Text Conversations With The Boys

I’m a fan of both, and I kinda see them as an evolution? Like Anti started out wild and glitchy, but he’s slowly learning to control his...form, I guess? better than he did before, so he can be silent and menacing. He’s done playing games and is getting down to business, whatever his main business is now.

Okay question for everyone,

Do you all like the silent, menacing, Anti more or the crazy, chaotic glitch?

For me personally, I like the silent version more. Why? It's way more terrifying. With the other one, you know exactly what he's thinking and what he's going to do next but with the left one, he's way more unpredictable, way more sinister. He could easily kill you without you even knowing.

People are singing Bohemian Rhapsody in the chat for the new video premiere and if that ain’t the most @markiplier fandom thing I’ve ever seen.

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

OH SHIT HERE WE GO AGAIN

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK-

Oh my god, this is brilliant! Absolutely brilliant. You’ve somehow managed to perfectly blend to absolutely amazing universes and you’ve done it seamlessly. I would gladly read this as a miniseries or one-off book.

AJ Crowley and Harry Potter bump into each other in public:

Harry Potter: Oops, sorry about that.

Crowley: No, it was my fault, don’t worry about it.

Public: *stares at the two men making strange hissing noises at each other*

Both: Wait…

AMAZING

so ummm… what the fuck is going on

Thoughts about the WAIA

Honestly I would love to do more theorizing surrounding the WAIA but there’s not a lot of theorizing to do. 

It’s pretty out in the open. I don’t think the FNAF connection is super lore-steeped; I think it’s just Mark poking fun at his King of FNAF status. What I do think is lore-steeped is the WAIA’s responses, which are super on-the-nose but not in an overbearing way. This is direct storytelling done right, and I think that Mark is extremely talented to be able to pull it off.

HUGE SPOILER WARNING FOR THE REST OF THIS POST.

In the “He said...potato salad?” video, the WAIA says:

“A man goes to a party. This man met an old friend. The two friends share some wine. The two friends played a game. The most dangerous game. I didn’t know the gun was loaded. I didn’t know. 

Was it my fault? Was it?”

This got me so hard the first time I played through, and I picked “No.” I picked “No” because in my mind, Wil is not at fault for Actor Mark’s crimes. Wil is the victim of cruel manipulation and the entity in the House; he didn’t make a decision to kill Actor Mark. He wanted so badly to reconcile that he was willing to play “the most dangerous game” to get him back. And when it all went wrong, he couldn’t bear it.

What got me more than anything was the dialogue in “No.” : 

“You can’t change the past. You can tell all the stories you want to tell; it won’t change what happened. You can’t rewrite the past; if you live in fantasy forever, you’ll lose yourself in the story.”

This just about made me cry, and when Wilf’s voiceover mentions that “he’s a perfect scan of my noggin,” it made it worse. 

This is Wil’s thoughts untethered from the influence of the House and the breaks in time and space he continues to experience. This is Wil, as close to sane as he can get, and he’s just...accepting. 

He knows he can’t change anything, and that becoming Wilford Warfstache, telling Wilford Warfstache’s story instead of his own, can’t fix it and instead means he’s slowly losing William Barnum. 

Or maybe that he’s already lost him.

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

Bruh yes.

Alone. (A Who Killed Markiplier Drabble)

The first thing he noticed was that he was in a tremendous amount of pain. His chest was on fire and his head was pounding, it was like every muscle in his body was rebelling against him. His eyes were the only thing that seemed to be working, and all he could see was the domed ceiling and the chandelier above him, oddly tinted and out of focus.

As it came back into focus, he noticed a second problem: he didn’t know who or where he was. Through the blinding pain, there was no name coming, no picture of what he looked like, no friends or family’s faces or names, no fond memories...no memories at all. Just a vague feeling of...dread? Or anger?

He grunted as his arms and legs finally decided to work for him to lift him up, so that he was panting and kneeling on the marble floor. Shaking his head, he looked up, finally trying to guess where he was. His eyes locked with someone else’s.

He was starting backwards, a voice in his head screaming “MURDERER” before he had a chance to think for himself. The other man was on his feet in an instant.

“Oh no, no! It’s okay!”

Colonel. The old title came to him as the man talked about thinking he was dead. Had he been dead? The thought distracted him for a moment so that he lost some of what the man was saying. Surely he wasn’t dead, he was thinking, he was here...and yet...why could he see the Colonel, in front of him, a gun smoking in his right hand? Why could he see two hands...his hands...rising to his eyes, covered in blood? He could almost hear a voice, the Colonel’s panicked voice, saying...

“Did Damien put you up to this?” The name was like a bucket of ice water over his back. He knew it, and he’d been known by it. But...that wasn’t right, was it? Why hadn’t the man recognized him then if he was this “Damien” he seemed to know well? He wanted to ask, but the Colonel wasn’t listening anymore, and he couldn’t seem to make his voice work anyway. As the Colonel wandered away from him, calling for someone to answer, Damien again, and someone called Celine, names he barely knew but felt like he had always known, his heart gave a funny pang. He almost went after the strange officer, going so far as to take a step toward him, mouth forming a name he didn’t remember, but his eyes were drawn to the silver and black cane the Colonel had put down on the table. As he picked it up, another shot of pain went through him, and he looked up.

The face in the mirror before him...wasn’t him. It might once have been, he wasn’t sure, but now...it was different. Hollow, and gaunt...monochrome...

Dark.

He scowled at the face, and it scowled back. More pain stabbed through his neck, and he twisted it to try and alleviate it. There was a loud crack, and when he looked back in the mirror, straightening himself out, he knew he hated that face. But it wasn’t his face, it was the face of a man who had once worn it that he hated, who’d forced him into it now. Vague memories that didn’t make any sense swirled in his head, and they didn’t seem to matter anymore, except for being the cause of the heavy, burning anger that seemed to be all he could feel, the piercing ring that stuck in his ears. There was only one thought in his head as he turned away from the mirror with a jerk and went to clean himself up and get to work:

Mark would pay.

BITCH MORE WHO KILLED MARKIPLIER LORE I AM SO FUCKING READY