#WKM- shot in the dark

[theknightmarket]

"Who wouldn't be angry?"

In which Wilford's return has less fanfare than what he hoped for. TW: cursing, slight sexual references Pages: 13 - Words: 5,000

[Requests: OPEN]

Closing up the bar was the best part of the night. After everyone had gone home, either willingly or under attack from your broom, and the only sound left was the quiet tap, tap, tap of a faucet someone forgot to turn off – that was when you felt perfectly at peace. The adrenaline of work was fun, of course, but reaping the rewards of a 20-dollar tip and pair of earphones made the 2 o’clock chime all the more satisfying. 

You unwrapped the apron from your waist and tossed it over your bag. A wayward sex on the beach meant it would need washing before you could wear it again, not that you minded it too much. It was, after all, where that tip came from, and the man who spilt it was almost too apologetic. You’d had worse. 

Dimly, as you wiped down the tables for the last time, you lamented the loss of your winter-holiday themed apron. 

You preferred the Halloween one anyway, so it wasn’t a weight on your conscience that drew you to breaking into your bar late at night. The work kept you busy enough that you didn’t, and couldn’t, despair over small things. The taxes, the patrons, the staff – they were all great, but sometimes you did wish you had time for yourself. A Sunday off, once a month, that would be enough. But, as you said, no time to despair. There was still work to do. 

That night, the work entailed taking the cash out of the register and tip jar, counting it, and stuffing it into the safe, locking all the interior doors and windows, and, finally, flicking the light switch. The neon pink sign blinked once, twice, and died out at its third breath, while you brought out your keys to officially lock the front door. The little hole-in-the-wall that the bar was, it didn’t run the risk of getting broken into too strongly, but there was no reason not to take precautions. You’d heard your neighbors tell you that it was so much a safe town that you needn’t bother locking everything. You told them that you quite liked having money, thank you very much, and there was no way in hell that you were going to pay any more for insurance. 

The night’s air nipped at your face, reminding you that you were still standing outside. Your brain, meanwhile, reminded you that you weren’t on your couch, wrapped in a blanket, and watching random nature documentaries. It might have also said something about paying your rent, but you decided to ignore that part. 

So, your frigid breath fading away in front of you, you waltzed down the four blocks between you and your apartment, watching the few other folk out and about make their own ways home. A group of teens scuttled across the road, technically jay walking but you weren’t going to say anything, while a ruffled office worker took off in a hurry in the other direction. Probably wanting to get into a safe place with the baggy of drugs stuffed into his suit pocket. 

The town you lived in wasn’t a well-off one. It was two steps up from rock bottom, and only because the local deli hadn’t been closed down due to health hazards yet. You liked to think your bar made it better, but there were going to be people who didn’t agree. Those teens, for instance, who always threw crude remarks when you denied them a beer. You didn’t hold it against them. How could you, when you had done the same thing once or twice when you were a kid. It didn’t bother you anymore, so why not wait until they reached 21, or found good enough fake IDs.

You fished your keys out of your bag when you were at the stairs inside your apartment building. The little, pink bear was the only thing that distinguished it from any others, and you ran your fingers over the dimples and nicks as your legs moved for you. Fourth floor, second door on the left. Whistling the few beats of a song you could still remember from the radio, you spun the plastic toy around in the air, caught it with your other hand, and pushed it into your door.

The entry was cold. That wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but you were always reminded of the difference between the welcoming warmth of your bar and your home’s casual wave of air. Bringing a jacket with you was a moot point since you only needed it when you were actually inside. No, you just had to put up with it until you could get out of your work clothes and surround yourself with the fluffiest blankets you could find. You had this down to a fine art at that point, there was no reason why you couldn’t do it from muscle memory alone. 

Your keys clattered to the wooden floorboards.

No anticipated reason. None at all. You should have been moving into your bedroom by now. You should have been leaving the line of sight of your kitchen and heading to your dresser. You should have been doing anything except staring right at the man who had settled himself against your countertop with a bowl and spoon in his hands. 

You weren’t certain if you’d have preferred a complete stranger, maybe someone with a mallet ready to bash in your head. Something told you it would have been better that the mallet he had poised to bash in your heart with. 

Your mouth dropped open and you forgot about the keys on the ground. Eyes scanning his figure, you begged to find any reason that this wasn’t him, but, if there was, you were too shocked to see it. First, came the slow, creeping sensation of confusion, then a dismal sadness washed through your veins, followed within the second by a tidal wave of anger. 

In a single movement, you’d scooped up your keys, singled the sharpest one out, and lunged for Wilford. 

The fucker was lucky he had those teleporting, magic, screw-the-laws-of-physics powers that let him appear behind you before you cut through his arm. That didn’t stop you from whirling around and trying to get at his shoulder, though, but you missed again. And again. And again. 

“Stop moving!” you yelled, skidding into the fridge. It was a poorly choreographed dance that involved the two of you going around in circles, neither graceful nor calculated. The most math Wilford was doing was making sure he didn’t end up on your stove-top, and you were barely thinking, regardless of how many times the counter drove itself into your stomach. 

His response of a stern, “No!” went ignored while you flung yourself towards him for a sixth time. You were considering just chucking the keychain at him and hoping you struck gold, but luck always seemed to be on his side – if not for his evading of your attacks, then for the fact that his bowl hadn’t spiled whatever was inside it. Although, just as you cursed him for it and a bunch of other irrelevant things, he placed it near the sink and watched you fumble with the keys. Your hands were sweaty against the frigidness of the apartment, the exercise was wearing you out quickly, but you didn’t let up. He’d always liked that about you, but he was getting tired, more of the repetitiveness of the situation than the exertion.

So, what else could he do but twist your arm behind your back, hold your other hand down onto the countertop, and ignore the suggestive position it put you both in to disarm you? You didn’t stop struggling, to which he tutted and wrenched your shoulder back further. Nothing to hurt you, too much, he just needed you to calm down. If there was one thing he’d learned in your past encounters, it was that you didn’t react well to simply being verbally ordered around. 

“Now, why are you so angry?” Wilford asked. 

For a second, you stilled. He couldn’t be serious, but, then again, when was he ever? This was the norm for him. Both the prudent ignorance and the method of disarmament. After jostling for moment more, you let out a breath that gave you more wiggle room against the countertop. 

“Who wouldn’t be angry? You ate all my cereal and faked your death for three years.” 

Wilford apparently deemed you pacified enough to let you go, and you fell forward slightly. God, your arms hurt. You turned to face him as you rolled the shoulder that he had pulled behind you. Military man. You hated when he actually used what he was taught.

“I didn’t fake my death,” he scoffed. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, you ate all my cereal and abandoned me for three years. That better?”

“I didn’t abandon you.”

You finally met his eyes. Six feet between you, far out of arm’s reach, you hated that they didn’t betray any lies. More often than not, his emotions were masked by a haze of insanity, but the genuineness was crystal clear, like the spark of lighting across a night sky. It was the kind of purity that meant he fully believed he hadn’t abandoned you, but that just made it worse. 

You forced yourself to look away.  

“You still ate all my cereal.”

“For that, I am sorry.”

You believed him there, and you hated that you did. But that was the same Wilford who left all those nights ago, wasn’t it? No reason to anything, not leaving, not coming back, not a single thing.

Huffing, you gave up. It wasn’t worth arguing about, and you now had one more chore to do before you could settle down for the night. “What do you want?” you asked as you dumped the remainder of the cereal from Wil’s bowl.

“Can’t a man check in on an old friend out of the kindness of his heart?”

You levelled him with a blank stare. His grin cracked for just a second, but it was enough for you to spot, not that you changed your expression any.

“I- well, I thought we could catch up. What have you been up to for the last… what did you say, three years?”

You took a moment to try and figure him out again. Even if it would get you nowhere in the long run, you weren’t going to entertain him if he was there out of boredom. The little voice in the back of your mind reminded you that you didn’t have to play along with him, it reminded you that you had a job and a home and a life outside of whatever Wilford was swept up in. You didn’t have to jingle around the room like a court jester playing it up for laughs.

But you still sighed, ran a hand down your face, and vaguely gestured to the kitchen counter. “Go on, then.”

Wilford waltzed over to one of the stools as though that was just what he expected you to say, and, ashamed as you were, it likely was; it was some kind of routine you used to have, albeit without the giant gap in between. When you got home from working the bar, he would be there at the stove, cooking whatever it was caught his fancy in the books lately. You’d talk about your day and ask him about his, pouring both of you a drink. You couldn’t drink on the job, but your shift ended the minute you stepped through the apartment door.

Then, of course, after solid months of strange domesticity, Wilford up and vanished in the blink of an eye. Magic.

And, what, he appeared in just the same manner, and you fell into the habit, just like that? God, you really were weak.

“So, how’s the family?” was Wilford’s first question. You didn’t answer until you got the bottles out of the fridge and laid them on the countertop in front of him.

“Fine. Youngest brother graduated; parents adopted another dog.”

You turned away from grabbing the glasses only to see your guest wedging the top off the bottle of gin with his teeth. The cork pressed to the side of his mouth a clear danger, you swiped it from him, tossed it to your other hand and grabbed a corkscrew from the drawer in one swift motion.

“You’ll crack a tooth,” you muttered, knowing damn-well he wouldn’t heed your warning as you watched him shrug and remove the cap of the vermouth as well.

You didn’t bother to be surprised when the martini glass you’d seen on a shelf disappeared and reappeared in Wilford’s hand. That little voice, whispering again, reminded you that the magic trick was old hat to you now. You didn’t have to be shocked at the casual manipulation of time and space.

“I didn’t think Danny-boy was still in schooling. What’s he going to be, eh?”

Ignoring the sudden pressure in your chest, you replied, “A pilot.”

“Oh, a ladies’ man, then!” His laugh was more suited to a world war general than the pink-moustached maniac sipping straight from the vermouth in front of you. “I wish him the best of luck.” To which he raised the bottle, and, with a final wink, chugged the thing until half of it remained.

You almost didn’t want to risk finishing the martini you were making for him. You were well aware of how high Wilford’s alcohol tolerance was, but that didn’t make it any healthier. Still, when you had taken back the vermouth and poured it into the glass, you slid it over to him, warily eyeing the rest of the bottles to see if they’d been opened in the meantime. The sight of them all the same as before didn’t bring you much comfort regardless.

“And how’s the bar doing?”

You nodded slightly, your brow still furrowed and avoiding looking directly at him. “It’s doing well. We got a new bartender, she’s… she’s good.”

“Maybe you’ll finally take some time off, then,” he thought for a moment and then snapped his fingers, “there’s a new roller rink opening up on Alto Street. We could go there on your next day off!”

That pressure tightened into a vice grip. “We?”

“Yes, we. I wouldn’t recommend it if I didn’t think it’s good.”

“But you want to go together.”

“Is that a problem?”

Avoiding looking at him didn’t help, but making eye contact wasn’t any good, either. You only got an expression of confusion. Nothing betrayed an ulterior motive. You squinted but found only that. Surprise, maybe. You tilted your head one way and then the other, as though an angle would let you see something you couldn’t before. It was all the same.

“What are you doing, Wilford?”

Only more surprise. He laid down the martini glass, a mere sliver of alcohol left in the bottom, before placing his head in his hand. “What do you mean?”

“What is this? What- what do you want?”

A tut broke the tension for a second until it rose again tenfold.

“You’ve already asked that one.” 

“Yeah, and we’ve caught up. You can leave now.”

“Well, you haven’t asked me what I’ve been up to.”

“Oh, yeah? What have you been up to, then?”

Wilford opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again with a hum. Go figure, he couldn’t tell you. Whether it was because he was bound by some contract, or couldn’t remember, or just plain hadn’t done a thing, you didn’t know, and you never had.

“Look, it was nice catching up with you, but I have to work in the morning—”

“Hold on, hold on!” Your moving away from the counter was blocked by Wilford rushing to stand and securing his hands on your shoulders. He held you in place, a new emotion appearing on his face. Desperation. The smallest amount, but it was there, and it had you changing your mind about shoving him away.

“How do I make it up to you?”

“I don’t think you can.”

You weren’t about to beat around the bush with this, even if it made you the bad guy – the kicked puppy look certainly made you think you were, but you stayed your course; you couldn’t give in so easily.

“I just… how do I know you aren’t going to disappear again?” 

“I won’t!”

“How do I know, though? You don’t have the best track record.”

When he moved his hands from your shoulders, you thought he was going to leave, walk straight out the door into the night. It took only a second longer for you to realise he was grabbing your own hands. “This time I promise I’m telling the truth.”

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Damn him and damn yourself and damn it all. You were weak, of course, but you were weak for the man in front of you with the stars in his eyes and sugar on his lips. And if that man was asking for a second chance – for a third time – who were you to deny him?

“Fine. Okay. Sure,” you spoke slowly, coming to grips with everything that had happened in the last half an hour.

You felt Wilford’s grip tighten at your hands and then release, and that was all that you expected, but you were talking about the time-travelling maniac in front of you. His arms were wrapped around you before you knew it, warmth and his moustache tapping at your skin. You supposed this was some kind of thanks, which you still appreciated. Gently, you lifted your hands to pat his back, causing him to squeeze slightly more, until he pulled away a few seconds later. 

“Alright,” you mumbled, barely getting the word out in time for a yawn to overtake you, “I’m heading to bed.”

“Goodnight! Sleep well.”

You returned the pleasantry with obvious tiredness in both your tone and your body. Dragging your feet, you made your way to your room while Wilford cleared up, the clinking of glasses and bottles only making you slightly worried about how much you’d have left come morning. It wasn’t enough to stop you from conking out the very instance that you touched your comforter, ready and poised to forget the last half hour’s shenanigans.

You woke up in the morning. Not surprising. It happened a lot. What didn’t happen a lot, though, was the smell of pancakes stirring you from your sleep instead of the blinding sun through your windows. You cracked your eyes open, only to see complete darkness. Immediately, you jumped from your bed and scrambled to stand up straight. Nothing. You couldn’t see anything. A creeping sense of dread curled in your stomach, wrapped around you heart, and pulled. Where was Wilford? Did he do something, was he okay, why did it still smell like pancakes—

You hand made contact with something covering your eyes. Oh. Pulling it off, you were slowly greeted with the light of the day, as you expected, and an unfamiliar piece of fabric in your palm. It was silky when you ran your thumb over it, something you didn’t think you’d ever touched, let alone owned.

You left the sleeping mask on your chaotic mess of sheets. Overwhelmed by the haze of adrenaline and sleep, you stumbled to get ready – which, given that you still had to figure out that smell, consisted of swapping out the uniform that you’d passed out in for a tank top and shorts. You weren’t fully awake when you got to the door, but you had nothing else to do but get to the kitchen and hope it was nothing you’d have to call emergency services about.

All three of your panic-questions were answered when you stopped at the archway between the mini hallway and the kitchen. The scene of Wilford at the stove, his back to you but clearly flipping something in a pan, quickly greeted you. Sizzling filled the air and disguised your footfalls on the wooden floorboards. They were nearly silent anyway, and yet you were caught as you got close to the countertop’s stools.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Wilford sang, turning to wink at you so that you could see the ‘kiss-the-cook’ apron he now sported. Something panged in your chest, like a string cut loose; you’d bought that for him years ago, back when he was cooking dinner for the two of you. The face of the cashier stuck in your mind, somewhere between amused and sickened, but you didn’t care. The only time he hadn’t worn it when cooking was after you’d wrestled it away from him to wash. And then, obviously, after he disappeared, it was stashed in the back of the drawer, piled onto by old cloths and semi-broken utensils. You wondered how he found it again.

“Did you put a sleeping mask on me?” You collapsed onto a seat and rested your arms on the laminate surface. 

“I did, yes.” He went back to peeling the sides of a pancake off the edge and said nothing else on the matter.

“…why?”

Wilford flipped the pancake once, twice, a third time, then pressed it down in a ritual you had seen many times before. The crack of batter shocked the air around it. “Given how tired you were last night – too tired to change out of your clothes, at least – I didn’t want the sun to wake you up too early.” 

“And the curtains weren’t enough?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” he tutted, “I’ve seen how much gets through those flimsy things. It’s a wonder how the stars themselves don’t keep you awake.”

He wasn’t wrong. It happened often that you would wake up in the middle of the night, drowsy and blinking, only to realise that it was ten hours earlier than when you needed to be out of bed by. It happened now, and it happened three years ago. You just never put in the effort to fix it.

So, you just sighed, giving up the debate as fast as you’d started it, and dragged your hands down your face. According to the clock on the wall opposite you, there was still six more hours until the bar opened – you didn’t like encouraging day-drinking and four o’clock was the lowest you would go – and, frankly, you didn’t know how to spend them. A routine of stupid conspiracy theories and paperwork was offset with Wilford’s presence, leaving you with the shambles of a normal morning.

You blinked back to life when he set out two plates of pancakes on the countertop, one of them in front of you and the other just to your right at the next stool over. As he rounded the jutted-out edge, he brushed the small of your back with his hand, still warm from being near the stove. You couldn’t help but tense up, entirely focused on that point of contact like you’d been called to attention by a drill sergeant. 

Wilford dropped into the seat and handed you a pair of cutlery. You didn’t notice the toppings spread along the edge until you blinked some more times to rid the blur of your vision. Half of them had been pushed to the very back of the cupboard while the other half you weren’t certain you had ever bought in the first place.

Something stopped you from reaching for any of them. Something stopped you from doing anything. 

It was a shared feeling between the pit of your stomach and your throat. Like you wanted to scream and cry and laugh at the same time. Manic, you guessed was the best word for it, but even that felt wrong. Your heart thundered in your chest and raged against your ribcage, as though it were the only thing stopping it from telling you just what was wrong with you. Maybe this was just what happened what Wilford was around you, or maybe this was just what happened when he left. You didn’t think you were sure of anything anymore. 

“Is this it?”

“What do you mean?”

The words struggled against the rush of blood in your veins. You weren’t angry. You understood that you should have been, but you weren’t, and you weren’t bitter, and you weren’t resentful. It was another feeling on the tip of your tongue. But you held onto that feeling because it was undeniably there. You would have bashed your head against the counter if you weren’t paralyzed with…

You were scared. That was it. You were downright terrified.

“Are you,” you swallowed thickly, “are you here now?”

“Honey, whatever are you talking about?” Wilford asked, facing you with that sugar-coated grin you’d always gotten so hung up over. “I’ve been here since last night.” 

Just those words made you break into an internal panic. The only way that it shone through was in the frantic movements of your pupils, darting back and forth, searching desperately for the truth in his own. Meeker than he had ever heard you before, you asked, “Are you staying?”

And, just like that, he realized what you were asking, what you were going through. The eyes were the windows to the soul, after all, and, as he secured his hands on your shoulders, he saw your soul shattered into pieces. He had left, and the memory of stepping out of that front door was seared into his mind. He couldn’t forget, not even under the cover of discos and murder-mysteries, the way that the click of the lock echoed down the hallway and the stairwell, chasing after him when he was out of the building and seeping into the cracks of the pavement. It was karmic justice that the thought of you prevented him from entering any bar from that day onward. He didn’t want to risk it, and, well, he’d already forgotten so much. The few sane memories that remained were ones he didn’t want to taint with similar experiences and get them muddled up in his mind. 

Now that he was back, Wilford couldn’t imagine leaving again, not when you were staring at him, panicked and desperate for a response.

Slowly, gently, he brought you closer until your chest was pressed against his. The embrace was tight but comfortable. Supportive. A promise he couldn’t yet put into words. He shushed you as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, your own arms tugging him even closer than that, as if you expected him to disappear at any moment – not that it was unjustified. His grip on your shoulder blades tensed alongside yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. On your part, you were too preoccupied with holding back the floods of tears that threatened to spill over at any second. A few had already escaped and dampened his dress shirt. On Wilford’s, he understood already.

The pair of you sat there for five minutes more. It felt like longer, but the clock was barely passing half ten. The most concrete thought that dragged through your head was that the hug was nice. You hadn’t been held like that since the last time Wilford was there. Sure, you’d been close to other people, but the complete relaxation of your body was a sensation you could see yourself chasing like an addict’s high.

It was practically painful to pull away, though you kept your hands secured around his waist.

“Shit,” you laughed quietly, voice clogged with tears, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spring that on you.”

“Pish posh! I think we both needed that, and I’m more than welcome for another in the future. For now,” he rose from his seat and gathered your plates, “I’m going to make some more pancakes.”

As Wilford passed behind you, he leaned around and pecked your cheek with his lips. It must have been an unconscious decision because his eyebrows raised, and he sounded apologetic as he spoke.

“Was that too much?”

Truth be told, you weren’t expecting it, but that didn’t make it any less appreciated. You had gone from trying to stab his with your keys to crying in his embrace in less than a day, you imagined you could handle a little kiss. And, as it happened, a larger one, too.

Wilford watched as you got up from your own stool and took a step closer to him. He was almost worried you would shove him out of the door, but you did something different. Very different.

In one swift motion, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him forward. For a second, he was focused on keeping the plates steady in his hands, before he felt the oh-so-familiar warmth of your lips on his, and, had he forgotten, this was a pleasant reminder. He sighed into your mouth as his shoulders fell from their tensed position and he tilted his head for a better angle. A lopsided grin spread over his lips, only somewhat messing up the kiss, but you continued. 

You lifted a hand up to cup his jawline, smoothing a thumb over the texture of his skin; the other you used to card through his tousled hair. Your reward? A light groan so quiet that you nearly missed it. Luckily, you didn’t, even as he tried to twist it into a hum. He’d missed this, and so had you. And besides, who were you to ignore the order on his apron?

Eventually, you had to separate. Time-travelers and bartenders both had to breath, after all.

“Oh, honey,” Wilford muttered, slowly but not subtly moving closer again.

You accepted another kiss, and then another when you parted, and then another after that. Each of them was slow and sweet, only half like him in that regard. 

“Still making those pancakes, are you?” you managed to get out in the interim.

His chuckle was just as carefree as his other sounds, but he did step back to put the plates by the sink. You moved to start cleaning them as he prepared the next pancakes. The splash of water against the sizzle of batter warmed your chest, and the glimpse of Wilford standing next to you had you grinning ear to ear.

This was good. Making breakfast in a tiny apartment, not yet dressed for the day but content to stay like this for the rest of it – you were happy with this life.

You were certain of it.

[It's weird that this blog has been open for over a year and yet this is the first Wilford one-shot I've done. Side note: this was inspired by @valentivy-makes so you should go and check out their amazing art of Wilford, because, um, you should. Thanks for reading <3]

[justagaycryptid]

Hey what if the markcu was like Legend of Zelda in the fact that the same characters are forever bound to a cycle of reincarnation/living out the same story with each having the same roles over and over again. Like wkm would be Skyward Sword and Space would be like... idk pick one since canonically Skyward Sword is the first game that establishes the reincarnation cycle. Its how Engineer Mark and Actor Mark could be the same but also different. Sorta like how when you compare Zelda in like Twilight Princess to how she is in Wind Waker, they’re essentially different characters but with some fundamental similarities. Wilford breaks the rules of the story and so that’s why he can move between different cycles. 

[firebug404]

wkm/ahwm/adwm/iswm y/n headcanon 

when we got shot it was right in the center of our chest close enough that we can obviously see it and far enough that its a bit too difficult to hide from people and when viewer interacts with dark or goes to the void the bullet wound starts to bleed all over again ans that's why mark is so set on keeping an eye on the viewer after the events of wkm also cause he wants to at least control something over damien cause he cares about y/n 

[royale-multi-muse]

Short introduction, Rules and Fandom List

Hello all, My name is Luna, or Ki or Ohara; whichever you may prefer to call me. I am a multi-ship; multi fandom roleplayer thats fairly new to the world of Tumblr roleplaying. BEen at the roleplaying game for a few years so I do have experience. I will try and keep this short so we can get to the fun bits, haha I gladly double/triple and play whoever you may want for your muse in return for my chosen favorites. As I myself am in my 20s+ I much prefer to have a partner of at least 17+ However, if we truly click or it's a fandom that's- shall we say on the rare side {Example being; Yugioh, Shadow and Bone, etc} I may be willing to make an exception to this rule. 

IV. RULE : Triggers & such are to be discussed. Personally I only have a few; the whole ‘Daddy’ thing, and a few others we shall discuss in more detail…

VII. RULE : I have more than a few platforms I am able to go over; though my main preference would be Discord if we move offsite; I also have google Docs, Email, Skype, and Telegram.

X. RULE : Doubling, Tripling, Poly, LGBTQ++; there is /no/ judgment  on my side. I am open to anything, though I do feel it’s only fair I warn you I am a bit inexperienced in the world of roleplaying out the more- intimate bits of LGBTQ and so on; so you may have to help me with parts. As I said I have NOTHING against- love is love; and I am a proud Ally; I just do not have a ton of experience *Writing* such things yet **= Characters I'm looking for I will give just about any canon of FC a shot and double as them for you; just ask.

Fairy Tale *Loke* -only seen the first few seasons; just started-

Sherlock *BBC* *Sherlock*

Yu-Gi-Oh! *Classic* *Atem *

Vocaloid *Gaku*

1/2 Prince *Guii*

Great Mouse Detective *Basil*

Labyrinth *Jareth*

The Originals *Elijah*

Celebrities *See Clone plot; Tom Hiddleston,Tom Ellis, David Tennant, Matt Bomer, Ben Barnes or Benedict Cumberbatch*

Black Butler *Grell and/or Sebastian*

Hetalia *France*

White Collar *Neal*

Once Upon a Time *Rumple*

Rocky Horror Picture Show *Frank*

Brother's Conflict *Hikaru*

Demon Detective Neuro Nougami *Neuro*

Marvel *Loki*

Kamisama Hajimemashita/Kiss *Tomoe*

Assassin's Creed *Ezio*

Magi *Sinbad*

Kpop; Multi-Stan; Ask about a group

Youtubers *Markiplier/Damien/Dark* -Also open to something WKM based with his characters-

Lucifer

Good Omens *Crowley*

Hazbin Hotel *Alastor

Yuri On Ice *Viktor*

LoveLink *Liam Park, Min-Jae lee, Sheng Zhao, Julien Alexandre*

Shadow and Bone *Aleksander*

Bonely Hearts Club *Nox or boss*

Undertale -AU or otherwise; Mettaton *original*-

[himbos-hotline]

꧁•⊹٭𝙶𝚒𝚏𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝٭⊹•꧂

꧁•⊹٭𝚆𝚆𝙴٭⊹•꧂

Random Sami Zayn moments that live in my head rent free

Would you remember the times [zowens]

Cause you're popping the cork, you get lost in your brain [Zowens]

He is such a fucking idiot and I love him your honour [Sami Zayn]

Random gifs 

Seth Rollins turns on the shield // June 2nd 2014

The knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark [zowens]

I love the way that he looks at me [zowens]

I lost a friend, I lost a friend [zowens]

Gotta get it in my head I’ll never been sixteen again

Alexa Bliss gifs

Auska gifs

꧁•⊹٭𝙽𝚎𝚠𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎٭⊹•꧂

Newsies live // Carrying the Banner

Davey is your blorbo

Some of my favourite shots in newsies

꧁•⊹٭𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝙲𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎٭⊹•꧂

Actor Mark through projects

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to [WKM]

Damien and Celine [+Dark]-Birds of a feather, forced together.

Greif is a tiredness that sucks the marrow from your bones. Leaving you soullessly empty. [DAMIEN + ISWM]

You're not as brave as you were at the start [WKM + ISWM]

"It's ok Mark, you can cry"

"I uh..I applied for parole" [Yancy the prisoner]

Gif ideas based on my tiktok audios I have saved

And what if fairytales don't have happy endings

Sometimes people leave you, halfway through the wood.

Marks insides exploding gif

꧁•⊹٭𝙰𝚎𝚠٭⊹•꧂

Thats the thing with anger, It begs to stick around [Hangmega]

Boot scootin' boogie! [Hangman Adam Page]

Start carvin’, darlin’ [Hangmatt]

Make a gifset of my favorite promo from my favorite wrestler [Men of low moral fibre]

How to be a heartbreaker [Hangmega]

“Honey, I love you” [Hangmega]

But the heart of a man is a simple one

You'd want me just as much [Adam squared/ Hangmega]

Save a horse, ride a cowboy [Hangman Adam Page]

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene [Adam Squared]

You let me desecrate you [Hangkenny/Hangswerve]

The world will never be the same.... [AEW]

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

Let's see. What about... Morgan with Flying, or Moira with Psychic?

Give me a Pokemon Type and I'll Make a Team :)

Morgan probably isn't going to be winning any high-tier competitions, but that really isn't the point, lmao.

Rowlet- If Decidueye wasn't ghost/grass he would have made the cut. But regardless, Rowlet is just a polite little man. If you've seen Ash's Rowlet in the Sun/Moon Anime, Morgan's would be like that; sleeping in their backpack, eating their snacks, and just generally being the best little bird orb he can be. Noivern-Aside from giving Morgan's team a little extra 'oomph', I imagine she would be their guard-bat dragon. Sweet as sugar to Morgan, and then turning around to immediately hiss threateningly at whoever may be lurking in the dark (especially since Morgan can get it a little narrow-minded when taking pictures outside). Rotom- Rotom is one of those Pokemon that I imagine would always be on Morgan's team in some capacity or another. In battle, they would be the jack-of-all, master-of-none to try and mitigate the weaknesses of an all-flying type team. Gyarados- She's primarily used for water-transportation, but she can absolutely hold her own in a battle- because she's a Gyarados. Her species are infamous for being destructively violent, so I don't imagine there are a lot of pictures of them in their natural habitat. Morgan shamelessly uses their Gyarados for pictures that would otherwise be incredibly difficult to get. Chatot- Primarily a non-combatant, Morgan's Chatot as been trained since hatching to translate sign language to vocal language. The sad truth is not everyone in the world knows sign or is willing to wait for Morgan to write things down. Since he's a service Pokemon, he spends the most time out of his Pokeball. Tropius- Morgan's primary flyer and, because deep down I'm a sentimental old what'cha'ma'callit, a gift Pokemon from their parents. A strong and steady flyer, a lot of Morgan's aerial shots have been taken from Tropius's back.

-------

Moria (You said Moira specifically, so this will be pre WKM)

Gardevoir- A gentle, calming presence, Gardevoir is an emotional support partner, softly singing or humming whenever Moira is several days into a stressful case. She is also not opposed to the idea of forcing Moira into sleeping using Hypnosis, or by levitating her paperwork out of reach until she takes a proper break.

Gallade (Mega)- Not that she'd ever admit it to anyone, but Moira is a hopeless romantic at heart, and when she was little she fantasized about a charming and gallant prince to come and rescue herself and her mother from their poor living conditions. She inevitably grew out of those fantasies, but her love for those old fairy tales remained.

Espeon- There really isn't any deeper meaning other than the fact that Moira loves cats. Espeon isn't a cat, but you can bet your bottom dollar that he's just as pampered and spoiled as the average housecat. Moira first got him as an Eevee, and despite him acting indifferent at best, it's hard to ignore the fact that Espeon evolves from happiness.

Slowbro- Look at that doofy smile; there is nothing in that head. Slowbro is one of Moira's oldest Pokemon, having met him as a Slowpoke trying to fish in a water-filled pothole on the side of the road. He doesn't do much other than stand, stare, and occasionally chew on his paw, but Moira loves him regardless.

Raichu- Received in a trade wherein she gave the other person a Kadabra. Moira knew what a Raichu was (who doesn't?) but she wasn't expecting a darker, rounder, much more energetic Raichu who flew around on its tail and loved flapjacks. Moira does love her strange little Raichu, and finds an odd sense of comradery in that they're both seen as "other" for not being entirely native to the country.

Delphox- Moira's very first Pokemon, as a matter of fact. Fennekin was most likely brought to California as an exotic pet, but she either escaped or was abandoned. No one ever specifically mentioned having ever lost a Fennekin so Moira, young and stubborn, insisted that meant Fennekin as hers; finders keepers after all. Regardless of how she came into Moira's life, she's grateful for her presence, as she's been a constant pillar of support and familiarity, especially useful when she started living on her own.

[beesartandstuffs]

It's funny how time works, isn't it?

We tend to see it as a linear progression, like a novel, from one page to the next. But with a novel, you can skip to the end, can't you? Nothing is stopping you from flipping forward to the next chapter, or turning back to reread that one page you missed. Time is just like that. If you have the talent, if you have the knowledge, you can do whatever you please with it. You could even edit it to your liking, if you wanted. Or, if you really wanted, you could even jump into another story and change that one too. It's not that hard, really. That's the problem. [This story (up to chapter 39) was originally posted on tumblr, split into oneshots and chapter fractions over several years. There are audio and video posts in this story.]

~~

Guys. GUYS. I FINALLY DID IT. I UPLOADED IT ALL TO TUMBLR!!!! 

Everything up to the latest SitD entry (Interim Chapter 5) has been posted to this work, INCLUDING audio and video posts!!!! Guys. I’m so happy.

THIS STORY IS RETURNING

I WILL BE WRITING MORE

TELL YOUR FRIENDS

TELL YOUR MOM

TELL YOUR DOG

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad@markired@blackaquokat@pleaseletthisjimbetaken@jojored22@neverisadork@withjust-a-bite @gmcfloppins @satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[thecrowehousehold]

“Huh. Dusty.”

Liam is now available for questions!

~~~

SHOT IN THE DARK MASTERLIST (This fic is where Liam is from!)

~~~

~~

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad​​@markired​​@blackaquokat​​@pleaseletthisjimbetaken​​@gravitykaz​​@jojored22​​@neverisadork​​@withjust-a-bite​​ @gmcfyuffins​​ @satansladydoor​​ @racheljoyauthor(If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[themanormystery]

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad@markired@blackaquokat@pleaseletthisjimbetaken@gravitykaz@jojored22@neverisadork @withjust-a-bite@221biotchplease@gmcfyuffins@the-asexual-reaper@satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[ace-kaz-brekker]

Lonely

A/N: Ok folks, I wrote a Darkiplier drabble in a Discord server I was in, and decided to post it on here. Hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monica couldn't sleep.

For once she didn't immediately pass out when she got in bed like she usually did. Normally she'd be asleep by 9:00, but it was 11:00 and she still wasn't even drowsy.

Monica didn't know why this was happening. She wasn't too cold, actually she was covered in warm, soft blankets AND she had socks on. She had gotten new black out curtains, so it wasn't too bright. The windows were closed, so it wasn't too noisy.

Then it hit her.

She was lonely.

Being an adult, she had a full sized bed, which she loved because she could stretch out any which way she wanted. But tonight she felt like an island, alone and adrift in an ocean of connection.

The one person she wanted to be here right now would probably get mad at her for asking.

Well, not mad. Dark only ever got annoyed with her, leaving her to face judgement from him.

That damn demon was never here when she needed him. He showed up when he pleased, mostly when she was sat alone at home doing work, but never any time other than that.

She hadn't see him in a few days, and, truth was, she missed him.

Monica stared out into her dim bedroom, wondering what she had to to do to make him show up.

She decided to just ask.

"Dark?" she whispered into the quiet, expecting nothing to happen.

She heard the ringing first, then he glitched into existence at the foot of her bed.

"You want something from me now, don't you?" Dark asked, clearly annoyed that he had been summoned on terms other than his own. His shell was breaking, as usual, but not as much as when Monica saw him angry. "You want me to scare someone, or avenge some petty-"

"I can't sleep," she said, cutting him off dangerously. "Will you... sit here with me, until I do?"

It seemed as if Dark's sharp edges softened at her request, his expression going from annoyed to bemused, like he couldn't fathom someone asking him for comfort.

Monica blinked, and suddenly Dark was sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.

"Of course I will," he murmured, the tone of his voice soft and almost kind.

She snuggled into her blankets next to him, breathing a sigh of content and letting her eyelids fall almost shut.

Dark sat there for a moment in the dark next to her, then reached out and, almost hesitantly, brushed Monica's hair out of her face and behind her ear.

She realized that this was the first time he had ever touched her in any way; whever they met, he had always made sure to keep a good distance between them. She understood it somewhat, because his shell was always cracking at the worst times, and Monica was sure that, deep down, Dark would never hurt her, even on accident.

But now he seemed stable, and his touch was surprisingly gentle as he stroked her cheek. She reached up and put her hand on his, holding it there on her cheek, smiling softly up at him.

"Stay," Monica whispered.

Dark's expression was soft as he looked at her, then leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Always," he murmured back.

He laid down next to her and pulled her into his arms. Monica snuggled closer to him and buried her face into his chest. She heard Dark sigh quietly, and she smiled, finally closing her eyes.

No more loneliness for her, at least not tonight.

[inkribbon796]

Candy Man Can-Do Ch. 2

Summary: It’s November 9, and the city gets a rather colorful reminder of how powerful Warfstache is.

Chapter 2: Live on Warfstache Tonight

Previous

A.N: This is Chapter 2

____________________________________

    “Wil,” Damien sighed.

    “Yes, my dear?” Wilford smiled, the two of them sitting in what appeared to be an old fashioned diner. People were in the diner talking and dancing next to a jukebox. All of them completely taken over by Wilford’s magic. The waiting staff were all Wilford’s little “assistants” little more than living marionettes with paper masks of his face on them. “Don’t you like your milkshake, chocolate is your favorite.”

    “Will, I have lots of work to do,” Damien sighed. “Both as mayor and with my actual job, which you are interrupting.”

    “It’s not that bad,” Bim leaned over from the neighboring booth, sitting alone and holding up a smoothie that looked more like a rainbow sherbert concoction than juice. “Nice to have a break every once in a while. Plus you’re always working.”

    “Someone has to!” Damien spat, his phone ringing. He didn’t even check who it was, all he made sure was that it was his person phone and not the Mayor’s. “What?” Dark hissed out.

    “Update,” Google warned. “Four heroes have entered the premises, they are obviously arriving to stop Wilford.”

    Dark turned back into his more publically known self, groaning, “Thank you Google, it’s nice to know someone can still do their job.”

    “Affirmative,” Google responded and then hung up.

    “Bim, mask up or leave,” Dark ordered.

    “Someone needs to call your guy’s villains prop department because these masks are creepy looking,” Bim grabbed a masks from table.

    “What mask?” Wilford asked in confusion, but then he shuttered as if a current had been run through him. “What was that?”

    “You tell me, Wil,” Dark stood up, noticing that some of the assistants looked paler, as if their strings were being cut. Dark grabbed his milkshake and tore a hole into the Void. “Bim, go home, the heroes are doing something.”

    “I never get to stay,” Bim tore off his mask. “Come on, I can take them, just let me try.”

    “We have a month left,” Dark snapped. “Go home or go to the office.”

    Bim glared at him but followed Dark’s orders as Wilford stormed towards the door, some of his assistants pivoting to watch him as he walked. Dark made sure Bim left with his sherbet smoothie. Wilford opened the door, Dark stepping out behind him and seeing that they were walking into Wil’s studio.

    Or at least a very good replica. With Prince Creativity sitting in one of the chairs, waiting and talking to the Jims which knocked out half of Google’s projected group.

    Wil’s brain kept pace as Dark just watched from the door.

    “Do I have an interview?” Wilford asked in confusion.

    “Yeah,” RJ commented, checking his watch. “Everyone’s on time.”

    “Perfect,” Wilford smiled and Dark just created a showrunner’s chair for himself as Wilford’s latent magic kicked in to help whatever the heroes were doing.

    Rolling his eyes at Wilford’s stupidity, Dark kept drinking his milkshake. His aura fanning out protectively around him and Wilford. It helped him find Logic and Dr. Iplier standing nearby.

    “You can come out,” Dark turned to them, scanning them both to see Logic completely in costume. Creativity looked half taken over by Wilford’s magic with curled almost red hair, and a suit made of what looked like glitter or crushed candy covering it but lacked any of the other glassy-eyed featured the rest of the people who’d been taken over had.

    Logic and Dr. Iplier, however, looked completely normal. Which Dark found interesting.

    “I see you two are also immune to him,” Dark took a sip of his milkshake. “Interesting.”

    “Shouldn’t you be stopping us?” Logic asked, walking a step or two closer.

    Dark smiled, “So pragmatic, I respect that. When you get tired of the heroes, I can always put a good word for you.”

    “Respectfully,” Logic’s hand went up to adjust his visor, “I am right where I need to be.”

    “Shame,” Dark looked back to the interview, Logic slapped part of Dark’s aura away from his visor. “You’re a bit too noble for your own good. You remind me a bit too much of myself when I was your age.”

    “Really,” Logic hit something on his visor that sent out almost like a localized EMP shock and Dark withdrew his aura. “That seems unlikely. What do you get out of allowing us to stop Wilford? Taking control of the city seems like something that would benefit you.”

    “This isn’t control,” Dark huffed as he kept the Producer away. “It is Wilford’s madness taking root in others. Besides, I can’t get much work done with this much of the city in chaos.”

    “That hardly matters,” Wilford answered a question from the interview, pulling his gun out. “Of course I can hit that.”

    “Really?” Creativity summoned an apple. “I doubt that.”

    BANG!

    And with that, Creativity went limp, blood dripping from his chest, and the world around them became less vibrant and candy-filled. As if with the firing of his gun, Wilford’s magic reset.

    “Well, this was fun,” Wilford smiled as Dark opened up a portal into the Void, his milkshake disappearing. “Darkling, when did you get here?”

    “Just now,” Dark smiled back at him. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

    “Do I?!” Wilford chuckled, stretching his suspenders. “I know this nice place. If you’re free.”

    Dark stood up, fixing his suit. “For you, always.”

    The greyscale entity leaned closer to Logic and Iplier. “If I come back here and find your friend still in that chair, I will assume he’s dead and cremate him.”

    “Noted,” Logic said fearlessly.

    Wilford stood next to Dark, offering out his elbow, which Dark took and the two of them stepped through the Void. Slowly the city began turning back to normal, people blinking off the stupor they’d been in, their clothes turning back to normal. The studio started to turn back into an empty soccer field, currently holding just the few Sides, Egos, and a very expensive camera.

    “We’re clear,” Logan called out as Roman sat up, stopping his suit from turning back to normal. “Astounding work, Creativity. You’re keeping the suit?”

    “Of course, and Moody Frown said I couldn’t do it,” Roman grinned. “I never thought to make the buttons out of peppermint rock candy.”

    “I’m more astounded that you could sit still for that long,” Anxiety defended, sprouting his spider legs again. “Well, my favor’s done. No one ever mention this again.”

    “Thanks for your help,” Iplier smiled.

    Anxiety paused before fleeing the scene without saying anything else.

[darksmurdercutie]

“I don’t know why I keep getting questions like that. Is it some kind of meme?”

[oswinunknown]

cupid.mp4

//explanation under the cut, feel free to ignore if you wanna try interpreting it cause idk if i showed it well enough (spoilers for WKM and its associated TW/CW)

lets get the three characters: -blue: Damien -green/grey: Oswin (the character, tho in wkm, i call him oz) -black: dark

before the events of WKM, Damien and Oz were very much pining for one another despite not being able to do much at the time for a plethora of reasons, so they went along with their lives, hoping for another chance to meet and interact again.

when WKM happens, we all know who dies, and at the end, the DA's body gets stolen by the negative parts of Damien, Celine, and a manor entity, leaving the DA's mind and soul trapped in the mirror.

As Dark leaves Oz in the mirror, the good lingering parts of Damien remains and sees the damage it caused to his old friend.

There Oz yells, smashing the mirror trying to free himself, all the while feeling betrayed by Damien. Both are in shock and in betrayal at Dark.

In a fit of compassion and determination however, Damien reaches into the mirror to grab Oz. He ends up grabbing the soul of Oz, leaving the mind behind in the mirror, greyed and shattered.

Damien holds Oz's soul and cries, comforting the person he loved with all his heart. Despite Oz's soul lacking the memories of the times they were alive, he still recognizes the man he trusted and loved, shedding a single tear before resting in his arms for the last time.

The last shot is of the modern Oswin who partakes in AHWM and ADWM, he awakes in his bed, his eyes glowing blue from the panic he feels. The dream he had was so real, too real, and he cant remember why he's crying.

[himbos-hotline]

𝓖𝓲𝓯𝓼𝓮𝓽 𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓽 𝓖𝓲𝓯𝓼𝓮𝓽 𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓽

꧁•⊹٭𝚆𝚆𝙴٭⊹•꧂

Random Sami Zayn moments that live in my head rent free

Would you remember the times [zowens]

Cause you're popping the cork, you get lost in your brain [Zowens]

He is such a fucking idiot and I love him your honour [Sami Zayn]

Random gifs 

Seth Rollins turns on the shield // June 2nd 2014

The knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark [zowens]

I love the way that he looks at me [zowens]

I lost a friend, I lost a friend [zowens]

Gotta get it in my head I’ll never been sixteen again

Alexa Bliss gifs

Auska gifs

꧁•⊹٭𝙽𝚎𝚠𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎٭⊹•꧂

Newsies live // Carrying the Banner

Davey is your blorbo

Some of my favourite shots in newsies

꧁•⊹٭𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝙲𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎٭⊹•꧂

Actor Mark through projects

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to [WKM]

Damien and Celine [+Dark]-Birds of a feather, forced together.

Greif is a tiredness that sucks the marrow from your bones. Leaving you soullessly empty. [DAMIEN + ISWM]

You're not as brave as you were at the start [WKM + ISWM]

"It's ok Mark, you can cry"

"I uh..I applied for parole" [Yancy the prisoner]

Gif ideas based on my tiktok audios I have saved

And what if fairytales don't have happy endings

Sometimes people leave you, halfway through the wood.

Marks insides exploding gif

꧁•⊹٭𝙰𝚎𝚠٭⊹•꧂

Thats the thing with anger, It begs to stick around [Hangmega]

Boot scootin' boogie! [Hangman Adam Page]

Start carvin’, darlin’ [Hangmatt]

Make a gifset of my favorite promo from my favorite wrestler [Men of low moral fibre]

How to be a heartbreaker [Hangmega]

“Honey, I love you” [Hangmega]

But the heart of a man is a simple one

You'd want me just as much [Adam squared/ Hangmega]

Save a horse, ride a cowboy [Hangman Adam Page]

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene [Adam Squared]

You let me desecrate you [Hangkenny/Hangswerve]

The world will never be the same.... [AEW]

[darkie-parkie]

Alright we all know how Space seemed kind of final in some sort of way and I am depending on a Markiplier promise for this theory, but does anyone remember that panel Mark did after WKM announcing TWO Wilford projects? This was obviously a WHILE ago and plans and passions can change, but something has been just nagging at me every since the explanation stream.

In what I believe is a three scary games video, that came out a while after heist (correct if I'm wrong) we got a teaser of sorts. It seemed to be a train with a wooden door that we were zooming in on and everyone freaked out about it but nothing came out of it. Now Mark waved off the whole train thing in WMLW, saying it was just a reference to the Oriental Express, but we know how Mark's gaslighting is like.

There's not only this, but there's the matter of the cult and the masks. For those that don't know Mark got bored on a road trip and started a cult over Tumblr.

To be in the cult you had to spread this sort of unhinged positivity and wear these "masks"

The cult was soon cut off and there was only the vague reference and joke of it from Mark, but this changed in WMLW when we had this scene

In the explanation of it Mark acted completely coy asking to what the masks were. We don't hear about them or think about them really until In Space pt. 1 with one of the Easter Eggs

Yet again, it's very played off with even the Narrator mocking us, saying that this is the answer to all of our questions, but why bring it up again if it has no real importance?

Better yet, why did Mark parallel himself at the end of the Space stream saying something along the lines of "What masks? There are no masks. Or trains".

My conclusion of all of this being: he's either fucking with us again and I have no doubt this theory will be heh'd by the man himself if that's the case OR we got another project in the works. A project that's probably going to fill in some time spaces with Wil's story hence Space essentially opening up entrances to old doors (i.e. Dark presumably being the cause of Heist).

Edit: FOUND THE TRAIN SCENE AFTER I THOUGHT I HALLUCINATED IT AND I WAS WRONG IT WAS FROM MARK'S 16TH MINECRAFT VIDEO FROM A YEAR AGO, FIRST THIRTY SECONDS

It's very blurry and I recommend cranking your brightness up but leading up to this shot is the sound of a train and what sounds like a song playing on an old record? (Though, I hear Damien being repeated but I've been obsessed with that man the first .2 seconds I saw him so don't take my word for it)

[canceltheact]

ISWM TRAILER BREAKDOWN (aka INSANITY)

Reblogs are appreciated a lot more than likes!

So!

Today was. A lot.

But now that our collective panic energies have at least slightly gone out of us, we can truly break down the BEVY OF STUFF that this trailer promises - and OH BOY, the parallels are A PLENTY.

As Julie Andrews says, though, let's start at the very beginning!

First of all, we've got A LOT of parallels within this trailer, but let's start off with the beginning one. We get introduced to the crew, which includes Pam (with white hair and in a snowsuit hm..), Chica (obviously the best one) and MatPat! And that crew shot with us all drinking does bear a similarity to the scene in WKM Part one, where we all drink.

Then we get on something strange - Mark in a red hat showing us a row of what looks like cryogenic tubes.

But we'll talk about those later, we've got the ship exploding, a HAL reference, people getting ejected, and...a whitish swirling void - huh.

But things are CHAOTIC - violence towards Mark, and a whole lot of glitching...there doesn't seem to be a break from it. Or from the constant motif of blue and red that seem to be all around the ship. But why would the ship be within Darkiplier colors? Why are there some red patches? Are there just danger or....is this Actor's attempt at control?

In fact, the whole trailer has callbacks to DAMIEN, WKM, WMW, and even our own 3SG. Buuuut we'll get to that later.

There are signs that say "Sleepy Head", and "The Captain Needs to Go to Sleep", deeply paralleling the lines of "Go back to sleep" that were said by Celine in DAMIEN.

Pamela, the actress of Celine, seems to be portraying someone who goes out into icy climes, like the Celine in DAMIEN who braves the icy forest dimension (she also slaps Mark in a red hat - oh yeah. This is Actor and Celine)

And there's a shot of a detective looking person (who seems like Mark from the back, but is also shown to be a woman in another shot? Must be two different timelines) that DIRECTLY PARALLELS the shot of ABE from WMLW.

There are so many other crazy new things - some kind of giant incubation pod thing, a flaming planet....but oh. We haven't even gotten to the best parts.

Within the audio, we hear Mark saying, raggedly,

"And I come back and I go and I come back and I go and I come back and I ALWAYS COME BACK!!!"

This definitely feels like Actor talking, either in desperation or anger at the situation he's in.

And last but not least - the parts that allude to 3SG lore.

There is also a ragged voice saying "Have we been here before?" - perhaps in the same scene

There is a massive door with a porthole (that, from other shots, look to be going into the swirling void we see at the end of the trailer). There are signs that say "Don't Open the Door", which is directly correlating to our eldritch dimension lore.

And in the void, as we pass through a blue void (tinged with rainbow aberration!) Mark fluxes between a multiple of animals with his head.

Kinda reminds you of something, doesn't it?

So what does this all mean? Bunch of callbacks, bunch of aspects from all across the lore, while everything's falling down around in shades of red and blue (and just red) and rainbow. How are Dark and Mark and everyone else involved in this story?

Well, we think that this could be things falling apart.

Timelines, and stories, seem to be colliding into each other. The detective role is being taken up by someone else, the snowy pocket dimension seems to be cracking in, there are voids and portals all jamming within each other, and Mark is struggling to keep a handle on it, even with the entity, as Dark has been possibly getting the upper hand.

This is why YN is told to go back to sleep - as Mark is struggling to keep things together, just like how Celine did the same to her brother as she tried to keep things together with what power she had. The only problem is how much bigger things have gotten for old Actor. The bigger the story, the more outstretched the dimension becomes.

If we can connect this back perhaps to the 3SG side lore, this could be why Actor is the EldritchPlier - not that that lore is set in the future, but that it has been happening before or at the same time as Space - in that Actor is cracking and able to draw a new power source from the dark void to keep things a secret from his public and to make more story adventures within the story dimension.

There is still so much stuff in this trailer that we probably haven't hit on, but we'd love to hear what you guys are theorizing about. In any case, we are going to have one heck of a final showdown.