Do You Trust Me? Pt. 5

Last Words. (Dean Imagine)

(A/N: THIS IS AN END OF S11 FIC. Technically, the oneshot itself has no spoilers...I think. But just so you understand the context, this takes place the night before the end of the season finale. I apologize in advance for the ensuing tears.)

Pairing: Dean/reader

Rating: PG13 for sadness

Dean sat down on his bed, laptop open in front of him, a blank document staring back expectantly. He sipped his beer, and set it on the nightstand, sighing heavily.

She would find it after everything was over. He'd print it up, seal it in an envelope, give it to Cas, ask him to give it to her when he was gone. When they were safe.

"Let's get this over with."

Dear (Y/N),

He deleted it.

(Y/N),

He deleted it.

To my girl.

Here we are again. End of the line. The world's going out tomorrow unless the Winchesters step up, right? Tomorrow night, I'll probably be dead, and in the Void.

How many times have we been here? Too many. This time, though, I'm pretty certain I'm not getting out of it. This time, it really is the end of the line. Everybody off.

So I thought I should leave something behind. Kind of a will, but not really because legally I don't exist anymore. Sort of a...goodbye. You know I'm not good at them. Soppy crap has never been my thing, but this time...I don't know. It just feels right to go out properly.

Sammy gets my Baby. It's always been that way. Don't let him chuck my music, though, doll. Those cassettes are classics and really valuable, trust me.

You and him keep on at the Batcave. Don't move, you won't be safe if you do. You know that, though. Also, don't let them touch my room, okay? No one but you gets in, babe, promise me. Everyone else would touch my stuff and move it and mess it up, and I swear if you guys break anything I'll pull my damn self out of the void to haunt your asses.

Watch out for Sammy for me. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. And tell him to get a haircut.

Watch out for Cas. Don't let him do anything stupid either. But still mess with him sometimes, too. He's still got a stick up his ass.

Take care of yourself. Move on. Find someone who's actually worth your time now that you're not stuck with me. Just don't be alone, okay? No one should be alone. And don't do anything stupid, either. Don't try to bring me back. I don't want that.

I love you so much, and I don't say it as much as I should. Tell Sam and Cas I love them too, because God knows...well, you know what I mean...I can't say it to their faces. Too much of a chick flick moment. Soppy crap.

But I do love you. All of you. And I hope that I can't miss you in the void, because I know I will if I can. I'll miss you so damn bad.There's no way in hell I can thank any of you enough, or tell you how much you mean to me.

Tell Sammy I'm proud of him, and I'm sorry he never got that normal life he wanted. Tell him he can stop hunting now, if he can find a way out. He deserves that much. Tell him I'm sorry I dragged him back into that crap, and I'm sorry he was born into it all, and I wish more than anything that we'd gotten normal lives dealt to us. But tell him I'm so proud to call him my brother, and I loved every minute we got together.

Tell Cas thank you, for everything he's done, and that I'm so sorry that I brought him down with me. Tell him he's the best friend I ever had, and I didn't deserve anything he did for me. Tell him I'm so damn proud of him, and I hope he can patch things up with Claire, and with at least some of the God squad. Tell him that to me, he's always been a brother. Tell him he's family, and he's earned that place, for what it's worth.

You are so beautiful, and so wonderful, and so strong. I never deserved you, and I don't know why you stayed with me, but I am so damn glad that you did. Thank you for making these last few years so real, and so great, for staying with me through literal hell and high water, for every kiss and every touch and every word you ever said to me. Thank you for being alive and for being mine. Thank you for letting me be yours because you deserved so much better than this washed-up idiotic alcoholic mess.

I love you, (Y/N). My girl. My babe, my doll, my honey, my cherry pie. I love you.

Goodbye.

Dean Winchester.

Deceit’s Name.

Okay, so there seems to be some confusion, but I wanted pitch in. Deceit’s name isn’t “Janice”. It’s Janus, after the two-faced Roman god of deception thresholds and decisions (this is an edit, i goofed and got some gods mixed up!).

Hence this pose: 

which is not only a fun allusion to swearing in in court (”I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth”), but is similar to a typical pose in art for Janus the god:

ohhhhhh nOW THIS MAKES SENSE!!

SOME OF THESE ARE WILFORD’S ALIASES!

It just doesn’t add up…

An Eternity In Hell (In Space With Markiplier Drabble)

The darkness had stopped eating at him ages ago. He didn’t have a time. There wasn’t really time anymore. Days didn’t start and they didn’t end. There was no morning, no coffee, no evening, no sleep.

He was getting close to being finished. He knew they would be here soon, and that the moment would finally arrive. All the times - the only time, again and again - that he’d seen them arrive. Called out to them only to see their shocked expression melt into nothingness and blue light. Every time - the only time - they were gone in an instant.

He’d been desperate to leave at first. Clawing at the door and banging away at the controls, pulling at panels and, every single time they arrived, he’d jolt toward them, desperate to pull them close and have some kind of comfort again. But still, every time, they slipped out of his reach, and he’d be alone again.

After a while, he ended up curled up in one of the corners. He was utterly alone, and he couldn’t make himself see why he should bother getting up. Moving. He didn’t eat. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t feel like he was aging. He didn’t feel anything at all but the endless exhaustion and terror, the cold floors.

He ran through every endless life then. Every death - jettisoned, suffocated, shot, frozen, burned alive, detonated, stretched beyond physical limitations, eaten, smashed - all of them played out over and over and over again. Sometimes he could feel his bones, old and brittle, and the slowing of his movements. He could see a cafe at the end of everything, getting darker and emptier as the stars around it winked into blackness. 

Every single time, they were there. They led the charge. They send him into danger. They met him at the table. 

They decided. Time after time after time after time, for all time, they decided. 

And it all ended in misery. 

No more. 

He moved, finally. He stood, and pulled panels from the walls. Pulled circuits. Found the emergency tool stash and started building. Rewired the controls to feed into the central hub. Crafted the designs from memory, painstakingly, with aching hands that never got any rest. 

Still they showed up. Again and again, and every time, he had to stop and look. Had to call out. He couldn’t help himself. He built three soaring spires and connected them, used them as a focus and a kind of closed circuit to create a layer of shielding and containment. 

Finally it was done. It had power. It ran and its diagnostics, programmed from scratch, came through at 100% capacity. It was ready.

And there they were, right on schedule. He felt nothing and everything at once as he calmly pulled the extinguisher from the wall and took aim. 

“Hi, Captain.”

Old (A Tentoo Drabble)

Pairing: Tentoo/Rose mentions

Rating: G

Old. It's amazing how odd that word sounded to him now.

Before, when he'd thought of old, he'd thought of centuries, of planetary histories and the births and deaths of stars and galaxies. He'd thought of an ancient, nearly extinct race, who could live for many thousands of years, each with thirteen faces. He'd thought of how many faces he had left, and how many centuries, and how alone he would be.Old used to terrify him. Now, though, old was different.

Now, he thought of years, of houses and cars, and pictures from a Polaroid camera. He thought of another race, who lived for less than a century on average, each with only one face. He thought of the fact that now he only had one face, and much less than a century left...and someone to spend that time with. Old doesn't scare him as much anymore. The Doctor touched his face. He touched the chin that was covered in morning stubble after not being shaved in three days. He touched the corners of brown eyes he'd grown so used to seeing, suddenly, it seemed, covered in small wrinkles. He touched brown, spikey hair that was just beginning to grey.And he marveled at it.

Fifty years ago, this hadn't even been a possibility for him. Thirty-five years ago, it'd been an aching, impossible fantasy. Thirty years ago, it'd become a terrifying and strange new reality. Now, he looked at himself in fond awe once again.He was getting old. He, the Doctor, Last of the Time Lords, 900 year old alien, was finally getting old. And he was happy about it.

Someone knocked on the open bathroom door. He looked over to see a brown haired woman leaning against its frame, arms crossed over a blue pajama top. She smiled at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Morning. Why're you starin' at yourself?"

He smiled and raised an eyebrow right back.

"Morning. I'm just appreciating how handsome I am."

"No you're not," she laughed, "You were touching your wrinkly eyes. You're thinkin' about how old you're getting."

He scowled playfully. "I am not!"

"Are too!" she grinned, walking over and hugging him. He sighed, looking back at the mirror and putting an arm around her. "Are to," he conceded.

The woman looked up at him thoughtfully."It still amazes you, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yes. I think it always will."

They stood there for a minute, looking in the mirror, before she finally patted his shoulder and gestured at his striped pajamas."C'mon, get dressed. You promised we could show Martha and David a new planet today."

He sighed again, smiling into it. "I did, didn't I? Alright." He stepped back from her and walked to the wardrobe in the adjacent bedroom, pulling out a familiar blue set of garments. "Old suit good enough for it, Deej?"

"Always, Dad," she said fondly, and with a last chuckle left the room to find her kids and make sure they were ready.

Another woman appeared at the door and smiled. This one was blonde, with little wrinkles around her eyes, too (that he of course never mentioned).

"Hello."

"Hello."

Rose came in and gave him a little kiss.

The Doctor took his wife's hand, like he always had, and always would, and went off to find the rest of his greatest adventure, and show them a new planet. Just like he'd promised.

Just like it should be.

‘I SAW YOU DIE' 

‘two men go to a party, they both share some wine, and they played a game. The most dangerous game. I didn’t know that gun was loaded, I didn’t know. Was it my fault?’

‘you can’t change the past, you can tell all the stories you want to tell, it won’t change what happened. You can’t rewrite the past. If you live in fantasy forever, you’ll lose yourself in the story.’

Dark Side Headcanons: Markiplier Edition.

Welp, You guys really seemed to like my headcanons before, so I thought I’d hit you with what I think of some of the many Iplier incarnations.

-First off, the inimitable Wilford Warfstache himself. He’s something of the supernatural persuasion, a genie or a djinn or a minor demon of some description who happens to entertain himself in his eternal existence by messing with people. He’s not evil, necessarily, he’s just amoral, which means he lacks a sense of right and wrong. He’s guided by a sense of fun, doing whatever keeps his boredom at bay. For a while, that was trying to pass as a human reporter, going after wild stories that no one else could for fear of dying. This was fine until a passing affair he was having with an associate’s wife went wrong and he ended up murdering not only his “lover”, but the associate, their neighbor, the dog, and a policeman before he “died”, ie, faked his death to avoid further complications. He continued his show after using some minor magic and a proper amount of time to erase any connection he had to the murders, but that quickly went wrong again when he defeated an “indestructible” animatronic, and committing yet another murder, this time of a more famous victim (Mark, more on his similarities to Mark later). He was forced to reverse this particular murder (He’s very strong, but doesn’t care to use his powers, as it’s more annoying than useful in a lot of cases. He likes getting his hands dirty), and decided that he was finished being in the spotlight for now, simply reveling in the growing fan base he had. Side note: The fact that he looks like Mark was actually a coincidence that he finds hilarious. He’d simply picked a generic male look and gone with it, deciding it wasn’t interesting enough without the pink mustache. He still thinks Mark looks quite boring, but thought their identical appearances were intriguing enough to interview him about, wondering if he could perhaps kill Mark and take his place, just for shits and giggles (that didn’t turn out well; people liked Mark far too much and studied him far too closely for it to be and easy switch, and Wilford’s all about convolution but not over-extension. All theatrics, basic effort.)

-I’ve already talked a lot about Dark, so I think it’s best to leave well enough alone with his personality. As to how he interacts with the others...he tries not to. Dark is a solo agent, with no associates, only pawns and tools. Google is an exception, but more on that next.

-GOOGLE! Google is one of my favorites. I’ve done a little bit of theory work already on this post, but to recap: Google is an android, created by either Dark or Wilf, more likely Dark, whose primary objective is to “serve” people, but secondary objective is to destroy them as chaotically and painfully as possible. He’s beyond intelligent and unfeeling, other than basic satisfaction in completing an objective or getting closer to one. Unfortunately, his programming is so specific that he’s easily thwarted. But don’t let that fool you: he’s clever. Like, kill you in your sleep clever. What very few people know is that it would be possible to reprogram Google to be a good guy, but you’d have to figure out how to deactivate him first, and good luck getting that close without dying.

-I’m not gonna touch on Yandereplier other than to say I have no fucking idea what that’s all about. Anybody got any theories you wanna share with me?

-The Author. Now, this is an old one, only used in like two videos, but it’s one of my favorite characters of Mark’s. He’s half human, half something else, a bit like Wilford, a genie, a djinn, a demon, etc, which means that he has certain powers but only a limited capacity in which to use them, ie, to bring his writing to life (Or, warp reality). He just wants to write a good story, but unfortunately, he has no regard for the well being of others. He doesn’t care who or what he has to step on to get that perfect ending, and unfortunately, he’s more Poe than Carol in style. The darker, the better. Could he be Dark’s son? Who knows?

@justsamantha19 mentioned this on my post and I thought I’d reblog it here.

Interesting...

Okay guys. I tried posting this once for some reason it didn’t go on but I played around with the picture.

All I did was lighten the picture in my regular phone settings then I took it into VSCO cam and darkened it and turned the contrast, saturation and clarity all the way up. And here’s the final product.

So here’s my theory. The mark in the picture isn’t Dark but Dark is in the room. The red and blue is his light reflecting on the window, because you can see it on “Mark’s” face and the mysterious figure’ shoulder. Dark has teamed up with another ego.

I think he did! i wonder if that’s related? Didn’t Mark say something about us getting two Warfstache videos?

Today’s Teaser (Sept 7, 2020)

FRIENDS. THINGS ARE HAPPENING. I’M BACK ON MY THEORIST SHIT AGAIN.

So I watched the clip several times, at varying speeds, and tried to transcribe what I heard:

[loud screech, metal on metal]

[crash, again seems to be metal on metal]

[hiss, as of steam being released]

[car engine revving]

Unknown Voice: Everything is happy…

[sound of a train going over tracks, faint train whistle]

Unknown Voice: [unclear] living his life to come through…

So that second voice line is one I couldn’t quite make out. The top two interpretations I got were “He’s living his life to come through” and “He’s giving his life to come too.”

I also snapped a picture of whatever flashed on screen in the darkness:

So you can’t see much here, but when I brighten it…

A door? When the image keeps moving, there are lights at regular intervals along the roof. Coupled with the sound, my guess is this is a train compartment, possibly in the style of Murder on the Orient Express.

Are we getting a new adventure? Possibly another murder mystery?

Such interesting developments, and with Halloween right around the corner…

Is anyone else getting Coraline vibes from this? Do something “small” in exchange for eternal happiness? Something’s not right about all this...