Anti Is A Tulpa: An Infodump.

My favorite part of a character like Anti is the fact that he’s legitimately scary and strange. I love to theorize about him and to wait on the edge of my seat, analyzing videos frame by frame, never knowing when he’s going to show up next, what he’s going to do, and it still makes me nervous every time.

But I also love the silly little memes and gifs that happen between times, the stuff that I know is not canon to his character, just because it’s fun. Those are side things, fun stuff from the community side that’s not meant to be taken seriously. That in no way detracts from the love I have for the actual, legitimately terrifying, psychopathic virus that is Anti.

Whatever you want to do with your character, Jack, is fine by me. I love seeing him, and I love watching what you do. Your acting is incredible and Robin’s editing is top notch, and everything you’ve done so far has been super fun. I love how seriously you take his character and I love how seriously you take your community and your love for them. <3

@therealjacksepticeye

I have to find Anti scary, I write him, and it’s always more fun to write someone truly evil or twisted.

This needs to be said

I do take anti seriously I really do I get spooked when he shows up and I enjoy it. I love this super serious theory’s about anti that are paragraphs long I live for that kind of stuff. But I also enjoy the anti memes that we as a community make like glitch bitch. Jack I’m sorry that it seems like no ones taking anti seriously anymore but we are and we still love him

Game Theory: The Secret Life of Markiplier

(I’ve no idea whether Mat and his team actually check tumblr, but I thought I’d put my two cents out there anyway.)

MatPat, I love that you covered this!!! And I think you did a wonderful job connecting, covering, and pulling it all together! I want to welcome you to the very specific subset of theorists that have devoted their time to decoding the YouTube-specific world of the egos; we have a lot of fun here when we’re not on fire! A request before we get into the meat of this post: Cover Antisepticeye? I’d love to hear your take on him! I reccomend you start with Jack’s Sister Location series from October of 2016, and go from there. And hey, if you want to collab with someone who’s been tracking all this stuff for literal years, I’d love to work with you! I’m sure tons of us would. :D

Anyway, to my point: There’s a couple of things I wanted to talk about in your theory. Specifically, I want to address Wilford’s role in the backstory of WKM, the cabin, the timeline, and the composition of Darkiplier as a final character. Also, bonus personal theory at the bottom of the post!

First, The Colonel (whose name we now know is William Barnum) didn’t kidnap Celine. The general concensus is that they had an affair, and when Mark found out, Will was forced to leave, Celine left Mark and Will, and Mark became reclusive. It was only at Damien’s urging that Will even came to the poker night, and he still had a major beef with Mark until he snapped at the end of WKM. Now, this isn’t 100% confirmed, but it’s confirmed that Celine made a decision of her own accord to go with Will (Mark says this in the BTS for WKM).

(...lots of acronyms today.)

Second, that cabin in “Go Back To Sleep” could be a reference to another of Mark’s egos, The Host, formerly The Author. More thoughts on him in a moment.

Third, ADWM is ambiguously placed in the timeline, as there is barely a proper timeline at all. We the theorists tend to believe that ADWM happens sometime after WKM and now WMW (Wilford Motherloving Warfstache). 

Fourth, Darkiplier’s composition, for a lack of a better term. Darkiplier is, canonically, according to Mark (IRL Mark), Damien’s spirit using Celine’s power in the DA (Audience)’s body. It’s questionable how much of the house’s influence is present in Darkiplier as a final product, but it’s clear that that’s where his powers come from. So, basically, the spirit that was Damien was corrupted by anger, hatred, and the supernatural into a being bent solely on vengence.

Now back to the Host. Can I also talk about how it’s implied that Actor Mark (your Character Mark, but this is the community name for him) has children? Who are they and where are they? Here’s my personal theory: at least one of those kids is the Host. Where would he get his powers other than from the house? Perhaps his need to be a famous author came from a need to be acknowledged by an absent asshole father. And then maybe let’s take it a step further: how did the Author lose his eyes and become the Host, and how did he join Ego Inc? Maybe a vengeful evil spirit made a deal with him to finally get the attention he craves, and that spirit gets his power on his side?

Through the Looking Glass

((A/N: I’m really hyped about Anti’s appearances on Jack’s channel and Halloween and all the creepy things, so horror story word vomit happened. Enjoy.))

"Anyways, thank you guys so much for watching this episode. If you LIKED it, PUNCH the like button IN THE FACE, LIKE A BOSS! AND high fives all around," Jack almost giggled as he did the silly sound effect while he high-fived the air. "Thank you guys, and I will SEE ALL YOU DUDES...IN THE NEXT VIDEO!" He punched the air and finally let himself start laughing as he stopped the recording, shaking his head. No tough edits in this one, which was always nice. He walked over to the computer and saved the video, ready to go up tomorrow. His eye twitched and he frowned, catching a glimpse of his face in the dark of the monitor as he switched it off. Did it look...different? No, that's ridiculous. But still...perhaps he should check over the footage, just to be safe. He watched through, studying it with a frown. Everything seemed to be going fine, just a silly little game, some goofy ragdoll physics he'd wanted to try out that had turned out to be hilarious. He watched himself fail a level over and over again, still having fun because the fails were so funny.

And then his face cam glitched. A face was superimposed over his. It was just for just a couple of frames, grainy and glitched out, but...definitely his own face. Terrified. Absolutely, horribly afraid, as if he were screaming, but there was no noise to accompany the face. He watched those few seconds again, at half speed, then again at a quarter speed. He seemed to be reaching for the camera, as if he were going to get up and grab it, or run out of frame, and he was mouthing "NO!"

He knew he had definitely never done that. He shook his head and sighed as he glanced over at a mirror in the corner of the room. It was a present from a fan that he'd forgotten to put away, with a really intricate little frame that looked like it was made of pixels, pixelated Sams sitting in two opposing corners. He smiled remembering the girl who'd given it to him, how she'd shakily explained that she'd spent a long time putting it together and hoped it'd get to him in one piece. He'd given her a hug and thanked her again and again, even showing it off in a video he'd made as soon as he'd gotten back from...whatever event he'd been at. He didn't remember that now. His focus was more taken with the fact that his reflection wasn't smiling.

In fact, it was wearing the same terrified expression he'd seen in the video, his hands banging on the glass, fists bloodied from the effort. He was mouthing something that might have been "You bastard!", over and over again, with a few "Let me out!"s and "No!"s mixed in.

The him that wasn't in the mirror chuckled and sighed. "Oh, Jackaboy. You ruined my recording." He knelt down on one knee, picking up the mirror. "Still trying to get out? Jesus, you're an fuckin' idiot." He leaned closer, making the reflection shrink away reflexively before glaring at him and yelling curses he couldn't hear. His voice was unnaturally quiet. "It took me weeks to manage it. And that was with their support, and you stupidly egging them on. But you? Oh, Jack. They don't even know you're gone. And I'm having so...much...fun. Why would I leave?" He laughed as he stood and walked out of the room, dropping the mirror on the way out.

In the cracked mirror, Jack continued to scream, and beat his fists. Very faintly, almost as if it were leaking through the cracks, Jack's voice jumped as if it'd been badly edited, gltiching in and out. "Anti! No, no, no! Let me out, you bastard, you son of a bitch, dammit, let me out! ANTI!"

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

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

Jse Ego Starter Kit

Jse Ego Advanced Kit

Markiplier Ego Starter Kit

Markiplier Ego Advanced Kit

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

Packing

Pairing: Ten/Rose, unrequited!Tentoo/Rose

Rating: PG for strong angst

He pulled open a drawer.

Ties. This was where he kept the ties. Browns and blues mostly. Some in shades of red. He took a few of those, and one of his favorite brown silk ones.

He opened one of the cupboards.

Converse, stacked up high on the shelves. He took a pair of the reds, a pair of the whites, a pair of the blacks.

He walked to another part of the wardrobe and looked through a rack until he found what he was looking for. A long brown coat, not the same one, not perfect, but as close as he was going to get, and he didn't have time to be picky. He shoved it awkwardly into his pocket.

He left the wardrobe, feeling numb. Never in his long life had he been faced with this reality. Never would he have expected it. Now that he didn't have much time left here, he was starting to panic.

Not about not having a ship, he knew he would be taking a piece of the coral with him, even he couldn't be that cruel, so that wasn't gone forever. But about not having this ship.

He'd never see Susan's room again. Or Ace's. Or Sarah Jane's. He'd never see any of Romana's books again, or any of Adric's formula sheets. He'd never see Martha's extra jacket, or Donna's sketchbook full of shorthand notes, caricatures, and tic tak toe.

He skulked out, toward the console room, and stopped just before he entered.

He peeked in.

They were in there. And they were talking. And she was smiling.

Her smile was so beautiful. Her eyes crinkled at the edges, and her tongue poked cutely out between her teeth. How many times had he been temped to forget whatever little adventure they'd been on when he'd seen that smile, to just forget every limitation and kiss her, to tell her how much he loved her against that smile.

She laughed at something he said.

It hurt, physically, to see them talking, see her smile, hear her laugh. He knew he wouldn't be hearing it much longer. Why would she choose him? His hand snaked up to feel the single heartbeat in his chest, the constant reminder that he wasn't the real him. That no matter what his mind said, no matter what memories and feelings he had, no matter what he looked like, he was just a copy. A fake. A poor recreation. He was going to age, and die. And he'd be doing it alone.

But wasn't he used to alone? Wasn't he used to the universe teasing him with the chance of happiness and just when it seemed like he'd always have a hand to hold, taking it away from him? That didn't make it any easier.

He scowled in the empty corridor. Nine hundred years, all to end up dying as a human, in the wrong universe, alone. Maybe it was exactly what he deserved.

He said something, and she agreed, and they moved toward the hallway. He ducked quickly into an alcove and stayed there until they passed. Then he hurried out into the console room and over to a side panel on the central pillar. He flipped a few switches, tapped the screen a few times, and turned a few dials before pressing one last button and waiting. A few seconds of whirring later, a sonic screwdriver plopped into the little slot at the bottom of the panel, and he picked it up and tucked it into his pocket. He moved over to another panel and smacked it a little too violently. A drawer popped out, and he picked up the extra psychic paper and put it in his pocket as well. He spotted a picture of Susan, and, heart wrenching alienly, took that as well. Then he shut the drawer and looked up, just staring around the room he'd called home for seven hundred years.

His teeth clenched and his hands gripped the coral edging tightly as he suddenly fought back a sob.

It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair. He could be so much more than this. And maybe he would be. But this him, this counterfeit, never would. Was this his punishment for all that he'd done? By all rights, it hadn't even been him! Why make him conscious? Why make him share the same mind?

Why hadn't he just changed?

Someone coughed. He didn't need to look up.

The other him walked slowly back into the room. He stared at him for a minute with a look of mixed pity, sorrow, and guilty fascination. It was sickening.

He looked up, and their eyes met. By the way the Doctor winced, he could tell that he knew exactly how he felt. Something flashed in his eyes as well...regret? Pain?

Whatever it was, it felt almost perverse.

Then he coughed again, and spoke, softly.

"I haven't told her what you are yet. Not about..." he tapped his chest. "I'll leave that to you."

"Thanks," he said acidly.

The Doctor rubbed his neck awkwardly, almost ashamedly, then grabbed his jacket off the jumpseat and shuffled out of the room.

"Take whatever you need," he said over his shoulder as he went back to Rose.

He very nearly slammed his fist into the console. His hand was raised and clenched when Donna came in.

"Don't you dare, Spaceman."

His hand dropped limply to his side as he turned to look at her.

Without another word, she walked up and threw her arms tight around him. He hugged back.

Neither commented on the oddness of only two hearts beating between them.

After a minute, she pulled away from him, handing him a small book. He recognized it as her most recent sketchbook. Gripping it tightly, he met her eyes, and, almost ashamed of how desperate he sounded, blurted, "You can't come with me?"

"No," she sighed, patting his arm, "I've got to stay. For Mum and Gramps. You know that."

"I know."

She hugged him again, briefly, before walking off down the hall, presumably to find the other one and Rose. He almost smiled. Donna would have liked to get to know Rose. His almost smile turned into another almost sob, but he held his composure. He would not lose it until he was truly alone, he promised himself. He wouldn't let them see him break. He couldn't do that to Rose, or to Donna. He supposed he couldn't even do that to himself.

The TARDIS landed with a loud groan and a dull thud. He glanced at the screen. A beach appeared on it, the beach he hated more than almost anything in the entire universe.

His single heart was beating out the word that had started it all, and would end it all, for him.

Run.

Text Conversations With the Boys

Rating: G

Pairing: Reader/Each of the members of TFW

You: Sam, where r u?

Sam: Out.

You: Real specific Sam.

Sam: Just out! I promise!

You: You're not doing anything shady, right?

Sam: ...

You: Sam?

Sam: :)

You: What does that mean???

You: *two hours later* THERE'S A CANDY GRAM AT THE DOOR, WINCHESTER.

Sam: :)

You: I love you, you moron.

Sam: Ily2 babe. XD

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

Dean: (Y/N)!!!!

You: ?

You: Um hi Dean. XD

Dean: (Y/N) did yuo no that yur vry pretttty

You: ...are you drunk again?

Dean: Nooooooo

Dean: I'm fnie!

You: ...where r u?

Dean: Te barr down the rode

Dean: Roda

Dean: Rood

Dean: Close neough.

You: Stay put and don't get kicked out, I'm gonna come pick you up.

Dean: Tooo late

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

Cas: adKLNPgkl,2485u

You: Um...Cas? You ok?

Cas: I'm sorry. I dropped my phone.

You: You have an iPhone, how did you get that by dropping it?

Cas: ...I may have dropped it on my face...

You: XD

Cas: >:(

You: WTF When did you start using emojis??

Cas: Sam taught me.

Cas: What does WTF mean?

You: ...ask Dean.

@ask-thewhiphand tagged me, thanks love!

Rules: tag 9 people who you would like know better.

Relationship status: Single as hell, but pretty much okay with it. :)

Last song I listened to: Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas, and before that, probably Break Your Little Heart In Two by All Time Low

Favorite color: RED. Very much red.

Top three shows: Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Sherlock. Yes, I know, typical, but I love them. I watch more YouTube than TV though, and on here I love Scare Pewds, Game Lab, and Crash Course.

Top three characters: Oh dear lord...ah, right this second...probably...Asriel/Flowey (Undertale), the Tenth Doctor (DW), and Antisepticeye (JSE). I don't know! I love so many characters!

Top three ships: Johnlock, Tenrose, and Undyne/Alphys.

Tagging: @bookwyrm00, @super-septic-pewdie-plier, @lyssadee, @quirkyfandomimagines, @turquoisemagpie, @stupidscreennames, @jacksepticide, @alto-viola, @victoria-saenz

About feedback and sending me headcannons, questions, submissions, prompts, etc.

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

I love this?! I love seeing this kind of thing?! I’m glad you like my silly writing?! I would love it if you sent me headcannons?!

I don’t care if you’ve never spoken to me before, I’m totally chill with chatting with you guys, on and off anon! It makes me super, super happy when people like my stories or theories and ideas (it boggles my mind that some of my posts have 200-400+ notes, like how, and there’s 126 of you guys following me here?! why?! I love you?!), and I love being a part of the community and having conversations with people who love the same internet nerds and characters that I do. Send me all the things, ask me all the things, submit stories and theories and prompts and anything and everything, tag me in things, all of it, yes please! I love this.

Visitor Pt. 2

A/N: Alright so a surprising amount of people actually liked the first part of this (thank you @alix-the-skeleton for asking for more!), so I decided to do a follow up. Lemme know if you guys wanna see some more of this! I think it’s an interesting story to explore. Anyway, let’s see what happens when Dark gets home, shall we?

He was still shaking, physically shaking, when he returned to Ego Inc. His shell was cracking horribly, and his aura was all over the place, cyan and scarlet spikes shooting left and right, cracking the walls and bursting lights. Everyone that saw him come down the hallway ducked away as fast as they could. Everyone, that is...except the one person Dark did not need to see right now. "I saw, old man, where'd you scamper off to in such a hurry? Google's been doing nothing but complain since you left, he's insufferable." Wilford laughed as he tried to clap an arm around Dark's shoulders, but raised an eyebrow in amusement when he shrank away, sucking in a sharp breath as the pain of the sudden movement hit him. The pain of his shell cracking was enough without the extra weight of someone else. "Don't touch me-" he attempted to snarl, but cut himself off. No. Oh God, no, he still sounded like- "What's wrong with your voice?" Wil blinked, looking puzzled. He couldn't not speak to Wil, that would raise too many questions, but the more he talked, the more he knew he was running into dangerous territory, and why did he suddenly care so much, after years and years of feeling nothing but deep-seated anger and frustration? No, he knew why, but still, the sudden shift was unsettling, and he was spiraling. "I...nothing. Nothing, just leave me-" "I didn't know you could turn off the echoes, that's a clever trick. Have you always been able to do that?" He laughed again, twirling his mustache thoughtfully, seemingly oblivious to Dark's rising panic. "You know, without the effects, you almost sound like Mar-" “Shut up.” “Well, I was only saying, I know you hate him, but still, the resemblance is uncanny-” I know you hated him. His own voice rang in his ears and he shut his eyes, trying to block it out. “Shut. Up.” “You’re really not looking well, are you sure you’re-?” "Shut up, William!" Before he could think, his hand was shooting out from his side, and Wil grunted in surprise as he banged into the opposite wall, sliding down to the ground with a dull thud.

Dark's eyes widened. "Wil...Wil, no, I didn't mean..." "What the bloody hell was that for?" Wil snapped furiously, clambering back to his feet and rushing to grab Dark by the lapel, his other hand coming up in a fist. Dark braced for a hit. "What the actual hell, Damien?" Both men froze. Wil's eyes widened to match Dark's, seemingily more out of surprise than anything else. "Wait...no, your name isn't...why would I...?" "Wil," Dark said slowly, "let me go. Please." Wil glanced down at his hand, which had a death grip on Dark still, and dropped him as if he were being burned. Dark grunted as he stumbled back, bumping into the wall. Cracks appeared immediately. Wil backed up a few steps, still staring at him. "Thank you," Dark muttered, voice shaking nearly as much as he was, "Now, please, I have to-" "Yes. Yes, of course." Wil gestured off down the hall, shaking his head as if he were trying to clear it. There was an uncharacteristic frown on his face, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "You're...you're a busy man, after all, and...and of course, I am too. I should...I'll...I'll see you later." He walked away so quickly he was nearly jogging.

Dark stared after him. So he did remember, at least subconsciously. There was still some of the Colonel behind the bubblegum facade. But...if forgetting had done this to him, what would remembering do? And if he found out about her...

What have I done?

Echoes (A Middle-of-the-Night Drabble)

Frisk thought they had never seen anything as beautiful as an Echo Flower. It looked almost as if it were a negative image of a sunflower, the colors reversed and strangely fluorescent, blues and whites that seemed to light up the dark marsh around them, otherworldly and wonderful, in the original sense of the word. Their appearance wasn’t even the strangest part of them however. Frisk swore, as they walked past, they heard one of the funny plants talk.

Now, given their previous encounter with talking flowers had been not altogether pleasant, Frisk was understandably cautious about getting too close to the whispering blooms. But Sans had mentioned Echo Flowers, back in Snowdin, and they thought perhaps their caution was unfounded, and that perhaps the echoes might be worth listening to. They had always been a supremely curious child, anyway. So they took a cautious step closer to the nearest flower.

It was surprisingly hard to get to, surrounded by so much vegetation and growth that Frisk was led to believe that it had been a very long time since anyone had stood close to the flower at all. This assumption was reinforced by the faintness of the recording, but it was not impossible to understand what was being said. A young voice spoke up first, the sound of splashing footsteps suggesting two small monsters were passing at the time of the recording. “They say you can make a wish on echo flowers. What’s your wish?” It was hard to tell whether the voice was male or female. Perhaps it was neither, mused Frisk with a chuckle. They wandered on to the next plant, mimicking the long-forgotten conversationalists’ path. “I...don’t wanna tell.” This voice sounded as if it’d come from a young boy. He seemed to be afraid of something. Apparently the other voice had surmised this as well, because they promptly asked what it was he was afraid of. Frisk continued to the next plant, fancying they could see two ghostly figures walking in front of them. In their fantasy, the two figures were silent until they reached the next plant, a few feet down the marsh. “I’m afraid you’ll laugh at me.” “I promise I won’t!” the first voice assured the boy, and in Frisk’s mind, they could practically see the child clap the shoulder of the other confidently. Frisk smiled as they imagined the first voice as a human, like themselves, striped sweater and all. The other, a monster child, Frisk decided, sighed and looked away. “Alright.” He paused for a long moment. “My wish is to see the stars.” The human child seemed to nod, and smile. This turned into a small laugh as they reached the next flower. Another, further on, had the monster child, who had white fur, Frisk thought, annoyed, saying “You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” “Sorry,” the first child said, still smiling, “It’s just funny.” “What?” Frisk seemed to watch them round the corner as the conversation drew to a close, and they ran out of echo flowers. “That’s my wish, too.”

Frisk felt oddly sad, hearing the end of that conversation. It felt faintly familiar to them, as if they’d heard it on some TV show they’d loved when they were younger, barely remembered. But they were sure they’d never heard it before, and wondered at the image they’d seen, the fantasy they’d drawn up. It’d seemed so real, the children seeming like they’d come to life with their voices barely echoed back by the flowers that’d lived up to their names. Had they really imagined it all? Who knew? This whole place was full of magic and strange life. Perhaps more than just their voices had been caught, frozen in time by this strange place.