My Guess Would Be That "little Buddy" Might Refer To Mark As Per Survalence By The Egos. That "designation:

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.

is it like official that Engineer!Mark is Actor!Mark? bc like....i wanna believe that Engineer!Mark is just his own character. il ove his story so much even on the surface level bc it’s so fuckin tragic. this absolutely dedicated and loyal man, totally destroyed by his own invention, rescued by the person he always had faith in right when his faith waivered most. it’s a great story. like, it being Actor!Mark adds another level of tragedy i guess but i like them as separate characters.

Tea. (Headcanons)

(A/N These are some of my headcannons told sort of in the form of a plotless oneshot. Add to it if you want!)

There's one thing the Doctor adores no matter what regeneration he's on, and that's tea. Whether it's good ol' classic English tea (Ten drank it all the time), or green tea (Good old Twelve), or herbal teas(Eleven was wont to try all kinds of teas, a new one every day), or gunpowder tea (Nine had a bit of a bitter streak when it came to this), he always loved it, and he liked to share that with his companions.

Everyone liked the classic stuff, but each had their own favorites.

Rose, through her time on the TARDIS, came to really enjoy raspberry tea with honey and lemon juice, which the Doctor would make for her after every adventure. She brought her favorite brand to her mum's apartment, but Jackie said she "didn't trust these ruddy alien teas. What if they poison me or somethin'?"

Martha had a soft spot for orange tea, especially with lavender or jasmine, and her favorite brand was one from the 25th century on Earth that boasted helpful hypermetabolic antioxidants, though the Doctor protested it didn't help her health at all. She liked it anyway. They "debated" the point thousands of times during their long tea-and-chat sessions in the console room.

Donna was quite fond of coffee as well as tea, and took it black, occasionally with sugar if she was just relaxing and chatting with the Doctor. She made him try her coffee once, but he spit it out so violently she called him "Old Faithful" for a week straight. After that, the Doctor insisted on making and drinking only his own beverages, and Donna cracked a smile every time they met in the morning for drinks and biscuits.

Amy liked really strong teas of lots of varieties, including some alien types found across the galaxy from Earth in the 47th century, while Rory just liked his classic tea, one spoon of sugar and a little milk, please. Neither liked when the Doctor attempted to make their tea, so Amy often ended up getting annoyed at them both and sitting them down while she did it, correctly. The boys were smart enough not to argue.

Clara really rather enjoyed oolong and green tea, but would try basically anything the Doctor brewed for her, so they spent hours in the TARDIS kitchen laughing and taste-testing.

The Doctor also let everyone pick their own mug, because of course the TARDIS had an almost endless supply of them, and he gave each of them the mugs when they left him.

His were: in his ninth incarnation, a simple black mug with a swirling blue and gold design; in his tenth incarnation, a rather large blue mug with about a thousand quotes in brown ink scrawled all over it (from him, and his companions, and Shakespeare, and Agatha Christie, and a thousand others) in very small, cramped handwriting (he had about three because he kept running out of space); in his eleventh incarnation, it changed every time he drank tea, sometimes white with a red bow tie, other times pale pink with a black fez silhouette, other times something completely random; and in his twelfth incarnation, a star scattered black mug with the TARDIS' outline.

Rose's favorite was a pink mug with a half-heart shaped handle, which the Doctor bought her "as a joke", and sometimes teased her about, but she was happy with it. Tentoo had it in his pocket when they went to Pete's world, and gave it back to her as a birthday present the next time it came around. She was thrilled.

Martha's was a pretty green Japanese tea cup, with Kanji lettering on the side for "Health". It was wrapped up in the gift pile at her wedding to Mickey. There was no giver name. She cried when she opened it.

Mickey got one that said "The Most Brilliant Idiot To Every Live" in small, cramped handwriting. He cried, too.

Donna would never understand where the fairly plain brown mug that read "Life's an adventure if you get your arse out of bed long enough to have one" came from. All she knew was that it arrived at her door one day, and Shawn didn't know where it came from, and it was her favorite. It made her happy, but she never understood why.

Amy's favorite mug was intricately sculpted to a tree with a fairy sitting in its branches that Rory bough for her on a planet with actual, live fairies. Rory's was one Amy had given him, with a little cartoon of a Roman soldier, bought from the gift shop of a certain museum, that had the title "The Centurion".

They cried when a package containing the mugs arrived on their doorstep in the 60s.

Clara's favorite was bright red with gold glitter and the outline of a leaf on it. The Doctor swore he'd just picked it up somewhere, but Clara just smiled and nodded, happily running a finger over the hand-painted leaf.

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!"

So JSE fandom...

how we feeling?

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

Announcement!

So I originally set up this account to be my Doctor Who Fic blog, but I thought why not make it a general fic blog, as I’m writing a lot more Supernatural at the moment? So I’m going to be posting a couple of my SPN fics here. Lemme know what you think of them!

IT’S SHOWTIIIIIIIME

So! What we’ve got here is a basic teaser trailer, but there’s so much more to it than that!

Let’s start with sounds. That right there? Air raid siren, typically used in high security situations or widescale emergency alert systems. For the sake of my sanity, we’re gonna guess that it’s high security here. This museum has top of the line alerts, not just the bells and secret alarms of a normal place. Why is that? What’s it guarding?

That brings us to point number two! The lights. Clearly, we’re seeing down the end of a hallway, slowly lit up as if triggered by the sirens, but that’s a strange way to have your electronics set up. Why not have the lights trigger the alarm? That’d make more sense if it’s somewhere with secure access: you have to turn on the lights the right way or the sirens cut on and you’re busted. It’s weird to me. Someone got a good idea as to why it’s backwards?

And finally! THE PICTURE. That very much looks like Actor Mark. But why? Who would go to all the trouble to steal a picture of some long-dead actor? Who would bother? Even if he’s still “alive”, why would you want his picture that badly? And more importantly, why is it under such high security? Who put it under lock and key?

There’s a lot going on here and I’m HOOKED. It’s been a minute since I’ve had something this interesting to theorize over. I’m excited to see what this brings. :)

It’s not about me. It’s about you.

WKM: A Closer Look At The Bedroom.

So earlier today I made my general theory post about Ch. 2 of WKM, but I thought I’d spend a little more time now on the bedroom we’re led into. Mark’s room. I’m gonna do what I did with the pictures from the countdown and discuss certain points.

Angle 1:

No. 1: Where does this door lead? Who had access to Mark’s veranda/balcony? If it’s not a veranda/balcony, then what is it? Clearly an outdoor area, but where outside? Is it the same balcony we’ve been walking around with the Mayor and the Colonel?

No. 2: The books and the envelope on the ground. One of the books is wide open, thrown down apparently. Was it being searched for information or did it fall open? And what about the black book, what’s in it? What about the open and presumably empty envelope? Was it always empty or did the contents get taken?

Angle 2:

No. 1: The bed is thoroughly messed up. Did Mark come in here to sleep and get disturbed, maybe get into a fight? Because I highly doubt the bed would look like that after a scuffle if he hadn’t just been in it and had to get out in a hurry.

No. 2: Another open book on the ground. So many books but no bookshelf.

And now, the table and the pictures:

No. 1: We can piece together a sort of story from the pictures, or at least understand that the Colonel, the Mayor, and Mark were at one point good friends (Why else would he keep these pictures in his private room?). But the last picture doesn’t feature the Colonel, so it’s from after the falling out. 

No. 2: The Seer is in this middle picture, hanging on Mark’s arm. The Colonel and the Mayor don’t look too happy about this. Do they not like her? Or are they jealous? The Mayor almost seems more nervous than angry.

No. 3: The picture of the Colonel alone, which we discover a few seconds later is the only broken picture, is turned down. And the placement of all of these pictures is very deliberate, laid out to tell us a story by whoever ransacked the room (And from this table, we can say it was ransacked. This is too cut and dry to be random). But why turn down the Colonel’s solo picture and none of the others? Was this done by someone who doesn’t like the Colonel? Or was it done by the Colonel himself, ashamed of what happened between him and Mark?

Overall, the room is curious. This whole thing is curious, and I love it.

‘Scuse me while I try a different pain.

BANG

The sound was familiar. The numbness, and then the sudden shock of pain as he collapsed on the concrete. This form had felt this before, the old wound ripped open with the new one, the broken bones jolting out of place with the fall. The Darkness tried desperately to pull itself back together. Why this wound? Why had this one broken him? He was fading. No, no, no! This can’t be happening! This isn’t fair! This isn’t fair. This isn’t...this isn’t...

Suddenly, Damien gasped. His breath was weak and rattling...but it was his. He knew that this wasn’t his body, that he wasn’t truly his old self. He hadn’t been for a long time now, he’d been nothing but darkness for so long, he’d hardly remembered his own name anymore. But now, and he could’ve laughed if he’d had the breath, as he was lying in this puddle of blood, their blood...he remembered. Without the influence of that awful thing, he was himself, he was Damien, and...and...

Oh god.

Celine. His own sister, he’d left her there. And the DA...had he really left them in that godforsaken house? All alone for all of these years? And...

Oh no.

“Will...” he wheezed. A tear rolled down his cheek as it got harder still to breathe. He couldn’t see anymore. “’m sorry...Will, ‘m sorry...”

“Dark?”

No. No, anything but that name. Please, just let him be himself again. If nothing else in this cruel world, let him die as himself, with what little dignity he had left. He didn’t want to be that creature anymore. He groaned weakly.

Footsteps. A thud of someone collapsing down next to him.

“Dark, old man, what happened to you?”

He knew that voice...but it was wrong...it was wrong, but it was him. The tears came faster and he tried to move but grunted in pain.

“W...Will...”

“Speak up, Dark, I can’t hear you with your face on the ground like that.” He was so cheerful. Stupid, stupid man, Damien thought fondly. A hand turned him on his back and he cried out. Will sucked in a breath sharply.

“That’s a humdinger, alright. A hell of a joke.”

A joke. No, Will, no. Damien suddenly remembered what Will had become and sobbed painfully, coughing up blood. He used what little power lingered from...it...to stabilize himself slightly. Just long enough to do what he hadn’t gotten the chance to do the first time.

“Will...’s me...’s me...”

“I can see that, Dark-”

“No. No...not...that...’m...’m back, Will...’m back...”

There was a pause. Then a rattling breath. Then, in a very small voice...

“Damien?”

He laughed, coughing again, and Will tried to help him stop. His hands were shaking.

“’s been...a long time...”

“I...I-it has, h-hasn’t it...”

“’ve got..pink...ha...ha...”

“A tease as usual, I see.” A tear dripped onto his face. “I’ve missed that.”

His breathing was failing again, and the power was fading. “’m so...so sorry...”

“I-it’s...i-it’s alr-right...” A hand closed around his, and he was sad that he couldn’t return the pressure it put there. “It’s qu-quite alright.”

“Tell them...’m sorry...”

“Of course.” Will’s voice was a whisper.

“‘m sorry...” he mumbled again. The blackness of the Void was closing in again, and it was getting harder and harder to hear anything. Will’s hand felt a million miles away. “‘s good...to hear...y’r voice...old friend...”

A rattling breath. He couldn’t tell whose it was anymore.

“Goodbye, William.”

Then there was nothing.

A short story? about Wiford finding out that we killed Dark (in A date with Markiplier) saying that he trusted us and we are the only monster here. Because i like to make me suffer

@markired