It’s not even an exaggeration when I say Seventeen wouldn’t exist without you because Seventeen sounds the way it does because of you. Thank you for using your God-given musical talents to give us songs that entertain and comfort. Thank you for your hard work, all those sleepless nights. Thank you for pouring your passion, your soul and emotions into the melodies and lyrics you beautifully craft. For you whose personality and charm is significantly larger than your small stature (which we love nonetheless), I only seem to hold praise. We admire your sharp intellect, your voice, your large heart. I can’t even say that you are lucky for having made it this big because you earned it. It was all deserved, and we only see greater things for you ahead. Have a wonderful birthday.
-The lucky flannel has returned. The lucky flannel will always return. You cannot seem to destroy the lucky flannel. No matter how many times you steal it and burn it in the woods behind your house, it always makes its way back to him. You have tried to warn him many times, warn him that the luck comes with a price, warn him that the flannel will one day demand that all debts are paid; he has not heard your warnings, or perhaps he is ignoring them. Either way, you sadly conclude, it is too late. He is too far gone now. You stop trying to steal the lucky flannel.
-“Herb lore,” you hear one, solitary voice chirp. It is a voice you do not recognize. “Herb lore.” Responds another. A cacophony of voices suddenly surround you. “Herb lore, herb lore, HERB LORE!” They chant, although not quite in unison. You do not know where these voices are coming from, nor do you remember when you started chanting with them. With each passing repetition, you forget a little more about the life you lived before herb lore. You keep chanting anyway.
- @markiplier uses a slightly different voice for approximately 4 and a half seconds in a video. By the time you click away and open a new tab, Tumblr has created a character out of this voice. They have named him Kevin. Kevin now has four ask blogs and twelve fan blogs, seven of which have some variant of the phrase “protection squad” in their usernames. One of them is dedicated solely to NSFW KevinxAntisepticeye fan fiction. It already has 300 followers.
-Every once and a while, you hear the Ancient Ones howling outside your window in the middle of the night. “COLA AND MEAL PLEASE, NO BREAD,” they shriek. You do not know what this means. You are too afraid to ask.
-“Markiplier’s fanbase is a bunch of 12 year olds,” you hear them say. You look around, but you can’t see any. You realize that you can’t remember the last time you saw a 12 year old atall. What does a 12 year old look like? How long have you been older than 12? Were you ever 12? You turn to the person nearest to you. It is a middle-aged man. He has a wife and two children. He works in accounting. “How old are you?” You ask. “12,” he replies. You scream.
-“Subscribe for More!” reads the cheerful font at the end of the compilation video. It is not a suggestion.
-A blonde woman in an alien-themed sweatshirt passes you in the grocery store. As she walks around your cart, her arm brushes against a six pack of Corona. “I CAN’T DRINK THAT, OR I WILL LITERALLY DIE,” a voice booms, the noise crackling in the air like lightning. The woman glances at you and you nod, confirming that, yes, you heard it too.
-“Shares are a little low this month,” he tells you. Something about his tone fills you with a strange, primal fear. You share his videos with your friends. You share them with family. You write the URLS on pieces of paper and staple them to trees. “Shares are a little low this month.” You’re positive it’s a warning this time.
-You go on a date with Markiplier. “You look so familiar. Have we met?” he asks. You decide not to tell him that you have. You have done all of this before. You have always been on this date with Markiplier. There are now two Markipliers. You are holding them both at gunpoint. You know that the one on the left is the real one, because you have done this before. You have always been doing this. You shoot the one on the left anyway. Afterwards, you go out for ice cream. “Bonjour!” The man behind the counter smiles. His eyes are not yet filled with quiet desperation. He must not know about the time loop. You go on a date with Markiplier.