Wilford: I Have Made Robot Me: You Fucked Up A Perfectly Good Wilford Is What You Did. Look At It. It’s

alternatively: Dark, rocking up in an open button up that’s half tucked into rumpled suit pants and sitting on top of a very stained undershirt.

Wil: You look like death!

Dark: *looks into the camera like he’s on The Office*

As much as I like the idea of dark wanting to be constantly neat and fancy, I also adore the idea that after the shit he’s been through he just can’t give a fuck and wears and does whatever the hell he wants.

A Really Rather Dumb Bet (Schneep and Chase Drabble).

A/N: Because everyone needs a little more fluff and comedy for these two fools.

The horrid crashing sound was more than enough to send Henrik careening out of bed. It wasn't as if he wasn't used to loud noises, he made plenty of them himself and hell, he was good friends with Jack. It was just that this particular loud sound had been made at two o'clock in the morning when he'd thought he was alone in the house. Anyone else might have been inclined to do something rational, like call the police or go back to sleep. Henrik, however, knew much better, which was why he swung his door open with great gusto, walking confidently into the living room, brandishing a stethoscope like a garrot and yelling "WHO IS IT ZAT DARES TO DISTURB ZE REST OFF ZE GREAT HENRIK VON SCHNEEPLESTEIN?! VHAT CRIMINAL IS STUPID ENOUGH TO CONTEST HIM?!" Honestly, even in the fluorescent pink pajama shorts and haphazard glasses, he struck an intimidating figure. What greeted him was not an awestruck-and-or-blinded-by-the-neon-PJs burgler, but a broken window, a collapsed side table, a few scattered remote pieces and magazine pages, and a very dissheveled, very drunk, widely grinning Chase Brody. "DOC! AH'M -hic- SO HAPPY TAH SEEEE YOOOOOU!" This was met with a blank stare, to which Chase pouted considerably. "Aw, c'mon -hic- Schneeps, you've gotta be h-hic-happy to see me too. I hav'n ev'n seen you in like...like...ever!" "Chase, vhat ze fuck?" The good doctor shook his head and went to help his terribly inebriated friend to sit on the couch. "First off all, vhy are you here at two in ze morgen?" "Because I wanna see-" "See me, ya, I got zhat. Sank you, ze sought is appreciated." Clearly he wasn't going to get a better explanation. "Second question, zhen: vhy did you come through ze vindow?" "The door was locked." He would have facepalmed if he'd had a free arm that wasn't busy trying to shove said window back into the gaping hole it'd created on the way down. "Off course. And vhy are you drunk as an Irish sailing skunk?" "Because Marv gave me -hic- some awesome whiskey! And bet me -hic hic- I couldn't finish it all in one go! I won! Ha!" Chase laughed. The laughing quickly turned into a vague wretching. He turned very green and Henrik didn't wait to be asked before he pointed down the hall to the open bathroom door. For a drunk man, Chase moved surprisingly quickly and with surprisingly few casualties. Henrik only had to dive to catch one vase and three paintings before the door shut behind him. He sighed. Tomorrow, he supposed, he'd have to get some more answers out of that man, and a sound apology from Marvin. Tonight, though, he simply went to the closet in the hall and pulled the door open to reveal a set of shelves with extra linens on them. He ran a finger down the edges of the shelving. JJ, Marvin, Angus, Robbie...ah, there it is! Chase. He pulled out a set of Nerf sheets, and began to make up a bed on the couch. BANG! CRASH! THUMP! "Hennnnnn-!"

Sigh.

He stood, straightening his shorts. A doctor's duties never cease.

The veteran stumbled across the smoldering hub. They were battered, bruised and burned. They slumped to their knees, exhausted from the inferno that they could still feel on their skin.

The breaths they took were laboured and their vision was blurry.

“This is….” they mumbled “this is something else”

They could see a wide eyed community member huddled up in the corner, trembling in a mixture of fear and excitement.

The veteran groaned as they got up and moved to them.

“Hey” they whispered to the other community member as they crouched down, giving them a reassuring smile. “Looks like this is your first time in a fire, huh?”

The community member nodded without saying a word.

The veteran took out their med kit and tended to a small burn on their arm.

“You’ll get used to it. I promise” they showed them their own burn marks and patted the member’s shoulder. “Just rest for a minute, okay?”

They stood up and surveyed the chaos. Everything had a scorchh mark every table, chair, cork board…..and person. They could see others patting the dust off themselves, bewildered and battered but still smiling.

They helped as much as the could with their aching limbs telling them to rest. Soon they had to stop and get fresh air. They thanked a kindly member who handed them a bottle of water as they walked out to the open.

They looked out into the distance once they were outside and saw another storm brewing. Clouds turning grey with a hint of green in the far off lightning flashes.

Their thoughts turned to the one who created the carnage and they smirked.

“You’re not done with us yet. You’re just getting warmed up, aren’t you, Jack?”

Thanks for the recent love on my Anti theories, and on my Schneep story. You guys are so sweet. :)

At times I actually forgot that the colonel, Damien and dark were different people he played them so well and so clearly

Right? Mark did such a good job separating the characters and their little quirks and mannerisms that you forget they’re all the same person, even though they all have the same face.

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.

Mini fic time!

As if the screaming on the grounds wasn't telling enough, a young girl with bright red hair coming flying into his office yelling "THERE'S A DRAGON ON THE GROUNDS, PROFESSOR!" would've been more than enough to alert Neville to the fact that a contender for the newly opened teaching position at Hogwarts had arrived. Neville grinned at the breathless, giggling child before him and stood, pulling his robe from a nearby hook and shrugging it over his jumper and jeans. "Is it really a dragon, Lil?" "It really is!" Lily Potter laughed, pulling him by the hand like she'd done when he'd come to visit her family when she was a young child. "He's really done it this time, I mean it. Mum'll have his hide the next time he comes to visit, I just know she will." "Your mother? Never," Neville scoffed, following at a leisurely walk to Lily's sprinting bursts. "No, your mother will want to know all the details. But only after you've gone to bed of course." He turned his attention to the dragon rider as they stepped out onto the lawn. "Hello, Charlie." "Alright, Nev?" Charlie Weasley smiled as he slid off of the large dragon's back, patting its neck as he did so. The dragon nuzzled into his scarred hand, looking rather like an enormous, scaley dog. Charlie was looking good for a middle age man, still remarkably fit and healthy, and showing no sign of inheriting the baldness of his father. Scarred all over and reasonably well tattooed, he would probably look to Muggles like a biker, but to the wizarding world, he was a dragon tamer, and that was possibly the coolest thing you could ever be. At least, that was what Lily seemed to think, as she ran and jumped into her uncle's arms, begging him to tell her everything about the flight, and about the dragon he'd flown in on. "Later, Lils, later," Charlie chortled, squeezing his niece's shoulders as the teen pouted. "First off, Norbert might like something to eat. Could you go ask the house elves for something for her?" "Oh, fine," Lily sighed, but skipped off, patting Norbert the dragoness affectionately as she went. Neville shook his head, the smile still unfading. "Do I even need to ask what brought you here today, then?" "'Course not, if you're willing to take my resume!" He pulled from the pocket of his leather jacket a folded envelope that seemed to be well overstuffed. Neville took it and opened it, eyes widening as he sifted through the various sheets of parchment within. "One from Hermione, of course, one from Harry, from Hagrid himself...good lord, two different Scamanders? And...Oliver? Why Oliver?" "I dunno, he insisted." Charlie pulled up the very last sheet, a one-page quick summary of all the work Charlie had done in the last decade alone, lists of various species he'd worked with and research he'd done. "I had a couple more, from various old Order members, and one from Luna, but you know Luna, her writing's..." "A little different? Yeah," Neville laughed. "I was actually just about to head into the headmaster's office to hand over my recommendation." "Neville, you're a gem," Charlie said, clapping him on the back as they walked toward the castle doors. Neville thought perhaps he'd have a good chance of getting the job, even forgetting the fact that Norbert would be sure to make her preferences known before they left.

Whenever Hagrid finally decides to retire as Care of Magical Creatures professor you can bet your last knut that Charlie Weasley flies back to England the following week excitedly waving his resume and recommendation letters from no less than two Scamanders and the Minister of Magic, Hermione Granger.

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.

Echoes (A Middle-of-the-Night Drabble)

Frisk thought they had never seen anything as beautiful as an Echo Flower. It looked almost as if it were a negative image of a sunflower, the colors reversed and strangely fluorescent, blues and whites that seemed to light up the dark marsh around them, otherworldly and wonderful, in the original sense of the word. Their appearance wasn’t even the strangest part of them however. Frisk swore, as they walked past, they heard one of the funny plants talk.

Now, given their previous encounter with talking flowers had been not altogether pleasant, Frisk was understandably cautious about getting too close to the whispering blooms. But Sans had mentioned Echo Flowers, back in Snowdin, and they thought perhaps their caution was unfounded, and that perhaps the echoes might be worth listening to. They had always been a supremely curious child, anyway. So they took a cautious step closer to the nearest flower.

It was surprisingly hard to get to, surrounded by so much vegetation and growth that Frisk was led to believe that it had been a very long time since anyone had stood close to the flower at all. This assumption was reinforced by the faintness of the recording, but it was not impossible to understand what was being said. A young voice spoke up first, the sound of splashing footsteps suggesting two small monsters were passing at the time of the recording. “They say you can make a wish on echo flowers. What’s your wish?” It was hard to tell whether the voice was male or female. Perhaps it was neither, mused Frisk with a chuckle. They wandered on to the next plant, mimicking the long-forgotten conversationalists’ path. “I...don’t wanna tell.” This voice sounded as if it’d come from a young boy. He seemed to be afraid of something. Apparently the other voice had surmised this as well, because they promptly asked what it was he was afraid of. Frisk continued to the next plant, fancying they could see two ghostly figures walking in front of them. In their fantasy, the two figures were silent until they reached the next plant, a few feet down the marsh. “I’m afraid you’ll laugh at me.” “I promise I won’t!” the first voice assured the boy, and in Frisk’s mind, they could practically see the child clap the shoulder of the other confidently. Frisk smiled as they imagined the first voice as a human, like themselves, striped sweater and all. The other, a monster child, Frisk decided, sighed and looked away. “Alright.” He paused for a long moment. “My wish is to see the stars.” The human child seemed to nod, and smile. This turned into a small laugh as they reached the next flower. Another, further on, had the monster child, who had white fur, Frisk thought, annoyed, saying “You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” “Sorry,” the first child said, still smiling, “It’s just funny.” “What?” Frisk seemed to watch them round the corner as the conversation drew to a close, and they ran out of echo flowers. “That’s my wish, too.”

Frisk felt oddly sad, hearing the end of that conversation. It felt faintly familiar to them, as if they’d heard it on some TV show they’d loved when they were younger, barely remembered. But they were sure they’d never heard it before, and wondered at the image they’d seen, the fantasy they’d drawn up. It’d seemed so real, the children seeming like they’d come to life with their voices barely echoed back by the flowers that’d lived up to their names. Had they really imagined it all? Who knew? This whole place was full of magic and strange life. Perhaps more than just their voices had been caught, frozen in time by this strange place.

WILFORD HAS A FULL, REAL NAME!!!! HE’S GOT A NAME!!!!

WILLIAM J BARNUM!!

AND HE’S NOT CRAZY AT ALL, HE’S TRYING TO UNDERSTAND AND HE CAN’T BECAUSE THERE’S TOO MUCH HAPPENING! HE’S AWARE THAT IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE AND THAT HE’S LOSING IT ALL AND IF THAT ISN’T THE SADDEST BIT OF THE STORY DUDE

@markiplier BRO YOU KNOW HOW TO BREAK MY FUCKING HEART AND MAKE ME LAUGH AT THE SAME TIME WTF