Broken (Demon!Dean Imagine)

Ok people have been so nice about Last Words. I’m so happy. :)

Quiet. (A Sherlock Drabble)

A/N: SPOILER ALERT. Not a ton is spoiled, but if you haven’t seen any of the new season yet, MOVE ALONG AND WATCH THAT FIRST. Come back to this tumblr tag when you’ve watched it, it’s better if you don’t have it spoiled for you.

"Sherlock?" John frowned up the stairs, shifting the shopping to his other hand and shaking out the one that'd been carrying it the entire way back. It was oddly silent, which was usually not a good sign. He was used to being greeted by Rosie's chatter and giggling, Mrs. Hudson's chattering in baby talk or ranting at Sherlock, or, on particularly bad days, to a note from Mrs. Hudson saying she and Rosie were out on a walk and the sound of gunshots and "BORED!" Today, he was greeted by nothing at all.

Deciding that perhaps shouting had been a bad idea, he took the stairs quietly, straining for every sound and trying to calculate how long it'd take to reach his gun and if he could do it before someone had time to get to him. Every creak made his heart pump faster and his grip on the banister tighter. He paused at the top of the stairs to listen at the door. All he could hear on the other side was what might be breathing. Slowly, he turned the knob, and opened the door just a crack...then a little more...and then it was all the way open.

The sight was not what he expected. Scattered all over the floor were Rosie's toys. Her little building blocks, a chunky book called Goodnight Moon, and, for some reason, a bib were in something of a trail leading up to Sherlock's chair, which was vacant except for his violin and bow, and a small stuffed bear. Glancing at the kitchen, John saw Rosie's high chair, covered in some unidentifiable baby food, set up by the table, with an arm's reach of clean space cleared off next to it. When his eyes swept back across the room, they landed on the couch. He was caught somewhere between surprise and the biggest smile he'd ever had on his face.

Sherlock was fast asleep, a rare enough occurrence on it's own. His blue bathrobe was tangled under him, sleeves pushed up unevenly, and his hair was properly a mess as opposed to its usual styled mess. He seemed to have a few splotches of the baby food on him as well, staining his t shirt. Curled up on his chest was Rosie, fast asleep, also covered in food, one hand wrapped around one of Sherlock's fingers. Both of them were smiling in their sleep.

John shook his head, trying not to laugh too loudly as he started to clean up. Today, he didn't mind.

Bedtime Story (drabble)

Pairing: Ten/Rose, Tentoo/Rose

Rating: G

"This is the story of a boy. A boy and his box, and the adventures he had, and the things he lost, but I'll wait to explain those.

This is also the story of a girl. A girl and a chance meeting,  and a choice made and ignored, but I won't break your little heart with that tonight.

Tonight I'm going to tell you a fairytale.

Once upon a time, a boy ran away. He was afraid of growing up, settling down, picking up the responsibilities of his home, getting bored. Well, he never had to. But there was a cost. The boy lost his home, and everyone there, and was cursed. He was cursed to roam the stars forever, in his little blue box, all alone.

Now far, far away, on a little blue and green planet, on a soggy little island, there was a girl. She was afraid of being stuck, standing still, being no one forever and ever. She worked somewhere unimportant, doing something unimportant, and feeling so very unimportant.

One day, a villain came to her little island. And it took over the shop window dummies where she worked. She was cornered, alone, and frightened in a basement. Then someone took her hand, and whispered, "Run."

The boy took her away from her unimportant little life, off into the stars. Slowly, he grew to trust her, and she trusted him. And they grew to be friends, and then more than friends. And she slowly learned all about his curse, and decided to end it by staying with him, always.

Once, he changed to save her life. She didn't know if he was still the same boy she'd fallen in love with, and she almost left. She almost gave up. But he proved himself to her again, by fighting off another villain from her soggy little island, and by showing her he still loved her. So they kept traveling together.

Once, she thought she'd lost him forever. A horrible white wall sprang up and pulled them apart. She thought she'd never see him again, but she never gave up. She searched for him for years and years, and finally found him again.

But then there were two of him, one a clone, the other the original boy. And the original boy left her on the other side of the wall with the clone. And he did it to keep her safe. She was mad at first, oh, she was very mad with him. She wouldn't accept that his clone was him. But then he told her things.

He told her he was free of the curse of living forever. He told her he could spend the rest of his life by her side.

He told her he loved her.

And she accepted him. It was slow, at first. But he grew his magic box again, and they traveled again, and he asked her to marry him. And she finally accepted him. She said yes.

And now they have a beautiful little girl. And her name is Donna Jackie Tyler. And she's finally fallen asleep."

Rose smiled at the little bundle in her arms, and gently set her in the little blue cradle. Her planet mobile swung above her, shining galaxies twirling beautifully around scaled-down planets. One of them was small and blue and green. Another was big and gold and red.

She ran a finger over the little girl's cheek, smiling when she turned her head toward it. "Goodnight, Donna," she whispered, and stepped back, out of the room, turning off the lights and leaving the little stars' glow in their place. She shut the door, and turned to her husband, who was leaning against the hallway wall, brown spikey hair and striped pajamas ruffled. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

"She asleep?" "Yeah," Rose sighed, folding herself into his arms. He stroked a hand down her back and leaned his chin sleepily against her head. "You done fiddling with the controls?" "I'll just let the TARDIS decide where we go tomorrow." "How about no where? A family day in?" He smiled down at her. "Well, you do have a story to finish. I think I could help with that." She leaned up and kissed him softly, then pulled back. "C'mon, Doctor. It's time for bed." She led him down the hall.

Inside the starlit room, the little girl clutched happily to a small device, one that would seem out of place in any other crib. But the little sonic screwdriver was perfectly right for the little Doctor's Daughter.

Greyscale. (An #Overnightwatch Horror Drabble.)

The room was monochrome. Black and white video feed from the nine cameras flooded grey light over the black desk and office chair with the broken back. The white walls were just out of reach of the screen’s glow, looking more like fog than physical barriers. Black shoes tapped across the grey tile of the floor, dull and scuffed from years of work, and the pale face of the guard seemed to glow in the ambiance. The only color in the room was the silly, scarlet, festive hat on the guard’s head, sliding down slowly toward the steaming cup of coffee cradled in their hands, only to be pushed back up occasionally. Why they’d worn it to work, they’d forgotten hours ago, as the festive mood was dead in the air at two in the morning on a cold, lonely night. There had been no change in two hours. The longest gap of the night. The silence was beginning to get to them, but they dared not play music to sooth their nerves, for fear of missing...him. It’d started with small things. Shadows. Laughter. Small distortions. But as the hours had crept on, figures had shown up, the sounds had gotten louder and louder, and eventually, he had shown himself...but only in recordings. The guard and their network had gone to work worried, and excited. Now, they simply hoped to survive. A distortion, over one camera. The Kitchen. The sound of laughter so loud that the guard spilled their coffee as they jumped violently. Another recording. Lights flickering. More laughter. This was not the most frightening anomaly that had happened tonight. But it was the closest. The yellow light under the door flickered on and off, on and off, sporadically. Pounding began on the door to the office. The guard watched, one hand clutching the chair’s arm desperately, the other searching fruitlessly for some weapon. A second later it was over. He was gone.

The guard stayed stock still for a long moment, breathing far too heavily. After a while, they were sure that he was gone, at least for the moment, and sunk slowly into the coffee-stained chair, pulling out a phone and shooting a message to the network before returning to the watch, now too unwilling to go and replace their coffee as tears streamed down their pallid face.

2:34 AM

Sent from: 3rd Watch

To: 1st Watch, 2nd Watch, 4th Watch, etc.

He’s here. Getting stronger. Don’t know if I’ll make it to 4th. Will send analysis when I stop shaking.

2:35 AM

Sent from: 6th Watch

To: 1st Watch, 2nd Watch, 4th Watch, etc.

Need backup?

2:40 AM

Sent from: 4th Watch

To: 1st Watch, 2nd Watch, 4th Watch, etc.

3rd?

3:00 AM

Sent from: 4th Watch

To: 1st Watch, 2nd Watch, 4th Watch, etc.

We have a man down. Send backup.

3:16 AM

Sent from: Private Number

To: 1st Watch, 2nd Watch, 4th Watch, etc.

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A Mask, My First (Phantom Oneshot)

A/N: Unusual, I know, but I felt inspired by my favorite Opera Ghost.

Rating: PG

Pairing: Phantom/Reader

"Is this what you wanted to see?!" the Phantom growled angrily at the girl sprawled on the floor, watching him. He barely glanced at her face as he tried to cover his own, the mask he'd been wearing having fallen to the floor when she'd pulled it from him. He turned away from her, falling to his knees. All of the fury went out of him at once, and was replaced by defeat. He was tired of this, this face he was trapped behind, this monster.

"What's your name?"

He turned slightly, confused. "What?"

"You must have one. A name, I mean," she said softly, standing and taking a few steps toward him. "And I can't just continue to call you Angel, knowing that you're a man."

He was silent for a moment, studying her through his fingers. She was watching him, not as you would watch a wounded animal, as he was expecting, but as if she really was going to come closer, and comfort him. But she never would...would she? She couldn't...could she?

He answered slowly. "Erik. My name is Erik."

It had been so long since he'd said it aloud.

"Erik." The name sounded nice on her tongue. She smiled a little, then bent and picked up the mask. He flinched, as if to take it from her, but she held up her hand and he stopped, watching, curious and...well, if he was honest, nervous.

She knelt beside him, and offered him the mask. He stared at it.

"If this will make you feel better," she said quietly, "then have it back, and wear it. But just so you know..." She touched his hand, and pulled it gently from his face.

He was too shocked to react other than to stare at her. She smiled again, fully this time.

"Erik, your face, your scars..." Her hand reached toward him, toward his face, and he pulled away harshly. She sighed and dropped it. "They don't scare me. Not at all."

He managed to take the mask shakily then, but instead of putting it back on, he simply studied it. The candlelight played against its contours in a way that made it seem more sinister than a simple white mask should be.

"I've worn this for so long," he muttered, "hidden, in shadows, for all of my life, because of this...thing, this face. I've spent so long in the dark."

Taking his hand she began to sing softly.

"No more talk of darkness

Forget these wide eyed fears

I'm here, nothing can harm you.

My words will warm and calm you."

Taking his hand, she stood, still singing.

"Let me be your freedom.

Let daylight dry your tears.

I'm here, with you, beside you

To guard you and to guide you."

He stood, meeting her, and started to sing as well.

"Say you'll love me every waking moment.

Turn my head with talk of summertime.

Say you need me with you now and always,

Promise me that all you say is true.

That's all I ask of you."

She smiled, and it was like sunshine, pulling him closer to her. Her hand came up again, and this time he managed to stay still, and not to flinch, though his eyes closed. He shuddered as she touched the scarred skin of his face, the broken places and misshapen bones. But she never flinched.

For the first time, in a very long time, he half smiled through the tear tracks on his cheeks.

I support this theory! Ties the two together very well, I think.

Wait-

The thing we’ve all been connecting to Who Killed Markiplier is Darkiplier in A Date with Markiplier. But there’s one big detail we’re all missing-

The Meta Ending

When you say “Yes” to Mark’s proposal, it’s revealed that this is actually all part of a production. That you’re all actors. Even Mark. 

Turns out, actor Mark is an asshole. A selfish, conceited asshole.

And he also used to be well-known. A star. We know another asshole actor, one who was rich and famous. 

So is Meta Ending Mark WKM Mark? If he is, it brings more meaning to “FREEDOM!”, a video that follows the “PAY” path, but diverges when you make your decision to watch the Horror play.

Dark says Mark is a, “Bad man and does bad things to good people.” It’s so important to note that Dark hadn’t told a single lie. He never said he was Mark. He said that Mark was bad, that he needed to die, that he was a liar, yes, but if he was talking about WKM Mark, it would all be true. He also said that Mark was Dark, which isn’t a lie either looking at Mark’s limerick.

How He Moves (drabble)

Pairing: None

Rating: PG for angst

You caught yourself staring sometimes, as he worked. His back would tense up all funny if he got frustrated, his shoulders going all high and rigid. If he was in a really good mood, he'd be almost liquid, the way his shoulders' movements flowed smoothly across them, down his rail thin arms, into his wrists, then through his long, nimble fingers. Like a trickle of water, fast and exciting but not disconnected, however disconnected his thoughts were. If he were really excited, he was a blur, arms and hands and fingers everywhere, legs like jelly, sometimes even up on the console, helping him steer his beautiful ship. The positions he contorted himself into to fly this old girl! He was almost an acrobat.

But if he was sad...oh, if he was sad, and he too often was. His shoulders would fall. Not hunch forward comically, but fall, defeated. His movements became slow, mechanical, precise, emotionless. He'd stand without swaying, without movement that wasn't completely necessary, an unnatural stillness. He'd stroke the console, absently, forlornly, as if it were the only thing he had left in the entire universe. In some ways, you supposed, it was.

Hey guys?

Here’s my idea about the ending of today’s video: Jack’s supposed to have been in a coma right? According to Chase. So...

What if we’re seeing what Jack saw in his coma?

Some thoughts about the Dark!Robin that’s been going around.

So first of all, I’m loving the name “Deadpixl,” which’s been thrown around recently. Also, I’m loving the art and edits I’ve seen of him!!

Here’s a couple of headcanons. :)

-Deadpixl is a puppeteer. He’s the one who effectively created Anti, and is most in control of him. Anti has exactly one fear in the whole universe, and that’s Deadpixl.

-He hates the spotlight, preferring to work from behind the scenes to manipulate his way through the world. Unlike Dark, though, he’s not power-obsessed or revenge-driven. Nope, he just wants to see the world burn.

-If he is forced to act directly, however, he is terrifyingly strong and deadly smart. He’s a master of hypnosis, able to bring people under his control with just a few words.

-He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, so try joking or sassing him and you’re probably not gonna live to try it again.

I love dark sides so much! They’re such fun little fandom things, and they’re super fun to write. ;)

The crew of a crashing spaceship. No one speaks but the captain, who tells them all how well they’ve done, how proud she is, and thanks them for their service. All eyes close together as the screen fades to white.

The last survivor in an empty world lies on his deathbed, an android holding his hand because no one else can. Pictures of his family line the room, and he can’t wait to join them.

A little girl adrift at sea, on the remains of a dingy from a sunken navy ship. It was take your daughter to work day before everything went wrong. She clutches a small bear to her chest and hums to it.

Panning shots of graves, up to the latest funeral. A small gathering around an unmarked grave. Someone remarks that it’s a shame that he should save the entire human race, and yet no one knows his name.

An empty woods. A deer strolls into the scene, and begins to graze on the grass growing from what might once have been a front porch step. Slow, scrolling shots of a house gone back to nature. A note scrawled on yellow paper. “We kept them out as long as we could. I love you.” There are red and black splatters curling the corner of it.

Radioactive (Music Box Version) - Imagine Dragons

by JoshuaSaundersMusic