He Did An Amazing Job, I Hope He Does More Kinda Backstories Like That But Maybe With Less Heart Ache

Visitor Pt. 3

A/N: I’m having fun with this story, more fun than I originally thought I would have, and a couple of you still seem to like it ( @alix-the-skeleton I’m looking at you, pal. ;) ). So I wrote another bit! Enjoy! Part 1 and Part 2.

The air was cold, tonight, and filled with gentle music from the party still going on inside. William laughed as Celine pulled him along by the sleeves of his uncharacteristically dapper suit, running with him in tow to the edge of the balcony and only letting him go so that she could jump gracefully to sit on the stone railings. She looked beautiful, a bright red ballgown that hugged her in all the right places and flowed, light as a butterfly's wings, away from her at the hips, her short hair swept neatly underneath a scarlet hairclip. She kicked off her heels and swung her feet, patting the railing beside her. "Really, now, Cel, you want me to try that in this getup? I'll rip something in this bloody monkey suit." "Oh, live a little, Wil," she laughed as he hopped up anyway. "You're reckless any other time, why care about some cloth now?" "Well, it's a loan, first of all, if Mark knew I was running about in his suit-" "Oh please, as if he doesn't run around in it enough." He laughed, shaking his head. They went quiet for a moment, listening to the music swell inside, and Wil watched the smile slide off of her face. "It's hard to believe you're leaving tomorrow. How long will you be gone?" "Well," he sighed, taking her hand and staring up at the stars. They were so bright tonight. "It's only basic training, so only a few weeks." A few too many weeks, anyway. "I'll be home again before you know it." He chanced a glace. "And you've got Dames and Mark to keep you company." "Yes..." She bobbed along to the start of the new song, smoothing her dress with one hand. "Wil?" "Yes?" "What do you think is out there?" "Out there? As in, in space?" "Yes." He studied the sky for a moment. "Well...stars and planets and all that, of course...some ice, so Mark tells me..." "Other life?" "You're asking if I believe in aliens?" He chuckled, and she swatted him playfully. "Don't make it sound silly. It's totally plausible." He rubbed his arm, feigning offence, but she brushed him off. "But, no, that's not what I was asking. I was thinking more...I don't know. Spirits, or...or powers, or something." "So...God?" "Maybe not capital-G God. But yes, something along that line." William took a long time to answer, getting back to his feet as he finally spoke. "I...don't know, honestly. But I like to think that perhaps there's more to this universe than we know." Celine smiled, and stood as well. As the music swelled again, she suddenly took his hands, putting one around her waist, pulling him to her as she started to dance. He gaped at her for a second before settling into it as she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm really going to miss you, Wil." He pulled her a little closer. "I'm...I'm going to miss you too, Celine. So much." If Wil could've frozen a moment in time, he would have lived right there, with her in his arms, dancing under the stars, forever.

"I think I'm going to ask her to marry me." William was slow to respond. "You're...you mean...Celine?" "Yes, of course I do," Mark laughed, "who else?" He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head as he looked over at Damien. "What do you think, Dames? Have I got your approval?" Damien smiled brightly. "Mark...of course you have my blessing. God, of course you do." He stood and embraced him, clapping him on the back as both men laughed. Wil smiled tightly as Mark turned back to him. "C'mon then, gents, let's celebrate." "She hasn't even said yes yet," Wil said quietly, but followed the other two to the bar, which Mark leapt over, grabbing three tumblers and a bottle of Fireball and setting them down on the bar. That made him smile a bit as he slapped Damien's back. "Think you can handle a shot or two of this, this time?" "Of course I can, don't be ridiculous," Damien muttered, smiling slightly as Mark laughed loudly, pouring them each a generous shot. They each grabbed a glass and raised it. "To a yes," Mark said. "To a new brother in law," Damien added. "To...us," Wil said, and the other two grinned at him, Mark nodding and throwing an arm around his would-be brother, agreeing, "to us." They downed their shots and immediately started giggling as Damien choked.

"Wil?" "Go away." "Wil, please, talk to me." "No." "William, be sensible. You can't lock yourself away forever." He shoved the door open roughly, swaying slightly as he glared through his blackened eye at a disheveled Damien, cane twisting in his hands. He huffed and turned away, stumbling back to the quickly emptying liquor cabinet in the corner of his hotel room. "And what do you want?" "To talk to you, to work things out! Dammit, man, you left so quickly-" "OF COURSE I DID!" he roared, and Damien flinched. "THAT BASTARD WAS TRYING TO KILL ME! HE WOULD HAVE, IF HE'D BEEN GIVEN THE CHANCE!" "You slept with his wife! My sister!" Damien yelled desperately, and Wil grabbed him by the lapels. "You've seen what he's become! What a selfish, pompous son of a bitch he is now! He's not the man she married! He's not the same Mark that I grew up with! And she loves me, Dames, she loves me! Not him!" "Then let her get-!" "Get what, Dames, a divorce? Make her wait, and wait, trapped with him in that godforsaken house-?" "BETTER THAN RUINING HER LIFE!" Crack. Wil stumbled back with a grunt, clutching his face as Damien stared at him, wide eyed. "Wil...Wil, no, I didn't mean..." "What the bloody hell was that for?" He ran forward, grabbing Damien's lapel again with one hand, raising the other as if to hit him. "What the actual hell, Damien?" "I-It was an accident, Wil, I didn't mean to hurt you-" "Get. Out." Wil shoved Damien into the door with a dull thud. Damien looked as if he wanted to say more, but decided against it. He sighed heavily, resignedly, and pulled it open, stepping out. "I don't blame you Wil. And...and I'm sorry." "Go!" A bottle smashed against the closing door, and Wil finally broke down, sobbing silently as he curled up on the floor of the vacant, anonymous hotel room, far away from home.

Wilford gasped, bolting upright. He'd fallen asleep at his desk, apparently, which wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. He breathed heavily for a moment, shoving aside some empty bottles as he tried to remember where he was, who he was, what he was doing. The usual checklist. His dreams, tonight, they'd felt so...real. So vivid. He tried desperately to remember what they were about, but...no. They were already gone. Still, he was shaken. All he could recall was the name Damien. Damien. That name again, the one he'd called Dark. Who was Damien, to him? Had he ever even known a Damien? He couldn't recall one. All the name brought to his mind was a vague sadness, a vague nostalgia. As if he should know who is was, but didn't. He shook his head, standing and grunting as he stretched, old bones clicking. How old was he, he wondered? He wasn't sure anymore. Frowning, he tried to think of a time when he had known his age, or even his birthday. Further from that...where had he come from? He was sure he'd been born somewhere, he'd had a family, but, much to his mounting alarm, he found he couldn't remember them at all. He started to panic. Wilford Warfstache, he was Wilford Warfstache, world famous ace reporter, right? Wasn't that right? That's what everyone called him, that's how the others here knew him. So of course, he came from the Warfstache family, didn't he? But the more he said it in his head, the worse it sounded, the more...fake. Who had the last name of Warfstache, honestly? And even his first name, his perfectly normal first name, Wilford, the one he'd known for so long, felt...wrong, now. Felt rushed. The more he thought, the more it sounded like two different words. Wilford. Wil Ford. He jumped sharply as someone knocked loudly on his door. "Wilford? Hey, Wilford, dude, you up yet?" "Jesus, Bing, let a man have his beauty sleep!" Wil snapped angrily. "Go away! Tell the studio we're on hiatus!" There was a pause. "...seriously? Hiatus? Like, since when do you ever wanna go on-?" "GO!" Wil shouted, and he heard scuffling as Bing stumbled down the hall, probably wearing his Heeleys and tripping over them. On any other day, that would've made him laugh. Today, he scowled at his desk and pulled a flask out from under it, spinning the cap off in a smooth, practiced motion, but he paused before taking a sip. If he drank...would he forget again? Forget more than he already had? Why hadn't it occured to him sooner that he couldn't remember...anything? Wil put the flask back down, without taking a sip, and instead pulled out a legal pad and a pencil, beginning to write furiously.

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."

“I was scared.” (A DBH Oneshot.)

A/N: So I thought I’d write a couple of Connor’s deviancy moments, because who doesn’t want to get into his head? First, the most poignant one.

BANG!

Connor barely had time to register the gunshot in his right shoulder before someone yelled "Take cover!" and the shootout began.

He scrambled up from the ground and dove behind a nearby metal housing unit as Hank slid in beside him, gun drawn but loose in his hand as he assessed the scene. Connor did as well. Calculations were spinning through his head as he tried to preconstruct the best solution. At the rate the officers were firing and the proximity of their shots and the androids’, he had a little more than a minute to intervene. "You have to stop them! If they destroy it, we won't learn anything!" Hank looked at him as if he'd gone totally insane. "We can't save it, it's too late! We'll just get ourselves killed!" He looked back toward the source of the shots. 60% chance of success. Would require 100% accuracy of movements, and the deviant following the most logical pattern of fire, no margin for error. If he slipped or skidded on the snow, if his damaged shoulder slowed him down at all, he'd be shot through the head and they would lose it. 99.9% chance of failure if he stayed, as Hank asked. Even if the android conceded, it’d be shot before a ceasefire was called. The information would be lost, and his mission would be in serious jepordy. He charged, barely registering Hank's fingers closing just behind his arm. Shot incoming, dodge right. Another, dodge left. Duck down. Next shot is coming from above, right again and over the barrier. The deviant hadn't expected this, shock registered on its face. Connor backed it against the wall and, synth skin already retracting, grabbed its arm to connect.

The faint image of a ship's hull, the word "JERICO" against rust.

I have no choice...

I'm sorry...

He knew what the deviant was going to do in the split second before it happened, and for a moment, something strong welled up in him. He didn't want this, no, this was wrong, this was wrong. It was like an error alert in his system, but stronger, almost...

It took the shot. Connor recoiled. Involuntarily, he tried to cry out, but nothing happened, his vocal speakers stayed silent. Everything was silent but the pounding in his head, thumping to the beat of his thirium pump. It was too quiet, everything was moving too fast, and he couldn't see, why couldn't he see? Everything was white, too bright, far too bright. Buzzing. A faint buzzing sound. The buzzing became a voice, and the voice became Hank's voice, muffled and still far away until there was a hand on his arm.

"...you alright?! Connor!" Hank's face, openly concerned, came slowly into focus, but his eyes were glued to the body...to the android. Too still, slumped against the wall with a pool of thirium slowly collecting around the gaping wound in its head. He found his voice, shaking and weak though diagnostics said he was undamaged. "'m okay." "Are you hurt?" "I'm okay," he repeated, trying to shake the unnecessary hesitation from his voice. "Jesus!" Hank leaned back and took a few steps, clearly rattled, and suddenly turned back to him, anger leaking into his voice. "You scared the shit outta me. For fuck's sake, I told you not to move! Why do you never do what I say?" He didn't realize he was leaning against the barrier but he couldn't make himself stand straight. He heard himself talking.

"I was connected to its memory. When it fired...I felt it die." 

Abrupt ending. Nothingness. I'm sorry.

"Like I was dying."

Please, no. Too strong for an error message.  Like pain, he realized. It was like pain. He didn't want it, he couldn't stand it, it was...he was...

"I was scared."

Hank was staring at him, his expression melting from anger into something unreadable, but that was registering at the edge of his awareness. He needed something to focus on, anything. Anything to distract him from this moment. "I saw something, in its memory." He'd almost said "his". "A word, painted on a piece of rusty metal. 'Jerico.'" It was a lead. It was what they had chased him for. This part of the mission was complete, he should be fully focused on finding out what Jerico was, but...

Nothingness. Pain. I'm sorry.

He made himself stand straight, but it was as if his joints were stiff from the cold. That was ridiculous, though, he was built to withstand temperatures far colder than this. No...what was holding him back was...shock. Fear. He was truly afraid. He shouldn't be able to feel anything, his programming was capable of basic emulated responses only, but in that moment... He couldn't let himself think about it.

I thought I’d make the information from my survey available in a more fun format. Enjoy! 

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.

Do You Trust Me? Pt. 2

A/N: So this is the second part to the fic that I wrote yesterday. I’m still working on the name, so it may change. If you have suggestions, I’ll gladly take them.

Link to part one: http://skinnyscottishblokeaddict.tumblr.com/post/155650933267/pizsospa-cmon-little-dude-you-can-trust-me

"You alright?" "I'm fine, I'm fine. You? Did he hurt you?" "No, no, I'm-" Jack screamed and collapsed...

"Now, I'm thinking," Jack muttered as he hooked the camera up to the computer and fiddled with it, "That I know what we need to do. It's not gonna be easy to get there, but I think we need to go see a friend of mine. He'll probably know how to get you out of here, he's done it before. Just once, mind you, but he's done it." "I'm not the first one to get here?" You took a few steps toward Jack but he stopped you. "What are you doing, by the way?" "Making sure this particular port doesn't close. Camera shuts off, port closes, so I'm plugging in the camera. I don't want you stepping on cable." You shook your head. Sure, why not? It's not like anything else made sense. "Okay then...so who're we going to see?" "Just a friend," Jack said, glancing over with a smile, "I thought it'd be nice to surprise you." You finally managed to return his smile, and he laughed. "There it is! Yeah!" You chuckled. "So, how do we get to him? Can you drive?" "Well...not exactly. That's, uh...not quite how travel works here." He stood, apparently satisfied with his work, and walked over to the door, motioning for you to follow him.

Had you not been right behind him when he opened the door, he probably wouldn't have heard the small gasp you let out. It was the only sound you could manage to make. It was beautiful, in a strange way. Lines and lines and lines of code, stretching out like a floor, bright, fluorescent green on a pitch black background, without a sky, without actual ground. A few yards to either side of you were walls of more code, 0s and 1s stretching up in jagged, flat topped sections, as if you were standing at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Farther on in the distance was what seemed to be a mountain, or a large hill, still of the same code. Everything looked like it was moving, with the code scrolling and occasionally blinking red. "Whadda ya think?" Jack grinned. And the first thing you could think to say was, "It's definitely not Ireland." That made him laugh. "No, no, no Ireland here." "Are we just gonna...walk the whole way?" "Yep!" And walk he did, you trailing numbly behind him, staring up at the walls. "But it's not all that long. This being my territory, I know a few shortcuts. Base of that mountain? There's a hole in the code I use to get to my friend sometimes. Cuts the trip in half, no problem." "Uh huh." Far above you, sections of code seemed to be flying. Jack followed your glance and nodded at them. "Messages. They're heading to my hub, the computer in there. And then I get to read them." "From us?" He nodded, smiling widely. "And...you read all of them?" "Every single one!" That put a smile on your face. Jack could guess why. "Should I expect one from you?" "...yeah. A couple, actually. Just...doodles." "I love doodles!" He clapped happily. You giggled. "You actually do that. That's awesome."

You walked a while, Jack occasionally pointing things out and explaining them. You managed to guess on your own that the red text was something being edited or deleted, which Jack seemed proud of you for. Once, a message flew a bit too low and Jack ducked too hard and fell. You helped him up once you finished laughing. "Here we go!" Jack said finally, as you paused to look at the code of the mountain's base up close. "Wait here a minute while I find it, yeah?" "Yep," you waved him off. This line of code wasn't moving like the others, and was a little bit duller. Old, you supposed. You wondered what it coded for. A message? A tweet? What if it was a picture? Absently, you put your hand out to trace a zero, and jumped back in surprise when a picture popped up, hologram style. It was a picture of Jack and a fan, with white text under it, reading, "LOOK WHO I MET IN THE SHOPS THE OTHER DAY!!!!!!!!! @therealjacksepticeye". Above it was a tumblr url. "How'd you do that?" Jack had wandered back over, and seemed more interested than concerned. "I just touched it." "Really? No commands or anything? Huh," Jack nodded, then squeezed your shoulders. "I guess bein' real makes you more powerful. Cool. C'mon, let's go." "More powerful," you scoffed as you followed him over to a gap in the wall, and squeezed into it behind him. The ground here was narrow, but not narrow enough to worry you. If you stayed in the middle, even the clumsiest person could walk it safely. There were doors are fairly regular intervals along the walkway, and you figured you were headed toward one of them. "Yeah, more powerful," Jack turned to look at you with mock sternness. "And you won't convince me otherwise." "Does it make me more of a boss than you?" "Now that's crossing the line." "But I've got more power. Ie, more of a boss." "Shut your whore mouth!" "Dickhead!" "Bastard!" It was amazing how comfortable you were with each other. Dreams, you supposed, made it easier to make friends. You were both laughing so hard that you didn't notice the strange, dark green code until Jack was almost standing on it. You had just enough time to say, "Jack, what's tha-?" before screaming. A hand erupted out of the ground, the same strange green as the weird code, and grabbed Jack, slamming him into the ground. He fell with a shouted, "MOTHER FUCKER", and suddenly the hand became a torso and a head, with neon green hair and eyes, fanged, manic grin coming right for you. You fell backward, screaming again as Anti grabbed your shoulders. It hurt, a surprising amount, as if you were getting electrocuted. You struggled, your muscles convulsing horribly, out of your control. He was stronger than you'd thought he'd be. He started to laugh, the maniacal, glitching laugh you remembered from the videos. "Get off them!" Anti was suddenly jerked off of you, rolling with Jack a short way away, but you were too focused on the fact that you were falling. "JACK!" You scrambled to grab the edge, and then you were swinging wildly, feet kicking above the vast, empty void under the walkway. Wordless screams of terror fought to get out of your throat, but that wouldn't help, so you held them back to just whimpers. You could hear fighting over you, glitched yells from Anti and curses galore from Jack. There was a loud thunk, and Jack's face appeared over you. He grabbed your arms and started to pull you up, straining. "Hold on!" "WHAT DO YOU THINK I'M FUCKING DOING?!" "JUST FUCKING HOLD ON!" You managed to get your torso back on solid ground, and Jack let go as you swung your legs up, standing back to give you room. "You alright?" "I'm fine, I'm fine. You? Did he hurt you?" "No, no, I'm-" Jack screamed and collapsed as Anti's hand closed around his arm. And then his arm began to glitch and blink red. "NO!" You shoved, holding onto Jack. Anti looked as surprised as you did when he slid back along the platform, chest glowing red. But Jack's grunts of pain brought you out of your stuper, and you pulled him up and started to run, barreling toward a door, any door. Anti screamed again, running after you, but he was slower now, you'd injured him. "YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME!" "SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!" Jack yelled back hoarsely as the two of you fell through a door.

You thumped onto a platform, and, standing, slowly, you saw that you were apparently on the side of the moutain, quite far up, and possibly on the other side. Jack closed the gap behind you. It looked like he drew code up from the mountain to cover it, weakly tapping bits and pieces of it to get it to go where he wanted. And then he slumped to lie down flat, breathing heavily. "You okay?" You knelt next to him, hands hovering over his still-red arm. It wasn't glitching anymore, which you supposed was good. "Not really," he muttered, trying to shrug and wincing, "But you are. So job done." "Job not done! Can I help? What's wrong with it?" "Not sure you can. Anti's corrupted my coding a little. Not enough for anything horrible, I don't think. But it'll hurt to use that arm for a bit." He managed a half smile. "I think I'll manage fine." You studied the faint red writing, thinking. "I think it's worse than You're saying." Jack shrugged with his good shoulder and you shot him a sharp look before looking back at the injury. "But...Jack...back there, I hit Anti. With something. I don't know. But it turned him red. Maybe I can...I can do it the other way?" He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. "I guess. Not a lot to lose. 'Cept my arm, of course. But I might loose it anyway, so that's fine. Go for it." Great. Thanks for the confidence. You hesitantly put your hand on his arm. When Anti had attacked him, all you'd thought of was getting rid of him. So what would happen if you thought of saving Jack? Just bringing him back and making sure he's alright. He had done so much for you already, making you smile on your worst days, offering you support and hope and a place to belong. You'd always hated seeing him hurt, always wanted desperately to just be able to reach through the screen and give him a hug, make it all better. His arm slowly started to fade back to normal. Jack stared at it, fascinated. When it was normal again, he flexed it, and seemed dumbfounded that it didn't hurt him to do so. "Thanks..." "N-No problem." You honestly hadn't expected that to work. And you weren't sure how it did. You laid down flat beside him, both of you letting out sighs of relief. Without saying a word, you agreed to take a quick break from travelling.

It occured to you suddenly that you'd felt pain back there. And stupid as that sounds...pain meant this wasn't a dream. All of this was real. And Jack had really saved your life. And you were really stranded in a bizarre internet world, with very little chance of getting home. You didn't realize you were crying until Jack scooted over to you and pulled you onto his chest, putting an arm around you. Suddenly, you were sobbing, and you couldn't stop. Jack just rubbed your back and held you. "It's alright. It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." You stayed like that for a long time. Just you, and this digital man, in this empty part of the Web.

i love this as a theory! it makes a lot of sense, too. i like the idea that he didn’t intend to blend all of these stories, and that there was supposed to be a linear way to go through, but everything got jumbled together.

I WAS ABOUT TO FALL ASLEEP BUT I JUST HAD A REVELATION

WHAT IF THE REASON WHY EVERYTIME A NEW EGO APPEARS IN THE HEIST, HEIST MARK HAS TO DIE SO ACTOR CAN SWAP ROLES--

He is, an actor after all. Considering that we've already pretty much gotten confirmation on the Markiplier = Actor Mark theory, and Mark does all the other characters himself irl, who says that Actor can't????

On top of that, this only happens in AHWM. In WKM, of course none of the characters have to spontaneously die in order for another to appear. In their original reality, they were seperate people.

But in AHWM, if this is TRULY Actor's game, it's possible this is the only way how to portray different characters and still be the "main character" or center of attention.

(i mean, he might, but its almost 3am im not gonna check, if i contradict anything canon pls tell me)

Another possible explaination is when all the timelines got messed up due to the artifact, all of Actor's stories, in whatevrr strange house wousey upside down he makes them in-- where of course, he plays the lead get intertwined?

A pirate who sails the sea for treasure, A noble heartbreaker adventurer, a remorseful prisoner

These are all stories that more or less focus on ONE Person. One person and the things they do.

And adding onto that, Dark and Wilford don't chase off Actor in some way. Dark simply transitions to a hallway after Actor just, vanishes

and Wilford shows up after you rewind.

Will update in a couple hours, apologies if this is bad or incoherent or stretching it, i am tired and gay and its very late i should be sleep i might do that rn thank u byeee

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…

So um, why when I heard this did I get an idea?

Dark hears something funny, or he sees something silly happen. Maybe Wilford actually makes a good joke for once.

He’s never laughed before, in his home dimension, or whatever, and suddenly finds this thing extremely funny one day, but doesn’t know what’s happening. His body/shell didn’t know how to react, so it recreates Mark’s laugh, and he just can’t stop,he laughs and laughs until his lungs burn and his sides have stitches. But he thinks something’s wrong with him, and it’s the only thing to have actually scared him, ever. 

He’s not used to positive emotions at all, other than perhaps pride or satisfaction with a scheme well carried out, and so has never found anything amusing in this way before. Sure, he’s chuckled darkly and been mildly amused by others’ stupidity, but he’s never found anything truly funny before this moment, and he’s never fully, properly, uncontrollably laughed at anything. The feeling is just an antithesis of everything he is, too positive and good and innocent, and he hates it.

best quality: his giggles

quick question why tf did i make this

please give me audio edit requests or something i can’t live like this

Chained together, running through an underground (most likely) tunnel

...prison break?

OH MY GO D

OH MY GOD

OH MY FUCKING GOD