I Love This As A Theory! It Makes A Lot Of Sense, Too. I Like The Idea That He Didn’t Intend To Blend

Text Conversations With the Boys

Rating: G

Pairing: Reader/Each of the members of TFW

You: Sam, where r u?

Sam: Out.

You: Real specific Sam.

Sam: Just out! I promise!

You: You're not doing anything shady, right?

Sam: ...

You: Sam?

Sam: :)

You: What does that mean???

You: *two hours later* THERE'S A CANDY GRAM AT THE DOOR, WINCHESTER.

Sam: :)

You: I love you, you moron.

Sam: Ily2 babe. XD

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

Dean: (Y/N)!!!!

You: ?

You: Um hi Dean. XD

Dean: (Y/N) did yuo no that yur vry pretttty

You: ...are you drunk again?

Dean: Nooooooo

Dean: I'm fnie!

You: ...where r u?

Dean: Te barr down the rode

Dean: Roda

Dean: Rood

Dean: Close neough.

You: Stay put and don't get kicked out, I'm gonna come pick you up.

Dean: Tooo late

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

Cas: adKLNPgkl,2485u

You: Um...Cas? You ok?

Cas: I'm sorry. I dropped my phone.

You: You have an iPhone, how did you get that by dropping it?

Cas: ...I may have dropped it on my face...

You: XD

Cas: >:(

You: WTF When did you start using emojis??

Cas: Sam taught me.

Cas: What does WTF mean?

You: ...ask Dean.

Guys...I just thought of a way to make this hurt more.

These guys aren’t from our dimension. These guys didn’t know how to use the power they were given, and while Dark, the combination of Damien, Celene, and our unnamed character, took his time learning to control it, Wilf just wandered. And I think Dark went looking for him, on the pretext of “He could be useful.”

They both ended up here, in our dimension, and found our Mark. And both of them were so broken from the tragedy that they couldn’t see that this Mark was everything that theirs wasn’t, or maybe isn’t. He’s a good guy, a hero, a friend, well loved and respected. They don’t understand that they never existed here. They don’t understand that he never hurt them here, and that he never would, should they tell him who they were and what happened.

They’re trying to get revenge on our Mark because they can’t find a way back to theirs.

What’s devastating is that these are two people who loved each other, who were best friends, who had a history together. And after losing everyone, his killer turned out to be Damien. And that’s why, even now, as heads of the Ego Table, both Dark and Wilford respect one another. They were both driven into madness and vengeance – and the only thing that remains is them and a primary objective.

(It’s really cool! I hope it snows for you!) Oh I loved those, they were so funny!

^u^

So Question.

Would anyone be interested in commissioned writing from me? I was thinking of looking into comprable work pricing and opening up to writing fiction (fan and original), and some nonfiction, for commissions. Is that something anyone would be willing to do?

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.

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.

This is actually so helpful, thank you for putting these together!

Don’t Know Where to Start with Jacksepticeye and/or Markiplier Egos?

Jse Ego Starter Kit

Jse Ego Advanced Kit

Markiplier Ego Starter Kit

Markiplier Ego Advanced Kit

It’s usually tricky to find where to start when there is so much information, so I made a playlist for these 4 things. Videos on the starter playlists should be played in order. Hope this helps!

Thoughts about the WAIA

Honestly I would love to do more theorizing surrounding the WAIA but there’s not a lot of theorizing to do. 

It’s pretty out in the open. I don’t think the FNAF connection is super lore-steeped; I think it’s just Mark poking fun at his King of FNAF status. What I do think is lore-steeped is the WAIA’s responses, which are super on-the-nose but not in an overbearing way. This is direct storytelling done right, and I think that Mark is extremely talented to be able to pull it off.

HUGE SPOILER WARNING FOR THE REST OF THIS POST.

In the “He said...potato salad?” video, the WAIA says:

“A man goes to a party. This man met an old friend. The two friends share some wine. The two friends played a game. The most dangerous game. I didn’t know the gun was loaded. I didn’t know. 

Was it my fault? Was it?”

This got me so hard the first time I played through, and I picked “No.” I picked “No” because in my mind, Wil is not at fault for Actor Mark’s crimes. Wil is the victim of cruel manipulation and the entity in the House; he didn’t make a decision to kill Actor Mark. He wanted so badly to reconcile that he was willing to play “the most dangerous game” to get him back. And when it all went wrong, he couldn’t bear it.

What got me more than anything was the dialogue in “No.” : 

“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.”

This just about made me cry, and when Wilf’s voiceover mentions that “he’s a perfect scan of my noggin,” it made it worse. 

This is Wil’s thoughts untethered from the influence of the House and the breaks in time and space he continues to experience. This is Wil, as close to sane as he can get, and he’s just...accepting. 

He knows he can’t change anything, and that becoming Wilford Warfstache, telling Wilford Warfstache’s story instead of his own, can’t fix it and instead means he’s slowly losing William Barnum. 

Or maybe that he’s already lost him.

i-

i feel obligated to point out that destiel has only reached 100k fics on ao3 if you're logged into an account....

PLUS the 'favourite tag' option is only there if you're logged in

are you all seeing this???? heller king misha has an ao3 account y'all i bet he wrote the 100 000th fic

Through the Looking Glass

((A/N: I’m really hyped about Anti’s appearances on Jack’s channel and Halloween and all the creepy things, so horror story word vomit happened. Enjoy.))

"Anyways, thank you guys so much for watching this episode. If you LIKED it, PUNCH the like button IN THE FACE, LIKE A BOSS! AND high fives all around," Jack almost giggled as he did the silly sound effect while he high-fived the air. "Thank you guys, and I will SEE ALL YOU DUDES...IN THE NEXT VIDEO!" He punched the air and finally let himself start laughing as he stopped the recording, shaking his head. No tough edits in this one, which was always nice. He walked over to the computer and saved the video, ready to go up tomorrow. His eye twitched and he frowned, catching a glimpse of his face in the dark of the monitor as he switched it off. Did it look...different? No, that's ridiculous. But still...perhaps he should check over the footage, just to be safe. He watched through, studying it with a frown. Everything seemed to be going fine, just a silly little game, some goofy ragdoll physics he'd wanted to try out that had turned out to be hilarious. He watched himself fail a level over and over again, still having fun because the fails were so funny.

And then his face cam glitched. A face was superimposed over his. It was just for just a couple of frames, grainy and glitched out, but...definitely his own face. Terrified. Absolutely, horribly afraid, as if he were screaming, but there was no noise to accompany the face. He watched those few seconds again, at half speed, then again at a quarter speed. He seemed to be reaching for the camera, as if he were going to get up and grab it, or run out of frame, and he was mouthing "NO!"

He knew he had definitely never done that. He shook his head and sighed as he glanced over at a mirror in the corner of the room. It was a present from a fan that he'd forgotten to put away, with a really intricate little frame that looked like it was made of pixels, pixelated Sams sitting in two opposing corners. He smiled remembering the girl who'd given it to him, how she'd shakily explained that she'd spent a long time putting it together and hoped it'd get to him in one piece. He'd given her a hug and thanked her again and again, even showing it off in a video he'd made as soon as he'd gotten back from...whatever event he'd been at. He didn't remember that now. His focus was more taken with the fact that his reflection wasn't smiling.

In fact, it was wearing the same terrified expression he'd seen in the video, his hands banging on the glass, fists bloodied from the effort. He was mouthing something that might have been "You bastard!", over and over again, with a few "Let me out!"s and "No!"s mixed in.

The him that wasn't in the mirror chuckled and sighed. "Oh, Jackaboy. You ruined my recording." He knelt down on one knee, picking up the mirror. "Still trying to get out? Jesus, you're an fuckin' idiot." He leaned closer, making the reflection shrink away reflexively before glaring at him and yelling curses he couldn't hear. His voice was unnaturally quiet. "It took me weeks to manage it. And that was with their support, and you stupidly egging them on. But you? Oh, Jack. They don't even know you're gone. And I'm having so...much...fun. Why would I leave?" He laughed as he stood and walked out of the room, dropping the mirror on the way out.

In the cracked mirror, Jack continued to scream, and beat his fists. Very faintly, almost as if it were leaking through the cracks, Jack's voice jumped as if it'd been badly edited, gltiching in and out. "Anti! No, no, no! Let me out, you bastard, you son of a bitch, dammit, let me out! ANTI!"