I Almost Feel Like Wilford Would Be The One Who Doesn’t Necessarily Look Out For Cc Considering He

I’ve gained so many followers recently bc of my Anti stuff??

So I just wanted to say thank you, hello, and I hope you like what you read. Feel free to send me suggestions and headcanons of your own!! Once again, thank you guys. :)

Wandering (A Robbie the Zombie drabble). Feat. Post-Apocalypse Robin!

A/N: I’ve never written Robbie in his own story before, but he’s a sweetheart and I thought I’d give it a try, and also try to explain his name, maybe. Enjoy!

He doesn't know how he died. All he knows is that one day, he woke up, and he was staring at the open blue sky. He sat up, looked around at the lonely street he was on, stood slowly, and wandered off. That's what he does best; he wanders. He's not much for deep thought, and trying to plan out where you're going, trying to find things or do things that take a long time, they take too much of his energy. But wandering? It lets him enjoy the quiet. Sunshine in a forest. An empty highway at night. A beach in the off season. Well, he supposed every season was the off season now.

He doesn't remember who he was before he died. Doesn't even know if he had a name, not that there's anyone to call him by it anyway. He supposes he was young; the glances he's gotten of his reflection make him think twenties, but he could've been in his thirties. A little bit of facial hair is eternally stuck at the same length on his face, a short scruffy beard and mustache, and two bushy eyebrows that've all turned an ashy brown with death. Pale, grey skin sits tight over a smaller, fairly slim frame. Grey eyes stare at the grey-scale world through a thin white film (it doesn't affect his vision that much). A striped white and black shirt and black jeans cover him with relative modesty, though they’re ripped and dirtied with who knew what. No shoes. It’s not too bad, but he is easily pleased. Something he very much likes about the way he looks, however, is that he's got a mop of unruly, electric purple hair on the top of his head. It's the only bit of bright color in his appearance, and he feels like maybe Living-him would've liked that. He sometimes wonders who Living-him was. What did he do for a living? He isn't particularly muscular, or big, so nothing sporty or physical. His clothes are very casual. Had he worked from home? Been off-duty when he died? He doesn't know.

He discovers he's in Brighton, and that he can read still (though not very quickly), when he finds a yellowing newspaper on a bench by the pebbly beach. An old copy of the local news, warning about the deadly outbreak of something, and somewhere testing nuclear weapons, and other sad things. He puts it down again and walks away. He's glad he remembers where Brighton is, and that he has a vague impression of what the city would've looked like way back then: a woman's laugh and the pressure of her hand in his, the sound of cars driving by on his quiet street. He wonders if Living-him had lived here all his life, or if he'd come from somewhere far away. He turns slowly toward the sound of something moving, which wasn't his imagination.

A man is staring at him, standing, frozen, on the other side of the street. He is fairly tall, with short brown hair and wide-open eyes, the blue of which are overwhelmed by the black of his pupils. He has a gun slung over his shoulder, and seems to be considering reaching for it. Surely he's not afraid of him? One dead man against a living man isn't much of a match; guns have quite a reach, and rigor mortis tends to slow down your running speed significantly. He doesn’t see any other option for it. Might as well be polite. He waves. The man frowns, confused. Stares at him for a few moments longer.

Waves back.

He smiles, glad that his gesture has been returned, and turns to move on down an alley. "Wait!" He raises his eyebrows and turns back to look at the man, who is now crossing the street toward him cautiously. He stops a few feet away and considers him. "Can...can you understand me?" It amuses him that he remembers enough to know that this is not an English accent, but is disappointed that he can't remember what accent exactly that it is. "You don't have to talk," the man continues as he receives no response from the purple-haired stranger, "you can just...y'know, nod, or shake your head?" He thinks for a moment, then nods. The man smiles. "Really? Cool." They watch each other for a moment. "Do you have a name?" He shrugs, slowly. "Okay," the man nods, folding his arms with a smirk. "Well. You don't look like you're in a big rush to kill me, which is nice." He extends a hand. "I'm Robin." He stares at Robin's hand. "You're...supposed to shake it?" Oh. He shakes Robin's hand, and is surprised that he doesn't flinch away from the cold of his skin or the unnatural stiffness of his movements. He does note that Robin's easy-going smile quirks slightly at the contact. Their hands drop back to their sides, and he decides to try something new.

"R...R..." His voice is rusty and crackly from disuse, but apparently still functional, much to both of their surprise. Robin huffs out a laugh. "You can talk! Why didn't you tell me?" He frowns slightly and tilts his head. "I'm kidding, man, relax," Robin grins. "Were you trying to say my name?" "R..Ro...b..." He nods as he tries again. Robin puts a hand over his heart as if he's touched by the gesture, then chuckles again as he starts to walk. "You wanna come with me? I've never met a zom' that  can talk to me. Let's see if we can't get your voice to work." "Y...eah." Robin looks so proud of his first proper word that he can't help but smile back, the muscles in his face tight with the movement. "C'mon then, uh..." He falters slightly, and the purple-haired man shrugs. "Well...pick a new name then. I have to call you something." "Ro...b...?" "You want me to pick?" "Mm...hm..." "Hm..." He thinks for a minute, then smirks. "Well, the only thing you seem to be able to pronounce is the first half of my name. So let's call you Robbie!" "R...Ro...b...bie.." "See, you're getting better already!" Robin moves off down the street, still laughing and swinging his arms at his sides. Robbie (he likes the ring of it) stumbles after him, listening to him ramble. It's a nice change from the usual silence.

Can we talk about how well this Coraline-”Mother”-esk style compliments Dark’s canon characteristics? A manipulator who will make everything “perfect” for you in order to get you to do what he wants, in return for a “small” concession (ie, letting him in, as opposed to the eye-sewing thing).

Also I just really love this art style.

You could stay here forever . . .i͚͑́͛̓̃͝f̎̓͆̀̔̄̕ y̡̙̙̪̻͆̇̾͒͢͝o̰̍̀̈́̀͠ͅǘ̵͍̭͙͉̻͒̔̃̈̉̈́̚ ẘ̛̰͔̖̥̙̍͋͐̑͑̌̚͢͡ȁ̱͓̳̬̘͓̓͆̈̂̀n̉̒͡t́̄̔͂͗ ť̺͙̠̠͍͆̔̎̄̇͟͢o̴̬̪͖̘̍͂̂̀͝ͅͅ .̨̢̡̭͍̤̦̬̞̺̽͗͆̔̆͂̈́̕ .̷̡̡̞̘̱͉̪̱͚̍͗͂͑̈́̚͘͝

(sorry for the nightmares.)

I always feel so bad for wilf cause you can just see him slowly lose his grip throughout wkm and it’s really sad

He’s always been one of my favorites, and seeing him slowly lose it is just so heartbreaking. But I’ve gotta give Mark props for his acting in WKM, it was phenomenal.

....he’s trapped...

Looking back on CHASE I noticed something. 

The scene where he suddenly ended up at the parking lot and looked around, it’s clear he noticed he didn’t have his whiskey on him. But I think he may have lost something else. 

Before he looks at his hand that held the bottle, he feels his front pocket:

and then looks to his hand, his palm shaped more as if he’s mining hold a phone and not a bottle:

At first I thought he was checking to see if he still had the photo, maybe to get a gage the time he had lost or gained: was he thrown back in time or forward?

Then I checked:

The photo came from his back pocket. Not only that his front pocket is bulged and rectangular, like a phone. 

Chase lost his phone at some point in ‘transporting’. 

This is an observation and although I have my thoughts as to what it could mean, they’re half-arsed and sleep deprived. If anyone else has theories to what this could be, feel free to mention. :)

Quiet. (A Sherlock Drabble)

A/N: SPOILER ALERT. Not a ton is spoiled, but if you haven’t seen any of the new season yet, MOVE ALONG AND WATCH THAT FIRST. Come back to this tumblr tag when you’ve watched it, it’s better if you don’t have it spoiled for you.

"Sherlock?" John frowned up the stairs, shifting the shopping to his other hand and shaking out the one that'd been carrying it the entire way back. It was oddly silent, which was usually not a good sign. He was used to being greeted by Rosie's chatter and giggling, Mrs. Hudson's chattering in baby talk or ranting at Sherlock, or, on particularly bad days, to a note from Mrs. Hudson saying she and Rosie were out on a walk and the sound of gunshots and "BORED!" Today, he was greeted by nothing at all.

Deciding that perhaps shouting had been a bad idea, he took the stairs quietly, straining for every sound and trying to calculate how long it'd take to reach his gun and if he could do it before someone had time to get to him. Every creak made his heart pump faster and his grip on the banister tighter. He paused at the top of the stairs to listen at the door. All he could hear on the other side was what might be breathing. Slowly, he turned the knob, and opened the door just a crack...then a little more...and then it was all the way open.

The sight was not what he expected. Scattered all over the floor were Rosie's toys. Her little building blocks, a chunky book called Goodnight Moon, and, for some reason, a bib were in something of a trail leading up to Sherlock's chair, which was vacant except for his violin and bow, and a small stuffed bear. Glancing at the kitchen, John saw Rosie's high chair, covered in some unidentifiable baby food, set up by the table, with an arm's reach of clean space cleared off next to it. When his eyes swept back across the room, they landed on the couch. He was caught somewhere between surprise and the biggest smile he'd ever had on his face.

Sherlock was fast asleep, a rare enough occurrence on it's own. His blue bathrobe was tangled under him, sleeves pushed up unevenly, and his hair was properly a mess as opposed to its usual styled mess. He seemed to have a few splotches of the baby food on him as well, staining his t shirt. Curled up on his chest was Rosie, fast asleep, also covered in food, one hand wrapped around one of Sherlock's fingers. Both of them were smiling in their sleep.

John shook his head, trying not to laugh too loudly as he started to clean up. Today, he didn't mind.

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

My fingers slipped...

"I fuckin' dropped my headphones again, dammit," he laughed, bending to pick them up. You laughed too, shaking your head, and though you knew he couldn't hear you, you muttered fondly, "I mean it's to be expected, ya over-enthusiastic green bean." "What'd you call me?" You stopped, frowning at the screen. Jack was looking straight at the camera, in mock-offense. You chuckled. "Damn, my timing is on today." You really should stop talking to yourself... "It wasn't even a clever joke!" Jack grinned, sidling toward the camera, swinging his headphones in one hand and his VR set in the other. "It was plain insulting! I am the greenest of beans, thank you!" "It's like you can hear me!" You laughed, getting ready to hit the home button. Jack's smile dropped in surprise. "Wait. You heard that? You saw that?" You paused again. This was...not what you expected.

"And I will SEE ALL YOU DUDES...IN THE NEXT VIDEO!" The outro music played, making you laugh as you dropped your arms and scrolled down to the comments. Twenty seconds to chill there before you caught the outro clip and moved on for the day, which was fine with you. Twenty seconds was more than enough time in the comments with the "buy me" bots so abundant these days. You hummed along to "I'm Everywhere", debating putting the song on in the background while you got some work done before bed. This was a routine of yours: Come home, watch videos, do some work, and sleep. It was a good system, and it was nice to see your favorite youtuber's faces at the end of your day, almost always leaving you smiling as you turned off the lights. Jack, Mark, Ethan, everyone you watched, made you so happy. They might not know you personally, but that was okay. It was enough to send them your love and support, and it was cool to occasionally get a like or a reblog, or, much rarer, a reply, once in a while. It was fun enough just being part of the community, laughing at the inside jokes and smiling and crying together through all the games and videos. Everyone was so nice, it was unbelievable. It was like having millions and millions of friends to chat with 24/7. What a feeling! You were so lost in thought that it startled you when the music cut out and Jack's voice came up again in the outro clip. You scrolled up, smiling. "I fuckin' dropped my headphones again, dammit," he laughed, bending to pick them up. You laughed too, shaking your head, and though you knew he couldn't hear you, you muttered fondly, "I mean it's to be expected, ya over-enthusiastic green bean." "What'd you call me?" You stopped, frowning at the screen. Jack was looking straight at the camera, in mock-offence. You chuckled. "Damn, my timing is on today." You really should stop talking to yourself... "It wasn't even a clever joke!" Jack grinned, sidling toward the camera, swinging his headphones in one hand and his VR set in the other. "It was plain insulting! I am the greenest of beans, thank you!" "It's like you can hear me!" You laughed, getting ready to hit the home button. Jack's smile dropped in surprise. "Wait. You heard that? You saw that?" You paused again. This was...not what you expected. Deciding that you didn't have to worry about sounding crazy as you were home alone, you tested something. "Um...yeah. You said I insulted you." "I do that all the time, talk to you after videos...but you've never heard me before." Jack was staring at you, halfway between concern and interest. "Okay. I must be really tired. I'm going to bed," you announced, trying to convince yourself that you were just talking to yourself. "I mean if it makes you feel better," he said, shrugging. But he looked disappointed. It almost made you sad, but...but that'd be ridiculous. Getting sad about a hallucination. Ridiculous. You stood, pulling off your headphones and setting them down. But as you turned to take a step, the lights buzzed and dimmed for a moment. You frowned at them. Was there something up with the power tonight? Was a storm rolling in? The lights dimmed again, and the buzzing got louder. And in the buzzing, you thought you could hear... Something "tink"ed behind you. You turned to see Jack tapping frantically on the glass, saying something you couldn't hear. Alright. Dream fully commenced, you supposed. Though you didn't recall feeling tired enough to fall asleep at your desk. You picked the headphones back up and put them on. "-sten to me! Oh, thank Christ, you put those back on! Gimme your hand, now!" "What?" "Gimme your hand, you've gotta trust me for a minute, you're in trouble!" Jack was leaning toward the camera, hand outstretched. "But how can I...Y-you're a Youtube video! How the hell can I give you my hand?! What trouble?!" The lights flickered again, the buzzing now a constant drone, and under it, a faint voice, singing something you weren't sure you wanted to hear the words to. "Him! Now c'mon! Just reach!" "Jack, I dunno..." This was quickly becoming a nightmare, and you were starting to get scared. "C'mon, dude, you can trust me! Please!" A light popped and shattered behind you and you jumped. That was enough to make the decision for you, and you reached... ...and felt his hand grab yours. Suddenly, you were falling.

And then you were standing. Shell-shocked, you blinked and stumbled a step back, but someone's hands were on your arms to steady you. "Easy, easy, that kinda travel's hard on you the first time you do it." You gaped at Jack, right in front of you, in person. "How-? What-? Huh-?" Jack smiled, a little panicked still, a little reassuring. "Hi. Ah...welcome to the video." "Weirdest. Dream. Ever." You took a step back and Jack dropped his hands, putting them on his hips instead. "Ah, you're sayin' this is a dream. That's one way to cope, I guess. Okay. Dream it is, then." "Dream it is," You agreed, no willing to argue the point at this stage. "Ah, nice to meet you, Jack. Or, Sean, I guess-" "Oh, no, no," he said quickly, shaking his head, "I'm not Sean. I'm Jack." It was your turn to raise an eyebrow at him. "Meaning?" "Meaning Sean is part of your world. He's the actual person, I guess." He shrugged. "There's no good way of explaining it, and honestly, I've never had to before. Let's go with this: I'm Jacksepticeye, meaning I'm the part of Jack that exists online. In his videos, on twitter and tumblr and all that. I'm a..a persona, I guess." You nodded slowly. "So...I'm like...in the internet right now?" "Yeah." Jack nodded. "Welcome to the Web." "A physical place." "More or less." "How?" "Well, I don't really know. I wasn't hear for the beginning of it. All I know is that I exist. And this place exists. Sort of, half-real, I think. More electricity and code and computers than physical stuff." "That makes no sense." Jack shrugged, holding his hands up in defeat. "I did say I'd never explained it before. I dunno if I can." You shook your head and sighed. "Well...this is still a dream. So...dream logic it is. This exists because it does, that's all." "Alright, yeah," he agreed, smile returning full force. "Now about that...thing..." And the smile was gone again. "He hasn't done that before." "He?" But he didn't seem to hear you. Jack walked over to the camera, checking it for something, then busied himself finding a plug for it. "He's never made it out of a video before. It shouldn't be possible. But I suppose after Halloween, he would be stronger, wouldn't he?" There was a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. "Not...?" Jack nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Him." "But...isn't he stuck in my world, then?" "No. I think...I don't know how, but I think he's connected to you. That's why I had to pull you in here, instead of just crashing the page." The sinking got faster. "So...I can't leave?" Jack rubbed his neck uncomfortably, looking at the floor. "Until we can figure out how to trap him again...no." You wished he hadn't used the word trap. He walked back over and put an arm around you. "We'll figure it out, okay? I'll get you home. I promise." You nodded numbly. Just a dream, you kept repeating to yourself. Just a dream. But still, the idea was terrifying. You'd loved the idea of him when you'd thought it was jut that: an idea. You'd even hyped him up all the way through October, hunting through videos for moments, liking gifsets and theories on tumblr. You'd never considered how it would be to meet him. You hoped you never did. You could almost still hear him singing.

"One, two Anti's coming for you..."

“C’mon little dude, you can trust me.”

Just a quick edit because I could not let the screenshot of Jack reaching out go

okay but every face in this image shows a different emotion. some versions of mark are just shocked to see you - they might even be excited. the mark in the bottom left looks scared of you. the mark on the right side of the core looks upset.

and the mark at the control panel looks cold, and done with you.

this scene feels powerful to me for some reason??

idk just the thought of mark not giving up on building the warp core and spending the endless time doing it

just hits me right in the feels

URL Change!

Much as I still love Doctor Who and Tenny and the gang, my writing has taken a different turn as of late, into the dark and slightly deranged. Don’t worry! I’m still doing fluffy stuff sometimes and all that, and I’m still open to requests for my fandoms! But I’m afraid skinnyscottishblokeaddict simply doesn’t fit anymore.

SO!

Now, it’s likepuppetsonastring.tumblr.com!

Again, no content change, just a blog makeover with the maturing of my writing. :)

Find below a list of fandoms I write for, if you’re interested:

-Doctor Who, RTD era and Eleven -Supernatural, up to season 11 -Sherlock -Undertale -Disney -Youtube/Dark Side of Youtube (JSE, Markiplier, Crankgameplays, D&P, KickthePJ) (NOTE: I DO NOT WRITE SHIPPING FICS OF REAL PEOPLE. I WRITE THE CHARACTERS FROM THE CHANNELS, NOT THE PEOPLE THEMSELVES.)

I’ve got a couple of limits on shipping and topics, but not enough to do a full list out of them, so if you’re concerned, just message me. Other than that, fair game! :)