Chase.

Memories

Pairing: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose

Rating: G, but with like really mild angst

It was in the library.

Just a little thing. It shouldn't have been important enough for him to notice at all, really, except that it was pink. And not just any pink.

Her pink.

Not out of place in a library, a book. But this book...

He picked it up, staring at the cover, reading the embossed cursive words with a sad little smile on his face. Stardust Journal. He opened it to the inside cover, smiling at the little message written in it.

Property of Rose Tyler. If found inside the TARDIS, Doctor, c'mon, give it back. If found outside the TARDIS, please leave it where you found it. I'll be there to pick it up in a minute.

A Journal of Me and My Doctor.

He flipped it open to the first page, and found a pamphlet for a shop in London, and a news clipping whose headline read ATTACKING MANNEQUINS ON RAMPAGE. One word was scribbled in the middle of the page. Run! He laughed, and flipped through a few more pages, reminiscing.

A picture of Pete and Jackie Tyler, Jackie holding a little baby Rose, at a wedding for a friend. An ad for the Game Station's live premiere of Big Brother. A WW2 gas mask safety flyer. A ticket to see a strange collection of alien technology in America, deep underground. A sketch of a Dalek. A sketch of a Slitheen. The words Bad Wolf scribbled all over the place. Fantastic in the margins.

A piece of satsuma peel. A scrap of striped pajama. A picture of him (he looked so young!) taken on New Earth, on a ridge overlooking New New York. A dried piece of mistletoe, a picture of Queen Victoria. A picture of her and Sarah Jane in front of a school that appeared to have blown up. Strange, devilish symbols and a sketch of a demon. A picture of him posing stupidly with an Ood. A broken mirror shard.  A child's drawing of him and the TARDIS. A picture of him lighting the Olympic torch. Allons-y and Oh yes! scribbled here and there. A sketch of a Cyberman.

He put down the book after that page, still smiling sadly at the image of her face, fuzzed over the years, smiling with her tongue out and laughing at him. He could almost still hear her saying "Doctor!" How long had it been, since...?

He picked up the book again, and flipped to the last filled in page. It was just a sketch of the two of them, holding hands beside the TARDIS, heads tilted toward the sky. Forever was written across the bottom, with a heart beside it.

A single tear rolled down his cheek as he tucked the book onto a nearby shelf.

"Doctor?"

Amy stood in the doorway, looking impacient. "I thought we were going to see another planet? It's date night for me and Rory, you remember."

He sighed, nodded, and straightened his bowtie. "Of course. Where to?"

A Really Rather Dumb Bet (Schneep and Chase Drabble).

A/N: Because everyone needs a little more fluff and comedy for these two fools.

The horrid crashing sound was more than enough to send Henrik careening out of bed. It wasn't as if he wasn't used to loud noises, he made plenty of them himself and hell, he was good friends with Jack. It was just that this particular loud sound had been made at two o'clock in the morning when he'd thought he was alone in the house. Anyone else might have been inclined to do something rational, like call the police or go back to sleep. Henrik, however, knew much better, which was why he swung his door open with great gusto, walking confidently into the living room, brandishing a stethoscope like a garrot and yelling "WHO IS IT ZAT DARES TO DISTURB ZE REST OFF ZE GREAT HENRIK VON SCHNEEPLESTEIN?! VHAT CRIMINAL IS STUPID ENOUGH TO CONTEST HIM?!" Honestly, even in the fluorescent pink pajama shorts and haphazard glasses, he struck an intimidating figure. What greeted him was not an awestruck-and-or-blinded-by-the-neon-PJs burgler, but a broken window, a collapsed side table, a few scattered remote pieces and magazine pages, and a very dissheveled, very drunk, widely grinning Chase Brody. "DOC! AH'M -hic- SO HAPPY TAH SEEEE YOOOOOU!" This was met with a blank stare, to which Chase pouted considerably. "Aw, c'mon -hic- Schneeps, you've gotta be h-hic-happy to see me too. I hav'n ev'n seen you in like...like...ever!" "Chase, vhat ze fuck?" The good doctor shook his head and went to help his terribly inebriated friend to sit on the couch. "First off all, vhy are you here at two in ze morgen?" "Because I wanna see-" "See me, ya, I got zhat. Sank you, ze sought is appreciated." Clearly he wasn't going to get a better explanation. "Second question, zhen: vhy did you come through ze vindow?" "The door was locked." He would have facepalmed if he'd had a free arm that wasn't busy trying to shove said window back into the gaping hole it'd created on the way down. "Off course. And vhy are you drunk as an Irish sailing skunk?" "Because Marv gave me -hic- some awesome whiskey! And bet me -hic hic- I couldn't finish it all in one go! I won! Ha!" Chase laughed. The laughing quickly turned into a vague wretching. He turned very green and Henrik didn't wait to be asked before he pointed down the hall to the open bathroom door. For a drunk man, Chase moved surprisingly quickly and with surprisingly few casualties. Henrik only had to dive to catch one vase and three paintings before the door shut behind him. He sighed. Tomorrow, he supposed, he'd have to get some more answers out of that man, and a sound apology from Marvin. Tonight, though, he simply went to the closet in the hall and pulled the door open to reveal a set of shelves with extra linens on them. He ran a finger down the edges of the shelving. JJ, Marvin, Angus, Robbie...ah, there it is! Chase. He pulled out a set of Nerf sheets, and began to make up a bed on the couch. BANG! CRASH! THUMP! "Hennnnnn-!"

Sigh.

He stood, straightening his shorts. A doctor's duties never cease.

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.

A/N: I smell a fandom fire! What a good time for some nicely roasted angst!

Dark knew what this feeling was. He was all too familiar with it, wasn’t he? All the same, the familiar panic began to rise in his throat, and he stood suddenly at his desk, before grunting and hunching over it, one hand slamming down into the surface, cracking it in an attempt to steady himself, but it felt like the world was spinning.

It was very fast this time.

“Dark?”

Oh, no. No, Wil, you don’t need to see...

But Wilford was leaning heavily on the door frame, bubblegum-smile missing and face pale, eyes wide and deathly scared. Dark knew that look.

“It would seem it isn’t just me,” he said softly, trying to come around the desk to join him, but this caused the room to turn sickeningly on its side. He slid to the ground with a groan. Wilford made an effort to come to him at the same time, and collapsed to his knees halfway there.

“What’s happening? What’s...?”

“We’re dying, Wilford.”

The tears that had already been forming leaked out and onto his cheeks as he whispered, not even strong enough to summon his usual smile, “It’s...but it’s all a joke, isn’t it? It’s always been a joke, hasn’t it?”

“A cruel joke,” Dark agreed, slumping further onto the ground. He vaguely made out Wilford collapsing fully, heard him wheezing. “It’s not fair...it’s never been fair.”

They were quiet for a moment.

Suddenly, Wilford chuckled, and the sound of it brought real tears to Dark’s long-dried eyes. He didn’t know he could still do that. How interesting.

“Not quite the blaze of glory I had planned, is it, Dames?”

“So you do remember.”

He’d have nodded if he still could have. He couldn’t even see anymore, really. Vague, grey and blue and red shapes. He didn’t know if Wil could still hear him.

“Thank you, William.”

“It’s been my honor. Damien. Celine.”

There were no other words. Everything went black.

“Dark? I have some new concepts to go over with you, and we need to discuss this week’s schedule.” Bim knocked on his door, and was surprised when it gave way under his hands. Frowning, he stepped into the office.

It was oddly empty. The fire was still burning in the white marble fireplace on the far end of the room, and there were papers sitting on the desk, as if someone had been halfway through them and been interrupted. The chair was pushed back carelessly, and the thick rug was wrinkled in one corner.

Bim walked slowly over to the desk and picked up one of the papers. For a moment, it looked as if he were reading and old article, the tabloid headline stating “MURDERS AT MARKIPLIER MANOR REMAIN UNSOLVED”.

And then, the page was blank.

Bim wondered why the egos never used this office. It was nice, save for the broken desk and mirror, very stately. Fit for a politician.

Perhaps Google would like it. Always best to offer the boss the best spot in the building, and his current room wasn’t nearly enough. Why had they stuck him in that little side room again? Why had he let them? Maybe he liked the privacy.

He wandered off to find him, feeling vaguely as if he’d forgotten something important. But he was sure it was nothing.

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

also IF THE UNUS ANNUS WEBSITE WOULD WORK THAT WOULD ROCK AAAAAAAAH

Two in the Morning (Winchesters Imagine)

Pairing: Nothing really, Sam/Reader ish

Rating: PG for language

You were asleep. Everyone was, it was 2 am. And you were having a damn good dream, too.

And then they rolled up.  Doors slammed, there was a lot of shouting, and you were suddenly wide awake, standing in the middle of the motel room, pointing a sawed-off shotgun loaded with salt at the door.

"Dean we have to talk about this at some point!"

"Not tonight, Sammy! It's 2 am, and I wanna get some shut eye!"

So do I, you thought in annoyance. You froze, poised for action, when you heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. Then the door handle twisted, and it opened to reveal two hulking figures, shadowed and possibly malformed. The lights clicked on.

"Who the hell are you and how the hell did you get my key?"

It turned out that neither boy was malformed at all, just covered in about four layers of shirts each for some reason. The shocked looks on their faces made you pause. Had they expected you to sleep through that racket? Both boys' hands shot up, and the taller one dropped the set of keys he'd been holding. The shorter one, stepped forward, blocking what he could of the big one, and smiled in what he must have thought was a charming manner. It might've been, too, at any other time of day.

"Um...hi. Sorry, we must be in the wrong room, so if you don't mind, we'll just-"

"Don't move, Model Boy." He blinked, glanced at the bigger one and mouthing "Model Boy?". He shrugged, and Model Boy looked back at you, not moving. You stepped closer, pulling a flask out of your bag as you went and unscrewing the cap with one hand, using the other to keep the gun pointed. When you got it off, you splashed the contents at them, and when the did nothing but flinch and sputter a little, you relaxed a little more.

"Okay, not demons. Still doesn't explain why a moose and a model are standing on my doorstep."

"Again with the moose thing?" the bigger one complained, and after a jab in the ribs from the model, he sighed and said, "Are you (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?"

"Who's asking?"

"I'm Sam, and this is Dean. Bobby Singer sent us. Said you needed some help with a pack of demons down here?"

At that, you finally smiled, dropping the gun to bounce against your side. "Oh, so you're the Winchesters! Bobby talks about you boys all the time. I didn't know he'd be sending you to help me out." You laughed, gesturing for them to come in. The relief on their faces as they did, sitting at the little table and dropping their bags around them, made you laugh again. You plopped down on the corner of the unoccupied bed after shutting the door and locking it again, dropping the gun back by your bed.

"Tell me something, guys," you said conversationally as Sam set up his laptop and Dean pulled out a rather heavy looking old leather book, "Why are you in my room and not your own?" The boys exchanged a look, then Dean said, "The uh...the manager said that this one was free." You rolled your eyes and muttered, "Damn idiot's never gonna remember I'm here, is he?" All three of you laughed. "We'll get our own in a couple of minutes, once we're set up in here. No point in having two work stations, right?" Sam said, smiling at you goofily.

"No point in having two rooms either, I think." They looked at you curiously. "What? I'm perfectly willing to share a bed if you are."

You could almost hear them yelling "Dibs!" at each other, and you giggled. "Just for sleeping, you overgrown teenagers." The offended looks this earned you had you trying desperately not to fall over laughing. When you'd calmed down enough to speak again, you stood and walked back over to your bed, slipping back under the sheets.

"Fight it out amongst yourselves. As for me, it's too damn early for research, don't ya think? I'm hitting the hay again, as I was doing before I was so rudely interrupted."

The following whispered argument lasted twenty minutes before the lights snapped out again.

Sam won.

After The Invasion

Pairing: Ten/Rose

Rating: G

Rose shook herself awake, stretching and yawning and getting her bearings. She smiled. How long had it been since she last woke up in her old apartment? Looking around made her contented little smile bigger. Her mum still had a paper crown crookedly capping her hair, an empty wineglass on the table beside her. Mickey had apparently gone home hours ago to check on his apartment. You could never be too careful with alien invasions. Rose supposed it had only been a few hours since dinner, as it was still dark outside, and the snow...well, ash, was still heavy. The only person missing from this happy little scene was the Doctor. The new Doctor. But still hers. She decided to find him.

The Doctor stood, leaning on the console of his beautiful, beloved ship, letting his new eyes wander over all the little doohickies and gadgets bathed in their familiar green light, a fond little grin playing at his lips. He caught sight of a hand, and was startled for a moment before realizing it was his, and laughing to himself. He looked at the skinny little thing, all long fingered and fidgety, and up his thin arm. He took the hand and felt his longer, spikier hair, then down to his ear (so much less conspicuous this time), then his neck. He pulled it away and stared at it again.

"Is it weird, for you?"

He whirled around, grinning when he realized who it was. "Rose! You're up!" She did her little tongue-out smile. "I am, yeah. But is it weird?" His grin faded a little, eyes on his hand again. He flexed it, fascinated by the rippling of the little muscles and tendons. "Yeah. It is a bit, yeah." He huffed a little laugh. "It's like I said, never know quite what's going to happen. I could easily end up someone...ugly. Or cruel. Someone I don't even like. But" he drew out the word, "I think...I am going to quite like this one." Without looking up, he said softly, "what do you think?" A glance in her direction. "Are you?" Rose walked toward him, looking him up and down. He found he was holding his breath. Finally, she took his hand. He looked fondly down at their entwined fingers, a happy little sigh escaping, then back up at her, eyebrows raised. She stuck her tongue out again. "Yeah. I reckon I am." His face lit up.

Without warning, and without ever taking his eyes off of her, he flipped a switch and turned a dial, and the room filled with music. It was a slow, gently song. He stepped back and bowed. "Rose Tyler," he savored the sound of her name in this new voice, "would you care to take this dance?" In reply, she snaked her arms around his neck, and his seemed to find their own way to her waist. She leaned her head on his chest, enjoying the novel feel of this new body, the way she just fit into his embrace, the comforting double heartbeat.

Dadadadum. Dadadadum.

He buried his face in her hair, taking in the scent again, closing his eyes and loving the feel of his arms around her as they swayed on the spot. He smiled suddenly, an idea occuring to him. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, "Would you look at that? The Doctor is dancing, and the world hasn't ended." She laughed, the sound muffled against his suit, and moved so that she was hugging him across the shoulders. He was so much easier to hug now. And he was hugging back, tightly, a thousand-watt smile lighting up his thin face.

For a little while, nothing existed, except a skinny man and a blond girl, in a blue box, in an alley behind some apartments, holding each other, on Christmas night.

It’s Theory Time Again!

Mark is hinting at us again and it’s interesting and there’s a lot to dissect so in this post I’m just gonna worry about the two pictures he’s posted on tumblr.

So, here on the good old Hell Hole Site, Mark’s dropped some cryptic images:

Image 1:

Image 2:

Source: Mark’s tumblr

THEORIES AND DISCUSSION UNDER THE CUT BECAUSE THERE’S A LOT GOING ON HERE!

Let’s take a look at the first picture, brightened (Turning highlights to 100% and Fill Light to 100%) and with a couple of things pointed out:

So, discussing in order:

No. 1: It clearly says “Kill” next to “Security Mode”. What/Who is getting killed, and what/who is doing the killing? Initially, I was leaning toward it being Mark on the receiving end and Dark/Will doing the deed. I’ll explain why this thought changed later.

No. 2: Where are we? It looks to be the livingroom/den of a large, wealthy estate, given the marble fireplace and generally elegant trimmings of the room. So the castle that they were filming at in “secret” a while ago? If so, why? Why are we seeing this opulent room, and, possibly more importantly, who’s estate is this?

No. 3: What is that on the table? This might be completely unimportant, but it looked out of place to me.

No. 4: “Designation: Little Buddy.” Now, in the past, Mark has always referred to Tiny Box Tim as his Little Biscuit, and his Little Buddy. So what does TBT have to do with this room? Or, alternatively, who is this “little buddy”? Whose “buddy” is it?

Moving on now to the second image, with the same conditions applied as the first:

Again, discussing in order:

No. 1: Again, we have “Little Buddy” as the designation. Is this a code name? If so, for what operation?

No. 2: Who is the figure on the left? As far as I can see, he’s wearing a trench coat and a deerstalker, lending him a Sherlockian image, which could hint at this being a murder mystery. If that’s the case, then this is our detective, but who is he?

No. 3: Who is the figure on the right? It looks like he’s wearing a suit (or possibly a leather jacket, though I’m not sure why he would be), has something over/on his eyes, and has gelled hair. I’m thinking this is possibly the Host back when he was the Author, which implies that we’re getting a backstory on how he became the Host and lost his sight (WHICH I WOULD LOVE). Another possibility is that this is Dark, but, as some other lovely theorizers have pointed out, his hair is not parted toward us, on the left, as is Dark’s signature. The last possibility is that this is someone new, and if that’s the case, I’m not sure what to tell you other than I’m excited.

No. 4: They’re shaking hands, which could mean a couple of things.First, it could mean that these figures are meeting for the first time, but that has a couple of problems that I’ll discuss in a second. Second, it could mean that they’re making some sort of deal, which seems more likely to me, as Right appears to be smiling, as if he’s gotten something good out of it.

No. 5: The date and time. 1;17am. Why are they meeting so early in the morning? This is my main objection to the idea that this is a first meeting, or that these two don’t know each other. Obviously, this has been set up ahead of time. And the date, October 7th, is today. So this meeting happened today, in the early hours of this morning. What would be so urgent that two people (apparent people?) would need to meet behind closed doors (as suggested by the fact that we’re seeing this through blinds, as if the subjects don’t know they’re being photographed) at one in the morning? This suggests some underhanded deal is happening, something sinister.

Given all of the information these two pics give us, I’ve drawn a couple of conclusions:

1. This is a story about The Host.

2. This story is currently happening, in real time with the clues being given.

3. This story is about a deal (Code-named Little Buddy?), possibly a deal gone wrong, that happen to someone in a position of wealth and/or power. Hence, 

4. The Host was once the rich Author, and made some kind of deal that resulted in the loss of his sight/eyes and his siding with/serving Dark.

But again, this is all speculation based on the two images Mark put on tumblr. This doesn’t even take into account the Instagram posts or the twitter video, or the black-outs of the profile pictures on Twitter, Tumblr, and Insta. If you guys want me to look into those, I can do that too in another post. Let me know what you think about these pictures and my theories, I’m super curious! And on top of that, I’m having a great time Sherlocking my way through all these hints, and I’m excited to see what happens next. So until we find out, remember,

THAT’S...JUST A THEORY.

Ill Met By Moonlight.

A/N: I really wanted to try and write a really, truly scary version of Dark, because I feel like he’s too often not used as scarily as he could be. I like creepy villains, so let’s make a worse big bad than Anti! Based in the same universe as Don’t You Trust Me? Taking place sometime in the beginning of October of 2016. Enjoy. :)

Thump. Thump. Thump. Buzz. A chuckle.

The figure alone in the alley smiled slightly as he laughed. The green tinge that the code on the walls gave his skin made him look like a walking corpse, made his red hair look like waves of infected blood spilling over his closed eyes. When he spoke, it was like listening to an ancient door grind open, raspy and deep, with quiet power. "So...you're the one I've heard so much about. This...other one that everyone's panicked about. It took you long enough to come to me."

His eyes opened slowly, pure black orbs that seemed to focus on the dark green smoke that was coalescing out of the coding about two yards ahead of him. He watched it with limited interest as it slowly took the form of a man, crossed armed and smirking. His eyes, crinkled almost shut with his grin, and his hair were the same toxic green as the coding, and he couldn't seem to hold this form perfectly, glitching every few seconds, now an arm made of static, now one eye that was just code. The two men faced off for a moment, each silently sizing the other up. The green haired man spoke first, and even his voice was glitchy, high and pitch-distorted, like radio interference or the rewinding of a cassette. "That makes you the old man, doesn't it? What a pleasure to meet you." He swept into a mocking bow. The red haired man's jaw tensed, but he made no reply. The green haired man let out a sharp, high laugh, but was cut off suddenly when the other lifted a hand, seeming to choke on his own sound. "You," growled the dark haired man, "are far too loud." He shoved his hand forward and the other man went flying, thudding into the far wall and sprawling on the ground, trying to get up but pinned down by some unseen force. The dark haired man strolled forward, unconcerned. "You're young. I can forgive a few...mistakes. But you're rising quickly. Keep this up..." He knelt beside the prone man, who glared up at him with bared teeth, and smiled for the first time, a cold, calculated grin. "You'll fall twice as fast. And I'll never let you crawl back up." "You think you can control me?" The green haired man spat the words, glitching hard in his fury. "I'll destroy you, you joke of a creature. I've ten times the power you ever had." The red haired man shrugged, and stood, turning. As he walked away, toward a black door frame that was taking shape before him, he spoke over his shoulder. "You've been around long enough to hear the legends? The stories my...fans, have told? Well...Find me when that day comes. I'll show you what power I have." And just as quickly as he'd appeared in this abandoned corner of the web, he was gone.

The green haired man stood, studying the place in the wall where the other had disappeared. He was a force to be reckoned with. Not even his counterpart knew his true strength, hell, no one was sure if he himself knew. All anyone knew was that he'd been there since the beginning, practically, and operated in the background, silent, like a creeping dread. Anyone, anything that crossed his path...destroyed. Utterly, and without mercy. There were those that said even catching a glimpse of him was a death sentence, and those that said the black of his eyes was caused by the souls he'd overpowered writhing behind them. No other of their kind had the following he did, with so little for them to work off of but such passion. Such dangerous, dangerous passion. Now, the green haired man...New as he was, he was gaining a following quickly. And the bigger the following, the more power he gained, and the more dangerous he became. Why then did he find himself...uncomfortable, in the shadow of this older figure? What was this...weight in his gut? For the first time, he was beginning to realize with a degree of shock...he was afraid. But this only fueled his anger. "My turn."

And the alley was empty, with nothing but a whiff of smoke and a fading, high, maniacal laugh echoing on the walls left behind.