I’m sitting in my hotel room, skillfully eating some leftover chicken and dumplings from Cracker Barrel with a coffee straw cause I don’t have a fork, putting off taking off my makeup, and writing this post while everything is still kinda fresh in my mind.
I had the most amazing time tonight at the show! I honesty wish my brain was working better now so I could write better words but this is all I got lol
The show was SO GOOD!! I had so much fun and the Louisville Palace was beautiful!! Like wow it was a gorgeous theater and I’m so glad I got the chance to go! I appreciate so much what everyone did to put this show together for all of us and it all went so well!
I had VIP seats so I got to see Mark sing before the show started and I am honestly so proud of him for facing his fear of singing in front of everyone and doing so well! Sorry the phone lights threw you off a little but tbh it really added to the moment. And I’m glad you got your little guitar clamp thing back lol Thank you so much for doing that for us~
I had seen little clips of the show here and there from June and I thought it looked amazing but I was not prepared for how much more fun and amazing it was to actually be there and participate in the show! Every second was so funny and fun and I think my favorite part was the dance off! Sorry Ethan but Mark won this one lol The fan participation was so cool!
I love the whole team so much it was awesome to see them all perform in person. ALSO AMY AND KATHRYN!! Shout-out to them for being awesome and beautiful and going around to get questions from people!
Okay I better wrap this up cause I’ve rambled too much at this point. I might write more tomorrow if I can think of more to say. But thank you Mark, Ethan, Bob, Wade, Tyler, Amy, Kathryn, and of course Dan the Music Man for putting on a fantastic show that I won’t forget~
P.S. - My mom also loved the show and thought you all did amazing!
Anyone who knew Jack Zimmermann would laugh at the idea of him even being able to remember the login for his Twitter account.
No one, not even his parents, would ever suspect that he checked his feed every single morning.
Jack didn’t care much for social media; he was too private a person to ever want the world to know where he was or what he was eating at any given moment. In fact, he only followed three accounts: his mother’s, the official Falconers’, and that of Li’l Dicky’s Southern Comforts. The latter was the only one he actually cared about.
See, Jack Zimmermann had a deep, dark secret – he was in love with the mini apple pies that were sold daily at Li’l Dicky’s. It was the only dessert he ever indulged in on a regular basis, and said indulgences were a secret he would take to his grave.
Every morning, Li’l Dicky’s posted their location for the day. Jack knew the general schedule by heart at this point, but some days the truck switched things up, due to weather or construction or event catering, and Twitter was the only way for Jack to know if he would be able to get his apple pie fix.
It didn’t hurt that Eric Bittle, the owner of Li’l Dicky’s, smiled at Jack like the sun shined out of his ass every time he came by. But really, it was the pies Jack couldn’t enough of. Mostly. Probably.
Imagine the Egos when they’re sick. They don’t get sick
often because they’re not entirely human, but every now and then, especially
when Mark himself gets sick, one or more of the Egos will catch it, too.
Imagine Dark with a cold, even paler than his usual gray
complexion. He’s got a fever and a stuffy nose, and he is ready to murder
whatever gets in his way. He still attends the meeting because there’s no way
he’s going to let Wilford have the floor all on his own again. That’s how Markiplier
TV happened, after all. Imagine that every time he sneezes, his shell breaks
and his gray aura floods the entire room with palpable anger and hatred. As a
result, the meeting erupts into like six different fist fights, and Warfstache
is on the table firing his gun at the other Egos’ feet.
Imagine Bim Trimmer, the soft boi, all wrapped up in bed,
sniffling and coughing. He’s surrounded by wadded up tissues, and his favorite
plants (which is all of ‘em). Google pokes his head in when Bim misses a
meeting to find him sleeping fitfully. Since the droid can’t actually get sick,
he sneaks in and sets up a few things before sneaking out quietly once again.
Bim wakes up to find one of Google’s TV’s playing a Harry Potter movie marathon
along with his favorite meal, chicken and dumplings, and the soft boi never
Imagine Dr. Iplier living in denial and still running around
the clinic treating patients because he’s a doctor, and doctors don’t get sick.
The Host and Google stage an intervention, and force him to lay down. There’s a
lot of shouting involved between Google and the Doctor, and the Host has to
leave the room, covering his ears because they’re too sensitive. Dr. Iplier
immediately feels horrible and agrees to spend the rest of the day in bed.
Imagine the King of the Squirrels sneezing all over the
place. Wilford reaches over, snatches Dark’s handkerchief from its pocket, and
offers it to the King. It comes back covered in mucus and peanut butter, and
Dark’s shell cracks. But he won’t kill Wilford. Not yet anyway…
Imagine Anti getting into Google’s systems and spreading
viruses. The droid goes absolutely bonkers, smashing plates and shredding
laundry—Dark quickly hides all of his freshly-pressed suits—and throwing the
entire building into a panic. Everyone is certain he’s going to massacre them
all, but Warfstache jumps on his back and hits the restart switch, kicking Anti
out of Google’s software. The droid powers back up with no idea what’s
Imagine the Host showing up to a meeting with tissues
falling out of his pockets all over the place like Hansel and Gretel leaving a
trail through the forest. His fevered brain makes him narrate things like, “And
then the entire building was full of BUBBLES, and rabid squirrels rained down
from on high!” Needless to say, somebody—I’m not naming names but it was
totally Dr. Iplier—slipped some sleeping pills into the Host’s tea, effectively
knocking him for the rest of the day. It took them a week to clean up all the
bubbles and convince the King that no, he can’t keep the squirrels. They have
Imagine Wilford Flipping Warfstache looking about as drunk
as a skunk off all the cold medicine he’s chugged staggering around trying to
tickle people with his knife. Dark considers putting him in a straight-jacket,
but even Google refuses to get anywhere near him in this state. Instead they
lure him into the studio’s recording booth with a trail of bubblegum and lock
him inside until the colored strobe lights disappear and he stops turning all
the furniture into cotton candy.
Needless to say, Dark informs Dr. Iplier that
the Egos will all be getting their flu shots next year. No exceptions.
Dylan O'Brien: You come home tomorrow morning….. :)
You: omg… i do?!
DylanO'Brien: haha shut up.
DylanO'Brien : Um, did you have plans for tomorrow when you get home?
You: i land at 6pm and i was just going to take the airtran from JFK to Jamaica and I was going to take the subway from there, why?
DylanO'Brien: Do you have any interest in seeing Spiderman?
DylanO'Brien: Yeah, if I came out and picked you up from the airport, would you be in the mood to see the movie with me that night?
You: you’re gonna drive all the way out from the Montauk to Brooklyn to get me from the airport to then see a two hour movie and then drive three hours back to the Hamptons and not fall asleep and crash and die….
DylanO'Brien: Well when you put it that way… Yeah, I still want to see you.
DylanO'Brien: And I want to see Spiderman :)
You: well, i want to see you, so if you really want to do all of that, then yea. I’ll see Spiderman with you tomorrow night.
DylanO'Brien: i’ll see you at JFK at 6. text me when you land and send me your flight info?
You: okay. goodnight, Dyl.
DylanO'Brien: Sweet dreams, Y/n. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
“It’s called ‘Father’s Day,’” Host explains. “The idea is
that it’s a day to honor father’s. It’s really not that complicated.”
“But what do we do?” Wilford asks, stretching out his
suspenders and quirking an eyebrow at the Host as they lounge in the library.
“Well, as figments, we don’t actually have a father. We just…
exist,” Host says with a shrug. “This day doesn’t really apply to us.”
“Isn’t Ed a father?” Wilford’s face screws up in confusion. “How
did that happen?”
Host pauses. “I… don’t know.”
Wilford shrugs and claps his hands together suddenly,
startling the Host. “Oh, sorry, Hosty, but hear me out, what if we did
something for Mark? He’s kind of like a father to us, right?”
“You have a very skewed definition of what a father is,
Will.” Host takes a sip of his coffee and makes a face. It’s gone cold.
Conversations with Wilford are not good for hot drinks. “Lewis?” the Host asks
softly, and the dragon obliges, breathing a stream of fire towards the cup and
heating the liquid inside. “Thank you,” and then back to Wilford, “What would
we even do? Grill steaks? Toss around a football? That would be plenty of fun
Wilford shakes his head. “No, Host. You’re thinking about
this all wrong! This is the Markiplier,
we’re talking about here.” Wilford playfully nudges the Host. “And we’re the Markiplier Egos. If we’re going to
do something…” Wilford’s eyes get very devious. “We’re going to do it our way.”
Mark finishes up recording for the day and flops down onto
the couch. Chica jumps up, stepping all over him, before settling down beside
him, her tail wagging happily. “Hey, bub,” Mark laughs, petting the pupper and
feeling the muscles in his shoulders relax. They always get tense after playing
When he hears the doorbell ring, he assumes it’s one of the
gang. Amy or Ethan or someone, but when he checks his phone, which he always
neglects to do while recording, none of them have tried to contact him. Mark
gently pushes Chica off of him, hops up, and goes to check who’s at the door. To
say what he sees surprises him is probably the understatement of the millennium.
Most of the Egos are on his doorstep, arms full of gifts and
video games and food. Mark opens the door slowly, poking his head out and
trying to give them a convincing smile as he worriedly asks, “Um, hey guys.
Wh-what are you doing here?”
“It’s Father’s Day!” Wilford screams in his face, tossing a fistful of glitter at Mark.
“Uh, yeah?” Mark blinks the glitter out of his eyes and surveys the others: Bim, Host, Doc, Silver,
and even Google have all shown up for… whatever this is.
“You’re the closest thing we’ve got to a father, so here we
are!” Wilford waves his hands in the air, eyes and mouth wide with excitement.
Google steps up. “We have brought gifts of chicken and dumplings from Cracker
Barrel, the video games of your liking, and…” Google pauses, looking at the
Host. “Host and I designed a little gift for you.”
Mark is baffled. They all stand there for a few more awkward
moments before Mark finally snaps back to himself and invites them all inside
before the neighbors start to stare. They already think he’s insane. Mark doesn’t
want to prove their point. Bim gives Mark a quick hug as he enters, and Mark
can’t help but smile. “Ed would’ve come, but he’s with his son, which is…
weird. And Dark… well, I don’t guess you’d want him here anyway.”
Mark shakes his head and watches as they all stand around
inside like they have no idea what to do. “Um, did you bring enough food for
everyone?” Mark asks.
Wilford looks at the single order of chicken and dumplings
that he’s holding and makes a face. “Oh, I guess we didn’t think about that.”
“Well, I can’t just eat this all by myself while the rest of
you starve,” Mark says, walking towards the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll make some
of my world famous chicken and dumps for all of us!”
They spend the next few hours watching Mark make the food—he
even lets Wilford debone the chicken which he seems to enjoy way too much—and playing video games
afterwards. At the end of the night, Google hands Mark a wrapped box with a sad
looking bow on top.
“Silver sat on it,” Google accuses the hero.
“I didn’t mean to! How many times do I have to say that I’m sorry?”
Mark laughs and waves them off. “Guys, you shouldn’t have
gotten me anything.” He unwraps the box and opens it to find… another box. “Um…”
Mark takes the box out of the box and looks at it carefully.
“Speak to it,” Google says simply, and Mark shrugs. Host smiles to himself and listens carefully for Mark’s reaction.
“Um, hi?” Mark watches in awe as the box blinks open two
blue eyes and yawns open a tiny, pink mouth.
“Hi, Mark! I’m your little biscuit, Tiny Box Tim!” Mark
almost has a heart attack, and the Egos, after Dr. Iplier assures them that he’s not dying, are very proud of themselves for a successful, if unconventional, Father’s Day.