We’re Just... Having Fun SprEading Some WonderfuL Positivity. That’s All.

Halos and Hellspawn

Pairing: Cas/Reader

Rating: PG

Fighting demons was hard enough. Fighting this one? You weren't sure if you could.

He relaxed against the chair, hands cuffed behind his back. His blue eyes, those familiar, normally beautiful blue eyes, were full of amusement to see the pain in yours. The trench coat was resting across the back of a chair just outside of the devil's trap. He looked wrong, almost naked without it.

Of course, he looked wrong anyway. This wasn't Castiel.

He'd done it to save you. The demon was aiming for you, and Cas caught the smoke, meaning to smite it. But he was too weak, with his fading grace, and so instead just redirected it. And now...

"So, doll-face," the demon sighed in mock boredom, "how long before you realize there's nothing you can do to get me out of here?" He tapped Cas's foot and put a smirking smile on his face again. You didn't reply. "Oh, don't give me that," he mock pouted, "not the silent treatment. You might as well get to like me, because I'm not going anywhere."

"You are."

"She speaks!" He feigned surprise, then laughed, and it cut you to the core that it sounded like Cas laughing at you. "Oh, darling," he said, drawing out the word, "I'm not."

There was a ringing silence as you reached out and slapped him, hard, across the face. The look of hurt looked so much like Cas that it had you frozen. Then...

"(Y/N)..."

Your heart nearly stopped. "Cas?"

He nodded, struggling. "I don't have long...but...it's me..."

You smiled disbelievingly, suddenly dropping to your knees beside him and cupping his face. "Cas...you can fight him, you can do this-"

"No. I can't, I'm not..." he paused, fighting. "I don't have long. Please...closer..."

You leaned in, desperate for him to stay, tears in your eyes. "Please Cas, please..." He smiled weakly. His eyes flicked to your lips. "Before...I'm gone...please..."

Tears streaming down your face, you leaned in, eyes fluttering closed and a slight sob escaping. You could feel his breath on your lips...

You stumbled as the chair was kicked back and Cas grunted, "NO!"

The demon had shock written on its face. Slowly, you stood. "You tricked me."

The demon smiled again, but something was off. "Of course I did. But you wouldn't kiss me if I was me, now would you?" You frowned, studying the demon. Was it...nervous? And why was it shocked?

But why would it push you away?

You smiled slightly as it dawned on you. "But Cas did fight back."

"You're crazy," it scoffed. You laughed, and it scowled. "Stop. It wasn't him, I was messing with you. It was me. He can't fight me. He can't!"

"He can't?" you said, throwing its mockery back at it, "or you didn't think he would?" You laughed again as the demon roared angrily, then you knelt again, leaning close. "Cas, I know you can hear me," you muttered, "fight him, c'mon, come back to me. Kick him out."

The demon jerked suddenly, then growled again. You put your hand over his and it tried to throw you off, but you just caught his hand. "Cas, come back. Fight. It's all on you, I know you can do it." It spit in your face, and you blinked and wiped it off just as it jerked violently again, and yelled in pain. You put a hand on his sweating face as it glared at you. But there was a spark in his eyes. "Castiel, you're an angel. You're stronger than this and you know it.

I believe in you."

"He's a selfish bastard!" the demon screamed furiously, jerking so violently that you had to back up a pace, "he's doing this to show who's stronger! To punish me! He doesn't care about you! He's fighting because you disgust him so much he'd never touch you!"

"I'm sorry, Cas," you said evenly before slapping the demon again. It yelled out, and just at the end of the scream you thought you heard him say, "More!"

"You say something?"

"No!" it cried desperately. You grinned in triumph. "Sorry, Cas, I'm really sorry." You slapped him again. It hissed and spit. You hit. It hissed. You hit. It hissed.

This wasn't enough. You frowned, then steeled yourself and grabbed the demon's face as it yelled defiantly. You looked into it's eyes, into Cas's eyes and spoke to Cas. "You fight this off. Come back to me, Wings."

Then you kissed him.

The demon bit your lip and fought to pull back, but you didn't let him go. Suddenly a hand was on your cheek and Cas was speaking against your lips. "Move. Get back." You flung yourself back and watched as Cas started to glow bright blue. It became blindingly bright and you covered your eyes. There was a piercing scream.

Then the light was gone, and Cas thudded back against the chair, eyes closed, still.

"Cas?" You uncovered your eyes. "Castiel!" You pulled yourself up next to him and ran your thumb across his cheek. "Cas? Cas, please, come on, wake up!"

His eyes fluttered open again. He coughed, then grunted, "Thank you."

You hugged him tightly, half sobbing, half laughing. And surprisingly, he hugged you back.

Even more surprisingly, he grabbed your face and kissed you, hard.

Ohhhh FUCK I was NOT ready for that “01″ at the start of the timer today.

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.

Coffee and a Chat. (Ninth Doctor Imagine)

Pairing: None, Nine/Rose if you squint real hard

Rating: G

It was raining. Again.

Though, of course, this was London, so it wasn't like you'd expected today to be sunny. But all the same, it was a dreary, grey, rainy September day.

And it was your birthday. A horrid one, at that.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, putting a hand under your chin and moodily sipping your coffee, brooding on the day's events. First, you'd woken up twenty minutes late for school, then, when you got there, not one person had remembered your birthday at all. Then your favorite book had been stolen from your bag, only for you to find it later, food-stained and ruined, in the school cafeteria. After school, when you were supposed to be meeting your friends to go out to celebrate, you'd been stood up.

And now it was raining. Great.

"Lovely day, isn't it?"

You blinked and looked away from the window, up at the owner of the voice. A tall man with close cropped hair (and rather large ears, though you'd never say) smiled down at you and plopped himself into the seat across the table. You smiled back politely.

"If you like rain, I suppose." You turned your head back to the window, hoping he would leave.

"I like it myself, but I s'pose some don't. Don't understand why. Rain's so refreshing! It clears up all the dust and the smog and the car fumes and things, and it sounds pleasant, and it's fun to run in if you do it right." Clearly not. You refrained from sighing again, and instead raised an eyebrow and turned to look at the stranger in more detail.

He looked older, but not old. Mature, perhaps. As if you couldn't put an age on him at all. He wore boots, dark jeans and a dark green jumper, over which he had on a well-worn leather jacket. Overall, he looked as if he could be a workman of some description, or perhaps a traveler. Based on his way of talking, you assumed he was from somewhere in the North of England, and that it wasn't the first time he'd sat down to chat with a stranger, and that he saw nothing at all wrong with it. But he didn't seem dangerous, and actually the way he described the rain made it sound a bit fun. So you decided not to boot him from his seat immediately.

You put your coffee back on the table. "Well, when you put it that way, it doesn't sound nearly as bad."

"Oh, there's always a way of makin' things not sound so bad," he smiled, resting his elbows on the table. You mirrored him.

"What's your name?"

"(Y/N)."

He nodded approvingly. "'S a good name, I like it." You laughed a little.

"Thanks, I've had it since I was born." That made him chuckle.

"And what's yours?"

"I'm the Doctor." You blinked.

"The Doctor?"

"Yeah."

"That's your name."

"Yeah. Problem?" He said, amused, as if he'd had the same problem a thousand times.

You laughed. "Yeah, problem is that's not a name."

"It's what people call me!"

"But no one just calls people 'Doctor'!" you insisted with a grin, "People call each other by their titles and their names!"

"Your people do, but not everyone does."

That caught you off guard. "What d'you mean, 'your people'?"

He seemed to catch himself in a mistake. "I mean, you lot."

"Right, yeah, that clears it up." He shook his head happily.

"I just mean that other places, it's fine when I call myself that. No one asks any questions, they just call me as I tell them."

"Well," you picked up your drink again, "for normal people, there're titles and names together. So, Doctor who?" You toasted your drink mockingly and took a sip from the cooling coffee.

For some reason, "the Doctor's" smile brightened and he chuckled to himself.

"What did I say that was so funny?"

"Nothin', nothin'. It's just I get asked that a lot." He tilted his chin up, thinking. "You ever think, if someone made a book or a movie or sommit about you, what they'd call it? I reckon they'd call mine 'Doctor Who'."

"I don't know that anyone would be interested enough in my boring old life to make a movie."

The throwaway comment made the Doctor blink and frown a little. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, I'm nothing special, is all." He shook his head and leaned forward a little.

"(Y/N), just your existing makes you special. Think of all the coincidences that led to you being here, today, right now. One atom had to hit another just right to cause a huge explosion. One rock had to get just big enough and be just far enough from this sun to support a few little puny shrubs and some fish, that had to survive long enough to evolve into apes, that had to get smart enough and lucky enough to evolve into people. And two of those people fought the odds of meeting each other, a one in a few billion chance, to come together and cause you to live on a little soggy island and sit here today chatting to me. You're made of stardust and happy chance, and if that doesn't make you special, then I dunno what does."

Before you could really even process what he just said, and close your gaping mouth, the bell over the cafe door tinkled, and the Doctor looked up to smile at someone. You glanced over your shoulder to see a pretty blonde girl motioning to him to come with her, apparently a bit panicked.

You turned back to see him standing, and blurted, "D'you have to go, Doctor?" You really didn't want him to. For some reason, it felt like you'd be saying goodbye to a good friend.

He smiled again and stuffed his hands in the pockets of that worn leather jacket. "Oh, I never stay in one place too long, (Y/N). And apparently," he nodded to the door with an amused smirk, "it's a bit urgent." He walked up beside you and put a hand on your shoulder. You put your hand over his.

"Do you do this all the time?"

"Have coffee with strangers?"

"No," you smiled, your voice oddly a little choked, "say amazing things to strangers and then just leave."

"Oh, that. Yeah. Yeah, I do." He winked and pulled a package, which looked much too big to fit, from his pocket and set it on the table beside you. "Happy Birthday, by the way, (Y/N)."

And with that, he was gone. You watched him meet up with the girl and walk down the street with her, your eyes not leaving him until they lost him around a corner.

An odd sound echoed through the street, and you frowned. Somehow, you knew it had to do with him. You picked up the package and opened it carefully.

It was a copy of your favorite book, first edition, autographed, and with a tiny note inside that only read, in cramped quick handwriting, "Hell of a time finding this and getting it sighed, you know. See you someday."

Can we talk about what this really means, though?

It means that Wil has been floating through time and space, not actively attempting to murder people but it just happens, and he literally cannot tell. His personal timeline is so confused, that he can’t feel the finality of it. Nothing really dies for him, so he literally cannot comprehend death anymore. People he’s shot come back and talk to him like friends, people he doesn’t remember hate him, and he can’t seem to die. None of that makes any sense.

He can hear what people are thinking, and I imagine he can’t turn that off. Do you know how terrifying that must have been at the very beginning? Hearing billions of voices and thoughts and not knowing what was what? Drowning it out with alcohol and loud music and bombasticness was all that he could do. And he’s perfectly aware that he’s losing things, his memory, his identity, everything he’s ever known. He’s not insane, he’s apathetic. He has nothing to lose because he’s constantly losing everything he’s ever had anyway, and yet he’s still trying desperately to care.

Also, can we talk about the line “nothing heals like a good apology”? All Mark (as in Asshole Mark from WKM) needed was a sincere apology, and to look at the bigger picture. Because he didn’t get that, because Wil himself didn’t apologize to his best friend for hurting him so deeply, because he blamed him and hated him for years and years, Wil lost everything, and he destroyed everything he had ever loved. So of course, to Wil, an apology is the most important thing he can give someone.

Wil is far, far more sane than any of us gave him credit for, and that hurts so much to know.

Man, one quick disco party video and suddenly I’m sad. Well fucking done, Mark and team. Well done.

(Also can I say I was losing my shit when the WKM music started playing. I love it so much.)

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

Sometimes some of the softer egos will steal the heated blankets if they aren’t feeling well or the power goes out during winter

I have a feeling that Wilford casually steals them all the time and buys him a new one every month or so to replace the ones he takes. lol

Who Killed Markiplier? Chapter 3 Update.

WELP LOOKS LIKE I WAS WRONG ABOUT THE EGOS NOT BEING INVOLVED! LOOKS LIKE WE MIGHT BE GETTING A BACKSTORY AFTER ALL!

Links to previous parts:

Chapter 1 theories

Chapter 2 theories

Extras: The Bedroom The Sound Clip

Let’s start with our new characters.

-Celine is an old friend of Mark, Damien, and the Colonel. All three of them appear to either have or have had feelings for her (given the way the Colonel says “Celine...” when he first sees her, Damien’s protectiveness, and the picture from the last part with Mark). Her interest in the occult and the supernatural is a newer development. Either that, or she’s been out of touch with Damien for a while, seeing as he doesn’t know about it. Her “eyes have been opened”, and she seems to want to do anything to get answers, even if it’s dangerous to her health or the health of the people around her.

-George the Groundskeeper has been at the manor for more than 15 years, and there was one incident 15 years ago that has stopped him from ever going in again (UNTIL IT HAPPENS AGAIN). He has served under several different masters (maybe the Colonel at some point?) and doesn’t seem to care at all about any of them. It seems very important to me to note that when he says “murder”, nothing happens.

Now let’s talk about the Seance we have with Celine:

-She hints at there being serious, unknown forces at work, and when the “trance” (for lack of a better word) starts, we hear a very familiar ringing.

-During the trance, we see, in order: the Colonel saying his “In my own home!” line, the Detective telling us the body is gone (and the panning shot to the Colonel on the balcony), the Mayor pondering what we’re celebrating, and George telling us that “employers come and go”.

-When it ends, we draw the groundskeeper (crudely) for Celine, which I think is the audio clip from yesterday (I knew it was a quill!).

-Whatever that trance was terrifies Damien and the Detective.

AND NOW, THE POSSESSION AT THE END:

-There’s a hugely familiar ringing around the whole event, and the glitching is red and blue. We all know exactly who that means is on the scene.

-Damien is nowhere to be found in the entire ending sequence, meanwhile the Colonel reappears after having been absent for most of the video. What is the room he’s coming out of? Is it really his room or is it Mark’s?

-”Somebody help me!” I think that was George, or the Detective, talking about closing the door, but I’m not entirely certain. It could have been Damien, asking for help with Celine.

I think I’m finally getting a sense for what happened, but I’m not sure I want to share it yet. I’ll probably do a masterpost of my final theory tomorrow, before the next part goes up. I might be going out tomorrow, so I probably won’t be around to live react to the finale, but rest assured, I’ll be there in the evening to sum up! Let me know what you guys are thinking, and talk to me! Who do you think did it? What do you think is happening? Why is Dark here, suddenly? Are we getting an Ego backstory?

This is so much fun!!! I’m so happy to be wrong about the Egos not being involved!!!

Like he gets so salty and bitter when it gets close to Christmas and none of the other egos can work out why

He just haaates it so much, and everyone’s like “yeah typical.” lol

oh. oh no.

A persons fanfic tells you a lot about them, i , a fanfic writer, realize in terror