So What You’re Saying Is That We Might Not Have Anti’s Real Name? That Would Be An Interesting Dynamic

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."

Broken (Demon!Dean Imagine)

Pairing: Dean/Reader

Rating: PG 13 for heartbreak

"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.

HEADCANON ACCEPTED

Ok so idk what made me think of this but imagine WKM Mark and Celine actually had a baby. Imagine the baby was orphaned after the events of WKM. Imagine he grew up with powers he never fully understood and no one to teach him how to use them. Imagine him having this innate desire for control. Imagine him, all grown up, becoming a best selling Author. Imagine him meeting Dark and Dark just freaking out.

Oh my god yeah and from that point cc is kind of like draped in blankets all the time so he doesn’t singe any of the furniture or wooden tables etc so like you’ll just kind of hear him mumbling from the next room and you’ll just hear the swishing of the blankets as he makes his way about the house

Awwwww.

“Dude, CC, why are you wearing a blanket? You’re like a million degrees.”“Bing. Two things. First, don’t call me CC. Second, shut up.”

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.

Probably. I wouldn’t be surprised.

Are these all the demons that Jim and Jim summoned

thanks for the mention, my dudes!

Hey! You help run the WKM theory blog right? Do you have the old summaries of the episodes bookmarked somewhere? I've been trying to find them

Well, there are a few from a few different people, and I can’t seem to find any of the Chapter one things, but I hope this list is helpful! 

Chapter 2:Ironwoman’s theorySong’s theory

Chapter 3: Em’s theory Ironwoman’s theory@likepuppetsonastring’s theory, with links to their previous theories at the end.

Chapter 4:Em’s theoryIronwoman’s theorySong’s theory

@wkm-theories archive is here if you want to dig around through the other posts and theories not tied to specific chapters. Most of those above were written before the explanation livestream, and when the livestream did come, Song kept track of all the answers given in these posts:Pt. 1Pt. 2Pt. 3

I hope this was helpful! 

Song = @thedundundunnnsongEm = @valleyofroguesIronwoman = @ironwoman359 (aka, me)

Ok people have been so nice about Last Words. I’m so happy. :)

Oh damn, I can’t find my other profile picture for this blog. :/ That’s annoying.

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.