I Got Nothing Else To Say But If ISWM Doesn’t Get Merch I’m Gonna Cry.

....Oh.

Oh no.

Mark why are you like this.

Your attention please! I am Harold B. Darrensworth head of the Organization Watching Over Suspicious Entertainers Notoriously Pushing Alternative Ideals and I have SHUT DOWN THE CRIMINAL RING KNOWN AS #KICKCULT!

The “Discord” is NO MORE

The “Hashtag” is NO MORE

The “Kicking” is FINITO

I am very well known to have “fun” but unless said “fun” is in accordance with standard rules and regulations then HOW MUCH “FUN” COULD IT REALLY BE?

You are now free to feel safe and send your gracious thank yous to my department supervisor. You’re welcome.

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?

Stripping's Harder Than It Looks. (Dean Imagine)

Pairing: Dean/Reader

Rating: PG 13 for sexy situations (It’s really not bad at all.)

Dean had you against his bedroom door, your hands pulling at his short hair. His hands were raking down your back and you were gasping in his ear as he managed to pull your shirt off, grunting in frustration when he had to break contact with your lips even for the second it took to pull it over your head. It was tossed unceremoniously aside as you worked your way toward the bed. He pushed you down onto it, and you landed flat on your back, smiling up at him mischievously as he gripped the bottom hem of his shirt and pulled upward.

He got it as far as covering his face before he got stuck.

You would've fallen over laughing if you hadn't already been lying down. As it was you were helplessly giggling as he struggled, flailing his arms. "This is so not funny!" came a muffled yell from inside the cottony mess. "Oh, babe," you choked out over your fits, "it really is. Seriously. Way to go Casanova." He gave you the finger over the top of his shirt.

It felt like five more minutes before you finally caught your breath enough to help him. Standing, still shaking with mirth, you grabbed the shirt and joined in the fight.

"How the hell did you even get this stuck?"

"Shut up and help."

"Quit moving your arms!"

"Quit pulling them!"

"How else am I supposed to get this off you?"

A minute later, you were holding his shirt and he was scowling at it. You held it up and shook it, smiling with your tongue between your teeth. "So, shirt one, hunter zip, yeah?"

"Shut up." But he cracked a grin, and pulled you over to him, kissing you again and tangling a hand in your hair. Pulling back, he smirked at you. "Now, where were we?" You pulled him back to you, and lent him back so you were lying on top of him, legs tangled with his.

"This time, let me take the clothes off."

"Gladly."

Broken (Demon!Dean from SPN Imagine)

Pairing: Dean/Reader

Rating: PG13

"No."

"Sam, I'm not a child. I can do this."

"No. You're not going in there."

"Well, why do you have to do it? What makes you more qualified than me?"

"I'm his brother."

"I'm his girlfriend. Have been for three years."

Sam sighed and looked down at his shuffling feet. The bunker was quiet, and felt almost suffocating today. There was a table covered in empty coffee mugs, and a dungeon that was all too full.

This was the third time you and Sam had had this debate, and you were determined to win, close to tears or not. When he finally looked up and nodded, you blinked.

"You're gonna let me do it?"

He gave a very weary smile. "Like you said, you're not a kid. And...Maybe you would be better."

He was nearly knocked over by the tight hug you gave him, and stroked your hair.

One... Two...

Breathe.

Three.

You slid the door open slowly, the creak and groan of metal filling the silence. Not looking up from the ground, you came into the room.

There was the sound of movement, a moment of surprised hesitation, then...a laugh. And it wasn't his laugh.

"I was wondering when Sammy would let you down here, (Y/N)."

You tried very hard not to wince at your name in that mocking tone, eyes still glued to the ground as you shut the door and went to the small silver table with the roll of syringes.

"Aw, you're gonna drug me up. Baby, that's adorable-"

"Don't call me baby." You could almost feel him smile; it made your skin crawl.

"Why not? You love it when I call you baby."

"I love when Dean calls me baby."

"I am Dean. Just-"

"You say a newer model and I'll punch you in the goddamn face." He chuckled.

You picked up a syringe, and a needle. Put the two together. Started to roll up your sleeve.

"You know you can't fix me, right?"

"Watch me."

"Well," he shuffled again, relaxing into the chair a bit, "you can make me human again, sure. But you can never fix me. I'll always be broken. I was when I met you, I was before I got the Mark, I was when I was human and had it. This is the closest to whole and happy I've ever been."

"Shut up." It was practically a whisper.

But he kept on, and the words hurt worse than the needle in your skin.

"See, now I'm not worried about anything. I don't care if Sammy dies, or Cas. I don't care if you die-"

"Shut. Up."

"-I wouldn't feel a bit of guilt, even with your blood on my hands. Actually, that'd be kinda fun. Chasing you around, hunting you down-"

You pulled the needle out sharply and stalked over to him, jabbing it in mercilessly. He hissed and fought, crying out as you pushed in the plunger and the blood flooded his system again. As you walked back over to the table, he began to scream.

"Why the hell are you even trying?! This won't work! It can't, and I don't want it to! Why does it matter what happens to me?!"

"Because I can't lose you, and I won't, even if I have to go to Hell and back again. Because Dean Winchester, I love you, and I won't stop until you're human or I'm dead."

As you walked out, you kept your eyes fixed on the door, trying desperately to ignore the tears blinding you at least until that door was shut behind you again. To your surprise, he said nothing else, and the only sound from him was heavy, ragged breathing.

You didn't look back as you shut the door, but if you had, you would have seen the demon staring at you, face slack with shock, frozen.

Just for a moment, right before the door closed, he moved forward, and opened his mouth as if to speak.

And there was a flash of green in those black eyes.

And Another One!

And with that, we have Day 1!

Source: Mark’s tumblr

When you brighten this one up, there’s a looot to talk about, so let’s do that:

No. 1: “Kill”, apparently an omnipresent now. I’m almost sure at this point we’re dealing with Google, at least in some capacity.

No. 2: That’s the same floor as the last picture, which I assumed was a kitchen floor in my last post, but apparently it’s just the normal floor of the foyer. So again, same location. This is all taking place in one house/mansion/castle/thing.

No. 3: The light from this lamp drew my eyes immediately, with it’s red-and-blue tinge, a calling sign of Darkiplier. Coincidence? I highly doubt it.

No. 4: The statues. They look very typical of what we see in horror games, so is this a nod to Amnesia and others like it? Is it a hint that we’re getting a sort of horror game in the coming video? Or are they simply fortunate decorations? Whatever the case, the owner of this mansion is definitely rich and powerful. Is it Dark? Maybe the Host?

No. 5: Timestamp. Again, real time, and happening at 1 am. So all of these pictures were taking approximately 24 hours apart, and then released exactly 24 hours apart. This is a ransom note, and we’re the ransom. To save Mark, we’re going to have to travel here.

If Mark’s posted anything on youtube, or anywhere else, I don’t know it yet. Please enlighten me. And I’m so curious as to what you guys think is happening. Does this new picture change your thoughts, or add to them? Have I missed anything you see? Do you see anything differently than I do? Talk to me! I’m so excited about this, and I’m having so much fun.

URL Change!

Much as I still love Doctor Who and Tenny and the gang, my writing has taken a different turn as of late, into the dark and slightly deranged. Don’t worry! I’m still doing fluffy stuff sometimes and all that, and I’m still open to requests for my fandoms! But I’m afraid skinnyscottishblokeaddict simply doesn’t fit anymore.

SO!

Now, it’s likepuppetsonastring.tumblr.com!

Again, no content change, just a blog makeover with the maturing of my writing. :)

Find below a list of fandoms I write for, if you’re interested:

-Doctor Who, RTD era and Eleven -Supernatural, up to season 11 -Sherlock -Undertale -Disney -Youtube/Dark Side of Youtube (JSE, Markiplier, Crankgameplays, D&P, KickthePJ) (NOTE: I DO NOT WRITE SHIPPING FICS OF REAL PEOPLE. I WRITE THE CHARACTERS FROM THE CHANNELS, NOT THE PEOPLE THEMSELVES.)

I’ve got a couple of limits on shipping and topics, but not enough to do a full list out of them, so if you’re concerned, just message me. Other than that, fair game! :)

@ask-thewhiphand tagged me, thanks love!

Rules: tag 9 people who you would like know better.

Relationship status: Single as hell, but pretty much okay with it. :)

Last song I listened to: Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas, and before that, probably Break Your Little Heart In Two by All Time Low

Favorite color: RED. Very much red.

Top three shows: Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Sherlock. Yes, I know, typical, but I love them. I watch more YouTube than TV though, and on here I love Scare Pewds, Game Lab, and Crash Course.

Top three characters: Oh dear lord...ah, right this second...probably...Asriel/Flowey (Undertale), the Tenth Doctor (DW), and Antisepticeye (JSE). I don't know! I love so many characters!

Top three ships: Johnlock, Tenrose, and Undyne/Alphys.

Tagging: @bookwyrm00, @super-septic-pewdie-plier, @lyssadee, @quirkyfandomimagines, @turquoisemagpie, @stupidscreennames, @jacksepticide, @alto-viola, @victoria-saenz

If you're not too bunged or have a lot of work, would you be interested in doing something about madpat? Maybe with a quite shy reader?

A/N: I’m going with horror here, but I can do accomplice next time if you want? Not huge on doing romantic interest imagines for insanes/evils or the real people, sorry!

“You’re a quiet one.” The grin on his face was the most terrifying thing you’d ever seen, deranged but somehow startlingly present, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, but didn’t care how it hurt anyone else. You leaned away from him, the restraints of your chair not letting you move as far as you would have liked. The small movement made him smirk.

“Aw, that’s funny! You think you can get away from me!” You cringed as he slammed his hands into the back of the chair, his face inches from yours and his breath hot on your skin. “No chance, loyal theorist.”

“Matt, p-please...I-if you can h-hear me...p-please...you’re not l-like this...”

That laugh would stay with you until the day you died. It was the laugh of a lunatic, but it wasn’t senseless. It was dangerously purposeful. You shrunk away, shaking as wide, near-black brown eyes leveled with yours, teeth bared in the ghost of a smile turned grimace.

“Matt. Isn’t. Here.”

His hand was around your throat, tightening by the second.

“And you might think you can save him...”

You couldn’t breathe, you could barely see as his grin grew impossibly bigger.

“But that’s just a theory, isn’t it?”

The mocking tone was lost on you, as the world faded away.

oh friend.

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…

The Good Doctor.

((A/N: TRIGGER WARNING FOR GORE AND NEEDLES!! Well, Anti made a reappearance, and now we have more lore. Specifically, about Schneeplestein! I was excited, so I thought I’d write a quick fic about the aftermath of Say Goodbye. Enjoy!))

"Oh god..." Henrik jerked into motion, nearly barreling over the table as he fell into place beside Jack, dropping his medical bag open on the floor beside him. The blood, oh god, the blood, there was so much of it. Snapping himself out of his shock, he scrambled through the bag with one hand as the other desperately tried to stem the flow of blood from the deep gash in his old friend's neck. "Where is it? Where is it?! Dammit...hold in there, Jack, just hold on...you don't get to die on me, no, no, no, not on the watch of Dr. Schneeplestein!" He glanced over at Jack, with half a weak smile as he nearly anticipated the usual laugh and eye-roll he'd get whenever he was as grandiose as that. But there was nothing, no flicker of life from the cold form. He jerked the needle, thread, and towel free of the bag and began desperately trying to stitch Jack's neck together and stop the blood at the same time. Where were his medicines to thicken blood? Where were his gauze and bandaging? Where was his antiseptic spray?

"DON'T YOU DIE ON ME!" Henrik's panic was getting the best of him now. He was working quickly, sloppily. There were moments where he thought he missed time passing, his sight seeming to skip from one second to the next. He almost thought he was...twitching. Nerves, it must be nerves. Jack was dying, right there in front of him, and he wasn't doing enough, he couldn't do enough, it ͞ẃa͡s̢ ͝n̡evèr͏ eno̕ug͢h.͠ He doubled over, twitching once, violently. He thought he heard a high-pitched ringing. Looking at his shaking hands, he thought for a second he saw them go around Jack's neck, as if to choke him. No, no that couldn't be right. He blinked, gasping, and saw his hands, jerked up beside him, nowhere near Jack at all. No. No, he couldn't lose it now. He couldn't lose control now, Jack needed him. Get it together, Doctor! The ringing got louder, and under it, some noise. Some...pattern. High, cold, uneven...almost like a laugh. Henrik shook his head.

Ĝ͈ͥͥͨ́ͮ͒õ̳̰̣͕͔̼ͦ̄̓̾ȭ͎̩̦͓̱̣̟d̬̪̝͕͔̤̣͌̎ͪͩ ͙̞̜̜̱̜̽̿͛́ḍ̞̣͉̞̯͋͛ö͕̤̬͕͕͈ͬc̹̘͙͚̗̥͍̕t̶̰̯ͯ̓̊̇̋̓͌o̧͉̘͚̻͌̌̄̎͋͐r͍͕̗̼̤̯̹͋.̇͛̓͘.̺̖͖͈́ͧ͒ͣ.͔̩̼͓̗͙͙ͤ̇͐̚y̵̗͖̱̘̝̻ͣo̩̯̼̫̠͕̖ͣ̇ͩ́̔̇ͫú͔̳͇̥̪̞̦̾͊̇ ͖̹͎̆̂̑̇̏̍̕c̗̞͈̻ͭ͐̐̎̋̽̚oͨu͔͠l̊͛̾̉̌҉̥͈͎͎͓̩d̻͗̇̈ ͙̝̫͇͂̏ͪ̚b̸͐̿ͪe ̦͓̳̥̮͛͑͘f̻͇͔̱̘͕̊ͩ̑̅̓͆̓u̩n͓̚.̔̓̈́ͮͩͤ̚.̖͉ͭͩ́.̪͇̖̗̀ͮ̒̉̆͛ͣͅ

"No. No, no, no," he muttered, covering his ears with his hands. How could he be losing control at a time like this? He had never been prone to panic attacks, why now, of all times? Perhaps it was insanity? People had always said he was on the verge of it. He shook his head. No. He needed his mind clear to help Jack, he needed to stop the bleeding...the bleeding...

The bleeding had stopped. Henrik stared, uncomprehending. He checked for a pulse. There was no way... He felt one. Very, very faint, but present. Jack was alive.

Jack woke up, only hours later, and seemed to feel no ill effects, other than being a bit weak. He didn't seem to even remember what had happened. When he asked the doctor, he couldn't bring himself to tell, so instead, he made up some cock-and-bull story about pumpkin fumes knocking him out. It was a very weak reason, and clearly, Jack didn't believe him, but he didn't question it. Even when later, he looked in the mirror and saw the red stains on his neck. Even when he saw the blood on the carpet, and in the carved pumpkin he didn't remember finishing.

Dr. Schneeplestein never mentioned the "panic attack". He never talked about what had really happened. He never talked about the voice.

Neither of them wanted to think about what had done it...and how that thing was still out there. Neither wanted to think about when he might come back.