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Ah good idea! Thank you! I’m trying to think of what to ask you about headcannon wise hmm do you have any ideas for maybe what the egos do for Christmas?

Aww Christmas Egos!

So I’m thinking that Schneep and Chase get super into it, decorate everything to the nines! the others just kinda deal, are generally chill with the whole Christmas thing. Anti haaates it. XD

Who Killed Markiplier? Mini Update 2.

Alright I’ve just been over to whokilledmarkiplier.com, and here’s the newest evidence.

-There’s another Jims video, in which they’re running around on the balcony, keeping an eye on the Detective, who’s strolling around, looking at his gun, then crying over his old partners. He gets spooked by something and moves out of our line of sight. The Jims are completely oblivious. (Also, question, is everyone in their family named Jim? If so, I love that.) I really don’t think there’s a lot of significance in this one, but I wasn’t watching too closely, so I could be wrong.

-There’s a soundbite with a heavy rumbling in the background, the sound of someone opening and then closing a squeaky door, the sound of a lighter being lit, something catching on fire, and then someone writing with what sounds to me like a quill (I write with them occasionally, and the scratching and flicking noises sound similar) or a pencil. What were they writing? What did they light on fire? And who is it we’re listening to? I think it could be Mark, trying to get a message to someone in the middle of the night, but that’s pure speculation, I have no evidence to back it up.

Leather.

Pairing: 9/Rose, 10/Rose

Rating: G

He found it while cleaning up. Just busying himself while Rose was asleep, really, tidying the wardrobe room. Which of course the TARDIS hated, he was taking things out of the nice order she'd put them in, but he loved it! He'd forget how much brilliant stuff was in there if he never cleaned up. So this was something he did while Rose was out for hours and hours.

And he'd find things like his jacket.

His leather jacket.

Oh, the memories he had of this thing. He held it up to his nose and smiled as the strangely still familiar scent hit him. Old leather, his old cologne, bananas...

This was the jacket he'd worn coming out of the War. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he'd find bloodstains on it. He wasn't going to try. This was the jacket he'd grieved in, he'd roamed in, homeless, for years and years. This was the jacket that said, "Keep away!" if the rough accent and tough, if daft, old face didn't scare you off first.

This was the jacket he'd met Rose in. This was the jacket she'd clung to and hugged tight and slapped when he was being stupid. This was the jacket she'd given a new meaning to, the old traveler's jacket instead of the warding he'd worn. This was the jacket that'd kept her warm on several occasions, that'd been used as a seat for picnics on bright hillsides all over the universe, that'd been their umbrella in blue rain and a shield from the wind and shimmering sand of some planet he'd long forgotten the name of.

This was the jacket that still felt like the Vortex, just a little bit, and still smelled a little bit like smoke, and Hypervodka, and Slitheen slime, and the perfume in Satellite Five's game rooms.

This jacket didn't fit him now. And he didn't mean physically, though of course it didn't fit him physically either. But it did fit someone.

He wandered up to Rose's door, and held up a hand to knock, still looking at the jacket. Deciding against it, he simply folded it and set it outside, then reached into his pocket, drew out a notepad and a pen, and scribbled something before ripping it off and setting it in the pocket. He put away the notepad, straightened his jacket and tie, and meandered off down the hall, whistling an old song he'd danced to once.

Rose found the jacket a few hours later, and read, through slightly teary eyes,

For those planets with a North. Let's see them all.

-Big Nose's Daft New Face

my glitchy boy is back. i just got my emo boy back, and lots of story for him, and now my glitchy boy is back with TIME TRAVEL JACK I LOVE YOU.

so! thoughts and theories about the latest video!

-have we decided if Dapper Jack is an ego yet? because I would love for Dapper Jack to be an ego. maybe we can call him Sir Septiceye? or something equally silly or old-timey? are there any decided names for him yet?

-Anti apparently has the power to control time now, which is cool. Does this support him being a demon? Or is it more on the idea of a series of alternate universes that he can hop between? I like that second idea better, I think.

-I wanna say it’s a possession in the last few minutes of the video, rather than “it was me the whole time!!” (primarily bc i wanna have Dapper Jack as an ego) I think the mustache ripping is more of Anti mocking Dap by using his own tropes against him.

-Jack becomes Dap when he time travels, which is very neat. So Dap is literally just Jack, but in old times, very Oh Sir and Charlie Chaplin. He’s also 10000% more adorable.

OH FUCKING HELL

Memories

Pairing: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose

Rating: G, but with like really mild angst

It was in the library.

Just a little thing. It shouldn't have been important enough for him to notice at all, really, except that it was pink. And not just any pink.

Her pink.

Not out of place in a library, a book. But this book...

He picked it up, staring at the cover, reading the embossed cursive words with a sad little smile on his face. Stardust Journal. He opened it to the inside cover, smiling at the little message written in it.

Property of Rose Tyler. If found inside the TARDIS, Doctor, c'mon, give it back. If found outside the TARDIS, please leave it where you found it. I'll be there to pick it up in a minute.

A Journal of Me and My Doctor.

He flipped it open to the first page, and found a pamphlet for a shop in London, and a news clipping whose headline read ATTACKING MANNEQUINS ON RAMPAGE. One word was scribbled in the middle of the page. Run! He laughed, and flipped through a few more pages, reminiscing.

A picture of Pete and Jackie Tyler, Jackie holding a little baby Rose, at a wedding for a friend. An ad for the Game Station's live premiere of Big Brother. A WW2 gas mask safety flyer. A ticket to see a strange collection of alien technology in America, deep underground. A sketch of a Dalek. A sketch of a Slitheen. The words Bad Wolf scribbled all over the place. Fantastic in the margins.

A piece of satsuma peel. A scrap of striped pajama. A picture of him (he looked so young!) taken on New Earth, on a ridge overlooking New New York. A dried piece of mistletoe, a picture of Queen Victoria. A picture of her and Sarah Jane in front of a school that appeared to have blown up. Strange, devilish symbols and a sketch of a demon. A picture of him posing stupidly with an Ood. A broken mirror shard.  A child's drawing of him and the TARDIS. A picture of him lighting the Olympic torch. Allons-y and Oh yes! scribbled here and there. A sketch of a Cyberman.

He put down the book after that page, still smiling sadly at the image of her face, fuzzed over the years, smiling with her tongue out and laughing at him. He could almost still hear her saying "Doctor!" How long had it been, since...?

He picked up the book again, and flipped to the last filled in page. It was just a sketch of the two of them, holding hands beside the TARDIS, heads tilted toward the sky. Forever was written across the bottom, with a heart beside it.

A single tear rolled down his cheek as he tucked the book onto a nearby shelf.

"Doctor?"

Amy stood in the doorway, looking impacient. "I thought we were going to see another planet? It's date night for me and Rory, you remember."

He sighed, nodded, and straightened his bowtie. "Of course. Where to?"

An Egos Masterlist

Because my most frequent writing topic as of late has been The Egos, be it for Jack or Mark, I thought I’d put together my list of the ones I consider canon and their relative power in their groups.

JACK:

MOST POWERFUL: Antisepticeye, Dr. Schneeplestein SECOND TIER: Jackieboy Man, Marvin the Magnificent, Chase Brody LEAST POWERFUL: Robbie the Zombie, Dapper Jack, Shawn Flynn, Jacques Septique UNSURE STATUS: The Announcer, Angus the Survival Hunter

MARK:

MOST POWERFUL: Darkiplier, Wilford Warfstache SECOND TIER:The Host (Formerly The Author), Googleplier LEAST POWERFUL: Bim Trimmer, Dr. Iplier The Silver Shephard, Ed Edgar, Yanderiplier, The Jims, The King of the Squirrels UNSURE STATUS: The King of FNAF

So if you’re a fan of my stuff here, I’ve been moving a lot of my older fic to AO3, and I’ve even re-written and added to some of them! If you feel like checking that out, go for it. I’m under the name Kittenbedtimestories there, the same as my old Wattpad name.

(Yeah! US is cool! I think it’s cool that there’s so many states) hm that’s cool! Do you prefer to write angst or fluff or just like whatever comes to mind?

(soooo manyyyyy. I’ve only been to like...five different ones? I think? lol)

I do like writing angst because there’s just so much to do, and it’s so intense. But fluff is just too cute!

Visitor Pt. 3

A/N: I’m having fun with this story, more fun than I originally thought I would have, and a couple of you still seem to like it ( @alix-the-skeleton I’m looking at you, pal. ;) ). So I wrote another bit! Enjoy! Part 1 and Part 2.

The air was cold, tonight, and filled with gentle music from the party still going on inside. William laughed as Celine pulled him along by the sleeves of his uncharacteristically dapper suit, running with him in tow to the edge of the balcony and only letting him go so that she could jump gracefully to sit on the stone railings. She looked beautiful, a bright red ballgown that hugged her in all the right places and flowed, light as a butterfly's wings, away from her at the hips, her short hair swept neatly underneath a scarlet hairclip. She kicked off her heels and swung her feet, patting the railing beside her. "Really, now, Cel, you want me to try that in this getup? I'll rip something in this bloody monkey suit." "Oh, live a little, Wil," she laughed as he hopped up anyway. "You're reckless any other time, why care about some cloth now?" "Well, it's a loan, first of all, if Mark knew I was running about in his suit-" "Oh please, as if he doesn't run around in it enough." He laughed, shaking his head. They went quiet for a moment, listening to the music swell inside, and Wil watched the smile slide off of her face. "It's hard to believe you're leaving tomorrow. How long will you be gone?" "Well," he sighed, taking her hand and staring up at the stars. They were so bright tonight. "It's only basic training, so only a few weeks." A few too many weeks, anyway. "I'll be home again before you know it." He chanced a glace. "And you've got Dames and Mark to keep you company." "Yes..." She bobbed along to the start of the new song, smoothing her dress with one hand. "Wil?" "Yes?" "What do you think is out there?" "Out there? As in, in space?" "Yes." He studied the sky for a moment. "Well...stars and planets and all that, of course...some ice, so Mark tells me..." "Other life?" "You're asking if I believe in aliens?" He chuckled, and she swatted him playfully. "Don't make it sound silly. It's totally plausible." He rubbed his arm, feigning offence, but she brushed him off. "But, no, that's not what I was asking. I was thinking more...I don't know. Spirits, or...or powers, or something." "So...God?" "Maybe not capital-G God. But yes, something along that line." William took a long time to answer, getting back to his feet as he finally spoke. "I...don't know, honestly. But I like to think that perhaps there's more to this universe than we know." Celine smiled, and stood as well. As the music swelled again, she suddenly took his hands, putting one around her waist, pulling him to her as she started to dance. He gaped at her for a second before settling into it as she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm really going to miss you, Wil." He pulled her a little closer. "I'm...I'm going to miss you too, Celine. So much." If Wil could've frozen a moment in time, he would have lived right there, with her in his arms, dancing under the stars, forever.

"I think I'm going to ask her to marry me." William was slow to respond. "You're...you mean...Celine?" "Yes, of course I do," Mark laughed, "who else?" He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head as he looked over at Damien. "What do you think, Dames? Have I got your approval?" Damien smiled brightly. "Mark...of course you have my blessing. God, of course you do." He stood and embraced him, clapping him on the back as both men laughed. Wil smiled tightly as Mark turned back to him. "C'mon then, gents, let's celebrate." "She hasn't even said yes yet," Wil said quietly, but followed the other two to the bar, which Mark leapt over, grabbing three tumblers and a bottle of Fireball and setting them down on the bar. That made him smile a bit as he slapped Damien's back. "Think you can handle a shot or two of this, this time?" "Of course I can, don't be ridiculous," Damien muttered, smiling slightly as Mark laughed loudly, pouring them each a generous shot. They each grabbed a glass and raised it. "To a yes," Mark said. "To a new brother in law," Damien added. "To...us," Wil said, and the other two grinned at him, Mark nodding and throwing an arm around his would-be brother, agreeing, "to us." They downed their shots and immediately started giggling as Damien choked.

"Wil?" "Go away." "Wil, please, talk to me." "No." "William, be sensible. You can't lock yourself away forever." He shoved the door open roughly, swaying slightly as he glared through his blackened eye at a disheveled Damien, cane twisting in his hands. He huffed and turned away, stumbling back to the quickly emptying liquor cabinet in the corner of his hotel room. "And what do you want?" "To talk to you, to work things out! Dammit, man, you left so quickly-" "OF COURSE I DID!" he roared, and Damien flinched. "THAT BASTARD WAS TRYING TO KILL ME! HE WOULD HAVE, IF HE'D BEEN GIVEN THE CHANCE!" "You slept with his wife! My sister!" Damien yelled desperately, and Wil grabbed him by the lapels. "You've seen what he's become! What a selfish, pompous son of a bitch he is now! He's not the man she married! He's not the same Mark that I grew up with! And she loves me, Dames, she loves me! Not him!" "Then let her get-!" "Get what, Dames, a divorce? Make her wait, and wait, trapped with him in that godforsaken house-?" "BETTER THAN RUINING HER LIFE!" Crack. Wil stumbled back with a grunt, clutching his face as Damien stared at him, wide eyed. "Wil...Wil, no, I didn't mean..." "What the bloody hell was that for?" He ran forward, grabbing Damien's lapel again with one hand, raising the other as if to hit him. "What the actual hell, Damien?" "I-It was an accident, Wil, I didn't mean to hurt you-" "Get. Out." Wil shoved Damien into the door with a dull thud. Damien looked as if he wanted to say more, but decided against it. He sighed heavily, resignedly, and pulled it open, stepping out. "I don't blame you Wil. And...and I'm sorry." "Go!" A bottle smashed against the closing door, and Wil finally broke down, sobbing silently as he curled up on the floor of the vacant, anonymous hotel room, far away from home.

Wilford gasped, bolting upright. He'd fallen asleep at his desk, apparently, which wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. He breathed heavily for a moment, shoving aside some empty bottles as he tried to remember where he was, who he was, what he was doing. The usual checklist. His dreams, tonight, they'd felt so...real. So vivid. He tried desperately to remember what they were about, but...no. They were already gone. Still, he was shaken. All he could recall was the name Damien. Damien. That name again, the one he'd called Dark. Who was Damien, to him? Had he ever even known a Damien? He couldn't recall one. All the name brought to his mind was a vague sadness, a vague nostalgia. As if he should know who is was, but didn't. He shook his head, standing and grunting as he stretched, old bones clicking. How old was he, he wondered? He wasn't sure anymore. Frowning, he tried to think of a time when he had known his age, or even his birthday. Further from that...where had he come from? He was sure he'd been born somewhere, he'd had a family, but, much to his mounting alarm, he found he couldn't remember them at all. He started to panic. Wilford Warfstache, he was Wilford Warfstache, world famous ace reporter, right? Wasn't that right? That's what everyone called him, that's how the others here knew him. So of course, he came from the Warfstache family, didn't he? But the more he said it in his head, the worse it sounded, the more...fake. Who had the last name of Warfstache, honestly? And even his first name, his perfectly normal first name, Wilford, the one he'd known for so long, felt...wrong, now. Felt rushed. The more he thought, the more it sounded like two different words. Wilford. Wil Ford. He jumped sharply as someone knocked loudly on his door. "Wilford? Hey, Wilford, dude, you up yet?" "Jesus, Bing, let a man have his beauty sleep!" Wil snapped angrily. "Go away! Tell the studio we're on hiatus!" There was a pause. "...seriously? Hiatus? Like, since when do you ever wanna go on-?" "GO!" Wil shouted, and he heard scuffling as Bing stumbled down the hall, probably wearing his Heeleys and tripping over them. On any other day, that would've made him laugh. Today, he scowled at his desk and pulled a flask out from under it, spinning the cap off in a smooth, practiced motion, but he paused before taking a sip. If he drank...would he forget again? Forget more than he already had? Why hadn't it occured to him sooner that he couldn't remember...anything? Wil put the flask back down, without taking a sip, and instead pulled out a legal pad and a pencil, beginning to write furiously.

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.