Let Gallifrey Go             

Do You Trust Me? Pt. 2

A/N: So this is the second part to the fic that I wrote yesterday. I’m still working on the name, so it may change. If you have suggestions, I’ll gladly take them.

Link to part one: http://skinnyscottishblokeaddict.tumblr.com/post/155650933267/pizsospa-cmon-little-dude-you-can-trust-me

"You alright?" "I'm fine, I'm fine. You? Did he hurt you?" "No, no, I'm-" Jack screamed and collapsed...

"Now, I'm thinking," Jack muttered as he hooked the camera up to the computer and fiddled with it, "That I know what we need to do. It's not gonna be easy to get there, but I think we need to go see a friend of mine. He'll probably know how to get you out of here, he's done it before. Just once, mind you, but he's done it." "I'm not the first one to get here?" You took a few steps toward Jack but he stopped you. "What are you doing, by the way?" "Making sure this particular port doesn't close. Camera shuts off, port closes, so I'm plugging in the camera. I don't want you stepping on cable." You shook your head. Sure, why not? It's not like anything else made sense. "Okay then...so who're we going to see?" "Just a friend," Jack said, glancing over with a smile, "I thought it'd be nice to surprise you." You finally managed to return his smile, and he laughed. "There it is! Yeah!" You chuckled. "So, how do we get to him? Can you drive?" "Well...not exactly. That's, uh...not quite how travel works here." He stood, apparently satisfied with his work, and walked over to the door, motioning for you to follow him.

Had you not been right behind him when he opened the door, he probably wouldn't have heard the small gasp you let out. It was the only sound you could manage to make. It was beautiful, in a strange way. Lines and lines and lines of code, stretching out like a floor, bright, fluorescent green on a pitch black background, without a sky, without actual ground. A few yards to either side of you were walls of more code, 0s and 1s stretching up in jagged, flat topped sections, as if you were standing at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Farther on in the distance was what seemed to be a mountain, or a large hill, still of the same code. Everything looked like it was moving, with the code scrolling and occasionally blinking red. "Whadda ya think?" Jack grinned. And the first thing you could think to say was, "It's definitely not Ireland." That made him laugh. "No, no, no Ireland here." "Are we just gonna...walk the whole way?" "Yep!" And walk he did, you trailing numbly behind him, staring up at the walls. "But it's not all that long. This being my territory, I know a few shortcuts. Base of that mountain? There's a hole in the code I use to get to my friend sometimes. Cuts the trip in half, no problem." "Uh huh." Far above you, sections of code seemed to be flying. Jack followed your glance and nodded at them. "Messages. They're heading to my hub, the computer in there. And then I get to read them." "From us?" He nodded, smiling widely. "And...you read all of them?" "Every single one!" That put a smile on your face. Jack could guess why. "Should I expect one from you?" "...yeah. A couple, actually. Just...doodles." "I love doodles!" He clapped happily. You giggled. "You actually do that. That's awesome."

You walked a while, Jack occasionally pointing things out and explaining them. You managed to guess on your own that the red text was something being edited or deleted, which Jack seemed proud of you for. Once, a message flew a bit too low and Jack ducked too hard and fell. You helped him up once you finished laughing. "Here we go!" Jack said finally, as you paused to look at the code of the mountain's base up close. "Wait here a minute while I find it, yeah?" "Yep," you waved him off. This line of code wasn't moving like the others, and was a little bit duller. Old, you supposed. You wondered what it coded for. A message? A tweet? What if it was a picture? Absently, you put your hand out to trace a zero, and jumped back in surprise when a picture popped up, hologram style. It was a picture of Jack and a fan, with white text under it, reading, "LOOK WHO I MET IN THE SHOPS THE OTHER DAY!!!!!!!!! @therealjacksepticeye". Above it was a tumblr url. "How'd you do that?" Jack had wandered back over, and seemed more interested than concerned. "I just touched it." "Really? No commands or anything? Huh," Jack nodded, then squeezed your shoulders. "I guess bein' real makes you more powerful. Cool. C'mon, let's go." "More powerful," you scoffed as you followed him over to a gap in the wall, and squeezed into it behind him. The ground here was narrow, but not narrow enough to worry you. If you stayed in the middle, even the clumsiest person could walk it safely. There were doors are fairly regular intervals along the walkway, and you figured you were headed toward one of them. "Yeah, more powerful," Jack turned to look at you with mock sternness. "And you won't convince me otherwise." "Does it make me more of a boss than you?" "Now that's crossing the line." "But I've got more power. Ie, more of a boss." "Shut your whore mouth!" "Dickhead!" "Bastard!" It was amazing how comfortable you were with each other. Dreams, you supposed, made it easier to make friends. You were both laughing so hard that you didn't notice the strange, dark green code until Jack was almost standing on it. You had just enough time to say, "Jack, what's tha-?" before screaming. A hand erupted out of the ground, the same strange green as the weird code, and grabbed Jack, slamming him into the ground. He fell with a shouted, "MOTHER FUCKER", and suddenly the hand became a torso and a head, with neon green hair and eyes, fanged, manic grin coming right for you. You fell backward, screaming again as Anti grabbed your shoulders. It hurt, a surprising amount, as if you were getting electrocuted. You struggled, your muscles convulsing horribly, out of your control. He was stronger than you'd thought he'd be. He started to laugh, the maniacal, glitching laugh you remembered from the videos. "Get off them!" Anti was suddenly jerked off of you, rolling with Jack a short way away, but you were too focused on the fact that you were falling. "JACK!" You scrambled to grab the edge, and then you were swinging wildly, feet kicking above the vast, empty void under the walkway. Wordless screams of terror fought to get out of your throat, but that wouldn't help, so you held them back to just whimpers. You could hear fighting over you, glitched yells from Anti and curses galore from Jack. There was a loud thunk, and Jack's face appeared over you. He grabbed your arms and started to pull you up, straining. "Hold on!" "WHAT DO YOU THINK I'M FUCKING DOING?!" "JUST FUCKING HOLD ON!" You managed to get your torso back on solid ground, and Jack let go as you swung your legs up, standing back to give you room. "You alright?" "I'm fine, I'm fine. You? Did he hurt you?" "No, no, I'm-" Jack screamed and collapsed as Anti's hand closed around his arm. And then his arm began to glitch and blink red. "NO!" You shoved, holding onto Jack. Anti looked as surprised as you did when he slid back along the platform, chest glowing red. But Jack's grunts of pain brought you out of your stuper, and you pulled him up and started to run, barreling toward a door, any door. Anti screamed again, running after you, but he was slower now, you'd injured him. "YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME!" "SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!" Jack yelled back hoarsely as the two of you fell through a door.

You thumped onto a platform, and, standing, slowly, you saw that you were apparently on the side of the moutain, quite far up, and possibly on the other side. Jack closed the gap behind you. It looked like he drew code up from the mountain to cover it, weakly tapping bits and pieces of it to get it to go where he wanted. And then he slumped to lie down flat, breathing heavily. "You okay?" You knelt next to him, hands hovering over his still-red arm. It wasn't glitching anymore, which you supposed was good. "Not really," he muttered, trying to shrug and wincing, "But you are. So job done." "Job not done! Can I help? What's wrong with it?" "Not sure you can. Anti's corrupted my coding a little. Not enough for anything horrible, I don't think. But it'll hurt to use that arm for a bit." He managed a half smile. "I think I'll manage fine." You studied the faint red writing, thinking. "I think it's worse than You're saying." Jack shrugged with his good shoulder and you shot him a sharp look before looking back at the injury. "But...Jack...back there, I hit Anti. With something. I don't know. But it turned him red. Maybe I can...I can do it the other way?" He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. "I guess. Not a lot to lose. 'Cept my arm, of course. But I might loose it anyway, so that's fine. Go for it." Great. Thanks for the confidence. You hesitantly put your hand on his arm. When Anti had attacked him, all you'd thought of was getting rid of him. So what would happen if you thought of saving Jack? Just bringing him back and making sure he's alright. He had done so much for you already, making you smile on your worst days, offering you support and hope and a place to belong. You'd always hated seeing him hurt, always wanted desperately to just be able to reach through the screen and give him a hug, make it all better. His arm slowly started to fade back to normal. Jack stared at it, fascinated. When it was normal again, he flexed it, and seemed dumbfounded that it didn't hurt him to do so. "Thanks..." "N-No problem." You honestly hadn't expected that to work. And you weren't sure how it did. You laid down flat beside him, both of you letting out sighs of relief. Without saying a word, you agreed to take a quick break from travelling.

It occured to you suddenly that you'd felt pain back there. And stupid as that sounds...pain meant this wasn't a dream. All of this was real. And Jack had really saved your life. And you were really stranded in a bizarre internet world, with very little chance of getting home. You didn't realize you were crying until Jack scooted over to you and pulled you onto his chest, putting an arm around you. Suddenly, you were sobbing, and you couldn't stop. Jack just rubbed your back and held you. "It's alright. It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." You stayed like that for a long time. Just you, and this digital man, in this empty part of the Web.

My guess would be that "little buddy" might refer to Mark as per survalence by the egos. That "designation: little buddy" is simply a code name referring to the constant survalence of the ego's "little buddy", mark. But that's just a theory, a gAME THEORY

THANKS FOR WATCHING.

lol seriously, though, I can get behind that. I like the irony in the implication that provides that Mark is the sidekick character in this. And I like the idea of all the egos keeping an eye on him as he’s wandering around this place, or, alternatively, trapped there.

oh. oh no.

A persons fanfic tells you a lot about them, i , a fanfic writer, realize in terror

I feel like dark would secretly like Christmas though, I’m not sure why, I just feel like it’d be this little secret thing he gets happy about

He’d pretend to hate it, or have no reaction at all, but he’d drink the hot drinks that Wilf makes for him and duck under the fairy lights lining the door to the conference room, with a small smile when no one else is looking.

I’d add my theories to this but frankly...

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

oh fuck.

Not a theory, not a fic, just a thank you, because I totally agree. I love my fellow Jims (lol). :)

Unrelated, but-

Can I just say it has been so much fun, and such a pleasure to work alongside the fandom and the other mods on this blog? We’ve all made a super-team, helping each other with our ideas and supporting opposing theories – everyone has been so civil and, well, a pleasure to work with and talk to! Thank you guys so much. @markiplier ’s community is beyond rewarding to be a part of. You guys are great! 💖 - Em

Who Killed Markiplier? Chapter 2 Update.

WE’VE GOT MORE EVIDENCE MOTHERFUCKERS! Time to look at the new information (AND THE NEW CHARACTER) we’ve been given.

My first post, covering Chapter 1 and the Jims. Just in case you want to follow along with my theory thread.

First of all, let’s talk about Mark’s room.

-On the way there, we learn that the Detective and Mark have been working together for years, and that recently, Mark’s gone “quiet as of late”, and that he was worried about something, but he doesn’t know what it was.

-The room is a mess, pillows, books, sheets all over the floor, the bed in disarray. There's an envelope on the ground, which I think might be important.

-On the table are four pictures. The first is Mark, the Mayor, and the Colonel. The second is the three of them again, but Mark has the Woman (more on her later) on his arm. The third is Mark and the Mayor, both smiling. The last is a broken picture of the Colonel.

-Here’s the questions and the guesswork so far: The Colonel, The Mayor, and Mark were all once great friends (the first pic, the Colonel’s conversation with us). Then, Mark got more famous, and the Woman became involved (Maybe Mark’s girlfriend?). The Colonel had a falling out with Mark, while remaining friends with the Mayor (pic 3, the Colonel’s conversation). That fourth, broken picture of the Colonel is significant. How did it break? Who broke it? Was it Mark, angry and betrayed by his friend? Was it the Colonel, furious at his abandonment? Did it break when Mark was attacked? In terms of the messy room, there are two options: either Mark was attacked in there and there was a scuffle, or it’s been ransacked by one of the party members. That envelope on the floor might hold case files or information about the guests from the Detective. If so, is that what the searcher was looking for?

Next, let’s talk about the Colonel:

-In this chapter, he’s acting more and more suspicious, more and more violent and flippant about the subject of death. But a lot of his statements don’t line up. He wants the “privilege” or shooting the possible zombie, but refuses to “speak ill of the dead” during our walk with him. He knows we’re friends with the Mayor, and calls him a good man and a good friend, but seems to be avoiding him (jumping in the pool, running to the golf course).

-We learn that he and the Chef have a history, apparently with the Chef working for the Colonel. Apparently they also worked together when the Colonel was just a private, so it was a long time ago.

-The Colonel says “I will not be called a murderer in my own home!” He claims to own the mansion, which doesn’t make any sense. It’s Markiplier Manor, isn’t it? Unless he and Mark are either related, or Mark took the house from him, and that caused the break.

Also, let’s talk about that final fight scene between the Colonel and the Detective:

-We hear a shot, and a vase breaking (pointed out later by the Butler), and run in after the Mayor.

-Inside, we find the Detective and the Colonel pointing guns at each other. The Colonel claims that the Detective attacked him, while the Detective claims that the Colonel tried to shoot him. The Colonel claims that he was doing target practice inside because he couldn’t get to the grounds that the Chef was blocking (much to the incredulity of the Butler).

-This is the crucial point in the video where we learn that the Colonel used to work with the Chef, and when the Colonel claims to be the owner of the manor. BUT ALSO!

THE WOMAN:

-Okay so we know from the pictures on the table that she’s an old friend/lover of Mark’s, and at least slightly knows the Mayor and the Colonel.

-She also appears out of nowhere, apparently expecting violence or tension, but possibly unaware of the death. The biggest questions are: who is she? Why is she here? Was she invited?

-UPDATE ADDED AFTER ORIGINAL POSTING: Apparently her “name”/designation is the Seer. Did she have a vision about the murder and come running to check on Mark and the gang?

Ooooh BOY I am loving this! I love a good mystery, and the hints and characters feel straight out of a silly version of Agatha Christie. The whole team did so well, and again I’m super impressed with the acting and the level of detail they went into. But tell me what you guys are thinking! Who did it, do you think? Did this new evidence change your mind about the killer? Who is the Woman? What happened between Mark and the Colonel that led to their falling out? And is there new evidence I don’t know about yet?

This is exciting!!

So um, why when I heard this did I get an idea?

Dark hears something funny, or he sees something silly happen. Maybe Wilford actually makes a good joke for once.

He’s never laughed before, in his home dimension, or whatever, and suddenly finds this thing extremely funny one day, but doesn’t know what’s happening. His body/shell didn’t know how to react, so it recreates Mark’s laugh, and he just can’t stop,he laughs and laughs until his lungs burn and his sides have stitches. But he thinks something’s wrong with him, and it’s the only thing to have actually scared him, ever. 

He’s not used to positive emotions at all, other than perhaps pride or satisfaction with a scheme well carried out, and so has never found anything amusing in this way before. Sure, he’s chuckled darkly and been mildly amused by others’ stupidity, but he’s never found anything truly funny before this moment, and he’s never fully, properly, uncontrollably laughed at anything. The feeling is just an antithesis of everything he is, too positive and good and innocent, and he hates it.

best quality: his giggles

quick question why tf did i make this

please give me audio edit requests or something i can’t live like this

Do You Trust Me? Epilogue.

“And I will see all you dudes...IN THE NEXT VIDEO!”

You laughed as the outro music started playing, dropping your arms and rubbing your throat. How does Jack do that every day? God, his vocal cords must hate him. Flicking through the comments, it made you grin to see so many people chatting about the game, a few people yelling the catchphrases. There were even a few good puns this time, that was nice. You were staying for the outro clip again, lately having gotten into the habit of staying just a little longer, out of some slightly silly hope. You commented on every video now, sliding subtle references to your adventures into every one, hoping that Jack would see it. Even if you knew you couldn’t reply, it was nice to think that Jack was in his room, seeing your words in the code and thinking of you fondly. “That was another good one, Jack. Though I must say, that shark’s getting the better of you. Your raft’s gonna need to step it up, man,” you rambled absently as you flicked to another tab to finish a fanfic you were writing. After all, that adventure was too good not to be told, wasn’t it? And you thought it might entertain Jack to see it written up. You wondered if he’d show Mark.

“Really now? Three stories of raft isn’t good enough for you?! It’s fantastic!”

You flicked back to the video so fast you almost closed it out by mistake. “Jack?” He grinned in surprise, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “Hey!” You couldn’t help but smile back.

Doodles

Pairing: Nine/Rose

Rating: PG for slight angst

The library was always fun. You'd loved ever since you'd first stepped foot in it, on your first day in the TARDIS, wandering lost and confused looking for a bathroom at two am your time. But you'd found this place, and suddenly forgotten your need to pee in favor of running down the aisles, fingertips brushing the beautiful books around you. Until you'd really needed to go, then the TARDIS had been polite enough to point you on your way.

Now, you still loved running down the aisles, picking books at random and reading them as you wandered. You mostly avoided stuff from your future, but you loved everything else. There were books from distant planets with fairytales you'd never heard of, there were ancient leatherbound volumes from Earth, there were children's picture books from odd interstellar markets, even your favorite stories from your childhood. And the best part was that the TARDIS translation circuit worked on these books too, so you could read whatever you wanted, from whenever you wanted. It was one of the most wonderful things about traveling with the Doctor.

You were in the middle of reading a signed special edition copy of the seventh Harry Potter book- "To my favorite Doctor, love from JK Rowling" . Crying your eyes out, you didn't notice that you'd wandered to a new part of the ever-changing room. It wasn't until you ran book-first into a huge, elaborately carved shelf (something that didn't happen often, as you were a reading-while-running champ) that you realized where you were. The annoyed glower on your face faded to slack-jawed shock as you took in the beautiful little alcove.

Towering shelves dominated the walls in the inset, each carved with lovely, swirling circular patterns in gold leaf on the dark wood. The floor was thickly carpeted in rich, dark red, and an overstuffed deep red couch faced a cozy little white marble fireplace, also decorated with the circular symbols. The books on the walls were in various dark shades, from midnight blue to blood red and ebony to mahogany. There were odd little white-glowing cubes spaced randomly all over the shelves, lending the corner a dim, mysterious glow.

A few items seemed out of place in this wondrous place. An empty pink tea cup sat on a saucer on a rickety table in the corner by the fireplace, and a single fluffy pink slipper lay abandoned under it, on top of a forgotten large, green jumper. The smell was odd too, not just old books, but two different men's colognes (one of which was vaguely familiar) and some flowery store-brand body wash. 

The Harry Potter book slipped from your limp hand and landed with a dull thud. You moved forward without a thought and grazed fingertips across the volumes, stopping over a smaller one that was bound in black leather inlaid with gold. Pulling it out and sinking into the couch with a sigh, you curled in on yourself and let it fall open in your lap.

Odd, the first things you notice. The first thing that registered about this book was that the TARDIS wasn't translating the circles that you soon deciphered were writing. The next was a Polaroid picture, stuck carelessly in the front of the book. The man in the picture was leaning against the TARDIS, arms crossed and an annoyed but happy expression on his face. He was wearing all black: black boots, black pants, black shirt, black leather jacket, which, you noted, matched the front of the book. His dark hair was cropped short and close to his head, exposing almost comically large ears, which matched his rather large nose and huge grin well. But the thing that intrigued you most about this picture was his eyes. Bright, laughing blue eyes that looked vaguely familiar, as if they belonged to a friend you hadn't seen in years and years...

Setting the Polaroid aside, you returned your attention to the book, skimming through the enigmatic pages until you found more pictures: a few more Polaroids, taped in, of various creatures and places, a few pencil sketches done with mechanical precision, a few feminine doodles in pen. Suddenly you smiled. There were a few lines in English on this page! Two different sets of handwriting seemed to be having a conversation beside a caricature sketch of the man in the first picture.

I don't look anything like that! Yeah you do! It's like a mirror! No, it really isn't! Here, I'll draw you! Go on then, Picasso!

Here there was a little caricature of a woman, with big eyes and big lips pulled in a smile and light hair framing her face. It was done in pencil, probably by the same person who'd drawn the precise sketches, but in a softer style.

That one looks like you, see! At least I was nice about it. Fine, fine, remind me to fix yours later, when we're done with Raxacri (that was scratched out) Raxoco (more scratching) Raxicoricofallapatorius. Right. Fantastic.

You giggled to yourself. Who had written and drawn here? And why in this book? Looking back through, you thought maybe the whole thing was written into it, a bit like a journal. You sighed, wishing you could read more, and flipped the page past where you'd been.

It was blank. Frowning, you counted the remaining pages. There was more than half a book left, but the rest was empty except for what looked like a small footnote on the very last page. Letting out a frustrated snort, you closed the book and looked back over to the rickety table. There was something sad about it, the cup and slipper and jumper, like they were keepsakes from happy days long gone. Sighing again, feeling oddly saddened by the lost girl and man who'd left these here, you stood, put the book back on the shelf, and wandered out, glancing back one last time at the homey little nook before moving on. 

You never found that part of the room again, and figuring that it must have been some sort of fluke that let you find it, you never asked the Doctor about it. About the one language the TARDIS didn't feel the need to translate, and the little table's keepsakes, and the girl and the man, and whether they'd ever made it back from Raxicoricofallapatorius.

He never mentioned it.