Do You Trust Me? Pt. 2

no you KNOW WHAT?? I HAVE MORE TO SAY!

So let’s talk about “What? Where am I?” Jack or whichever ego we’re watching today is clearly disconcerted to suddenly find himself recording, as if he’d been doing something completely different before and then just blinked and was here.

Now why does that sound familiar?

It’s interesting that this theme is continuing, and I’m curious to see where it goes from here, if it goes anywhere at all.

My only comment on today’s video intro is…

Alone. (A Who Killed Markiplier Drabble)

The first thing he noticed was that he was in a tremendous amount of pain. His chest was on fire and his head was pounding, it was like every muscle in his body was rebelling against him. His eyes were the only thing that seemed to be working, and all he could see was the domed ceiling and the chandelier above him, oddly tinted and out of focus.

As it came back into focus, he noticed a second problem: he didn’t know who or where he was. Through the blinding pain, there was no name coming, no picture of what he looked like, no friends or family’s faces or names, no fond memories...no memories at all. Just a vague feeling of...dread? Or anger?

He grunted as his arms and legs finally decided to work for him to lift him up, so that he was panting and kneeling on the marble floor. Shaking his head, he looked up, finally trying to guess where he was. His eyes locked with someone else’s.

He was starting backwards, a voice in his head screaming “MURDERER” before he had a chance to think for himself. The other man was on his feet in an instant.

“Oh no, no! It’s okay!”

Colonel. The old title came to him as the man talked about thinking he was dead. Had he been dead? The thought distracted him for a moment so that he lost some of what the man was saying. Surely he wasn’t dead, he was thinking, he was here...and yet...why could he see the Colonel, in front of him, a gun smoking in his right hand? Why could he see two hands...his hands...rising to his eyes, covered in blood? He could almost hear a voice, the Colonel’s panicked voice, saying...

“Did Damien put you up to this?” The name was like a bucket of ice water over his back. He knew it, and he’d been known by it. But...that wasn’t right, was it? Why hadn’t the man recognized him then if he was this “Damien” he seemed to know well? He wanted to ask, but the Colonel wasn’t listening anymore, and he couldn’t seem to make his voice work anyway. As the Colonel wandered away from him, calling for someone to answer, Damien again, and someone called Celine, names he barely knew but felt like he had always known, his heart gave a funny pang. He almost went after the strange officer, going so far as to take a step toward him, mouth forming a name he didn’t remember, but his eyes were drawn to the silver and black cane the Colonel had put down on the table. As he picked it up, another shot of pain went through him, and he looked up.

The face in the mirror before him...wasn’t him. It might once have been, he wasn’t sure, but now...it was different. Hollow, and gaunt...monochrome...

Dark.

He scowled at the face, and it scowled back. More pain stabbed through his neck, and he twisted it to try and alleviate it. There was a loud crack, and when he looked back in the mirror, straightening himself out, he knew he hated that face. But it wasn’t his face, it was the face of a man who had once worn it that he hated, who’d forced him into it now. Vague memories that didn’t make any sense swirled in his head, and they didn’t seem to matter anymore, except for being the cause of the heavy, burning anger that seemed to be all he could feel, the piercing ring that stuck in his ears. There was only one thought in his head as he turned away from the mirror with a jerk and went to clean himself up and get to work:

Mark would pay.

BOOOOOST

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WHAT IN THIS GODFORSAKEN WORLD COULD POSSIBLY BE ANY CREEPIER THAN SEEING FUCKING DARKIPLIER DOING THAT AS HE WALKS TOWARD YOU IN A DARK HALLWAY LIKE

WHAT THE FUCK

Important Question That Needs Answering:

Can the Markiplier Egos do The Foot Thing™

DJ Tyler. Nineteen years old, brilliant, quick witted, resourceful brunette with a London accent. That's all anyone kn...

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.

....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.

i like the idea that he got it done while he was very drunk and has no idea what it is

Does. Does Yancy have the flowchart of the Heist tattooed on his arm

Yes he does 😂 I noticed that immediately and I think it’s so cool 😂 idk why they’d do that for tho

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.

I’M SORRY WHAT?! ONE OF MY FAVORITE FAN CREATORS IS WORKING WITH SEAN TO MAKE CHARACTER CONTENT?! HOLY SHIT?!

YES OHMYGOD YES