mythicalfanfics

How long has it been? Three years now? Wowie.

I kinda want to apologize for disappearing so suddenly, and I'm sorry to the folks in my asks who never got their requests written (if y'all are still around). But, I want to clarify that this is not me coming back to writing on this blog. It's more of an official farewell.

Don't worry, I'm not deleting this blog or anything, but I generally don't have inspiration or a desire to write fanfiction about Mark, Ethan, Tyler, or Sean anymore. So, the last fanfiction you see on this blog is the last one, sorry.

I do just want to tell you guys about myself though before I go (even though I TECHNICALLY still use this account to lurk on this hellsite). Stick around if you'd like.

I created this account on January 1, 2018. At the time, I was still in middle school. This year, I graduate high school. Crazy to think, huh? I loved Mark, Ethan, and Sean back then, and I still do now, just not to the same extent.

Also, sorry anon from the post before this one but we don't share names anymore. My name isn't Isabel. It's Andy, nice to meet you.

Alright, that's it. I'll catch all of you guys on the flip side.

Title: Naked Idiot

Pairing: Markiplier/Reader

Summary: Mark doesn’t realize that the reader has a visitor, nor does he think to put on clothes before barging into people’s rooms unannounced.

A/N: Actually wasn’t going to post this one, but I said, “Fuck it, why not?” So, here it is! Mark is very much an idiot in this one. Also, yes, I realize it’s long past Valentine’s Day buuuut it doesn’t matter that much, does it? Good.

Pronouns: not specified

Warning(s): naked idiot Mark (it’s not described in any detail tho soooo)

Word count: 184 words

(not my gifs)

“SURPRI—oh shit!” Mark froze in front of the bedroom door, a rose clenched between his teeth and a heart-shaped box of chocolates held to his chest. “You’re not (Y/N).”

“Yeah, of course, I’m not—” Ethan looked up from the framed picture of you and Mark. ”Holy shit, Mark!” His mouth laid agape. “What the hell? Where are your clothes?”

Mark struggled to get the words out of his throat. “What—how—why are you here? I thought—”

At that moment, you emerged from the closet, holding out a camera to Ethan. “Is this the one you wanted?” Your eyes somehow failed to recognize that someone was standing butt naked right in front of you.

Ethan swallowed the lump in his throat. “Um, yeah.” You handed him the camera, and he stood to leave. “Thanks, I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Have a good Valentine’s.” With that, he left.

“Oh, hi, Mark.” You turned to close the door to the closet.

“Hi.”

You had to do a double-take. “Wait a minute—” he was already gone. “Mark!”  

Title: Forgetful

Pairing: Markiplier/Reader

Summary: Mark forgets about Valentine’s Day.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all! Here’s a short drabble! ❤

Pronouns: not specified

Warning(s): two f-bombs

Word count: 100 words

(not my gif)

“What’s this?” Mark turned over the heart-shaped card before setting it back down in the basket of chocolates, candies, and other assorted goodies. 

“I got you a gift,” you said, wringing your hands together.

Picking up the basket, he turned around. “Why?” 

You frowned. “It’s Valentine’s Day?”

Finally! 

Title: I’m Not Cute

Pairing: Tyler Scheid/Reader

Summary: The reader and Teamiplier are at a local bar hanging out. After telling the story of one of her tattoos, she confesses to the gang with alcohol running through her system, not including Tyler, about the fact that the way she acts is just an act to make Tyler think she’s cool. Tyler ends up taking the drunk reader home where, after acting like he can’t hear her, kisses her in the morning.

A/N: This is the last request on my list, but I thought it was really cute and probably the most unique one I got. I hope you like it and thank you for being patient! ❤

Pronouns: implied she/her

Warning(s): the reader gets drunk

Word count: 886 words

(not my gifs)

“Okay, okay, what about that one?” Ethan pointed to the tattoo on your left bicep. “What’s the, um, unicorn pirate’s story?”

You put a finger up as you downed the last of your drink, making sure Tyler was in your peripheral vision. It burned as it slid down your throat, but the little surprised gasp on his face made it worth it. Sighing, you slammed the empty glass down on the counter and said, “It was actually the second tattoo I got.”

“Not to be critical,” Mark said, “but of all the things you could’ve chosen for a second tattoo, you chose a unicorn dressed as a pirate?”

“Hey, I was in college and stuff; I didn’t know better.” You tried to laugh off the pain rising in your head. Maybe that last drink was a little too much, don’t you think? “My roommate dared me to get it anyway, said they’d pay for all my meals for the next two months if I did.” That was only partially true.

“Well, did they?” Tyler asked. “Pay for your food? I mean.”

A word got caught in your throat, and you had to use all your might to sluggishly push it out. “Pshh, nah.” Your head spun, but you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or Tyler’s adorable smile. Either way, your head still hurt like hell. “They just laughed at me, but I managed to scare fifty bucks out of ‘em.”

“Did you threaten to run them over with your motorcycle?” Mika butted in.

You shook your head; it made the throbbing worse. “No, no, I didn’t have my baby yet.” It was starting to get really warm in the bar, to you at least. “Um, but—” you giggled— ”I, uh, threatened to give ‘em the, uh, old one-two.” You brought your hands, clenched in fists, up to your chest and pretended to punch someone. “See, ya? Scary?”

Tyler patted you on the shoulder. He was—he was—he—“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be caught in a fight with you. You’d probably knock me down in ten seconds flat.” —was touching you. “I, uh, need to get something. I’ll be right back.” He squeezed your shoulder and left his barstool to disappear into the crowd at the bar.

Your nervous sigh teetered into a giddy school-girl giggle as you stared star-struck after him. It was like there was no one else in the bar, which definitely wasn’t true.

“You feeling okay?” Amy asked, her hand on your shoulder snapping you out of your trance.

“Yeah,” Mark agreed. “Never seen you so… giggly before.”

“Well, um, uh, you see, uh,” you fumbled with your words before taking a desperately needed sigh to collect your scrambled your thoughts. “Well, you know how I always act kinda cool and tough all the time? I only act like that because, well, I want Tyler to think I’m cool.” You looked down. “Childish, I know.”

“So, you’re okay, then?” Ethan asked.

“No, I’m really drunk, too.” You rubbed your temples. “I should—I should probably head home, too.” A murmur of disagreement rose up among your friends as you got up to leave. “Thanks, guys.”

You weaved your way through the crowd of people blocking your path, trying not to fall down from the alcohol running rampant through your system. You almost made it to the door, but a sudden rush of blood made you stumble. You would have collapsed to the floor if it wasn’t for—

Title: The Knitty-gritty

Pairing: Darkiplier/Reader, (very slight, very platonic) Wilford Warfstache/Reader

Summary: The reader knitted Dark a hat and scarf, who turns them down. When Wilford ends up receiving Dark’s gift, Dark becomes a little “jealous” and asks the reader to teach him how to knit, so he can make them something. 

A/N: This is a very cute prompt! I hope I did it justice… Also, I’m sorry for taking so long to write this! Thank you for being patient! ❤

Pronouns: not specified (they/them)

Warning(s): none!

Word count: 983 words

(not my gifs)

“Helloooooo!” you shouted into the empty foyer, hugging the questionable-looking cardboard box to your chest. “Anybody home?”

A low, booming groan emanated from the recesses somewhere in the house, but you knew exactly where it was from and who was so annoyed at your loud entrance. “You don’t have to be so noisy every time you come home, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes at him, though you know he couldn’t see you, and shut the door with the heel of your shoe. “Sure I do, but who would know when I came home if I was quiet, huh?”

He was silent for a moment, and you took that opportunity to make your way, as silently as you could possibly muster, to his office. There was no way He’d see you coming.

But he could hear you.

“I would,” He said, “especially, if that’s the quietest you can be.”

You balanced the box on your hip as you opened the tall, black door that stood out like a sore thumb from the rest of the short, white doors surrounding it. The door lead into a hallway that ended at a wood and glass door with its nametag, “Dark,” above it in bold Times New Roman font.

“Why are you coming to see me exactly?”

His silhouette could be seen through the foggy glass on his door. He was sitting at his desk, like always, doing… something. You never knew exactly what he was doing, and he would never tell you. So, you just imagined that he watched conspiracy videos on YouTube or something. That seemed like it would be embarrassing enough of a fact that he would want to keep under wraps.

“It’s a surprise.” You touched the doorknob on his office door.

“You do remember how much I hate surprises, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Darkipoo.” Trying to suppress a giggle, you swung open the door to his office. “Doesn’t mean I care though.”

He sighed, hunched over his desk and rubbing his temples. You walked up from behind him and plopped the box down on his desk. He stared at it for a moment, a look of scrutiny in his gaze, especially at the word, “surprise!” scribbled on poorly with Sharpie.

You were in a rush, okay?

He picked at the flaps of the box. “Is this it?” There was slight amusement in his voice.

“You haven’t even opened it!”

He smirked. “I bet I could guess, though.”

Opening the box, he pulled out a colorful knitted hat and scarf that contrasted considerably from the black-and-white monochrome office. A frown formed on his lips. “Just like I thought.” Stuffing the knitted creations back into the box, he shoved it back into your possession and leaned back into his leather swivel chair. “I don’t want it.”

“Oh.” You looked down at the sagging box, a little taken aback. “Are—are you sure?”

“I’m always ‘sure.’ Why wouldn’t I be?”

You sighed. “Well, if you don’t want it, maybe—”

“You called?” Wilford placed a hand on your shoulder, grinning like a lunatic. Before you could say another word, he plucked the box out of your arms. “What’s this?” He opened it, pulling out the hat. “For me?”

His smile was contagious; you couldn’t stop the smile from forming on your lips. “I guess it is now.” Dark raised an eyebrow up at this. You looked back at Wil; he was already wrapped up in the scarf and had the hat precariously placed on his head, spinning in circles like a puppy chasing his tail. “At least someone likes what I make.”

“Wait.” Wilford stopped mid-spin. “You made this?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t—”

He almost knocked you over as he enveloped you into a tight, almost back-breaking, hug. Dark sat there and watched, his eyebrows furrowing and a deep frown creasing on his lips. Wilford shook you. “This is so well-made! Thank you, thank you, my friend, for this unexpected gift.” With that, he disappeared, leaving only the box behind and your head spinning.

“That was…” Dark bit his tongue. “…annoying.”

“Press rewind on that.” You were still coming back to your senses. “What did you say?”

“I said that that was annoying.” He crossed his legs. “Plain and simple.”

“Why?” You frowned in confusion mixed with curiosity. “I’ve never heard you call Wilford annoying.”

“Well, he doesn’t usually burst into my office out of nowhere and steal my stuff, does he? No.” He sighed. “That’s what I found annoying, capiche?”

You shrugged. “Capiche.” It wasn’t exactly a satisfying answer, to say the least. You headed toward the cracked open office door.

“How did you make those, anyway?”

“Why?” You stopped and stared at him for a moment. “Do you want me to teach you or something?”

“Maybe.”

Hey! 

It’s that time of the year again--a.k.a. New Year’s Day. It also happens to be the birthday of this blog.  

So, happy two years, y’all! ❤

I just want to start off by saying thank you for all the support you’ve given me over the past two years even when I disappear for months on end. I love writing for you guys so much. 

Right now, I’ve only written fanfics on this blog for specifically gaming YouTubers (and some of their friends), but I want to branch off. The main reason why I get writer's block, even with all the amazing requests you guys send in, is that I get stuck in a rut with writing about the same people over and over. I want to write Marvel fanfics, Detroit: Become Human fanfics, Brooklyn 99 fanfics, The Good Place fanfics, and other YouTubers fanfics, and about much, much more that I have found Tumblr to be lacking in. There’s also a lot of Ego content for Mark and Sean that I have yet to explore that I really want to write for as well.

What I’m saying is: don’t be afraid to send in requests for other fandoms. 

I still love writing about Sean, Mark, and all that, and this blog will probably always be primarily centered around them. I have some requests still in my inbox from the last decade (haha) that I have to finish before I open up again for requests, so be on the look-out for that. 

In 2020, I want to expand this blog to other fandoms and be as supportive of the community as the community has been to me. Thank you guys for an amazing 2019, and I look forward to this year. 

New, old, big, small—don’t care! 

Title: It’s Kinda Obvious

Pairing: Tyler Scheid/Reader

Summary: Tyler is sleeping over at the reader’s apartment, whose bed is much, much smaller than he’d thought a bed could ever be. The reader eventually convinces him to share the tiny bed with her. Fluff ensues. 

A/N: I thought this was a really cute request! I wish I could have gotten to it sooner. I hope you enjoy this Tyler fluff, though!

Pronouns: she/her

Warning(s): they’re sleeping in the same bed, yo

Word count: 1,275 words

(gif is not mine)

“How do you even sleep in that?”

You splayed out on the tiny—by Tyler Standards™—bed, taking up all available space. “How can you not?” You rested your cheek on the palm of your hand, staring up at him with the most blatantly feigned innocent eyes you could muster. “It’s not that hard, Ty-ster.”

He crossed his arms and gave you a look that you could only describe as beyond skeptical—was there even a word for that? “Well, for a tiny person like you,” he said, “maybe.” He shook his head. “But for a giant like me…” He stretched out his arms as far as they could go for effect. “It’s past impossible.”

“That’s because you haven’t even tried, Ty-guy.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Would you quit it with the nicknames?” You stuck your tongue out at him. “You used over, like, ten nicknames in the span of, like, ten minutes, dude.”

You sat up half-way. “Well, I’ll cut you a deal.”

“’If you lay in this bed and look like a gigantic baby because you’re so tall, I’ll stop using the nicknames you hate so much?’”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “That pretty much sums it up,” you said, ”though I probably would have used ‘humungous man child’ instead of ‘gigantic baby.’”

“I think ‘gigantic baby’ is funnier, though.”

You laid back down on your bed, throwing your hands up in the air. “Eh, whatever.” You looked up at him, offering your hand. “Deal or no deal? That is the question.”

The beginnings of a smile pulled at his lips. “You have yourself a deal.”

“Great,” you said. “Just let me—”

“Too late!” he interrupted. “Incoming!”

You barely had a moment to react before Tyler came crashing down over you. Without another second to lose, you rolled out of the bed—hard—taking the pillow along with you.

“Ow, ow…”

Tyler glanced over at you as you recovered. A good portion of his legs hung off the bed and his head leaned against the headboard. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Well, yeah.” You sat up, cringing in pain. “Duh.” It truly wasn’t as bad as you played it up to be.

He just laughed at you. “Why did you roll off the bed then?”

“I thought you were gonna crush me with—” you stifled a laugh— ”your gargantuan bod.”

Tyler shook his head—God, were you obnoxious, but God, did he love you.

I’m glad that you enjoyed them! I have wanted (and been asked by others) to continue the little “series” or at least create a little “spin-off” of it, but I haven’t exactly had the inspiration or good ideas for it.

Title: French Braids

Pairing: Jacksepticeye/Female!Reader

Summary: The reader and Sean haven’t spent quality time together in a while, making her worry. Taking a slice of Key Lime pie, she goes to investigate, finding a stressed Sean who needs a temporary change in hairstyle.

A/N: Yes, yes, I know it’s late, and Sean doesn’t have longer hair anymore, but I still thought your request was super cute! 

Pronouns: implied she/her

Warning(s): 1 (one) swear word

Word count: 744 words

(gif is not mine)

The quiet of the late afternoon usually brought you comfort, but that was when you sat next to Sean, either listening to his day or cracking some joke that inevitably made you both laugh at how dumb it was. Today was different. Well, actually, the last few days were different.

Over the last few years, you had come to accept his wobbly schedule. Sometimes, he just had a few videos to record and could take you out for lunch. Sometimes, he had a big project and had to work for hours on end, so you didn’t bother him. Nonetheless, he still made time for you despite his schedule. This week was different. He hadn’t made time for you. You hardly saw him, and no more than “good morning,” “hey,” or “goodnight” had been spoken between you.

Worry had begun to eat up your mind.

Setting down your cup of coffee on the table, you walked into the kitchen and headed straight for the fridge. There was still one slice of Key Lime pie, his favorite, in the fridge. You were on a mission to find out what the hell was going on and giving him Key Lime pie usually got him talking.

You made your way up to his recording room. The door was cracked halfway open, a turned around black sign leaning against it. Sean made sure to close and lock the door whenever he was recording to make sure that no one disturbed him. He also hung a little “do not disturb” sign on the doorknob for safe measures.

It wasn’t personal. It was business.

You rapped your knuckles against the door, peeking in. “Sweetheart?” He sat behind his desk, his head in his hands.

“Come in, lovebug.” His voice was quiet and strained, yet somehow relieved at the same time.

He barely glanced up at you as you took one of his extra chairs and swung it beside him, making sure not to drop the pie. Sitting down next to him you placed the pie on his desk, not saying another word.

He looked at it, a small smile curving on his lips. “Ah, lovebug,” he said, placing a hand on your knee, “I was gonna save this for a rainy day.”

“Today seems like a good day as any,” you said. “I hate to say it, but you haven’t been yourself lately.”

He sighed. “I know, I know. The stress of this project has gotten the better of me, and this fuckin’ video doesn’t want to be sent to Robin.” He ran his free hand through his pulled-back hair. “Sorry, honey-poo.”

You stared at his hair for a moment. “It’s okay.” You had an idea. “Would you mind if I tried something?”

“Try what?”

You were already up and heading for the door. “You’ll see.”

A few minutes later, you came back carrying a brush and wearing a grin on your face. Sean looked at you with curiosity. Well, that or he was trying to lick the bit of whipped cream stuck to his mustache. You couldn’t tell.

You came up behind him. “I still don’t what you’re doin’.” He tried to look up at you. “Brushing my hair?”

“Sort of.” You undid his mini ponytail, all his dark brown falling down at once. His hair was a lot longer than you remembered, but then again, he almost exclusively had it in tied it up to keep it out of his face.

“I can’t eat pie with hair in my face.”

“Sorry.” You pulled his hair back, beginning to brush it. When you were satisfied with how it felt, you leaned over to the desk and set the brush down.

It was French braid time.

It was a little more difficult than you had imagined. His hair wasn’t nearly as long as hair you had worked with before, but you managed. Right, then left, then right. Sean had already finished his pie and sat patiently, waiting for you to finish.

After a little more weaving, Sean had his very own mini French braid.

“There.”  You stepped away from him. “How do you like it?”

He reached up to touch his hair. “I feel like a little princess.”

You both found yourselves laughing. “Good,” you said between giggles. You sat down next to him again, trying to calm yourself down.