer, pulling a flask out of your bag as you went and unscrewing the cap with one hand, using the other to keep the gun pointed. When you got it off, you splashed the contents at them, and when the did nothing but flinch and sputter a little, you relaxed a little more.

"Okay, not demons. Still doesn't explain why a moose and a model are standing on my doorstep."

"Again with the moose thing?" the bigger one complained, and after a jab in the ribs from the model, he sighed and said, "Are you (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?"

"Who's asking?"

"I'm Sam, and this is Dean. Bobby Singer sent us. Said you needed some help with a pack of demons down here?"

At that, you finally smiled, dropping the gun to bounce against your side. "Oh, so you're the Winchesters! Bobby talks about you boys all the time. I didn't know he'd be sending you to help me out." You laughed, gesturing for them to come in. The relief on their faces as they did, sitting at the little table and dropping their bags around them, made you laugh again. You plopped down on the corner of the unoccupied bed after shutting the door and locking it again, dropping the gun back by your bed.

"Tell me something, guys," you said conversationally as Sam set up his laptop and Dean pulled out a rather heavy looking old leather book, "Why are you in my room and not your own?" The boys exchanged a look, then Dean said, "The uh...the manager said that this one was free." You rolled your eyes and muttered, "Damn idiot's never gonna remember I'm here, is he?" All three of you laughed. "We'll get our own in a couple of minutes, once we're set up in here. No point in having two work stations, right?" Sam said, smiling at you goofily.

"No point in having two rooms either, I think." They looked at you curiously. "What? I'm perfectly willing to share a bed if you are."

You could almost hear them yelling "Dibs!" at each other, and you giggled. "Just for sleeping, you overgrown teenagers." The offended looks this earned you had you trying desperately not to fall over laughing. When you'd calmed down enough to speak again, you stood and walked back over to your bed, slipping back under the sheets.

"Fight it out amongst yourselves. As for me, it's too damn early for research, don't ya think? I'm hitting the hay again, as I was doing before I was so rudely interrupted."

The following whispered argument lasted twenty minutes before the lights snapped out again.

Sam won.

After The Invasion

Pairing: Ten/Rose

Rating: G

Rose shook herself awake, stretching and yawning and getting her bearings. She smiled. How long had it been since she last woke up in her old apartment? Looking around made her contented little smile bigger. Her mum still had a paper crown crookedly capping her hair, an empty wineglass on the table beside her. Mickey had apparently gone home hours ago to check on his apartment. You could never be too careful with alien invasions. Rose supposed it had only been a few hours since dinner, as it was still dark outside, and the snow...well, ash, was still heavy. The only person missing from this happy little scene was the Doctor. The new Doctor. But still hers. She decided to find him.

The Doctor stood, leaning on the console of his beautiful, beloved ship, letting his new eyes wander over all the little doohickies and gadgets bathed in their familiar green light, a fond little grin playing at his lips. He caught sight of a hand, and was startled for a moment before realizing it was his, and laughing to himself. He looked at the skinny little thing, all long fingered and fidgety, and up his thin arm. He took the hand and felt his longer, spikier hair, then down to his ear (so much less conspicuous this time), then his neck. He pulled it away and stared at it again.

"Is it weird, for you?"

He whirled around, grinning when he realized who it was. "Rose! You're up!" She did her little tongue-out smile. "I am, yeah. But is it weird?" His grin faded a little, eyes on his hand again. He flexed it, fascinated by the rippling of the little muscles and tendons. "Yeah. It is a bit, yeah." He huffed a little laugh. "It's like I said, never know quite what's going to happen. I could easily end up someone...ugly. Or cruel. Someone I don't even like. But" he drew out the word, "I think...I am going to quite like this one." Without looking up, he said softly, "what do you think?" A glance in her direction. "Are you?" Rose walked toward him, looking him up and down. He found he was holding his breath. Finally, she took his hand. He looked fondly down at their entwined fingers, a happy little sigh escaping, then back up at her, eyebrows raised. She stuck her tongue out again. "Yeah. I reckon I am." His face lit up.

Without warning, and without ever taking his eyes off of her, he flipped a switch and turned a dial, and the room filled with music. It was a slow, gently song. He stepped back and bowed. "Rose Tyler," he savored the sound of her name in this new voice, "would you care to take this dance?" In reply, she snaked her arms around his neck, and his seemed to find their own way to her waist. She leaned her head on his chest, enjoying the novel feel of this new body, the way she just fit into his embrace, the comforting double heartbeat.

Dadadadum. Dadadadum.

He buried his face in her hair, taking in the scent again, closing his eyes and loving the feel of his arms around her as they swayed on the spot. He smiled suddenly, an idea occuring to him. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, "Would you look at that? The Doctor is dancing, and the world hasn't ended." She laughed, the sound muffled against his suit, and moved so that she was hugging him across the shoulders. He was so much easier to hug now. And he was hugging back, tightly, a thousand-watt smile lighting up his thin face.

For a little while, nothing existed, except a skinny man and a blond girl, in a blue box, in an alley behind some apartments, holding each other, on Christmas night.

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

If you're not too bunged or have a lot of work, would you be interested in doing something about madpat? Maybe with a quite shy reader?

A/N: I’m going with horror here, but I can do accomplice next time if you want? Not huge on doing romantic interest imagines for insanes/evils or the real people, sorry!

“You’re a quiet one.” The grin on his face was the most terrifying thing you’d ever seen, deranged but somehow startlingly present, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, but didn’t care how it hurt anyone else. You leaned away from him, the restraints of your chair not letting you move as far as you would have liked. The small movement made him smirk.

“Aw, that’s funny! You think you can get away from me!” You cringed as he slammed his hands into the back of the chair, his face inches from yours and his breath hot on your skin. “No chance, loyal theorist.”

“Matt, p-please...I-if you can h-hear me...p-please...you’re not l-like this...”

That laugh would stay with you until the day you died. It was the laugh of a lunatic, but it wasn’t senseless. It was dangerously purposeful. You shrunk away, shaking as wide, near-black brown eyes leveled with yours, teeth bared in the ghost of a smile turned grimace.

“Matt. Isn’t. Here.”

His hand was around your throat, tightening by the second.

“And you might think you can save him...”

You couldn’t breathe, you could barely see as his grin grew impossibly bigger.

“But that’s just a theory, isn’t it?”

The mocking tone was lost on you, as the world faded away.