Markiplier Moments

A Bit of Warfstache to Brighten Your Day

A typical day off from work for you consisted of staying at home - with even more work. As a criminal journalist climbing up the ladder to hopefully become an investigator, it was a job that most certainly tested one's strength in, at times, handling and reporting heinous crimes of extreme levels. One of the current cases you were assigned to cover had overtaken your night off. Not to mention, it had to be an alleged murder for you to study while you waited for your husband, Wilford, to arrive home safely.

You met your bubbly husband of two years on a job; he was a journalist as well, but more on the star pop side of the field interviewing people of interest on his Internet show, Warfstache Tonight. He began with local "celebrities" such as a rather odd serial killer nicknamed Slenderman, where he met you - a shy junior reporter just beginning to sprout her career. He liked your methods of gathering pertinent information. Wilford deliberately took you under his wing as he noticed your shyness around cameras, and the two of you clicked. With more nights training and learning than either of you expected, you quickly became inseparable. And after teaming with you, for the first time, Wilford felt complete in life with no empty voids.

Well, except one, but that's for another story.

Since Wilford was a veteran in the business and had also dealt with a few criminal cases himself, you often could look to him for advice or for help with your reports. He had the witty mind to formulate eye-catching headlines and a gripping use of words, and your hard-hitting information paired perfectly with that. His unique style of speaking first caught your attention in the beginning with his grammar and somewhat unclear accent that kept you listening closely. You loved hearing him talk; a voice smooth as butter when speaking to his wife.

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

Clicks and clacks of the keyboard filled the air of your shared in-home office as you prepped for tomorrow's report. Apparently, there had been calls about a couple of corpses found around the near neighborhood. This thought alone sent harsh chills down your arms and back, but what was strange were the alleged causes of death - stab wounds to the buttocks.

You hide a chuckle upon reading this in an email. Quite a weird method of murder, you thought.

As you read on, you noticed the reported locations of the findings being relatively close to your home, close enough to drag an unpleasant itch across your neck. You continued jotting down important details in a quick draft.

You glanced over. The clock on the corner of the computer screen read 9:37 PM. Simultaneously, the front door opens with the sound of keys jingling and a low, singsong voice. "Honey I'm home!"

With a sigh of relief you emerge from the office to see your brightly dressed husband in the threshold, carefully laying his black and white striped blazer across the couch. An instant smile took shape on his lips when you came into view from the hallway, making his eyes barely squint and his mustache twitch upward.

Wilford stepped closer to you and placed a small kiss on your lips. "How was work?" you ask, stroking his shoulders.

"Was okay. Nothing too special y'know." You then clung to his torso and buried your face into the hug as a personal reassurance, thankful he was home. Wilford's arms lovingly curl around your figure in a loose but secure wrap. His collarbone was just below your nose; the soft pink fabric of his dress shirt enveloping your cheeks. You held fistfuls of the shirt behind his back in an attempt to draw him as closely as possible, taking time to breathe and savor his scent. The smell of the interview set combined with lingering touches of warm laundry, and the light, sugary scent of his skin set off all the right chemicals in your brain.

"Whatcha doin' there?" He smiled against your head as you slowly exhaled.

Your eyes opened but your head stayed nuzzled to his chest before you sheepishly replied, "You smell good."

You could hear him blushing as he spoke, "Huh. Well jee, thank ya."

The two of you connected gazes once more, he swept a stray hair across the top of your head before ruffling it all up. He knew you secretly hated it out of love and after a small play fight you couldn't hold it in anymore.

"I GOTTA TELL YOU ABOUT THIS CASE I GOT!"

Wilford stumbled forward-- pretty hilariously-- when you grabbed his wrist and pulled him to the office like a child. There, was your unfinished notes and emails of the local unsolved murders. You plopped into your chair and nearly rolled into the wall from the free force. In boldfaced font you were sure to write, "...found dead from stab wounds to the buttocks..." Wilford blinked a few times before reading the rest of your work.

"So you're telling me...that there's some sort of, psycho on the loose going arooound stabbing people's rears?" He questions with a highly raised eyebrow. You nodded furiously, emphasizing how bizarre this was, even for the two of you. "...It doesn't sound real..." He mumbles while still staring at the screen.

"It is! Two people have been found so far, and..." you cleared your throat, "they were pretty close by."

You unknowingly leaned closer when you saw Wilford drop his head for a moment in thought. Then he suddenly clapped his hands together and pointed at you, his dark brown eyes gone wide.

"I HAVE YOUR HEADLINE!"

"What?" you giggled.

"The Crazed Butt-Stabber Runs Ramped Across LA..."