Like I’ll Take All Of That, Just Less Tears Pls And Thank

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

Ohhh you can see some of the room!! So yes, this is either a train car or an entrance hall, and again, I’m leaning toward train car.

Btw, here’s my own edit of the clip all brightened up. If you can gleam anything from it, feel free to use it

I was there.

For the whole year, I was there. I watched every video as it came out, every single day.

I was there.

I was there as the timer counted down to zero. I counted it down outloud in the last five seconds.

I watched the screen turn black.

I watched the chat slow to a stop.

I watched the failure to load the channel.

I watched it disappear from my subscription box.

I was there.

I am here.

Memento Mori.

So I just created an AO3 page (Kittenbedtimestories) and it’s only been up for a day with my old fic on it, and people are being so nice?? Like I’m 100% about to cry with how sweet people are being about these random old stories I don’t think much about. I wrote them for fun, just because, and I’m so happy that people like them. :)

i’m incredibly impressed by this

also, isn’t this what our plan looks like in mark’s bag?

I posted this on my twitter but, I spent about three hours late last night making this monstrous thing, so please enjoy. It should have every single path and ending you could get in A Heist With Markiplier. I may add all of A Date With Markiplier later on @markiplier

i am. a MESS. these two idiots mean so much to each other and to all of us, and i loved watching them talk about it so openly and honestly. they’re not perfect but they’re perfect for what they do.

Leather.

Pairing: 9/Rose, 10/Rose

Rating: G

He found it while cleaning up. Just busying himself while Rose was asleep, really, tidying the wardrobe room. Which of course the TARDIS hated, he was taking things out of the nice order she'd put them in, but he loved it! He'd forget how much brilliant stuff was in there if he never cleaned up. So this was something he did while Rose was out for hours and hours.

And he'd find things like his jacket.

His leather jacket.

Oh, the memories he had of this thing. He held it up to his nose and smiled as the strangely still familiar scent hit him. Old leather, his old cologne, bananas...

This was the jacket he'd worn coming out of the War. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he'd find bloodstains on it. He wasn't going to try. This was the jacket he'd grieved in, he'd roamed in, homeless, for years and years. This was the jacket that said, "Keep away!" if the rough accent and tough, if daft, old face didn't scare you off first.

This was the jacket he'd met Rose in. This was the jacket she'd clung to and hugged tight and slapped when he was being stupid. This was the jacket she'd given a new meaning to, the old traveler's jacket instead of the warding he'd worn. This was the jacket that'd kept her warm on several occasions, that'd been used as a seat for picnics on bright hillsides all over the universe, that'd been their umbrella in blue rain and a shield from the wind and shimmering sand of some planet he'd long forgotten the name of.

This was the jacket that still felt like the Vortex, just a little bit, and still smelled a little bit like smoke, and Hypervodka, and Slitheen slime, and the perfume in Satellite Five's game rooms.

This jacket didn't fit him now. And he didn't mean physically, though of course it didn't fit him physically either. But it did fit someone.

He wandered up to Rose's door, and held up a hand to knock, still looking at the jacket. Deciding against it, he simply folded it and set it outside, then reached into his pocket, drew out a notepad and a pen, and scribbled something before ripping it off and setting it in the pocket. He put away the notepad, straightened his jacket and tie, and meandered off down the hall, whistling an old song he'd danced to once.

Rose found the jacket a few hours later, and read, through slightly teary eyes,

For those planets with a North. Let's see them all.

-Big Nose's Daft New Face

But No One Came.

A/N: Guess who got into Undertale? And of course the first thing I write about it is an angsty Sans piece. So! This takes place in the early part of a genocide run. Enjoy!

"undyne...we've got a problem." Sans frowned a bit as he spoke into the phone. He stared up into the trees as he told her about the human...or what looked like one. Because, clearly that thing wasn't human. It wasn't a monster, either, though, which was the unsettling part. It was...nothing. Empty. It sent a shiver down his spine when he'd first seen it. But the woman behind the door had called it human, so he'd supposed... But then they were so cold, and silent. The look in their eyes... "yeah...yeah, we'll try. don't worry about paps," he half smiled, the looming purple door appearing at the end of the path, "I'll make sure he's not in the way of the fight. he's busy setting up a puzzle before waterfall, and they'll never get that far." He nodded. "yeah, you watch yourself too, 'dyne. i'll see ya when i see ya." He hung up and glanced up at the door. He could really use some cheering up...a joke or two never hurt anyone, and he could warn the old girl to take care of herself. He knocked a couple of times on the door. Nothing. Sans frowned again. That...never happened. She was always here. Maybe she'd gone to do something? He knocked again, harder this time. Again, there was no response. "lady? you there?" Nothing. Something felt heavy behind his ribs. Something was wrong. It was then that he spotted a track in the snow. It looked as if the snow had been pushed aside by the door opening...but...it was always locked. He'd tried again and again, but... He tried it now...the handle turned. The door was heavy, but he could move it. This didn't feel right.

"hello?" It was dark in here...silent. He walked for a long time, down a hall that looked darker and darker with every step, until he came to a doorway to a small room, with nothing in it but a patch of dying grass. The door on the other side was still open. He took a few cautious steps closer. It smelled a bit like...butterscotch? Or maybe cinnamon. The feeling he’d had when the door opened was getting worse with every step he took. "lady?" But then he saw something that made his bones go cold. A pile of dust lay in the middle of the room, with a footprint in the center of it. That thing... Was in Snowdin. Was heading for his brother.

He was running before he knew what he was doing. He passed through a doorway and suddenly he wasn't in the dark place anymore, but in Snowdin. "PAPYRUS!" There was no one around. No one, not a single monster. Even Monster Kid, the stupid child that he was, had finally wandered away. It was too quiet in his town, except for the unusually loud and frantic echo of his own voice. He didn’t know if he’d ever yelled like this, ever had every fiber of his being on as high alert as it was now. "DAMMIT, PAPS, WHERE ARE YOU?! ANSWER ME! PAPYRUS!" He wrenched open their front door and raced up the stairs, shoving Papyrus' door aside with a BANG. But he wasn't there. No, no, no, no, no... He turned and ran out the door, but instead of appearing on the landing, he was running down the path out of town. Papyrus had been working on something near Waterfall. Maybe he'd taken refuge. Maybe he'd found Undyne. Maybe...maybe... He skidded to a stop.

A red scarf had been kicked to the side of the road. There was scattered piles and smears of dust, not even enough for a proper burial. For a long moment he couldn't move. He couldn't make a sound. It couldn't be real, there was no way, he couldn't be...he wasn't...he wasn't... He was screaming, and there was beam after beam of power and light bombarding the ground, the trees, the sky, the rocky walls of the Waterfall entrance. The ground was shaking and he was screaming and everything was on fire. He came to his sense after a while, and the screaming cut out suddenly, turning into heavy breathing. And the heavy breathing became sobbing as he crumpled to the ground, clutching the scarf. He stopped himself eventually. Stood slowly. Shakily stuffed the scarf into one of his pockets, resting his hand on top of it. He stared around him at the carnage he'd wrought. Stupid, goody-two-shoes, stickler-for-the-rules, spaghetti-loving, pun-hating...wonderful Papyrus. The poor guy had tried to make friends with even this thing. He probably hadn’t even put up a fight at all. He’d probably spent his last breath believing that he could change them, make them good again... No. No more of that. There was only one thing in the world that was worth his energy now. No more breaks. It was time to end this.

Just a Game. (A WKM Oneshot)

1:00 am. The Colonel hadn't had this much fun in ages. The night seemed to be passing in a multi-color blur, with lots of games and a bit too much drink. He could barely breathe for laughing as he stumbled into his seat at the bar, watching the butler and Mr. Lincoln help Damien to right himself, and doubling up again as he stumbled into the now empty keg beside him, grinning wildly and chuckling with the rest of them. "How he's still doing that, at his age," Mark laughed as he slumped into the seat beside him, "I'll never know. Damien's a tough old lad." William huffed and turned slightly away, making Mark sigh heavily. "Colonel-" "William." "But I've always-" "You lost that right years ago." Mark frowned and looked down at the floor. "Will. I know we didn't part on the best of terms...There was a lot of bad blood between us." "Yes," Will replied shortly, wanting Mark to get to the point. Mark shuffled, and after a pause, continued. "What do you say we put this quarrel to rest, eh?" He narrowed his eyes at the grinning actor. "How do you suggest we do that?" "A game. Just a game." He spread his arms wide and offered what he probably thought was a winning smile. To the Colonel it looked like a shit-eating grin. "Something that'll give us an opportunity for revenge, and a sure-fire way of knowing what fate wants from us." He seemed to laugh at his own private joke.

1:20am The wine cellar was cooler than the rest of the house, exposed stone walls making it feel more like a cave than a room in a lavish mansion. William had never liked the cold, and liked it less now, sharing it with the one person he'd give anything to be rid of. Mark pulled a bottle off the wall and offered it to the Colonel, handing it to him with a small smile. "1982. Good year for wine." The Colonel didn't move to take it from him. "Then you drink it." "I would," Mark sighed, "but you know I can't. Not good for my health, you know." He knew, of course. He'd still rather Mark drink it than him. Mark put the bottle back down on the shelf and put his hands in the pockets of his robe "What about this game you proposed?" The Colonel frowned, leaning against the wall, hoping he appeared casual. "Ah, yes," Mark smiled again, and then he did something rather unexpected. He pointed to the silver revolver tucked into William's belt. William's hand went to it immediately, and Mark shook his head. "Im not suggesting we duel, if that's what  you're thinking. I'm unarmed." He said it as if it meant "harmless". "I was going to suggest a bit of Russian Roulette. You've always loved that one." "Bullshit. As if I'm going to let you point my own gun at me, after all this time, after Celine-" "William! Please." Mark took a step toward him, but made no move to take the gun. Instead he seemed to be pleading, one hand stretched toward him as if he'd like to comfort him, but a look from him stopped his advance. "I'm tired of all this fighting. I'm tired of having to go through Damien to talk to you, and as for Celine...I..." He shook his head slightly. "She's made her own choices. I never had any control over what she did, and yes, it hurt. It hurt like hell, but...Will, I just want my brother back." Dear god, did he actually have tears in his eyes? Maybe it was the drink, maybe it was the fact that he was home again, after so long, maybe it was just pure stupidity, but William pulled the gun from his belt slowly, and nodded. "One round. If I shoot you, it's your own fault." "Yes. Yes, of course," Mark grinned widely. "I can't blame you."

1:25am Mark watched the Colonel load just one chamber of the gun, looking as if he wanted to help when his liquor-loosened grip nearly dropped the bullet on the floor, but letting him have this. William handed him the revolver, and watched him spin it. This wasn't a good idea. This was dangerous. This was mad. But life needs a bit of madness, doesn't it? That's what he kept telling himself. Mark aimed carefully, and suddenly William was staring down the barrel of his own gun, and he wasn't going to get to say goodbye to Damien, he'd never see Celine again, and what would Mark say, how would he explain-? Click. William barely flinched, but raised an eyebrow at his grinning gunman. "See? Looks like fate's on your side, eh, old friend?" He handed the gun back over. "Your turn." "Mark...I can't..." "I trust you." Mark stepped out to switch places with him, and suddenly he was pointing a gun directly at Mark's chest. How had the other man kept it steady? The room was fairly spinning, and the gun was awkward in his hand, and the trigger was too thin, too fiddly. "Go on, then. Take your shot. Fair is fair, after all." "This is ridiculous." "Of course it is! But why not live a little? Life's-" "For the living. Yes, but..." "I took my shot at you, for stealing my...for...for Celine's choice. And for leaving us for Africa, and for the fight we never finished. And it's your turn now. I know I've not been the best friend to you. I know you blame me for Celine's leaving, and for...for what happened over there." "That was an accident." The words were harsh,  but Mark nodded calmly. "I know, Will, I know. I don't blame you. I never did. You're still my friend, even after all this time. I know that's hard to believe, but...Please. Colonel. Let me absolve my sins, won't you? Just one shot. Just a quick click, and we can put this all behind us. Wouldn't you like that?" He would. He so very much would. He wanted so badly to come home, he wanted the boy who'd taken him in and become his family to come back to him, and let him back in. And just one click...one harmless little click...he could have it all, all over again. Why shouldn't he trust him? After all, like he said, it was Celine's own choice. Perhaps her leaving had set him back on the straight and narrow. Perhaps he really was sorry, really saw how much he'd hurt them, how much he'd hurt him. But even as he pulled the gun back up to aim, something felt wrong, and the glint in Mark's eyes was off, something wasn't right, but he had to be wrong, didn't he? Couldn't he trust his friend? Just a quick click, nothing wrong with that...

Click. BANG.

1:30am It was like watching a ragdoll fall. And the blood matched the crimson night robe. And the stain was slow to spread, and the wine bottle had fallen and shattered and added to the stain, and he couldn't move. "It...it was an accident...Mark, it was an accident, I-I didn't...I wouldn't...I swear, Mark...?" Mark's eyes were still open, glassy, and his face expressionless. his legs and arms were twisted at impossible angles. "It was an accident, I s-swear..." The stain was spreading, and someone upstairs, probably Damien, laughed raucously over some joke William had missed. Someone upstairs...someone was going to see. Someone was going to ask questions. William stumbled up the stairs and slammed the door shut behind him, shambling back into the billiard room. He grunted as the detective put his arm around him, slapped him away, but the detective took it as a threat. Soon they were fighting, and Damien was pulling at the Colonel as the District Attorney was pulling at Mr. Lincoln. Then William was shoving Damien away from him, and he was almost running to his room. He collapsed into bed, watching the ceiling spin above him. Maybe it hadn't been real. Maybe it'd been a dream. He heard people coming up the stairs, thought he heard Damien say something, and the DA reply, laughing but grunting as if in pain. Damien. Dear god, what would Damien think? What would he say? He'd blame him, he'd push him away, he'd lose everything he had left... But...no. No, Damien would understand. He'd explain everything, and Damien, good man, smart man, would understand. He'd take his side, and the DA, of course they'd defend him. They wouldn't let anything bad happen to him, they hadn't last time. They'd never betray him, would they? No, of course not... His last thought as the alcohol in his system dragged him into unconsciousness was that he couldn't be blamed. It was an accident, of course. Just a game.

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…this makes me happy