#who killed markiplier angst | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theknightmarket · 4 months

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"I'm glad it was you."

In which Dark and the district attorney finally unite, for good. Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - AO3 TW: cursing Pages: 20 - Words: 8,000

[Requests: OPEN]

Your return to the manor was not marked with fireworks or cheering or parades. Nobody met you at the door and welcomed you in with fruit baskets and wine. The place was just as drab and cold as it always had been, but that was fine by you. You radiated your own heat now, with a living, physical body that you could walk with, talk with, control to your beating heart’s content. The grin stretched across your face was your own slice of heaven. You hadn’t been able to keep your hands still since you left Mark’s house – the bastard that you beat, so you weren’t afraid to say his name anymore. Your fingers brushed against the curve of your cheek and danced along your sides.

Even the rotting wooden handle of the manor’s front door was welcoming. A rough texture to remind you it was there as you pushed the creaking thing open. The empty foyer failed to dissuade you while you strutted in.

You were confident. You were excited. You were so goddamn happy to be alive.

“Dark!” you called, hearing the sound of your very own voice echo. It echoed! You could barely believe it. All of this felt like a dream, but you refused to accept that. You deserved this after so long, you wouldn’t let a little doubt creep in to spoil your fun.

The air flexed around you alongside the arrival of someone new in the room. He peered round the corner of the kitchen archway at first, but within seconds he was in front of you. The ribbons of red and blue danced around his figure, the same you had seen through the barrier of a screen for weeks before and was now standing in front of you.

Dark spoke simply, “Hello.”

And you replied, “Hello.”

You tried to hold back; you really did. The records would show that you restrained yourself for a full five seconds before you lunged forward and wrapped your arms around his waist. You savored the smoothness of fabric beneath your fingertips, but you cherished the squeeze of Dark’s own arms around your shoulders more. There were no tears, not this time, because you reminded yourself that you weren’t going to lose this. Should he let you, you would gladly spend another century in this position.

But you were sure there were other important matters to tend to. It didn’t make you pull away, but you were aware.

“You’re very cold.” Words muffled by the jacket collar against your mouth, you gladly forfeited the joke for the comforting pressure he provided.

“Does that bother you?”

“Nope.”

His laughter was music to your ears. Deep, genuine, dare you say, dark. You were slightly mad that you weren’t strong enough to swing him around, but you settled for a comical squeeze.

“You are warm,” he muttered, a coat of confusion on his statement, as though he expected you to be as cold as he was. Unbeknownst to you, he did.

“Does that bother you?”

“Of course not.”

You stayed like that for another ten seconds without shifting. This was good. You liked this. You pushed the idea of moving away back like it was an incessant dog. The normality of your old life was long lost to you, but it reminded you of knowing you had to get to work but wanting to stay under the blankets for that much longer. The height of winter, the sun not yet risen.

You sighed, “My legs are getting tired.” And, while they were, the dull pressure rising from your knees, neither of you made any attempt to cut the contact. This wasn’t how it had gone when you first escaped the mirror. You were springy and enthusiastic back then, so this ache was likely psychosomatic, a possibility you relied on in order to stay right where you were.

“Are you,” Dark started, then he stopped to swallow. Being this close didn’t make you a mind reader, but his nervousness was obvious either way. “Do you feel like you can talk about what happened, because I have many questions.”

Did you? You supposed after effectively beating the hell out of Mark, you had calmed down enough to go through some of it. It was the best you would get from him; you weren’t about to get a written and signed apology.

Gently, you pulled yourself away from Dark, but you thought it best to keep your hands on his shoulders when you saw a spark of guilt in his eyes.

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, I have a lot of questions, too, but I’ll answer what I can.”

Dark nodded.

A second passed.

And then another.

Dark cleared his throat.

“Oh, you mean now.” He nodded again. “Sorry, I forgot what we were doing.”

The chuckle you drew from him was worth the slight embarrassment.

“That’s perfectly alright. I expected nothing else.”

When you had left the manor, you had been in a haze of bloodlust. You were prepared to burn the house down with Mark in it. Now, with your mind clear, you noticed that the few things had changed since your disappearance. The foyer that you walked through, towards the staircase, was full of more rubble than furniture. The most obvious was the pile of wood that had presumably fallen down from the landing above, but you were well aware of the splintering support beams and steps that you took to the second floor. It was almost disappointing to see the damage the place had sustained. From your perspective in the mirror, despite only being able to see a small portion of the rooms, you never saw any real effects of time. It was as though it was frozen, just as you had been, but everything caught up to it at once, leaving you to see a ruined temple instead of a magnificent manor.

When you reached the last step, you glanced along the hallway. “Is Wilford around?”

Dark hummed. Not even he could keep track of that man. “Possibly,” he answered, similarly vague as the topic was. “You’re back, that’s something interesting to lure him in, but then again, it is Wilford that we’re talking about.”

The one consistent thing about Wilford was his inconsistency, no rhyme or reason to his appearances. You thought about asking after Benjamin for a second, but spite had gotten you this far, so both the comments about your outfit were ones you decided to carry with you.

Beside the peeling wallpaper and the shattered console tables, the door to Dark’s study looked completely untouched. You couldn’t say that you weren’t surprised. It had seemed a focal point in the recent events, sweeping in and out, pushing and pulling the handle, and yet it was as good as new. Time barely touched it.

Dark sidled up next to you and opened the door to the room. Just as it was before. The sight of it alone, outlined by sunrays streaking through, instilled a tiredness in you, though the added relaxation made it feel like getting into a warm bed instead of forewarned fatigue. You felt comfortable before you set foot across the doorway.

There was already one chair parked by the window you were facing, so Dark moved the one from his desk into place next to it. A simple gesture towards the pair made you lightly comment, “How gentlemanly.”

“I do try.”

You enjoyed seeing him like this. When you were in the mirror, it was rare for you to see him smiling, and even rarer for it to be in your direction. You’d seen the perk of the corner of his lips when he reached whatever paragraph of the book that he enjoyed – you were always tempted to tell him to just laugh, it was obvious he was holding back the smallest chuckles. You never found out why, but, now, he was being unabashed with his happiness.

While you were enjoying the moment yourself, a worry gnawed at your heart. You weren’t here to stare at Dark, you were here to answer questions, and hopefully, get some answers to your own. Still, you felt guilty, knowing that the peace had to be broken, and the hammer rested between the two of you.

Dark was the first to pick it up.

“Ah, well, to business,” he spoke calmly, a guise he was proud of. In truth, he was just as disappointed as you were to move on. You were smiling, too, though he wasn’t sure if you knew it. It was all the better for him because there wasn’t a barrier between you, glass or distance or memory; he could see the way your smile bent into your cheeks as clear as day. He could reach out and cup your face if he wanted to.

To business.

“I have to ask,” he began, settling back in his chair, “how did Mark get you out of the mirror?”

Your reaction was immediate and volatile. That smile turned into a grimace at the mere mention of that man, so Dark was quick to continue.

“I know the circumstances on your end, but I had only just found a way to take down the mirror’s barrier, let alone get you out, and that was with Celine’s help.”

You sighed. It felt good to breath, as weird as it was to say, in a confined space. You drew as much comfort from that as you could.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t know specifically how he got me out, but, when he did, he just snapped his fingers—” You copied this action, and the click reverberated against the walls and molded with the small rings of light emanating from Dark, “—and I was gone.”

That was what he had feared. Mark hadn’t needed a book; he hadn’t needed anything but the experience of the void in order to bend it to his will. He could do anything, and had done something, on a whim. Having been a part of the void was not the same as practice, it seemed. That thought scared him.

“Do you know why Mark did this?”

Your simple answer was, “Bragging rights.”

Dark knew that. When Mark had appeared in his office, he told him. Flaunting, he had called it, and teased him with the fact that taking you didn’t matter to him while it meant everything to Dark. Despite all the proof, there was still something inside him that hoped it wasn’t true. He didn’t want you to just be a pawn on the chessboard, caught in the middle and then captured because it was convenient – because that meant that if he had not talked to you on that fateful night, you wouldn’t have gone through any of that.

The undertone of pleading was hidden by a groan. “Anything else?”

“Why would there be.”

You sat in silence for the rest of that moment, thoughts overcoming you in a way that got on your nerves. Against your will, they latched to the image of Mark beaten to the ground. What was he doing now? Was he planning? Was he recovering? Or was he doing what you largely suspected; getting ready for his next scene in a makeup chair to cover up the cuts and bruises, not a goddamn care in the world. Because the villains always lost and the heroes always won, and it wasn’t a mystery which role he saw himself in. He would find solace in thinking – knowing – it would turn out right for him in the end.

You felt a pressure on your hand. The one that lay on the arm of the chair was now covered by a gray one. Just yesterday, that might have seemed unnatural, but, this time, it reminded you to take a deep breath and look at Dark. He was calm, so you should have been, too. In and out.

You nodded with a small, tired smile for him to continue.

“You’re warm.”

“Yeah, we’ve established that.”

“No,” he laughed lightly, “as in you’re not cold.” His fingers curled around yours, as though having more contact would help him to figure out this confusing aspect. “Whose body is that?”

You hadn’t considered that. Getting you out of the mirror was one thing, but your old body was, well,occupied. But, after a second of thought, you were pretty sure you had an answer. You brought your legs up and your hands to your eyes, not enough force to drive the balls of your thumbs into your sockets, but enough that you could ground yourself.

“Well, it’s not mine, that’s for sure. Someone Mark deemed unimportant, which, in his eyes, could be anyone.” You felt Dark coaxing your hands away. You let him, until they were in your lap again, and he was holding them tighter than before. “But he wasn’t caught, so it can’t have been anyone socially important, either. I-I don’t know.”

His thumb brushed yours. You put one foot on the ground and tucked the other under your knee.

“And you have needs?”

That hit you like a freight train.

“I’m sorry?”

Dark didn’t look phased. He had the slightest tilt to his head and his hands stayed right where they were. Given his thought process, it made sense.

“You need to eat, drink, sleep?”

“Oh!” You weren’t given enough time to fluster, taken from one to one hundred and back to one, so you wasted no time in confirming, “Yeah, yeah, I do, and so does Mark.”

This was the most perplexing part of you to Dark. The whole pseudo-dying and resurrection, he understood that, he had gone through it himself. However, you were much more human than he was. The taste of food in his mouth was lost to time for him, and yet you needed exactly what anybody on the street needed. You fit in well enough with them, while he was confined to the manor. The entity that made him who he was kept back everything else. His humanity. Earlier in his life, he would have appreciated it.

The patter of rain drew his attention to the window. A gloomy day to suit the topic of conversation and the moods you had both been moved into. It was difficult to confront it all, but you had to, and you knew that. You had to move forward with everything, but the concept was warred over in your mind.

“It’s a pity Celine doesn’t have any books on necromancy,” Dark said, “I wish I could be of more help to you.”

Whether it was the time spent in the modern world or the century since you’d used your manners, you found yourself barely stifling a laugh and eyeroll. “Are you serious?” A glance towards him told you he was. “I’m the one who was missing a batch of their memories, you can’t be the one to forget our conversation.”

He didn’t respond in the pause you gave him, so you sat forward further to look him directly in the eye.

“The self-loathing, Dark, it’s not good for you. You’re also just wrong.”

You held your clasped hands higher between you. “Without you, this wouldn’t be happening. I’d be locked behind glass or trailing after Mark like a puppy. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the one who got me out, even if you don’t believe it.”

All it took was lifting his hands slightly for you to lean down and kiss them. On your end, it was an appreciative gesture that occurred to you from somewhere unknown. On Dark’s end, he froze, meaning you were the only force to lower his hands to where they originally were. His eyes flitted around your face, like a bee searching for a flower. He never found the confusion or regret that he assumed he was going to find, only honesty, and he didn’t know how he should react. It was no secret that he wasn’t the best with social cues, and neither were you and neither were any of the others in the manor. The only thing that he felt right doing was letting slip the little smile that danced at the corners of his mouth. So, he did.

The emotion behind it changed when you asked, “But, uh, do… do you think Mark’s able to put me back?”

You were scared, and that smile softened to a comfort, as best as he could.

“After the state you left him in, I don’t think he’ll be able to put himself back.”

That image flashed in your mind again, your eyes losing focus and your jaw clenching.

Dark rushed to continue, “It doesn’t matter. He’s not going to get the chance. Now when you’re here.”

Albeit unspoken, he hoped you understood; not when you were with him.

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter. Look, this is my first real day of being out, and I think I’d rather do anything than keep talking about Mark, so could we…?”

“Whatever you want.” He hadn’t expected to get even this far with his questioning, and there wasn’t much else he thought you would know. At least, nothing worth drudging up the experience again. “Though I can’t promise a sunny stroll through the gardens.”

The raindrops were pelting the glass even faster now, a group of storm clouds swept in with it. Weather like this didn’t worry you, but you wanted to spend some time with Dark, and he wasn’t about to go dancing in the rain with you for himself. So, you sat and thought for a few seconds, and then an idea struck you.

“I know what we can do.”

Despite you keeping the plan to yourself, Dark got up when you did and followed you into the hallway again. It didn’t take long for you to wind up at the door to the library, and his hesitance catching up with him was just as quick. You had already seen the carnage he left behind in there – why you would want to get close to the room, he didn’t know, but you gladly strutted in regardless with your arms spready out wide.

Did you think things would be different? No. You knew fully well that it was going to be as bad as it was when you had searched for some memories. Dark’s frown made it obvious he wasn’t going to repair anything, and the thing about being dead was that you couldn’t touch anything, so that ruled out Benjamin. Wilford wasn’t around enough to devote any time to a project, if he was able to stay focused long enough, anyway. And who did that leave?

You spun around, back against the wall and hands settled on your hips, and announced, “Cleanup duty.”

Grabbing one of the more intact books that was within your reach, you stepped forward and threw it to Dark. He caught it without a second thought, though not yet done processing the situation.

“Can’t make a new start without fixing the old one, right?” you said as you moved towards the first bookshelf that needed de-toppling.

Your companion watched you, hands clutching the book. The leather binding was bent away from the pages, and some of those were shedding from the glue. The knicks and gouges were a feature of every book that he saw, but this one had three sizeable dents in the sides, and, when he opened it, the first paper was labelled at the twenty-seventh.

And yet, he couldn’t help but concede, “If this is what you want to do.”

Your bright smile was all the push he needed to place that book to the side and help you to reset the room.

It was an endeavor, to say the least. The shelves and cases were heavy, but it was harder to avoid stepping on the remains of encyclopedias and journals. Paper was strewn on every inch of the floorboards, and you were not proud to say that you almost slipped over once or twice. A side-table had to be made right, and, underneath, you found the missing pages of the book you had thrown to Dark. With them all in one place, you safely moved the copy to the salvageable pile. Somewhere along the way, roughly half an hour in, you had developed a system. The utterly destroyed books were packed in one corner, ready for an unknown future. Dark felt the rush of guilt whenever he added to the steadily growing mound.

Then, there was the stacks of the aforementioned salvageables. The only important thing was that they had most of their pages together; the covers could be remade, but the contents were what mattered. They were in the first corner you had cleared, as though a protective ring were summoned around them. And that was another positive of the inhuman inhabitants of the manor! There was no dust for you to clean up beneath the papers.

Nevertheless, it was only right that the survivors, the very few books that might have sustained a scratch or tear, were placed in the hallway on a console table. Only the ones that had been stashed far into the bookshelves were of that nature, but you still felt prideful when you fished one out.

Your merry pair of cleaners was an hour in by the time that Dark picked up a book that was very literally hanging by a thread. He shifted it carefully in his arms to avoid agitating the binding, barely moving in a centimeter, but it didn’t work. The connection snapped and the bound pages drifted to the floor in a heap, like feathers after a bird was shot. Dark kneeled next to the remains and, with a gentler hand, he picked one of them up.

“Unfortunate, really,” he spoke, noticing you begin to crouch at his side, “I rather liked that one.”

It was true. In all of his years in the manor, he had the option of doing two things; either he could follow the trail after Mark that was undoubtably going to run cold, or he could read. When things got too much, or Wilford forced him out of his office, he would end up scouring the shelves of the library. His library, technically, because Celine was the only one to ever use it. All her early occult guides were on one side, while the other held the recreational books. Non-fiction, mystery, horror… The Lady in the Lake had come from one of those shelves, and so had the one that Dark looked down at.

He was only drawn out of his regret by your shifting. You glanced at the first few lines, then to the mess of papers that joined the rest of the graveyard, and finally to the door. Dark looked at you when you got up and left, barely processing what you were doing without an idea of what you were going to do.

Luckily, he only worried for a minute at most, before you were back in the library with a picture frame in your hands, and his worry melted to confusion. It had lay in the hallway, empty now, as it had once held a distasteful photo of Mark and Celine. Dark sat tight while you popped out the back and handed him the glass and wood.

He blinked.

You nodded.

Restraining whatever strength might have torn the page more, he placed it facing into the frame and reattached the back, slotting the clasps into place. Your hands moved it out of his own grip as you got to your feet. Dark followed suit so that he could see you setting it onto one of the upright shelves in the neater corner.

And, just like that, you went back to inspecting more books and readjusting the furniture.

Dark didn’t know what to do. That seemed to be happening a lot today, but he was getting no more use to it. Maybe it was because the last century hadn’t been action-packed, but he was being surprised and confused and simply flustered recently, all by the same source.

You were a variable in his life that he hadn’t planned to plan for. Getting you back was the goal, and, when he passed that goal, it was done. End of the story. Except it obviously wasn’t because there you were, fixing the mess he’d made of the library, surprising him with every movement you made and every emotion you made him feel, even when it wasn’t an emotion he could name. The warmth you exuded, body and soul, he had never felt it before. Normally, he would immediately distance himself from any kind of uncertainty, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Leaving you again, when you spooked away ennui like a nightlight in blackness, was impossible for him. He wasn’t going to deny that he needed you – though, it might have been harder for him to accept that he wanted you. This situation was one fate had plotted since you had first stepped across the threshold of the manor.

“I don’t suppose you know what’s happened while I’ve been gone?”

Dark snapped his head towards you.

“How do you mean?”

Your back was turned to him, eyes focused on stabilizing the wooden plank in front of you. “People aren’t wearing suits and smoking everywhere anymore. How have times changed?”

Dark huffed a slight laugh as he rearranged the paper of another book. “To be quite fair, I’m not all that up to date either,” he forewarns, separating one of his favorite pages from the rest of the brutalized chapters. “From what Wilford has told me, a lot is different. I was… unaware of the earlier years—” You didn’t need to know the explicit, dehumanizing, jarringly goopy details of his first ten years, when he was barely holding himself together as a creature instead of a person, “—but there were more wars, some hot, some cold. We got to the brink of annihilation at one point, but Wilford glossed over that fact. He was more focused on the disco in the 70s and 80s, he still is.” You shared a breathier chuckle with him. “If I may ask, what have you seen in the last month?”

This was where he had you caught. You had asked what was different solely to get a grasp on where you were. Wilford’s time travel talk was going to need to be backdropped with the current events, after all. However, in your time with Mark, you had seen some things, and being asked about them pushed your preparation to the back of your mind.

“Hollywood got big,” you stated immediately, “I saw a lot of movies, for obvious reasons, and every single one was,” you took in a breath, spending it on another giddy laugh, “they were beautiful. They had these special effects and computer-generated imagery and, Dark, they could take people’s voices and replay them over and over again, and they’d never run out. They put normal people in space or in Ancient Greece.” You abandoned your current task to bounce towards your friend. “They even put people in the 1920s, and you could see the color of their clothes! Everything was bright and expressive; I’d love to show you.”

Dark hadn’t seen many, or any, movies. You would expect that to just be during his time in the manor, but that did include all of his time as him. He had vague memories from Damien and Celine’s theatre experiences, but all of them were clouded over with time and fatigue. The way you described these new ones, though, had him joining your smile regardless, and helpfully disregarding how your proximity to him and your hands on his upper arm made his breath labor.

“I’d love to be shown.”

And ignore that, when your smile spread further, his did, too, and his eyes darted around your face from your sparkling eyes to your grinning lips to your cheeks flushed with excitement.

Meanwhile you fully accepted the rapid beating of your heart with open arms, not only because you now had a heart to beat. Dark cared, no matter how much he tried to hide it, he cared. He did things with you that he wouldn’t do alone in a million years. He paid attention to you when nobody else did and he made up for the time that he didn’t, twice-over. He saved you because he cared. How could you not love him?

Was that the right word for it? You hadn’t felt like this in so long, you never had to put a name to the foreign feeling. But when you looked at Dark, saw him smiling back at you, face to face with nothing but the smallest gap of air between you, you couldn’t think of anything else to call it.

In total, repairing and cleaning the library had taken three hours. The shelves were straightened, the curtains were replaced, and the books were sorted. All you needed to do now was wait for the next day to get out into town, so that you could go on your hunt for supplies and a manual on how to actually fix the books.

While you stood next to Dark in front of the door, staring at your project so close to its finish, your heart ached at the thought of waiting. The hands on your hips clenched and you inwardly groaned. In your humble opinion, you had done enough waiting for multiple lifetimes.

You spun on your heel to face Dark, who looked pretty happy with himself. Good.

“What else needs fixing up?”

He glanced at you like he hadn’t expected you to say anything. “My dear, I do think you should take a break.”

“You’re one to talk.”

As hypocritical as he may have been, even Dark could see what state you were in. Your breathing was fast, blood rushed to your face, you jumped from one task to another.

“I’m not the one who has needs.”

“Y’know, I’d love for you to not call them that.”

“You have to eat,” he stressed, not letting you deflect another time.

You took a step towards him and reassured, “And I will.” You appreciated the concern but the idea of slowing down at all make your stomach churn. “I don’t want to waste all this energy.”

“You won’t lose it, I can assure you.”

Thinking of a last resort, you huffed, opened your mouth to retort, and then stopped. Had you not just said this was why you loved him? Because he cared? And who were you to ignore him, a man whom you trusted with your very life? Being out of that mirror was bringing you back into some bad habits, it seemed.

In the end, you nodded and pulled open the library’s door.

“Fine,” you groaned with no real annoyance, “but I am coming straight back.”

“Where are you going?”

“No offence, but anything that’s been left in the kitchen is going to be well past its expiration date, if they even have them. I’ll drive down to a fast-food place, pick something up and be back by eight.”

Your promise was exchanged for Dark’s confused expression, making you chuckle to yourself as you moved halfway out. That confusion shifting to blunt worry stopped you.

He didn’t know what two of those things you mentioned were, but he knew that it meant you were leaving the manor. An hour at most, but leaving, nonetheless, into the outside world, where he could not go.

“I don’t have to go, I could—”

“No, no, you should,” Dark cut you off, steeling his emotions for however long it would take to convince you and himself. “Go, just stay safe.”

A smile and a squeeze of his hand.

“Straight back,” you reminded softly.

And he repeated, impossibly more so, “Straight back.”

He watched you leave into the hallway and then walk down the staircase in his line of sight. This was okay. He watched you make it to the foyer and open the door. This was fine. He watched you shoot him one last look before closing the creaking wood behind you.

He lasted all of thirty seconds until fear seeped in through the floorboards and window cracks. The pacing started at the forty-five mark, as though his legs had decided that, if he couldn’t go with you in person, he would in spirit. But you said that you would be straight back, and he had to trust you. It wouldn’t do to start this relationship off with assuming the worst. You were able to take care of yourself. The best he could do was patiently wait for you to get back, safe and sound, like you’d promised.

That thought did little in of itself to get him to calm down. Regretfully, Dark was never good at convincing himself of the bright side, and, yes, he understood the joke. What helped him was catching a glimpse of that frame again, all of the backboard now plastered with pages from the best of the collection. He trotted up to the shelf until it was within arm’s reach, but he didn’t take it off just yet. He simply looked at it.

Was this too much? Did this domesticity suit him? It felt good to slow down for once and take a breath. Mark was on the backfoot, you were safe in the manor, there wasn’t anything else to do. Dark had forced you out because you were so keen to keep working, but there he was, clenching and unclenching his jaw. It felt good, but that itself felt wrong. He wasn’t built for this. He hadn’t been brought into the world as an innocent child, he was the amalgamation of three different beings that shambled around in the rough approximation of a man in order to carry out the singular shared goal of vengeance.

The wooden frame was smooth against his fingers.

It didn’t matter if he was destined for this peace, he was choosing to enjoy it. The slow moments, with you, were better than the volatile decades of constant hypervigilance.

If he had to guess, he would think that the affinity was coming from Damien’s side of the family, but he also liked to think that this was just himself.

The frame in hand, Dark walked from the library down to his office, the lack of surfaces giving him few options – the desk or the windowsill, really – but that was obvious enough to give him only one. He secured it next to the lamp on the left side, the light igniting the ink with a white sheen.

He left the room within the next minute, barely a glance over his shoulder. He didn’t need to; he knew it was right, and he would be seeing it every time he sat down to work. He would be reminded of when he read those books, and of who gave those books back to him, and of why he couldn’t wait to find more copies so he could share them with you.

That went further than he thought it would.

Benjamin wasn’t in the kitchen when Dark entered. He’d made himself quite scarce since you got out of the mirror, but the comments you had exchanged with each other didn’t leave you on the best of terms, so perhaps it was the wisest move. Nevertheless, the smell of baked goods helped relax him to the point that he didn’t look any different from your departure when the front door opened again.

Sitting at the island gave Dark a good view of your approach, a white, plastic bag of presumably food in one hand and twirling your keys with the other. A few questions popped into his mind – what a fast-food place actually was and whether you really had a valid driver’s license – but he brushed them aside when you waltzed through the kitchen’s archway.

“I made it through that lawless wasteland,” you joked. He thought you would go straight to grabbing a plate, but, after placing the bag on the counter, you casually ducked down and kissed Dark on the cheek. That was the first surprise, though not unappreciated, while the second was you finding two plates. “And I know you don’t eat, but I picked something up for you, just in case.”

You were smooth, apparently. One hundred years in a mirror didn’t disadvantage you any. He was immeasurably grateful that your back was turned so that you didn’t see the warbling of the red and blue lines. They stretched and thinned like waves in the ocean, breaking upon the counter and only normalizing when he redirected his attention to the bag. You said you’d gotten him something. That was more important than the completely unexplainable and extremely unnatural effect your simple actions had on him.

You dished out what you bought, two identical meals, onto those plates before pushing one towards Dark. You sat side by side on the stools by the island, thinking less about how much of a change from the status quo of the 1920s this was and more about how hungry you were.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” you heard Dark reply, sounding surprisingly dazed, not that you paid attention to it when you were eating food and conscious of it for the first time in decades.

You missed this. You readily admitted that this kind of scene was something you had imagined many times while you were in the mirror. The food, the freedom… the only addition – which surfaced during the latter days – was the man who sat beside you. You were always alone in your fantasies. Call you a love-struck idiot, but you were so happy with this outcome, even if it took kidnapping and near-murder. This was good. You were good. Dark was good.

The patter of rain developed into a downpour as you made your way through your food. Dark was lagging behind, if only because he had trouble figuring out how to eat at the beginning. The first bite he swallowed entirely whole and somehow avoided choking, but he got the hang of it in time. You were finished when he was halfway through, giving you time to watch the patio doors. It was completely dark outside, illuminated by the few rays of moonlight that dodged the tree line. They hit the surface in specific places, one bouncing off the water feature, another the stone walkway, and a third breaking into the manor itself. All of them were interspersed with the pelt of rain, as if someone had flicked a paint brush onto a gray canvas.

A wistful sigh bullied its way out of your throat.

“Go on.”

Your gaze flashed to Dark, who stared right at you. Surely, he didn’t mean what you thought he meant. If not for the water damage the old house would sustain, he definitely wouldn’t want to risk getting it all over his suit.

But he saw the way you looked outside. He wasn’t about to stop you from fulfilling a whim, especially after so long. Briefly, he wondered how many times you thought about the weather. Such an unimportant thing, a problem in some cases, but he knew you relished it.

So, Dark nodded again. “I don’t control what you do.”

Like firing a bullet from a gun, you were off, shoving back from the island, almost foregoing remembering to open the door, and slipping out on the stones. Immediately, you were drenched. Your clothes stuck to your skin and made everything flash in the light of the moon. You looked like something he would find in the pagan books Celine had. A nymph or fae. Given that he had eaten your food, he supposed he was never allowed to leave. What a poor, unfortunate, regretful fate for him.

Regardless of the dramatics, he didn’t think he was against that thought, as long as you stayed with him, of course. He imagined he could do anything at your side, and he would do anything to stay at your side. He wasn’t going to fool himself. He wouldn’t be able to handle losing you again. He had only just gotten you back; your return pulled him out of the pit of misery, and, were you to leave for good, he was sure he would fall again, further than he had before, than he had thought possible.

Dark dropped his head into his hands, elbows rested on the island.

He wished he had someone to ask. He usually kept his own council, both figuratively and literally, and reaching out was a skill he’d long since abandoned. It would be so much easier to find an answer to this feeling if he had someone else, who could explain why his breath quickened, his waves flickered, his smile widen like he had received the best news he could ever hope to hear. Nothing made sense, and yet everything did. The logic was thrown out of the window and replaced by emotions that he never relied on, but it felt right, and he didn’t know why, and nobody was telling him what to do or what was going on. A being that couldn’t feel was feeling. He had never made a plan for this kind of situation, leaving him high and dry. Benjamin was less social than he was at this point, he had seen how Wilford’s situation had turned out, and obviously you weren’t an option, because you were the person Dark loved!

Oh.

Well, that certainly solved that dilemma.

There was really only one choice he could make here.

Dark got up from his seat and made his way to the linen closet, where he pulled out the softest towel he could find. None had been used, so it didn’t take long to get back down to the kitchen with it in his hands. Slow and steady. He split his attention between walking forwards, keeping his aura in check, and the growing headache at the back of his mind. He knew exactly what that was, he was just electing to ignore it, despite that very specific third of him trying to veto his decision. Slow. And. Steady.

You, meanwhile, were trying not to trip on the wet cobblestone. The grooves and divots of the stone made perfect targets for your feet as you danced around. The rain was a great thing, wasn’t it? Droplets ricocheted off your clothes when you spun and slid down your skin when you stilled. Your impromptu performance was a mix of graceful twirls and jagged strikes of your body. Not a care in the world for the inevitable squish of the fabric when you stopped, you embraced the adrenaline and continued to go about your business until the patio door slid open in the corner of your eye.

The infectious smile you sported as you dashed to the cover where Dark now stood spread to him. You slid to a stop in front of him, dripping head to toe.

The towel he wrapped around your shoulders had you grinning even more.

“We don’t want you to catch a cold, now, do we?”

That little joke – which wasn’t really a joke – was the end of it, leaving you both to watch the rain fall. It lightened and strengthened at a gust of the wind. You leaned against a wooden support beam, face barely peaking below the edge of the cover, and Dark stood next to you with his arms behind his back.

“I don’t remember it raining before,” you muttered. In the weeks you’d spent with Mark, every day was blasted by sun.

“It has been quite a while.”

The silence enveloped you again. It was comfortable, knowing that you could move around without limit, that Dark was right next to you.

His quiet admittance broke the quiet. “I don’t think you’ve stopped smiling this entire night.”

“Why would I?” You shifted to look at him, softness breaching your eyes and his when they met. “Look,” you gestured to the gardens of the manor, “look at all of this.” You hand made contact with the wooden beam; one side was wet from the spray of rain. “And this, this, I can— look.”

Your other hand darted forward without your thinking and grabbed Dark’s before raising it between you, much like how you had done earlier. He briefly thought you might kiss it again, and you the same, but then you stopped and swallowed the words you had meant to say. Something about how it felt, surely, but then another train of thought came to mind.

“I didn’t think I was going to get the chance to do this, ever,” you whispered, “I thought that I was going to stay in the void, watching the world go on without me until somebody broke every mirror in the manor.” What a purgatory that would be. You hated that you could easily imagine it. “But I was wrong. I’ve never been happier, and you know how much I hate being wrong.”

You clasped your other hand around Dark’s remaining one. Earlier that day, when you had pledged to admit your feelings, you didn’t think it would be this difficult. You had been running on adrenaline and fumes. Now, your mind was catching up to you and made you fear the consequences if all of this went wrong.

But you could ignore it all for a moment longer. You had to, or you would never get this out.

“And if anybody was going to talk to me in those weeks,” you continued, a shake in your voice that you tried to breathe through, “I’m glad it was you. I don’t think I could take time-travelling talk or another insult to my outfit.”

Dark was still smiling, that was good. Nothing to stop you now. You had to take the plunge.

“And I meant to say this earlier, but—” no going back now, “—I love you.”

Dark froze. You felt him freeze. He stopped like you’d knocked the life out of him.

So, you rushed to speak, words flooding out of you to rival the onslaught of rain that battered the ground.

“I understand if you don’t love me, or have any feelings for me, I just had to say it or else I’d lose my mind about it, and I did not like it when I was close before, so—”

Your rambling stopped. Not only because you physically couldn’t speak, but because your fears were abandoned in a second. Even as Dark had stepped closer, even as his lips melded against yours, you were both smiling. His coldness and your warmth meshed together, like steam rising from dousing a fire, calming the initial thunder of your heart that made up for Dark’s lack. Despite that, you felt the waves of red and blue clash against your skin, absorbing at some points and bouncing at others. You sighed into the kiss as your hold on his hands severed, only to let you grip at his waist. It was significantly dryer than yours, half the reason why you felt the pressure of Dark’s hands at your jaw and cheek. The other half was so that he could lean further in without pushing into the rain. The touch grounded you in reality, as much as it the entire situation made you believe you were dreaming, and so you kept your position, although your lips parted.

Barely an inch from your, Dark whispered, “I reciprocate your feelings.” It took a moment for him to recognize the hoops he was jumping through, and he amended, “I love you, just the same, if not more.”

“I’ve seen this before; we’re not doing that.” The whole I-love-you-more-no-I-love-you-more was overplayed and tiresome. You were happy with your shared confession.

The inch was covered, and your lips met again, moving in tandem like waves breaking on a sandy beach. A rhythm took over as you stood at the back of the manor. Everything that had happened, stretching back to that century, seemed worth it. You were certain in that fact.

You separated again, not for the last time, for Dark to ask, “What are we doing, then?” “Well, as you keep saying, I have needs.”

The alarmed expression on Dark’s face was all the entertainment you needed, though, inwardly, he was certainly not opposed to any suggestions you might have had. He felt your breath on his lips as you reprimanded quietly, “I’m talking about sleeping, Dark.”

Your spark hadn’t been lost, that was for sure. He doubted that were possible. Your amused laughter chimed in his head, chasing out any possible worries about you, about himself, about the future you would share together.

One hand in his, you tugged him forward and captured him in another kiss, the rain returned to a comforting song in the background.

[And there we go! The final part to what was originally a single chapter! Thank you, everyone, for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the ride. Of course, this was meant to just be a fluffy chapter, but, this is me, so I had to put some angst in it, and that final joke was a literal flip of the coin of whether I should include it. Nevertheless, again, I hope you've enjoyed reading <3 ]

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wilfywarfy · 8 months

Text

Happy Anniversary~

"...hello?"

It all looks so… familiar. Like he's home, but he knows he's not. There's no banter coming from the commons. Or the sound of pots and pans clashing against each other. Not even the sound of walking on the upper levels.

It was quiet. Too quiet. This wasn't his home.

"Hello?" He calls out again. Where was everyone?

"William?"

Wilford turns around. Not because it was his name they'd called out, but because there was someone else.

A man in a white dress shirt and black pants comes up to him. He wasn't completely sober. He could tell by the way he stumbled. He himself had stumbled like that many times before.

"Hmm? Oh, it's not-"

"'ve been wondering where you were! Come on, we've been waiting for you!" The man holds out a hand for him.

Waiting… for him?

"Well, I suppose I can't keep the party waiting! Oh, by the way, it's Wilford. Not William." Wilford takes the man's hand, letting himself be led.

"Haha, yeah, whatever you say, Will! Now… where's that poker room… oh, right." It seemed the alcohol was getting to his guide as he took Wilford to the party.

What he's met with, well, it certainly is a party. There's 2 other people in the room, both looking equally, if not even more, intoxicated. Both seated at the poker table, with large glasses of wine.

Wait… wait a second…

"Abe?"

The man looks at Wilford, squinting to try and get his vision to realign. "William! Where'd you go? We'd been waiting forever!"

"Uhm, Wilford. I… I just got here. I don't know where I am." He says honestly. There was no point in lying.

"Haha! Aww man, you are hilarious! Maybe you should stop drinking, you're starting to go insane!"

Even Abe didn't believe him? He spent a whole 19 minute special making Abe believe him! That was NOT a small budget special either. "No, I'm being honest!"

"Hah, sure you are! Come on, go pick up your hand again! It's your turn!"

Abe gestures to an empty seat at the poker table. Set up with a rather nice looking pile of chips. A tempting glass of dark red wine. And a hand with his name written all over it. Maybe he could tolerate being called William… especially if it meant a bit of fun.

"Well, don't mind if I do~"

It takes time to get into the swing of things. After all, drunk humor is different from sober humor. But if there's one thing Wilford was good at, it was adapting! Before he knew it, he had the whole table bursting out in laughter with every quip he fired out. And it was much easier with every glass of wine he finished off.

"Haha, William, my friend! You truly are a comedian if there ever was one! Say, why don't you come work with me? You'd make a killing, you know!"

"Oh, Mark, I'm already there! I'm one of the biggest names in entertainment! At least… I think I am."

"Hah, alright, Mr. False Memory. Whatever you say!" The rest of the table laughs.

Mark… Mark… why'd that name sound so familiar?

"What the fuck!?"

Everyone's attention snaps to the door. A new player seems to have entered the party. And he didn't look too happy, considering how he held out his gun. It was a rather nice looking gun, if Wilford said so himself. A beautiful revolver. Why, he had one himself!

"William!" Damien said, breaking out into a fit of giggles. "There you are!"

"Yes, it's me… what is HE doing in MY seat?" William points the muzzle towards Wilford, who's unfazed.

"Well, that's William!" Damien says, as if it's the most casual thing in the world.

Both Wilford and William look at Damien, before looking back at each other.

"Well, let me explain-"

"You can explain once you're dead!" William unclicks the safety, and continues to point the gun towards Wilford

"Hey! Wait just a damn second! As someone who also has a rather dapper looking mustache, I don't want to get into a squabble with a fellow stache haver!"

Wilford holds his hands up, showing that he doesn't have anything. Though in doing such, shows that he has his revolver tucked away in his belt.

"You do have a dapper mustache, I'll give you that." William slowly points the gun to the floor, though he's still defensive.

"Exactly! There's no need to fight, friend!"

"Wait a damn second…" Abe says, as if he'd just made a discovery. "William… isn't William?"

"I've been saying that, Abe. My name is Wilford."

"It's rather rude that you would confuse us, Abe. We look nothing alike." Both Wilford and William look at Abe, both placing a hand on their hip, as if to say 'We're nothing alike! Just look at us!'

Abe is still very confused. But he's also very drunk. "...okay."

"Anywho, that still doesn't explain why you're in MY seat, drinking MY drink, and mooching up to MY detective…friend." William clarifies.

"Well, look…" Wilford looks at the badges on the man's uniform. "Colonel! Look Colonel, I mean no harm by being here… I don't even know why I'm here if I'm being honest. But this party is so fun! I couldn't resist! By the way, Mark, lovely party throwing skills!"

"Thank you, William."

"Wilford. Anyway, I never meant to harm you. Or anyone here. I simply wished to play poker. So… if you'd like, you can have your seat back."

William stares at him. The amount of pink on Wilford was nauseating to all his senses.

He then looks at his hand, or rather, what Wilford had done with his hand. He had more chips than when he left.

"...haha!" William throws an arm around Wilford, pulling him into his side. Wilford is caught off guard, but adapts, and tosses an arm around the Colonel. "Boys, I think we have another player in our party!"

The boys laugh, and raise their glasses in celebration.

"Say, Mark. How do you feel about setting up a new hand for our new friend here?" Damien asks the red robed man.

That smile was fake. Wilford could tell a fake smile from a mile away. Why, Mark, why-.

"Of course! BENJAMIN!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Get our new friend his own glass. And bring up a new keg, would you?"

"Yes, sir!"

Wilford doesn't remember laughing this much. The only time he wasn't laughing was when he was drinking, and even that was a task.

His own vision becomes blurry. Time starts to slow. And the slur of his voice grows thicker.

"Say, Wilford… how do you feel about games of chance, hmm?" A sultry voice asks. Who exactly it is, it's hard to tell.

"Well… I do love gambling!" He gestures to his large pile of poker chips. Which he'd gained by, admittedly, changing a few of his cards. What was the harm if they didn't know? "Why do you ask?"

"Well… I challenged William to a game of Russian Roulette. It's a false round, no danger. So… what do you say? Want to bet?"

"Hmm… nah, I'm alright. You two have fun though!" Wilford went back to counting his chips… or trying to, at least. It was so hard to count. He's pretty sure he hears an 'Alright… if you say so.' From over his shoulder.

It's not even a few moments later before he hears it.

BANG!

Wilfords eyes grow wide. And it's like all the alcohol is flushed from his body, leaving him cold sober. That wasn't the sound of a false round. No, that was a bullet. A real, authentic bullet. He knew the sound by heart.

He drops all his chips and scrambles out of his chair, his feet guiding him to what had happened.

There's so much blood… so much blood… so much blood.

"Haha, Mark lost!" William says joyously, clapping as he laughs.

"What… what the hell?" Wilford says quietly, taking in the scene before him.

Fuck, there were bits of Marks head splattered on the floor. Small chunks of muscle, skull, and brain matter in places where they didn't belong. Blood was pouring from the hole in his head, like some kind of fucked up syrup.

"No…no… this, this isn't real…" Wilford says to himself.

"Heh, damn right it's not real. Come on, Mark, get up!" William kicks Marks body. There's no response.

The smell of rot starts to spread out. Open bodies smelled like death. He knew it from first hand experience.

"This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real…"

"Oh, come on, don't be such a sore loser, Mark! Get your ass up, spoil sport!" The Colonel kicks him again. No response. "Ugh, Damien, help!"

"What's wrong, Will?"

"Drama boy here won't get his ass up."

"...eh, probably just fell asleep."

No, he's not asleep. He's dead. Wilford has seen many dead bodies. Enough to know that Mark was dead. There was no false round… Mark was dead.

"Wilford… you alright?"

Wilford looks at Abe, concern written on the detective's face. Meanwhile, his own was covered with fear.

Pure fear.

"He's dead… he's dead…" Wilford keeps stepping back, til he comes in contact with the poker table. He grips onto it. Hard. His nails make indents in the fine wood.

"He's dead… he's dead…" Once his hands hurt enough, he uses them to cover his face. Blocking his view of everyone messing with the body of their friend.

He's dead. He's dead.

And then… it's quiet.

Wilford looks again… everyone is gone. Mark… Damien… Abe… they're all gone. Hell, the room is gone. Replaced with the loneliness of black.

"Do you remember yet?"

"...what?"

"Do you remember what this place is, William?"

"...why did you bring me here?"

"For you to remember…"

A crack of lighting strikes too close for comfort, thunder not too far after. It makes Wilford jump in shock.

"For you to remember what you did to me."

In front of him, a body drops. As if waiting for him, right here, at the right time.

It's Marks body. The wound is still fresh. He wants to throw up.

"For you to remember what you did to them."

"William!"

Voices surround him. Ones that feel so close, and yet, so far. Never front and center. They hadn't been front and center for a long time.

"For you to remember the mistakes you've made…"

"I… I didn't know…" he pleads with the voice.

"All of those horrible mistakes…"

"I didn't know it was loaded…"

"Everyone you've hurt… everyone you've betrayed… all the pain you've caused."

"Please, I'm sorry!" He begs.

"It's too late for sorry…"

Wilford looks at his hands. They're covered in red. Dripping red onto the supposed floor of this void. He tries to wipe them on his pants, but nothing comes off. Blood just keeps dripping off, never ending.

"Do you think sorry will fix everything you've done?"

He turns around to where he hears the voice, but is met with bodies. Piles, upon piles of bodies. A sick mountain range of his own creation. All mangled in ways that he's caused. Some so bad that he can't even recognize them. The smell of rot is unbearable. The sight is unbearable. He has to physically stop himself from spilling sick all over.

"Do you think sorry would bring them back?"

He turns again.

There's 2 gravestones… overcome with the consequences of time. Both adorned with blue and red flowers respectively.

Damien Whitacre. Celine Whitacre.

"Damien… Celine…" Tears form in his eyes just from the names alone. Oh, Celine…

"Do you think sorry would fix all the pain you've caused him?"

"Why can't I remember?"

"Get your ass down on the ground!"

"Am I crazy?"

"Abe…" oh, his detective… he never deserved all that trouble… he deserved rest. Peace.

"Do you think sorry would fix all the pain you've caused me?"

A cold hand rests on the back of Wilfords neck. All his memories hit him like a freight train. Everything. Everything he'd done.

"Mark… please…" tears spill down his cheeks. He can't look at him… he can't look at him again.

"No… that won't do… not after everything you've done…"

The cold hand vanishes. And he's alone again… in the loneliness of black.

"It's all your fault, William."

Wilford looks around. There's nothing. And yet, there's everything. It's too much. "Mark, please, it was an accident!"

"You hurt me, you hurt your friends, and you left her to die!"

"I didn't! I didn't leave her! I swear!"

"So many people… hurt. Because of you."

"I didn't mean to! I didn't know!"

Ear piercing screams are heard all around him. Victims of his crimes. Innocent people, dead. Coming back to haunt him for his actions.

"Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Mark! I'm sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't cut it, William! And it hasn't cut it for a long time!"

"I didn't know!"

"William!"

"Please, William!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"You'll never be forgiven, William… no matter how much you try… you'll always be a murderer!"

"It was an accident! Please, believe me!"

"It's all your fault, William!"

"It's your fault!"

"It will always be your fault!"

"Murderer!"

"Please! Please, it was an accident! You have to believe me!" Wilford sobbed. Trying to plead to the voices of his friends. He wasn't a monster… it was an accident. A bad accident. He never meant to hurt them.

"It's all your fault!"

"Your fault!"

"It's all your fault, William!"

—

Wilford's eyes shoot open. His heart races in his chest. It's hard to breathe. The air feels like sludge, suffocating him. His face is wet from tears.

"It… it was an accident… I swear." He says to himself, in the dark of his room. The tears come again.

He's alone.

#markiplier #wilford warfstache #actor mark #damien markiplier #celine wkm #abe wkm #colonel wkm #markiplier egos #who killed markiplier #wkm #Happy anniversary to Who Killed Markiplier? Part 4!#Hope you guys all enjoy the Wilford angst!#gore tw #violence tw #overall Wilford isnt having a good time

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coolmayordamien · 9 months

Text

Some sweet, angsty Abestache for my beloved @willywarfy

"Don't wanna live a life that is comprehensive; cause seeing clear would be a bad idea."

Being with Wilford is an experience. Usually a good one, sometimes a frightening one, and frequently a painful one. But Abe would rather take a bullet to the heart than spend another moment without him.

He knows which one hurts more, trust him.

Again, it's usually good. Great, even. The happiest that he's ever been in his life, probably. Wilford is, in many ways, perfect for him.

Sometimes Abe will be sitting at his desk, pouring over case files with a glass of whiskey, and he'll look up to see his lover stretched out on the sofa (three guesses on who had decided that his office needed a sofa) with his hands behind his head and a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. It always takes the detective off-guard when Wil just appears out of nowhere, even after all of this time.

"I was thinking about you," he'll explain, and Abe will realize that he is a goner. Because Wilford can (and sometimes does) spend the whole day stepping out from around corners or out of closets (and on one memorable occasion, falling out of the fridge) and right into his detective's arms, simply because he can't stop thinking about Abe.

It's a nice feeling, knowing just how often he crosses this man's mind. The detective has spent years, although he could not say precisely how many, consumed by thoughts of Wilford Warfstache, in one form or another. Obsessing over him, hunting him, desperate to force him to explain his actions. Cross-referencing alibies, keeping tabs on every single person who had managed to survive those awful events-

Getting too caught up in the details, focusing on the minutae of it all.

-devoting every moment of his life to this one man.

Things aren't so different now that they're an item, as a matter of fact. Abe still spends most of his time tracking his mustachioed maverick down, trying to get useful information out of him. And obsessing over Wil, of course. It's just a healthier, more enjoyable obsession now.

But it's not all fun and games. They're not a pair of springtime lovers, sound of mind and body, cured of their every imperfection by the miracle of love.

They're people. Flawed, damaged, traumatized people. And they share a lot of history together.

Sometimes when Wilford appears out of thin air, it doesn't just startle Abe; it terrifies him. He'll feel his heart begin to pound and will remember how it felt to drown in his own blood. He'll choke, tears streaming down his face as he fumbles for the gun, and it is not Wilford who is reaching to steady him but a wild-eyed Colonel with a 357 Magnum and his partner is right there he can't let them die not this time not again-

Sometimes Wil remembers things that he is supposed to forget, and forgets things that he is supposed to remember. Every so often he'll sort of...wake up. He'll stop whatever he's doing, his beautiful eyes losing their usual intensity as they scan the room, unfocused and afraid. Abe knows what he is looking for.

"They're not here, Wil," he'll say softly. The man with the pink mustache will startle, his face twisting up suspiciously. If Abe is lucky, Wilford will not recognize him.

"Where are they, detective?" William demands angrily on days that Abe is not lucky. "Where's Celine? Where's Damien? Where are my friends?"

"They're- they're not here," he stammers, because he promised that he would never lie to his lover, even when the truth only hurts him.

Once, Abe had lost his temper. Wil had been frightening him, had cornered him by the doorway and it was too much like what had happened before. He had snapped, grabbing him by the shoulders and shouting, "They're dead! They're gone and they are NEVER COMING BACK, no matter how many times we do this!"

Wil had shot him. Again.

That was...a very bad night indeed. Abe doesn't like thinking about it, remembering the pain of the bullet and the pain of the betrayal, knowing that he couldn't really die again but not being able to stop himself from crying out as his blood dripped onto the floor, as William became Wilford once again and screamed in horror at what he had done, crying and laughing and shaking as he pressed his bare hands against Abe's wound to staunch the bleeding that had never really begun, because it had never really stopped.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Wil rambled, his hands and sleeves turning pink with blood. "I didn't mean- I'm so sorry, I didn't know that it was loaded-"

Abe wonders who Wilford sees when he's like that. The District Attorney, maybe. It can't be Abe himself. William had absolutely meant to kill him.

Sometimes Abe looks at the man he loves and thinks, 'Murderer. You're in love with a murderer, you filthy traitor, what would everyone think? Are you crazy?'

Wilford always hears him when he wonders if he's crazy. Abe has just about given up on trying to figure out how he does it. But it's alright, because he only takes Abe in his arms, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his mouth.

"Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're crazy," Wilford says strongly, a beautiful, mad grin on his face. "Not even yourself. I think that you might be in need of a little fun, sweetheart."

As they dance together on the stage, lights flashing, music blaring, Abe knows that everything is going to be alright. He's got what he needs; a man who can bring a little color into his world, a little madness into his life. A little bit of pain as well, true, but that just makes these few perfect moments all the sweeter.

"I love you," Abe says suddenly, and the joy on Wilford's motherlovin' face at those words--he would be happy if he could make Wil smile like that every day for the rest of time.

So he does.

#markiplier egos #who killed markiplier #wkm #wilford warfstache #markiplier fanfiction #wilford motherloving warfstache #markiplier warfstache #warfstache #abe the detective #abestache #angst #angst with a happy ending

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oswinunknown · 2 years

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cupid.mp4

//explanation under the cut, feel free to ignore if you wanna try interpreting it cause idk if i showed it well enough (spoilers for WKM and its associated TW/CW)

lets get the three characters: -blue: Damien -green/grey: Oswin (the character, tho in wkm, i call him oz) -black: dark

before the events of WKM, Damien and Oz were very much pining for one another despite not being able to do much at the time for a plethora of reasons, so they went along with their lives, hoping for another chance to meet and interact again.

when WKM happens, we all know who dies, and at the end, the DA's body gets stolen by the negative parts of Damien, Celine, and a manor entity, leaving the DA's mind and soul trapped in the mirror.

As Dark leaves Oz in the mirror, the good lingering parts of Damien remains and sees the damage it caused to his old friend.

There Oz yells, smashing the mirror trying to free himself, all the while feeling betrayed by Damien. Both are in shock and in betrayal at Dark.

In a fit of compassion and determination however, Damien reaches into the mirror to grab Oz. He ends up grabbing the soul of Oz, leaving the mind behind in the mirror, greyed and shattered.

Damien holds Oz's soul and cries, comforting the person he loved with all his heart. Despite Oz's soul lacking the memories of the times they were alive, he still recognizes the man he trusted and loved, shedding a single tear before resting in his arms for the last time.

The last shot is of the modern Oswin who partakes in AHWM and ADWM, he awakes in his bed, his eyes glowing blue from the panic he feels. The dream he had was so real, too real, and he cant remember why he's crying.

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leighsartworks216 · 2 years

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Sodomy

Damien x male!DA!reader

IT'S FINALLY COMPLETE Y'ALL GAMIEN IS HERE

I did not proofread this and I'm not going to until I decide to read this again late at night and cringe at all my mistakes

Edit: I fixed some spelling errors and changed a few minor things here and there to make it flow better so it has officially been proofread 👍

Warnings: internalized homophobia, religious trauma, lowkey emotionally abusive parents (only hinted at tho), old timey sodomy laws, googled 20s slang

Word Count: 2915

Slang Reference:

Wise head (wise-head): A smart person

Stuck on: Having a crush on

Masterlist

Oftentimes, Damien missed his old university days. Back then, his responsibilities didn't stretch so far. His parents had been breathing down his neck for so long, expectations as high as a Heaven he never believed he would reach, that university had been his only escape. His parents influenced his career choice, as it was them who pushed him into a politics major. But once his sister left, his eyes were opened, and he distanced himself from their wishes so he would have room to grow into a better person.

He’d also met you during this time.

Somehow, you both just clicked. Where one was, so too was the other. Perhaps it was this closeness that drew out feelings in him that had long been repressed, by his parents, priest, and even himself.

Homosexuality was a sin. At least, that’s what he was raised to believe. Why should you think any different? Sexuality as a whole in this day and age was changing and evolving, but… Sodomy was still a serious crime. If he or you were accused, you’d both be ruined, surely.

Damien was sleeping rough. He hated to admit it, truly, but his mind was focused more on you than his work. How could one attend meetings and prepare speeches when you existed?

As he got ready for the day, his mind began to wander. He kept it under control, for the most part, but then he imagined you fixing his bowtie, smoothing out his lapels, and he had to rush to pick up those few minutes he wasted staring dazed in the mirror. Then, as he was grabbing a mug from his cabinet, his hand had subconsciously begun to grab a second one. He went without coffee that morning.

“Damien?”

His head shot up, tearing his attention from the paperwork on his side of the desk to where you were sitting across from him. You’d taken up residence in his office today, using the other side of his desk to file court cases and shuffle folders around. Your brow was furrowed, face laced with concern. A lump formed in his throat as he thought of how cute you looked like that.

“You’ve been staring at that graph for a while now,” you observed. A sly smirk crossed your lips. “Does our mayor need help with his paperwork?”

It was hard not to get used to your teasing after so long. And yet, somehow, even as he rolled his eyes and shuffled papers around, he could feel his heart fluttering against his ribcage and a warmth heating his cheeks. “Of course not, dear district attorney.” The floating feeling inside of him almost died as he saw the large block of text he had flipped to.

Damien cleared his throat and folded his hands on top of his desk, leveling you with a knowing look. “I was simply thinking of breaking for lunch,” he lied. “If you’re still as careless as you used to be, I can almost guarantee you have not even had breakfast yet.” He didn’t mention his own lack of a full breakfast with coffee that morning; you could tell he was preoccupied enough already without him having to admit it.

You chuckled, averting your eyes back to your own work as you slipped papers into different folders. “You know me too well, Dames.”

“An honor and a privilege,” he teased with a self-satisfied grin. The Mayor stood from his desk, grabbing his cane in the process. “How about we go to lunch? Somewhere close by - mayhaps that diner down the road? My treat.”

Your head snapped up. You almost looked afronted at the idea of him paying for your meals. “I couldn’t possibly let you do that, Damien! It’s completely inappropriate and-”

He waved a hand, silencing your protests. “Please, I insist! This is a lunch between friends, not the mayor and district attorney.”

And how could you possibly say no to those pleading eyes of his?

“Do you remember that one party we went to where - What was his name? Markus… Lynch? Where he broke a table doing a keg stand?”

Damien chuckled. “Oh, you mean the party you dragged me to because I was, and I quote, ‘working too hard’ on a term paper due the next day.”

You laughed at the memory. You must have forgotten that you did that, as you looked off wistfully into the distance, as though you were searching through dusty files of old memories in your mind. His heart fluttered as he studied the dreamy look on your face.

It was a marvel being able to know you, truly know you. He had seen nearly every side of your beautiful personality, from your overwhelming joy to your lonesome sadness. The set determination in your eyes was ever so familiar from uni. It carried over to your days as a lawyer, and as DA, but he remembered seeing it very clearly when you would work for much too long on an assignment, or when you would tell him he had been working too long and he needed a break. He remembered seeing them as you dragged him to that party, where you laughed and chatted and dragged him over to the poker table almost immediately. (You were always so skilled at cards, he never had a chance to beat you in the first place. Lots of money was lost and gained that night.)

Admittedly, other than the poker, the table mishap, and you dragging him there, the party was rather dull. It wasn’t long after you arrived that you were dragging him outside again, this time to the roof. The two of you laid out on the hard shingles of that frat house and spoke of your dreams, your futures, your aspirations, until the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon.

Perhaps he didn’t fully realize it yet then, but he believed now, as the orange lights of the diner highlighted your nose and cheekbones, bathed you in their warm light; as the coffee steam from your mug and the steam from his hot chocolate drifted between you; as your eyes shined like those stars. Yes, he knew it now.

He was in love with you.

Damien’s brow furrowed as he read over the same paragraph again and again and again. His mind was elsewhere, despite how many times he tried to bring it back down to reality, to business.

Ever since his epiphany at lunch, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was never anything indecent or suggestive. Rather, he simply imagined what it would feel like if you caressed his cheek. Or ran your fingers through his hair, freshly washed after a shower. Sometimes he imagined what it would be like to kiss you. He imagined too often that it would be soft, sweet.

He found himself praying more often. His heart ached to be closer to you, to hold you. But guilt ate away at his soul every time it did. It felt wrong to feel this way for another man, especially as he’d never before felt this way about a woman. He asked God questions he’d been asking since he was a child.

If God made humans in his own image, and if he was supposed to love every one of his children, did that mean he loved Damien too? If he had these terribly lovely thoughts about kissing another man, did that mean he was no longer deserving of God’s love, even if said love was supposed to be unconditional? Was he born a sinner? Or did the Devil turn him into one somewhere along the path of life?

He never received any answers, of course.

His only solace was that you had decided to work in your own office as of late. The cases were piling up, it seemed.

With a sigh, he pushed his paperwork aside. He wouldn’t be getting through it anytime soon. Instead, he grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment from his drawer along with a reservoir fountain pen. For a long moment, he just stared at the blank sheet. Then, he began writing.

My dear DA,

Our reminiscing during lunch got me thinking of those old university days - it seems you’ve opened a floodgate that does not wish to be shut just yet. As such, I was wondering if you would like to come to my estate for dinner tonight. You need not reply in such short notice, you simply must show up if you choose to attend.

Best Wishes,

Damien

Before he could overthink what he was doing, he folded the letter into thirds and slipped it into an envelope. With careful care and precision, he proceeded to heat up some wax and pour it at the ‘v’ of the envelope. Once it was cool enough, he pressed the signet ring he wore on his left pinky finger into it. The sigil of his family was left in the red wax. Damien addressed the backside to you and gave it to his secretary, telling her to have it delivered before the end of the day.

And when he sat down again, pulling his paperwork back in front of him, he desperately tried to ignore the sinking feeling of dread pooling in his gut.

The chime at the door shocked Damien from his task. He fumbled for a moment, cursing under his breath as he hurriedly finished what he was doing to run to the door. Once he was actually at the door of course, he paused, took a deep breath, and pulled it open.

You were both dressed down. Working in the positions you did, suits were a must, and Damien especially had to look the part of a good, upstanding Mayor (which he was, thank you very much). So, seeing you in such simple clothes again after so long, well, if made his heart stutter.

He greeted you with your name, saying it as though he hadn’t seen you in ages, when it had only been a few days since your face graced him with his presence. “Come on in! I’m, uh, not quite ready,” he admitted through a nervous chuckle.

You laughed good-naturedly as you followed him inside. “It’s okay, Dames, take your time.”

Your presence had an oxymoronic effect on his emotions. On one hand, he was nervous and energetic. Being around you made him antsy, worried he would make the wrong move at any moment in a giant chess game of your friendship. On the other hand, you had a comforting effect on him like no one else, not even Celine. It was like his body didn’t truly know how to act when it was around you.

He left you in the living room, telling you to “Feel free to explore” as he disappeared back into the kitchen. He double-checked that everything was as it should be, running through an ever growing checklist in his mind. He made sure he had sandwiches, grapes, cheese, wine and glasses. He wondered if he should throw in crackers, if he needed to grab a blanket or if it would dampen the familiar experience. He was at war with himself.

Resigned to grabbing a spare blanket from his linens closet, he was stopped abruptly when he was met with you in the doorway. He felt - and perhaps even looked - like a deer in headlights.

You just grinned, lopsided and knowing, like you were trying to bite back a full-blown toothy smile. “A picnic?” It was less of a question than it seemed, especially as you nodded to the basket he’d just finished packing everything into.

He floundered, mouth silently opening and closing. It was truly a spectacular sight to see the Mayor at a loss for words this great. But, after a moment, he straightened up, swallowed the thick lump in his throat, and then cleared his throat. “I- Well, I was hoping we could- I had planned for us to maybe-” He cleared his throat again, nervously running a hand through his hair. He desperately wished he had his cane so that he had something to wring with his hands - an awful nervous habit that he hopelessly wished he could act on. “That night,” he began slowly, ”at the party, we snuck onto the roof to look at the stars and talk instead. I thought it would be… nice. To do something like that again.”

Dark eyes looked to you for approval. You were smiling. He turned away, blushing, playing it off with a scoff. “Stop smiling like that,” he scolded, but it was half-hearted at best. “I know it’s stupid-”

“It’s not stupid!” you cut him off quickly. You made your way to the basket on the counter, and peeked inside. Your smile became less mischievous and more sincere as you saw the care he put into making a nice dinner for the both of you. Not only had he thought through what wine would go best with the cheeses he picked out, the sandwiches he made were your favorite. Honestly, you were amazed he remembered. “It’s very thoughtful of you… It’s sweet.”

He couldn’t possibly hide how red his cheeks and the tips of his ears were now, but he certainly tried. With a nervous ahem, he excused himself to grab a blanket. And if he closed himself in the linen closet for a moment to hide his hands in his face, breathing deeply multiple times to calm his racing heart, you would never know.

The stars seemed to shine brighter tonight than he’d ever seen them shine before. They twinkled and winked down on Earth, like they were concealing some secret from all of humanity. After all, what did they really know about space?

Dinner was simple, good. Damien found himself on his second glass of wine before you finished your first in hopes it would settle his nerves. (It didn’t. Instead, it allowed his mind to feel more free to think about you.)

But now all that was left was you, him, the blanket underneath you both, and the stars above.

He was smart enough to choose a section of his roof that faced away from the road, away from the prying eyes who may think that any of this was scandalous. Though, he supposed, it was, on some level. Two men, laying this close to each other… Even if it wasn’t in a sexual sense, if any word of it got out, your reputations, your lives would be ruined forever. He frowned at the thought.

“Okay,” you broke the silence abruptly, turning on your side and propping your head up on your hand. “What has gotten into you lately?”

Damien stared up at you with wide eyes. “Wh-What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s not like you to reminisce about university. Why now?”

He looked back up at the stars, trying to avoid your interrogative gaze. But, even as he stayed silent, you just kept staring at him, waiting for an answer. He couldn’t avoid it any longer.

Your eyes followed him as he sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. He stared down at the shingles of his roof. He silently prayed that God would forgive him.

“When you brought up uni the other day…” He sighed. His heart was pounding so hard against his ribs. “I realized something. Something I had… repressed for a long while, I think.”

You sat up fully, sitting on your knees and facing him. The stars, no matter how much they twinkled, shined, sparkled, and shimmered, would not pull your attention away from Damien.

His dark eyes, almost too dark to see in the dim light of the moon, finally looked up at you. He opened his mouth, closed it, and swallowed thickly. “I… I love you.” He held his hands out, in a gesture one would use to calm someone down. “A-And I know sodomy is illegal and a sin, and you don’t have to reciprocate anything at all, b-but-!”

Your laughter stunned him silent. He blinked owlishly. You leaned forward and grabbed his hand, pulling it close and pulling him closer in the process. “I knew you weren’t a wise-head but c’mon, Dames, I thought you realized!”

He stammered, trying desperately not to look at your lips. He had to prop himself up with his free hand just to keep himself from falling over into your lap. “Wh- Realized what?”

You chuckled again, softer this time. “I’ve been stuck on you since we first met!”

Unlike him, you weren’t shying away from glancing at his lips. You leaned forward and brushed your nose against his. He practically shuddered in anticipation, his eyes fluttering closed.

“I don’t care about sodomy,” you whispered.

His eyes shot open to look at you. This time, it wasn’t just shock. It was wonder. This whole time, he’d been so worried how you would react to his admission, but you were in the same boat as him all along.

With a jump of his heart, he leaned forward and finally closed the distance. Your lips connected in a passionate crash, desperation from years of pining finally finding a release. Hands found their way to tangle in hair, fingers gripping onto shirts, all in an eager attempt to bring each other closer.

He loved you. And he couldn’t even begin to fathom that you loved him, but you did. The stars dimmed as they witnessed your love finally come to fruition.

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marshmellowtea · 2 years

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today i’m once again crying about the fact that actor wasn’t always the self absorbed, revenge focused asshole that we know him as now, that he used to have friends who loved him, a wife who loved him before things started to go wrong, and who knows how much of that was caused by his own actions and how much of that was influenced by the house but we know he wasn’t always this way and *shakes your shoulders* he’s a fucking TRAGIC character when you look at it and no matter what he says about his stories and getting to play his role i don’t think he’s genuinely happy, especially not with how much he hangs onto the past, and i’m just. constantly so upset about it lmao

#this is a fucking ramble i just. hfhvdhvdhv #i’m on my way to work i don’t have time for angst and yet #who killed markiplier #actor mark #marshy speaks

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melancholypancakes · 2 years

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“I wonder what happened to the DA?”

Just imagine Darkiplier singing this to Reincarnated! Y/n

My personal head canon for my Y/n is she’s “the angel” while Darkiplier “the demon” :)

Also, I’ll explain why my Y/n looks like she has powers in another post 👀👀

youtube

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ghiertor-the-gigapeen · 6 months

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"They used to be very happy" said the butler

#i made this #fook it we angst #the raven prophet #the red flag king #who killed markiplier #wkm actor mark #actor mark #markiplier fanart

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triple-asstro · 2 years

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For Us In Every Universe

word count: 1308

tags: angst, Pre-Who Killed Markiplier, domestic fluff, flower crowns,

characters: damien, y/n (aka District Attorney)

relationship: damien x reader

A loud crunch echoed through the kitchen as you chopped the final carrot before sliding the remaining slices into the decorated salad bowl. The rain echoed outside as you grabbed the bowl, walking over towards the well-decorated dining table and placing it in the middle as you glanced towards the clock. 9:03. Only three minutes more. Or so you thought until you heard a loud click and some approaching footsteps coming from the front door.

As you quickly investigated the front door, you saw the mayor man himself, his hair perfectly combed back and his beautiful oak brown eyes shining through the foggy outside.

“Damien, you’re back awfully early. What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing in particular just wanted to drop these off,” he said, giving you a lovely daisy flower crown that had each stem intertwined with one another. “Plus, you always suggest I take a break every once in a while.”

“I’m glad this means you’re finally taking my advice.” you chuckled, wiping some additional raindrops off of his coat. “Also, umbrellas.”

“Unfortunately, I was unaware of the sudden weather change.” Damien muttered, his eyebrows curling upwards.

“Well, while we’re here, I could make some hot cocoa for the both of us and we can snuggle on the couch? What do you think?”

“It’s like you read my mind. I’ll get myself into more comfortable attire.” Damien said, excusing himself to go upstairs as you prepped two mugs near the coffee maker. A soft smile crept onto your face as the sounds of churning coffee being poured into your cup were interrupted by an unknown presence creeping behind you.

You know you can’t keep doing this.

“Doing what?”

Being delusional. This won’t help you in any way.

“No. I’m not listening to you.” you stated, yanking both cups and walking into the living room, completely ignoring the presence following behind you. When you approached the couch, you saw an eager Damien, his smile making your heart flutter like it did before and completely wrapped in fluffy wool blankets.

“Wow, you’re pretty excited for this, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am, I’d willingly give up everything if it means I get to spend time with you.” Damien said, grabbing the coffee mug you handed to him as you snuggled closer.

“Yeah, right… How do you always say the most adorable things?”

Damien’s face went completely red, almost like he’d just been outside in a snowstorm. “A-adorable? Well, I simply say what’s on my mind.”

“That’s honestly what you think?” you asked, sipping from your mug.

“Certainly. I’m just glad we’re in this moment right now. It’s just like our university days when the dorm got snowed in.”

“And the thermostat didn’t work and you had to explain why we had to huddle together for warmth? You were mumbling through your entire speech, Dames.”

“Well, I couldn’t just huddle towards you. I had to explain and-”

“Uh-huh, right. You do realize how obvious you were being, right?”

“Perhaps.”

You chuckled as you leaned deeper into the blanket and felt the soft warmth coming from him, slightly adjusting your flower crown and slightly yawning which caused Damien to glance towards your face with concern.

“Oh darling, are you tired? You can take a nap on my lap if you wish.”

“Can I?” you eagerly asked, your eyes widening like a little puppy.

“Of course, lie down love.” he chuckled, flashing another heartwarming smile as you laid your head down on his lap. His hands carefully combed through your tangled hair, unknowingly patting your head which in turn, made you even more tired.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you about what happened today?”

“No, what happened?” you asked, suddenly shooting up from his lap and now leaning on the soft couch facing him. He suddenly pulled two letters out of his pocket, one with golden lettering and the other simply hiding behind with a colourful stamp.

“You remember my dear friend Mark, correct?” You nodded.

“Well, he sent me an invitation the other day about a party he’s hosting in a few days. He exclusively stated you must bring a plus one so…

“I can come.”

“You can? Lovely! It’s great to have the gang back together again and we can all catch up on our lives.”

“Exactly! God, I can’t wait!” you exclaimed, flapping your hands up and down only pausing when you saw the second letter hidden.

“What’s that?”

“This? Oh, this one's for you,” he said, sitting you back down and placing it into your hands. Before you could open it, he stopped you.

“Don’t open it yet. God, you are an impatient little monster.”

“I know, but you love this impatient little monster right?” you teasingly asked.

“Of course, without a doubt. This is a gift for later, perhaps after the party. It’s special for both of us.”

“Okay?” you nervously muttered, glancing at the mysterious letter.

“Y/N, I love you to the ends of this earth. My life has been a blessing ever since I met you. Even when we were little kids all the way to our university days, I’ve always adored you. You’ve never failed to surprise me with how much you can handle and how much you radiate such confidence and this gift, this gift is a tribute to you. It’s a gift for us that’ll hopefully last for centuries to come. No matter where we are, what time it is or whatever universe we’re in, this will always be there.”

You finally opened your eyes, looking around to see an abandoned suburban neighbourhood and in front of you, was a cosy house with a red roof and comfortable porch. It looks like it’s been run down for years. Glancing down towards your hands holding the letter that was given to you all those years ago, you ripped open the beige top and peeked inside.

As you carefully poured the contents out into your hands, a ring suddenly plopped into your hand. It had a diamond band with a gorgeous heart-cut diamond in the middle and the sight of it brought you to tears. You’ve waited long enough for this present so you placed the ring onto your ring finger, the diamond slightly glowing through the snowy fog.

Digging deeper through the letter, you pulled out an old document that was detailed with architectural designs and property deeds until it clicked. He bought you an engagement ring and a house. After the party, he was supposed to take you back home to the rundown cabin you were staying at and propose to you. But, that didn’t happen, did it?

As the sudden realization crashed into you like a wrecking ball, you unfolded the plans only to see a small drawing of a heart with only a single message inside it:

For us in every universe.

-Dames.

The letter dropped to the ground along with you crashing onto your knees as the potential memories of what could've flooded you all at once. It was like you were living through a completely different person's memories. You could’ve had a happy domestic life or maybe even had children, of course to others that might seem like a death sentence but you didn’t care. As long as it was with Damien.. but now, that’s gone. It’s all gone and there was no way you could get them back. It didn’t matter how much you cried and sobbed into the concrete sidewalk as others walking by on the other side silently judged you, the perfect man was taken from you.

In a different universe, this could’ve been different. Something would change and now, the tribute to both of your love was decaying in front of you.

You had to let go. And eventually, you would but it’s hard saying goodbye to the man who was for you in every universe.

#damien wkm #damien x reader #wkm #who killed markiplier #angst #damien angst #markiplier egos #markiplier fanfiction #read on ao3 #damien the mayor #i have damien brainrot-#damien x y/n

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theknightmarket · 1 year

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"Sometimes I wonder what you saw in me."

In which Mark and an old friend reunite - this time, with feeling!

[This is the second part to a two-parter, so be sure to read this first if you haven't yet]

TW: cursing, angst/comfort

Pages: 27 - Words: 9500

[Requests: OPEN]

“Mr. Patton!”

Having been a director for many a year, Patton had learned that someone yelling his name with that much intention could be one of three things; the first being that someone had died, the other that X, Y or Z had too much coffee and puked their brains out into a stall, or something good had happened. The latter was less common, but it was always a welcome surprise. Hoping for Christmas to come early, he turned around and saw two of his assistants. Yours and Mark’s, the ones who were supposed to be with you at all times.

So, not the latter.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, tiredly.

The events they spilled were, all in all, not normal. They had taken it upon themselves to fix your relationship, and it had gone well, it seemed. You hadn’t been figuring out new insults, at least, and had even said a good morning on the way in. Patton didn’t see what the problem was, but it didn’t stop him from continuing on with his very busy schedule.

“Nice job, you two, well done,” he commended without effort, “Now, we’ve got five scenes to shoot today, so we’re gonna need a lot of touch-ups and coffees. I think that café nearby is open until six—”

Juliette ran in front of him, effectively blocking him from rushing away. She spoke pleadingly, “Well, we were wondering if you could help us send them off together?”

Patton’s face dropped. He liked his prize actors, he really did, but not enough to take away from the working day.

“We don’t have time for that,” he responded, watching as her face, too, fell, “Look, whatever they do on their own time is up to them, but I can’t have them fixing anything during work hours.”

Toby stepped up to bat now, saying, “But, sir, this is helping them.”

But Patton wouldn’t budge. “We’re on a tight schedule as is, we can’t lose any more time.” He tried to move past them, but they were a brick wall that couldn’t be knocked down. He would have better luck throwing a baby at them and seeing if it stuck.

“Then just for lunch.”

“Toby.”

“Please?”

Those puppy dog eyes might have actually worked three years ago, when he had been younger and more open to convincing. Now, though, they just made him sidestep and wave down another crew member.

“The Captain and the Engineer are supposed to like each other, right?” Juliette interrupted when she saw a camera man approaching, a particularly bulky one at that. “And it’ll be easier for them to act like it if they do like each other in real life, right?”

She was pulling at straws here, desperately hoping for him to agree with one single thing they pointed out.

It was his own death sentence when he muttered, “Well, yes, but—”

She stuck to that sign of weakness. “Or do you want them to go back to spitting insults and potentially jeopardize the entire movie?”

More tired than he was resistant, he replied, “No, I don’t. But I also don’t want to sacrifice daylight.”

Toby rounded, finally, to stand directly in front of Patton. “You said that you need touch-ups and coffees, so what if we did the fixing bits and they get the coffees together?”

The director glanced between the assistants. They raised some good points and gave even better solutions, and what would he be if he weren’t a lenient boss. That and the puppy dog eyes Toby had maintained were working wonders now that his resolve had broken apart.

“I suppose—” Barely a complete sentence, not even a yes or no, and they were getting excited, like two children being offered anything they wanted in a candy store, “—that could work… Fine, we’ll send them, but I don’t think Mark will be too happy as an errand boy.”

That was the least of their concerns and the farthest thing from their minds as they received the go ahead. Hyped up grins appeared over their mouths; Toby bounced on his heels while Juliette nodded vigorously.

“I’ll deal with him when they get back,” she responded with an assuring thumbs-up.

“Alright, go get everyone’s orders, and then they can leave at lunch.”

They skittered off to each and every crew member in that building, stopped before the dressing rooms and collected as many as they could to keep their project busy. It was with a devious exchange of laughter that they separately knocked on their wards’ doors.

“I cannot believe him.”

It was a mystery how Mark resisted yelling the second they were sent off. You had half the mind to ask him, but that would surely prompt outraged responses.

Instead, you busied yourself with wrapping your coat further around you. Although it had been sunny the day before, the weather took a turn for the worst. A dangerous chill blanketed the city, cooling water and making breath look a fine mist.

“Well,” you started, making your way carefully down the path, “moaning about it won’t get us back inside.”

“But we’re the heroes of this whole thing, who gave him the right to give us chores?” You couldn’t tell which word held more venom, ‘chores’ or ‘us’. You might’ve said something about him being a baby the day before, but it didn’t seem as appealing to you now.

Also, to be fair, you weren’t overly thrilled to be getting coffee, either. You should’ve been running lines or actually enjoying your lunch break, not trying to keep balanced on icy concrete.

Moving your arms barely outwards to stay upright, you replied, “Considering that Mr. Patton’s the director, probably himself.”

You latched onto any supporting thing you could find: a bike rack, a lamppost, once a tree that you didn’t realize was mostly made of leaves and you almost toppled over forwards because of. Luckily, Mark was at your side in an instant, pulling you backwards and gripping onto a wall to stable himself.

You thanked him, before wondering aloud, “And are we really heroes?”

Mark scoffed, not as annoyed as he used to be, “Of course, we are. What else would we be?”

“Protagonists.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Shaking your head, you watched the air in front of you turn to smoke. You liked colder days, but not when they threatened to knock you on your ass in front of the whole street. “But protagonists aren’t always heroes,” you replied, trying to stay focused on your walking, “just the people the camera is following, and even then, it can change.”

“We save the universe,” Mark responded. You glanced to your left, noticing that he was walking completely normally, as if the slippery ice melted right under his boots.

“From a mess we created.”

“So?” He brought a hand from his pocket, gripping your upper arm just tight enough to stop your inevitable keeling over. You hoped you could play the redness that rose in your cheeks off as the cold. “We still save it; we could’ve just let it crash and burn.”

“You’d feel bad, though, right?”

“Depends. Do I care about the people on board?”

After thinking it through for a second, you nodded. “Yeah, you’ve worked with them for ages, and it’s your ship.”

“If I built the first one, I could build another,” Mark stated, like it was obvious. You’d always had a problem with getting attached to inanimate objects – still living with Mark, when your coffee machine had broken, he had to comfort you for a solid day before you could buy another one.

But Mark didn’t think that way, so you tried a different approach. “Then what about the people?”

Silence.

You turned your head, for a moment sacrificing possible embarrassment, to see him mulling it over in his head. He hummed and tutted for a few seconds, enough time for you to ask, “You’re not seriously thinking about it?”

Mark huffed, his shoulders dropping, and head bowed. “It’s a lot to go through,” he admitted, “Wormholes, problems, dying over and over again – I’d only do it if I really cared about them.”

“What about me?” You didn’t catch his dip in eyebrows, a clear sign that he was back to thinking, while you turned a corner. “I’ve gone through the same stuff, and I’m still trying to save the crew.”

“I didn’t know you were with me.” He squinted and then sighed. “Well, if that’s the case, then, of course.”

Something stirred in your gut as those words met your ears. They weren’t honeyed or mocking, Mark spoke like what he said was obvious, like he couldn’t have said anything different. For a moment, it crossed your mind that he didn’t hate you, but there was so much evidence to go against that – and yet you wanted to believe the former side of you.

Trying to keep the interest out of your voice, you asked, “Why ‘of course’?”

“I wouldn’t be alone.”

A frown forced itself over your mouth. Was he really that scared of being alone that he would give up his own life? It left a bad taste in your mouth, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of what you did. You had left him, alone in that big, old house.

“So,” you swallowed, “the problem isn’t the wormholes, it’s the loneliness.”

The café appeared in front of you before you had noticed you were on the same block. It was a cute thing, pastel blue and pink decorating the umbrellas, but nobody was sitting outside on that day. Everyone was safe and snug in the warmth, and, lucky for you, that was only two or three people, not counting the staff who waited patient and bored at the counter. You’d surely be here for a while with how many orders you had to place, so you were glad you wouldn’t be holding anyone up.

Mark stepped forward and held open the door, replying carelessly, “I think I’d be able to go through the different universes, but I wouldn’t be able to survive rebuilding the warp core.”

One foot through, you stopped. “At that point, you’re saving yourself, though.”

You moved on to order, about half of them being plain, black coffees and a third the most complicated requests that you were pretty sure were just jokes. In the end, you just passed them the notepad with all of them on it to the barristers. Fatigue waved over them when they saw the second page, so you slipped then a twenty for their troubles.

It was then that you noticed Mark hadn’t replied, despite him standing directly next to you with his lips sealed tight. You risked a glance and saw him thinking intently. They were hypothetical scenarios, ones you’d never have to deal with, but he sure was putting all of his effort into them.

This muted state lasted until you were back out the door again, a good 15 minutes later, and a bad feeling settled in your stomach. Had you messed everything up? You weren’t sure what you had done, but it must’ve been something to get the guy infamous for running his mouth to shut it down completely. Frigid air not the only thing making you shiver; you decided to offer up another comment.

“I don’t think I could do it.”

He hummed back absentmindedly, still caught in the whirlwind of his thoughts.

“Go through it over and over,” you explained, now back to keeping balance, “I think… I think I would try, but I’d end up cracking eventually. I’d feel guilty, but not being able to get out of it would kill me.”

And it was back to the silence. The swish of tree leaves overhead calmed your nerves, but the steady tap of shoes and the studio lot appearing in the distance brought them back up. You had enjoyed this little break, albeit unnerving at the end, and you feared it would revert entirely. The both of you would go back to swapping insults and being rude, like children on a playground.

But you were allowed a breath of relief seconds before you arrived back at the set.

“Where do you think you would end up?” Mark asked, jostling cups in his hands to open the door.

You felt the warmth of a climate-controlled building swarm around your legs, and you basked in it as you answered, “I’d stop with Miss Whitacre. She seems nice and the void could be comforting after not taking a break for so long. Plus, Pam is really cool.”

In fact, Pam was the last person who you delivered a coffee to. Really, she was more of a tea girl, but you thought the barrister would kill you if you switched it up at the last second. She was grateful, and you moved back to your dressing room for a few minutes of lunch.

From across the room, Juliette’s eyes widened. Not from a realization, but from fear. She had watched Mark stalk around the room, not as confident or cocky as he was before you had left, and now, there he was, a lost soul floating around the set.

“Oh, God, something must’ve happened,” she hissed to Toby.

His shoulders collapsed in disappointment, but he still replied reassuringly, “We don’t know that.”

It didn’t do much to settle her panic. “Have you ever seen Mark so… not dramatic?”

The actor was creepily blunt with everything he was doing, the flair sapped out of him just like that. No comments, no arguments. The assistants watched Mr. Patton approach him and he almost numbly accepted whatever decision he had made.

“It’s only our second day,” Toby muttered, despite him knowing that it was odd.

“Yeah, exactly.”

He swirled the cup of coffee around, wishing to find an answer in the dark, steaming mass. It came up blank, which led him to wonder simply, “How about we ask them?”

“And get us caught?” Juliette gasped, “No thanks, I’d rather be friendly towards the guy I’ll be working with for the next few months.” Toby looked away, somewhat surprised and somewhat having expected her to be so outraged at his suggestion. “What if our efforts have been for nothing? All those hours slaving away at getting them together, and for what? For all our hard work to be thrown away.”

“Again, second day, and we bought them takeout.”

Julie planted her hands on her colleague’s shoulders, drawing him out of staring into his coffee. Her own sat idly by on the table beside them, ignored in favor of her meeting his eyes. “We have to take drastic measures,” she warned.

Instantly, Toby practically deflated. He was over getting them to be nice together, he just wanted to go back to work and get paid, and this was detrimental to that very idea. Weakly, he replied, “Seriously? And you don’t think we’ll be fired for that?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

She hadn’t left any room for discussion; the metal plating that decorated the set bent underneath her moving body, at a faster rate than Toby could keep up with. Sighing, he tried his hardest, but not without complaint.

“Get a job as an actor’s assistant, they said—” Juliette swung open a door, “—it’ll be fixing makeup and getting drinks, they said—” He trailed behind her down a hallway, “—nobody said I’d be meddling in their personal lives and possibly committing crimes!”

His friend – for, he believed, not much longer – only skidded to a halt when they arrived at a door clearly marked maintenance, which they were not. Juliette acted like she hadn’t seen it, though, and pushed with some force against the heavy-duty iron. She huffed and gestured for Toby to help, before offhandedly replying, “You wouldn’t have taken the job otherwise.”

“You say that like this is normal.”

The door gave way to dust particles floating around the air, a flimsy light hanging above them, and a dingy staircase that led into something unknown. At least, to Toby because Julie neglected to tell him what her plan was, so he was along for the ride.

The very woman was already marching down steps, skipping a couple and disappearing entirely into the blackness below.

Toby keeled back. “Juliette, is this normal?” he called, gripping the banister like he would die if he let go. She didn’t answer.

“Juliette!?”

He ran down in a panic.

When his feet made contact with stable ground, a cold concrete that he felt through the leather of his shoes, he saw an entire wall of switches and wires and buttons. Most were unhelpfully unlabeled, but they were separated into categories that meant with a fine amount of trial and error, they could figure out what they needed.

You had just wrapped up a scene, one of your favorites that was scheduled for that week. You figured it would look better after edits, since the colors were supposed to be regressed to black and white, but you still enjoyed the vibe of the piece. Currently, you were heading up to the recording booths to finish off the voiceovers, and then you’d be home bound until the next day.

The elevator dinged as it came slowly to a stop, allowing you to get in and press the button for the fifth floor. It was a tall building, but it also held a lot of storage rooms and editing offices the rest of the company used.

Doors sliding closed, you sighed and leaned back against the mirror. A stressful day deserved a moment of calm sprinkled somewhere inside, and this short break would have to do. A minute to yourself, to think, to breath.

“Wait!”

Your eyes shot open, and you lunged to press your foot between the shutters. Luckily, they stopped short of crushing you, and, in the inches of space, you saw Mark running to catch up to you. Really, it was more of a fastened jog, but it was more than you had ever seen him do.

He muttered a ‘thank you’ when he was safely inside. You nodded back.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were meant to say at a time like this. Could you pick up your last conversation, or did you have to choose a new subject? Or, even worse, were you supposed to wait in silence until your floor came?

You settled for making idle small talk. “Um, nice work in the noir,” you spoke softly.

Mark looked startled for a second, until he recovered and replied, “Yeah, it was weird to constantly be squinting, but you did well, too.”

“Thanks.”

A comment about the costumes was about to leave your mouth, but another question in your mind caught your attention. Thinking back to when you had distributed the coffees, both of your assistants had been shifty. The same look on their faces as when you had interacted after dinner. You figured that it could have just been a coincidence, though it wouldn’t hurt to ask Mark if he had seen anything similar.

“Has Juliette been acting weird lately?”

He tilted his head and looked confused at you, a question evident in his eyes that he bypassed by saying, “Not that I’m aware, we’ve only been working together for a couple of days.”

It made sense that they could just be like that in general, but something was off. No mannerisms – Juliette’s nor Toby’s – indicated they would be suspicious. You bit the inside of your cheek in thought.

“Yeah, I know, just…” you trailed off, considering your phrasing, “when we finished dinner last night, Toby was being strange.”

“How so?”

“It looked like he wanted to ask a question, or he wanted me to tell him about something, but he never did, and then he told me that you and Juliette spoke about our relationship.”

Automatically, the air flexed and bent under the strain of awkwardness. You tried to fight off regret for bringing it up; it was bound to happen sooner or later, and you had surmised to get it over with before everything boiled over.

It seemed it was already too late – if how he spat, “We did,” was anything to go by.

Reminding yourself that it didn’t matter, you replied, “Toby and I did, too.”

“Nice to know.”

The silence was killing you, it kept coming back like waves lapping at a shore, except it did more than get your feet wet. It delivered guilt and tension and a mood too rigid to fit inside that confining box comfortably. It was either now or never, but you didn’t like either of those options. Go back and change what had happened would be preferable, but you didn’t get that choice. You had to deal with the here and now, however much your heartbeat sped up or your breathing shook.

Closing your eyes and hoping for the best, you said, “Look, I just wanted to know if you’d be open to talking about it?”

“What is there to talk about?” he snapped back. That bad feeling deepened into a pit of despair, but you wouldn’t be put off that easily. He should’ve known by then that you weren’t going to go down without a fight.

“A lot. We hadn’t had an actual conversation in a year before this movie.”

Mark pushed back against the mirror, causing the elevator to shudder under the pressure. “And we got on fine without one.”

On the bright side, he had apparently grown from being a child to a moody teenager.

“But now we’re working together, and it’d be nice to, y’know, be normal again.” It wasn’t meant to sound like a question, but it definitely came out like one.

“So far,” Mark stressed, “I’ve been operating on the idea that we won’t see each other again after we finish these shoots.”

He was slowly but surely breaking down your will to argue. Sure, you wanted to get along, but he was being so resistant to the mere idea that you questioned if it was worth it. He pushed for an end to the conversation, you wanted to continue it, and that left the both of you at a standstill.

“It’ll be a long three months,” you offered.

“I’m willing to wait it out.”

Normally, you were level-headed. Normally, you focused on one thing and stayed focused. Normally,you were able to calm yourself down within a few minutes, distance yourself from the problem, and relax.

It was not normal to be waiting in an elevator with your famous ex because you’re shooting an action movie together where you had to pretend to care for each other.

So, you couldn’t relax, and you burst out of the gates with, “Well, I’m not!”

Mark flinched, though his stare stayed trained on the doors.

Not caring that he was ignoring you, you continued, “Mark, I’ve liked talking to you recently – I enjoyed our dinner and our walk to the café, and I think I’d like to be on speaking terms with you again.��

It set you off even further when he laughed. Mark laughed, some super-villain chuckle that belonged more to an insane man that it did him. “What, so you can manipulate me?”

“Mark.”

“Save it—” he rolled his eyes and crossed one arm over the other, a poor attempt to comfort himself that you didn’t bother to consider, “—I know what you’re like, and I don’t believe that you’ve changed, so it’s either this business thing or nothing.”

“But that’s exactly it, I haven’t changed because I was never like that in the first place!”

Another pitiful chuckle. You felt the sentiments from the first day with him blend together with new ones; you wanted to repair your relationship, but a spiteful, immature part of you wanted to throw every insult under the sun at him and see what sticks. Like a baby.

Of course, you clenched your teeth and listened to him say, “I don’t know how we could talk about us if you aren’t willing to admit what you’ve done.”

“That’s exactly why I want to talk, to sort all of this out.” At this point, you were pleading, one step away from getting on your knees and begging him to just listen to you. Your pride would never allow it, only giving you the reigns to let anything spill out of your mouth that would convince him.

Mark only sighed. His head shook the glass as it slammed back into it. “What aren’t you getting?” he hissed, “I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to leave it all behind and get on with my life.”

You stood still for a minute, thinking through it all. You didn’t move, Mark didn’t move, and, although you tried to will it into existence, the doors didn’t move. There was only one thing for it, then…

“Look me in the eye right now and tell me honestly that you’ve hated every second you’ve spent with me in the last two days.”

To you, it was a simple request with big consequences; if he were able to, you wouldn’t continue a conversation. In fact, you would probably leave everything there, come in only when you were requested and spend all the other time in your dressing room.

However, to Mark, everything came crashing down around him. He didn’t know what to do. His pulse raced. His breath caught in his throat. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to say that this had been the best shoot of his entire career – seeing you again, as kind and calm and witty as you were the first time that he had met you, spending time with you like how you used to, the sense of pure joy and completion that breached his soul – or was he supposed to lie? He didn’t know which he would prefer. After all, you had wanted to talk, but what if that was to just clear the air and get you back to square one? Too many unsure and incomplete scenarios waved over his mind for him to do anything but lie.

So, just barely managing to make eye contact as you had ordered, he parroted your words bluntly and definitively. “I have hated every second I have spent with you in the last two days.”

And it broke his heart.

You nodded, choking yourself on the tears and hoping to anybody that was listening that they didn’t pour out. “Okay, then,” you whispered.

Mark shifted his gaze back to the doors in front of you, tried his hardest to keep them from wandering back to the crestfallen look on your face. It wouldn’t do him any good, but every movement, however minor, that you made, it became ever the more difficult to stop himself. He only got so far by focusing his attention on the digital numbers that showed the floor number. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Except the screen wasn’t following his count, and it hadn’t been for the last two floors – or, rather, the last two floors that they should have passed.

Exactly four and a half floors under the elevator, in the basement of the studio, were two people. And they were panicking.

“Oh, my God, what did you do!?”

Juliette practically strangled any excess electricity out of the wires she held, yelling back to Toby, “I don’t know!”

“Well, put them back!”

“I don’t know how!”

The boy snatched them from Julie’s hands and held them naively to the wall. Being an assistant usually didn’t require any mechanical knowledge, so he was shocked to find that it didn’t sync up the moment they touched the circuits.

“It’s not working,” he pointed out.

Juliette might have mentioned his lack of common sense, but she had also ripped the wires right out of the box just seconds before. She settled for panicking more. “We’re gonna lose our jobs, we’re gonna get arrested.”

“I told you!”

But their day got even worse as their freaking out was overthrown by the clicking of familiar and intent shoes. Their faces paled and they debated whether it was better to book it or stay right there and wait for unemployment.

They were forced into the latter when Mr. Patton rounded the corner and inspected the room.

“What is going on in here?” he asked, squinting from the change in lighting. “We’re back up in five, and you two are here fiddling with the breaker box.”

He moved closer, to which the assistants responded by stepping forward and blocking their mistake. It didn’t work, based on how Patton’s squinted eyes quickly changed from a reaction to utterly skeptical of them.

“Okay,” Toby started, hand out as if to calm him how you would a wild animal, “sir, don’t be mad.”

“What did you do?”

One look, and he repeated the question, much more exasperated and worried than he had the first time. “What did you do?!”

Toby caved faster than an unstable mountain in earthquake season, though his words came out little more than a garbled mess. “Juliette tried to get the elevator to stop between floors so they’d be stuck and have to talk to each other about their relationship, but she didn’t know how so she ripped out all the wires and now we can’t get them back and we’re pretty sure they’re stuck in the elevator with no way to get them out, we’re so sorry, please don’t fire us.”

Patton exhaled shakily, before asking with as much calm as he could muster, “Toby, who are you talking about?”

He didn’t need more than an embarrassed look to realize who ‘they’ were.

“You’re idiots.”

They nodded with varying degrees of responsibility.

“We know, sir, and we’re so sorry for meddling in their personal lives."

“It’s not me who you should be apologizing to—” He guided them back to the hallway, ready to send them on their way, “—but you’re not fired. At least, not if we can get them out of there. Those two were going to be a pain to deal with if they didn’t get on better terms, and I have you to thank for getting them to play nice.”

They each exhaled with relief, having thought they were screwed the second he had entered the room.

He wasn’t done yet, though, and he dropped them in the doorway. “However, please, if you’re going to mess with people’s relationships, don’t make it our main stars, and don’t do it on company time.” It was slightly concerning that he cared more for that mistake than those exact stars being dangled three floors in the air. “You’re lucky you’re with me – go on, get them some water or something, they’ll be shaken when they get out.”

“Right, sir, thank you, sir,” Toby muttered. He gripped Juliette’s arm and tugged her back towards the staircase. Patton shook his head, feeling as though he had been dealing with unruly toddlers, but he still laughed when he heard a distant, “Leave the wires!” and the flop of equipment at the door.

Finally, by himself, he glanced back at the mess they had made of the breaker box and sighed. “We’re going to get so sued.”

It didn’t take long for you to realize what had happened. With the elevator stuck in whatever position it was, you could only pass the time in silence. What’s worse was it was getting stuffy, so you had to remove your jacket in such an awkward manner that had you nearly squirming. Why did that have to happen after you completely destroyed any chance of getting back to how you used to be? Did a god hate you? Had you offended some cosmic power so much that they decided, hey, let’s completely fuck you over on this one particular day? You didn’t know and you were over trying to work around the silence that infested the elevator.

That left Mark to be the only one to ask, “How long do you think it’s going to take?”

“I don’t know,” you responded bluntly, “an hour maybe?”

He slid down the wall, coming to the same level that you were currently sat at. Your eyes would have met had you been looking up – instead, you stared intently at your hands.

“Fuck.”

You didn’t give him an audible response to that, you didn’t feel like you had to, just a vague nod. The new principle you had come up with in the last thirty minutes wasn’t something you were happy with, but it was better than annoying him more and making your days just as miserable as you had expected them to be.

Just like before, Mark was thinking differently, and he scoffed to say, “I don’t see why you’re complaining, isn’t this what you wanted? Us to talk?”

Ignoring the fact that you only agreed with him, you answered, “I wanted it to be on our own terms, not locked in an elevator. You said you didn’t want to have a conversation, so we won’t.”

“Stop doing that.”

You managed to bring your head up ever so slightly. Mark wasn’t looking at you, he couldn’t bring himself to, but there was definitely a look of conflict fixed starkly on his face. A confused noise fell to the silence.

He explained, “You’re being nice and then I can’t fight back without seeming like an asshole.”

This time, you laughed through your nose. He didn’t react but he noticed it. The sound didn’t fit right, like a different person had replaced you. He wanted that boisterous laugh, or none at all, but he was left with the small chuckle to deepen his frown.

“Would you rather me be mean to you?” you asked.

“Yes.”

You couldn’t be held liable for what you were about to say, then, if he had asked for it. “Fine,” you sighed, half upset that it came down to him requesting you to be rude, “I think you’re being childish and ignoring a problem that could be easily solved if you just agreed to confront it.”

You both knew you could do worse, and Mark was split on whether he would have appreciated a harsher tone than the one you supplied him with. Either way, he was glad that you listened to him, allowing him to reply, “Not until you admit what you did.”

“And that’s another thing, you won’t tell me what I did for me to explain it.”

Shoving his reservations to the side, Mark’s upper half darted forward away from the wall and towards you, as if getting closer would get the message across better. “You do the same thing. Yesterday, you didn’t tell me what was wrong and then stormed off.”

You granted him that, you hadn’t given him much to go off of, but it was still insulting that he had forgotten so easily – but also you supposed that was what he was feeling, too. “Okay, tell me, now,” you ordered softly.

Mark fumbled for a second, not actually having expected you to say anything. Instantly, regret swarmed him, begging him to just stay quiet, but he couldn’t. He refused to because, and it was near painful to acknowledge, he did want to talk about it, or, more accurately, he wanted to rant to you about what had happened. Everything would be out in the open, then, and he wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells every time he thought that maybe, just maybe, he liked talking to you. Only, he had dug himself into such a deep pit that he could barely remember what the sun looked like.

“I know you cheated on me.”

As much as he wanted to slap a hand over his mouth and never speak again, the pot was already boiling over, every word possible ready to spill out the second the lid was lifted.

That was done with a simple, “What? When?”

“June 12th—” Just shut up, “—I came home from the last shoot, and I heard you talking on the phone to someone about sharing a bed—” Really, shut up, “—and telling them that you loved them—” You’re an idiot, Mark, “—I was able to figure it out from there.”

The elevator went quiet, because of course it did, he had just confronted you about something in the making for a year. If he could, Mark would’ve reached out and caught the story that fell, brought it back inside and left it to stew for a couple more months.

But he couldn’t, and he didn’t, and you were left with your mouth wide open. Throwing possible replies around in your mind, your first reaction, involuntary and primal, was to mumble, “Mark, why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

The two of you were stripped down to bare bones, now. No words nor actions required manual thought, everything playing fast and loose with the rules and social norms.

“I… I didn’t want to embarrass you.” You both knew it was a lie, and the imploring look you sent had him amending, “I didn’t want to end it. I thought that if I just ignored it,” he took a deep breath, calming himself, “you would come back to me. And that didn’t happen.”

Suspended 20 feet in the air and unsure of when you’d be free, everything was on the table. Mocking, arguing, reconciling.

Even pure, unadulterated laughter.

And that was what happened when a beat had passed, a break in the music that had you nearly tearing up with amusement. You fanned yourself and tried to calm down, but that sentence kept repeating over and over. Having spent years in the same house as Mark, you knew his thought processes and his movements, but you seemed to have forgotten how much of a dumbass he could be sometimes.

Including right now, when he scowled and shuffled further to the side, away from you, and huddled into the corner. You almost felt bad, with how he was subtly trying to hide, like a dog having been found ripping up a shirt.

Numbly, hoping that his words would cover up the tears constricting his throat, he muttered, “Well, I’m sorry for wanting to continue that relationship, then.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” you cut him off with another chuckle. You finally found cause to relax against the cold metal of that box, and you crossed your ankles over one another. “Mark, I wasn’t cheating on you.”

His jaw dropped – not because it was some sudden realization, but because he truly believed you were still lying. This was a step for you, a leap into gaslighting he hadn’t thought you’d make. He bit his lip to maintain his defense against tearing up before spitting, “Still? You’re still denying it?”

“No, well, yeah, I am,” you explained, “because I wasn’t talking to who you think I was talking to.”

“Then, who was it?” What were you going to make up now? A contractor for a private project, a co-star who you just couldn’t be cheating with behind his back. He was ready for it all, bring it on, you horrible liar.

“It was my brother.”

Ah.

Now.

That was actually possible.

Mark’s mouth flopped like a dying fish. “What. Michael. What, no, wait—” He continued to splutter and every failed attempt at a word made your smile grow a few centimeters more.

“He was going to be in town for a week, and I said he could stay in one of our guest rooms. He said about not liking the artificial style of them, so I joked that we could sleep in the same bed, like how we used to when we were kids.”

The wall disappeared from behind him, the floor fell, and those bright, artificial lights snuffed. Time itself froze and there was the odd feeling of being tugged away from the whole world. It was a tough pill to swallow, to realize that a relationship, a person, who you had devoted nearly all of your life to had broken apart in a matter of minutes because of simple miscommunication. Mark wanted to slam his head through the mirror.

Getting his bearings, he stumbled out, “But… why didn’t you tell me?"

You shrugged. “You weren’t there to tell. I knew how much that movie meant to you, I didn’t want you to have to fuss over something you wouldn’t even be affected by.”

Although he hated to admit it, Mark started to backpedal; if you really were just talking to Michael, then that meant… that it was his fault that you broke up with him.

He grasped at straws, pointing out with unsteady breaths, “He didn’t come, though.”

Shaking your head, you were slightly confused. “Of course not. I saw that interview and I immediately broke it off. Mike stayed at home, and I left to stay with him.”

No, no, no.

Meekly, hoping that you weren’t talking about what he thought you were talking about, he brought his head up to meet your gaze. Oh, you were confused, but you had that stupid half-smile on your face anyway. Why did you have to be like that? Why did he have to choose you, of all people?

“Which interview?” he asked.

“The one for that action, actually. Where the guy asked about us and you spilled everything.” That smile was still there, but that look in your eyes, the glint of joy added just for a second, was replaced by distance. It was as if he went from being up close and personal with a blazing star to staring up at it from Earth. You kept going, though, “You said how I distanced you from your friends and ignored you all the time, and how I probably cheated on you.”

Well, it explained that part, huh? Your head bobbed up and down, enough time between for Mark to slide closer to you across the frigid floor, not that you noticed until he was sidling up beside you.

“Well, that last one, I thought was true… but you’re right, I did say that. Didn’t I?”

Lazily, you nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

Reality caught up to you, and your head snapped to look at him. Now he was the one who looked distant, as if nothing he felt really clicked with him. Neither of you were thinking, and you supposed that Mark just didn’t feel like doing anything.

Different for you – it always was – and your instinct had you wrapping your arms around his waist before your brain could have any input. The points of contact went as fuzzy as static, and the feeling quickly spread like a wildfire up your arms and into your chest. It was overwhelming, but not harmful – it more resembled being pressured by a weighted blanket, comfortable and gentle. You even felt the temptation to laugh swell in your heart.

Mark didn’t respond, not for the first few seconds, but he gave in to a little, childlike giggle before encasing you in his own arms. Protectively, he squeezed, as if the chill of the elevator was something he could fight away from you.

In reality, it was him checking that you were actually there, hugging him without hesitation or worry. He had to check for fear that the elevator had collapsed, and you had actually died in the crash. But you hadn’t, he was sure of it as he felt the heat radiating from you. A blush ghosted over his cheeks, and he pulled you impossibly closer. It had been a year and yet you smelled exactly the same as you had the last time you had been so close. He suddenly became aware of how much he had missed this; you being pressed against him, his head resting on your shoulder, the stability that came with it all.

You were the first to pull back, though it was only a few inches, and you still held your hands on his upper arms.

Despite that, Mark was the first to speak. Almost jokingly, he whispered, “Sometimes I wonder what you saw in me.”

Your grip tightened in shock, but you manually loosened it to bring your hands to cradle his cheeks. It was a sweet gesture, guiding him to look at you and decorating his face in a small blush.

“So much,” you replied forcibly, “I saw a man who knew what he wanted and would go for it – I saw a man who was devoted to projects and relationships and was able to prioritize. You were ambitious and loving and brave. And you still are.”

While one hand of his own swam up to caress yours, stabilize himself throughout your words, he tried his best to look away. “I put my work before you.”

“And I think you were right to do that. I was working, you were working, we had separate lives and things we cared about, but we still ended the day together in the same house after everything was said and done.”

A squeeze, a smile, a chuckle. “I shouldn’t have said all those things, though, they weren’t true.”

He was right, and both of you were aware. “No, you shouldn’t have,” you admitted, but your hand and eyes stayed right where they were, “but I should’ve told you what was going to happen under your roof.”

“It was your roof, too.”

And there it was. Everything was out in the open, and it wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. Of course, getting there was horrendous, but everything had turned out fine. Better than fine, actually, because neither of you were weeping and neither of you were dead. Getting trapped in an elevator was a surprise, though. You briefly wondered what was happening outside of your metal bubble – and you decided, quickly, that it didn’t matter. If it took days for them to even notice, then so be it. You were comfortable, finally feeling complete and stable after so long on the edge. They always said that you didn’t know what you had until it was gone, and not having Mark to return to at the end of the day was as bad as branding yourself when you came home to an empty apartment.

“Hey, what’s that?”

Having adjusted into a more comfortable position, your back against the wall and your legs stretched out in front of you, your costume had ridden up to show your ankle. Lightly, you laughed at yourself, imaging a Victorian crowd going absolutely ape shit, but then you remembered that a little picture was also exposed to Mark’s view.

You dragged your knee up to your chest, and, after bringing your pant leg up a few more inches, you said, “Moving out wasn’t the only thing I did when we broke up.”

You remembered getting that tattoo surprisingly fondly, for the state you were in when you chose it. A little pumpkin, cute without context, but exciting for people who did know where it came from. Michael Myers’ pumpkin, with the sections that were meant to be lit up shaded in instead. A lot of people had trouble seeing Michael in the intros, so you made sure to request it be obvious.

“Why a pumpkin?” Mark asked, drawing a finger over it. A slight chill shot through your veins.

“It’s from Halloween.”

“Okay, but why is it a pumpkin?”

Mark was a dumbass, but he was your dumbass.

“No, you dolt,” you insulted softly, “the movie Halloween. Michael Myers.”

He rolled his eyes but there was obviously no intent to be mean about it. “How would I know that?”

“It was the first horror movie I ever showed you,” you responded, before rolling it back down. The bottom few bumps of the pumpkin still peaked out from below the fabric.

“Exactly,” he huffed, “it was so long ago, how would I ever remember it?”

Shaking your head, you were happy with how this turned out. It was a mess coming into it, sure, but it was good to be able to talk about what happened after you broke up without your heart panging every time you opened your mouth.

“Didn’t it hurt?”

“Nah, I got used to needles after the third one I got.”

“You have more?”

“Actually…” you trailed off. Instead of just giving him a vague idea, you brought your shirt up and over your head, shocking him for just a moment with the question of what in the hell you were doing. When you had twisted around to give him an easier sight of your back, those brown eyes blew wide with awe and recognition.

Decals littered your back, like the spread of a shotgun. You had spent so long looking at them that you had memorized where each and every one was located, so when Mark caressed a certain tattoo, you were able to explain the stories behind them, after recovering from the shivers. A cassette tape labelled ‘play me’ in the centre of your spine, a carved-out puzzle piece that inched onto your shoulder, and a miniature dragon shaded spectacularly by your artist were the main ones that you talked about. Nearly all of those tattoos were horror-based, down to the dragon’s teeth being visibly sharp, except for one.

Mark’s fingertips ghosted gently over your side, bringing you to almost flinch away. You stayed put though, long enough for him to wonder, “A round chicken?”

“I played a lot of Stardew Valley in my free time.”

He backed away, giving you space to put your shirt back on. After it was over your head, you turned to look at Mark. Sure enough, the crimson blush had increased ten-fold, and you found yourself smirking a little bit wider. He would have thrown something at you if there had been something to throw.

“What’d you do after we went our separate ways?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. It was getting cold, but no way in hell would you put that death-trap of a jacket back on.

“Now, that is a question,” he trailed off awkwardly.

“Sure is.”

He glanced around the elevator, the impression that he would get an answer if he just looked hard enough settling in his mind. When he found no such thing, he sighed and glanced back to you. “Really, I can’t remember. I guess, I just waited for a new script, learned it and then… kept going. I hadn’t imagined a life without you, and when I was living that life, I couldn’t stop imagining one with you again.”

Huh. You hadn’t thought of that. You could remember the first couple of days like watching them in a theater, but you supposed it was only because you hadn’t fully processed it yet. You spent most of your time trying to find a job, then worked at that job, then got more tattoos, rinse, and repeat. And when you finally understood that you were no longer dating, enough time had passed for you to distance yourself.

“And what did that look like?”

He was quick on the draw this time. “Everything that we used to do – except I actually took more steps forward than back.”

Curiosity overtook you, forcing the question, “So, now that I’m back, what are you going to do?” out of your mouth nearly without your permission. You wanted to ask it; it had been knocking at the back of your mind like an unwelcome houseguest since you had admitted everything. It was better this way; you would’ve surely regretted not saying anything when you got out of there.

“Make up for lost time.”

Especially when, just as the words came forward into the open air, so, too, did Mark. The impact of his lips on yours was small, gentle, nothing more than a bee landing on a flower – but your mind celebrated. It shot off fireworks and turned on the lights, as if it had gone through the year in a darkened cave. Your gut joined the party, flipping, twirling, dancing along to the quickening pace of your heart. The grip you had before on his arms returned with fervor, and you squeezed excitedly, while his hand carded delicately through your hair. A slight pressure on your waist and you deepened the kiss. Barely a sound passed through your joined lips, but the surprised air played on Mark’s like it was the first time all over again. He moved, you moved, you tilted your head one way, and he the other. Perfect tandem, a perfect kiss. You traced his mouth and found everything to be just as you remembered – the ever-present artificial feel of lipstick, the plush skin buried underneath, the warmth that radiated from it no matter how many layers it drowned under.

And when you pulled away to see the look on Mark’s face, you figured one more kiss wouldn’t hurt. So, you went in for another, and Mark shifted away from you after a few more seconds, only to decide, hey, you had the time.

That process continued with minimal breaks for the next minute and a half.

It wasn’t until you felt a break in the temperature that you parted for good. Or, until you could get some alone time again, because a voice called out to the two of you from the now-open elevator doors.

You swirled around on your legs, clumsily red in your face and lips swollen. Mark laughed, to which you immediately turned back around and landed another peck directly on his own. That shut him up.

“Are you two alright in there?” you heard a familiar voice yell, panicked as you had expected he would be.

You shouted back, “Yep!”

Luckily, there was enough open space above the floor that you were able to climb through when the firefighters wrenched apart the doors. One hand shot down, which you grabbed at to haul yourself up, using the remaining section of metal as a step.

Mark watched, the redness in his cheeks steadily growing before it was his turn.

Finally on stable ground, you took a test jump and decreed you were in no mortal danger. Not that you ever suspected you were, but it was always helpful to check. Then, you noticed that your hand was still wrapped around the firefighter’s who had taken you out, so you promptly dropped it and spoke a faux-confident, “Thanks, love.”

A tap on your shoulder and you turned to see Mark out, too. He looked slightly unimpressed, but you just winked at him and leaned across to give him another, more assuring, kiss on the cheek.

Your assistants had scurried away from the door when you were hauled up, partially to give you the space to get to your feet comfortably, and partially to escape whatever punishment you would have for them, if you had figured out what had really gone wrong with the elevator. With the way you looked at them, they were able to let out separate sighs of relief. You didn’t know.

“Juliette!”

Mark, however, sounded absolutely pissed.

“Good luck,” Toby joked, happy that she was getting some cosmic karma for it being her plan in the first place. Plus, it wasn’t as if he had to face any consequences for being an accomplice, not that he thought, anyway, since you had yet to connect the dots.

You stepped closer and closer, stalked closer and closer, until you were barely a foot’s length away from him. It seemed Toby had forgotten that this was a studio, you were an actor, and, by God, were you good at what you did.

“Toby,” you spoke simply.

One second. Two.

Juliette attacked Toby’s arm with a vice grip that rivalled a boa constrictor, likely cutting off some blood flow. Your grin was murderous, Mark’s eyes flooded with anger, and they were the objects of those sentiments.

They had the good sense to run before they could be drawn and quartered.

Neither of you ran after them – you’d be seeing them the next day for shoots, after all – and you took the break alone to share another kiss. After so long spent apart, you were owed some time together. Preferably at home, resting snug on the couch and watching a stream of Love Actually, and not in full view of the director and his assistant, who exchanged a wad of cash for Patton’s celebratory whoop.

#theknightmarket #markiplier #who killed markiplier #markiplier egos #actor mark #asshole mark #wkm #longreads #two-parter #fanfiction #writing #actor #markiplier egos x reader #I still hate him #angst/comfort

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craftartz67 · 2 years

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Doodles

#my art <3 #who killed markiplier #wkm wilford #wilford warfstache #wilford warfstache x abe the detective #abestache #abe the detective #wkm detective #wkm abe #doodles #Abe doodles #some angst #hope you like <3

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gottawriteanegoortwo · 2 years

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WKM Role Swap - Trapped in a Wasteland

Go Back to the Start, Previous Chapter

Now this…. Oh, this chapter is quite curious, for it takes the place of the story you know only as "DAMIEN". However, as you may already know, Damien is still alive and well. Which brings me to my question for you to ponder:

If Actor is hunting Damien and William, and both men are presumed alive in the physical world, what happens to those in the Void that he doesn't consider checking?

For that matter, how many people are trapped there?

Warning! This doozy of a chapter contains descriptions of body horror and self harm in the form of bodies rotting or being corrupted in the paragraph immediately under the read-more. Discretion is advised.

When William awoke to darkness, he thought it was a joke. It was an elaborate scheme, right? And now someone had locked him in a cupboard as part of the joke. That had to be it.

He stretched his arms out. No walls. Stomping did not give the same ‘thunk’ one would hear when in a closet. There was only emptiness around him… and light. A faint glow that came from him. At first, he thought it to be white, but then realised it was a very faint red. It was his only source of light as he wandered the expansive unknown. Was he even moving? His feet made no sound on impact. Nothing around him changed. Maybe he was suspended in a single moment for all eternity.

Tripping on something proved otherwise.

William waved his hands out in front of him. Nothing was there. But when the action was repeated after kneeling down, the trip hazard was dimly illuminated to reveal a corpse. It was a man that had been dead for a long time. The process of decay was already in full swing. The skin was draped on the skeleton like a poorly wrapped present. The sole eyeball stared vacantly at the nothingness just behind William’s left shoulder. The nose was partially gone, following the fate of the fully exposed mouth. Death was nothing strange to the Colonel, but even he felt a knot twist in his gut at the sight. His hands waved further down, allowing him to see more. Faint markings that looked like cuts on the wrists, a single bloodstain on the shirt - William recognised the outfit. There was only one person who had once told him that the combo of a deep red waistcoat, white shirt, and black, fitted trousers was his favourite outfit that he would wear until the material became threadbare:

“... Mark?”

But Mark had been wearing a red, silken robe the night he died. Not only that, it had been years since William had seen this outfit. Something wasn’t adding up. This looked like the Mark he remembered from long ago, back when the actor was a well-meaning, albeit burdened young man who cared about his friends and family. Now, William could barely recognise the face of a man who had died two nights earlier. He was a man of war. Bodies didn't decompose that quickly. It would be madness to assume otherwise.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed kneeling by the body, contemplating this bizarre discovery. Guilt for his actions had caught up with him. Had he been so harsh to burn the bridge between himself and Mark? They were so close growing up. Now look at them. If he had only tried harder to understand the struggles Mark was going through, would any of this have happened? An apology was whispered, remorse was confessed as he reached down to close the eyes of the actor's corpse. A faint breeze brushed over William’s shoulders. He looked up, expecting to see someone there. No one was present. Yet… Were there always dead trees around them?

He looked down. The body was gone. In its place was a little flower, thriving despite the snow around it. It was a white daffodil, with the core a soft shade of red instead of the usual yellow. Though bewildered at the unexpected change, it made William chuckle. This was the sort of theatrics he missed from Mark. One petal was gently stroked, and finally, he rose to his feet.

In his distraction, the world had shifted to a winter hellscape. The snow and dead trees stretched on for miles either way. If he wasn't careful, he would freeze out here. He had to go.

A gust of wind tugged him toward a faintly visible path. To William, it was like a long forgotten forest trek in a place that was slowly dying. Evergreen trees drooped overhead, their shadows stained with green needles. Deciduous trees were beginning to rot at the trunk. Life once thrived here, but only death remained.

Was this purgatory? Rotten souls such as the Colonel didn't deserve any sort of salvation (not that he was a religious man), but it didn't explain why Mark was here, nor did it ease the sensation that he was being watched. William slowed to a halt to squint toward a group of trees bunched together. The wind promptly picked up, pushing him with such a force that he stumbled back into a walking speed.

"Alright, alright…" He rubbed his hands over his arms to try and give himself a bit of warmth. Spending eternity wandering snowy wastelands didn't sound fun. If he was lucky, he might be able to find a cave. From there, he could work on lighting a fire and making camp.

As William kept walking, the weather began to change. A cold wind whipped up around him as the gentle snowfall morphed into a flurry. It was so intense that even with his arm over his forehead to shield his vision, William could barely see two feet in front of him. Whatever breeze that had been merely nudging him earlier had taken to pulling and dragging him in different directions. He didn't trip, so all he could do was hope that he was being led in the right direction.

Meanwhile, the snow was rising. It was nearly at his knees. It was getting difficult to walk through it. The cold was starting to take root deep in his bones.

"I thought the dead weren't supposed to feel this shit." Once more, he furiously rubbed his arms. It did nothing to give any sense of fake warmth. The layers weren't helping. He couldn't feel his hands. And then, finally, his legs gave way and he dropped into the snow.

Whatever was guiding him was pulling at his sleeve like it was begging him to get up.

"I can't. It feels like I’ve been going in circles. I can't see what's going on. I don't know what the bloody hell you're trying to do, but I don't deserve your help." Why was he trying to argue with the wind? William was too frustrated to care. "I have ruined so many lives today because I refused to tell the truth. If I had just been honest and told them I killed Mark, then -"

Something pressed hard on both his cheeks, forcing him to lift his head.

"I don't deserve any sort of pity. Go. Leave me here where I belong."

The pressure on his cheeks intensified, making the soldier's lips pop out like a fish. "None of thish should haf happn'd. Mark an' Sheleen are dead because of me."

The wind's howling was growing stronger, but it almost sounded like it was trying to mask a voice.

"C'mon, Will. You've always been my hero. You can't run away now!" A child's voice made William sharply turn his head to the right. Hidden through a layer of snow, he was sure he could see the silhouettes of two children running by. One had stopped, but the other turned to grab a hand and pull the first child along. Laughter rang through the air before it was drowned out by the wind.

"I don't think I'm anyone's hero any more. I don't remember the last time I looked myself in the eye when checking my reflection." Not without the guilt that had been eating him alive since the war. But that wasn't true, was it? People had viewed him as a hero.

Mark, once upon a time, had planned to write a great tale of the heroic Colonel. He was only stopped because an embarrassed William had jumped across the coffee table to grapple the pencil off him.

Damien did too. Despite the injury that should never have happened under William's watch, Damien always had faith in him until the bitter end.

Even Celine - who had been the last to properly use 'Colonel' as a nickname when William tried to encourage it years ago - always made him promise to return when he announced he was going on a trip as security for adventurers.

The unseen presence sharply tugged on his moustache, snapping him back to reality. In the time he was lost in his thoughts, the snow had piled up around William until it nearly consumed him. Was this how the story of William J Barnum was supposed to end? Was this the finale he would share when recounting his adventures to those that were closest to him?

"No… I can't let them down. They believed in me when I couldn't see anything good in myself." The snow weighed him down, almost to the point of immobilising the soldier, but he struggled through and wormed his way back out.

The wind rose to a crescendo as it violently whipped around the Colonel. The unseen companion was now urging him to go, go go.

"You're right. Self-pity later!"

He yanked his gun out of its boot holster and fired into the darkness. Nothing let out any kind of pained noise, but the darkness shuddered a fraction before it continued on. If he couldn’t fight, then he’d need to make a tactical retreat.

The rising snow was no longer an insurmountable obstacle as William raced through the wasteland. He had thrown one glance over his shoulder. He couldn't see what it was, but something cloaked in darkness was on his tail. With the sun setting in this world, it wouldn't be long until he was completely surrounded.

Then, like a beacon in the night, a building appeared on the horizon. A tiny, wooden cabin stood at the top of a hill, partially hidden by trees. A path lined with lanterns showed the way to go.

"I see it!" William felt that presence pushing him onward at a steady pace. All the years of training were proving their worth as he raced up the path with such momentum that he crashed into the door.

The cabin looked tiny, barely two rooms at an estimation. There was a warm, orange light coming from within, but the curtains were closed. The door was locked from the inside and wouldn't budge.

A tug on his shoulder prompted William to turn. The darkness had caught up. It was slower than before, nervously edging toward the first lantern until it struck and extinguished the flame.

"Oh God… Hey! Hey!!" He hammered the door with his fists with such intensity that the hinges rattled. It did nothing, but he swore he could hear rustling inside. "Please! Let me in! There's something out here!"

"Trying to impersonate an old friend? You really are desperate." A woman's voice, sharp and cold, could be heard on the other side. "You are not getting what you want from us."

“Celine?" The presence nudged his back, as though confirming he was right. "Celine, I-I don't know what's going on but there's something in the darkness and - oh God another lantern has gone out. Please, let me in!"

"Alright. Prove you aren't a fake."

William hissed a swear as he could feel the chill setting in again. "I remember taking an afternoon after returning from the events of Jumanji to teach you all how to identify a human when there is a possibility of zombies. You all scoffed and thought the idea ridiculous, but you all humoured me. Homo Necrosis are easy to spot. They are the mindless ones that just want to consume. Homo Sapio Zombifius, on the other hand, are more cunning. They can speak and think, but their impersonations are mediocre. To prove you are still human, you need to share a less obvious memory. Something that a Homo Sapio Zombifius wouldn’t be able to know."

Another glance behind showed another lantern was out, leaving only two left. He was running out of time.

"It would be easy for me to tell you about one of the many events you hosted with Mark during the drama festivals back in the day. That's too obvious. Instead, what about the time you knocked on my door at three in the morning because one of the shelves on your bedroom wall had come loose? Mark tried to be the hero and hoist it back up himself, but he barely had the strength to hold it in place because he didn't think of lifting the items off the shelf in the first place. Or what about the day when we were kids and you were trying to tell me the difference between a ‘curtsey’ and a ‘courtesy’? I kept getting them mixed up but I always knew the difference. I kept lying because I wanted to spend the time with you by myself without the other two around."

No answer, and his surroundings grew even darker. One lantern left. The presence that was by his side patted his shoulder firmly, then disappeared.

"Celine, please. I don't know what's out here. I can't shoot the bloody darkness!"

The door clicked just as the darkness reached out to the final lantern. The flame flickered, only to erupt in a flourish. William watched, wide-eyed, as the fire morphed into a distinctly human-like form with its arms spread out to stop the shadows from creeping ever closer. Before he could catch any details, a hand reached out, grabbed a fistful of his jacket, and yanked him inside.

The door slammed shut and was swiftly locked just as something slammed against it. He could see a shadow try to slip under the door, but it was no use. The cabin was too well protected for it to break through. At last, it retreated, leaving them alone.

William put his back to the door and slowly slid down with a relieved sigh. With the immediate threat gone, he could finally take in the surroundings.

To his surprise, the cabin was even smaller than his estimate. It was a single room that was scarcely decorated. A table with two chairs sat directly opposite him, just below a window. A basic sink and a small mirror were in the far-right corner. The ceramic bowl had an orange tint to it thanks to the low fire coming from the fireplace. Finally, just to his right, he could see a bed frame, but not what was on it. Celine stepped back into view and crouched in front of him with a hand outstretched.

"Are you alright?" In response, William nodded and accepted the hand to pull him back onto his feet.

"I… Have no idea what's going on. I found myself in darkness, then snow, then I was chased by darkness until something pulled me this way, and here I am. It's so absurd, it feels like a joke."

Celine huffed at the dismal summary. "I appreciate you coming to check on us, but there's not much we can do. Mark killed the two of us and is out there in their body. You should go back and help Damien."

"The two of us? Their…?" William's gaze drifted to the right. At last, he could properly see the bed and the sole occupant. They were mostly covered in inky darkness, but half of their face could be seen, which was enough to allow William to identify the District Attorney. They slowly opened their uncovered eye and forced out a weak smile to William to try and ease the panic that gripped the soldier’s chest. William's expression dropped as he approached the bed. “You’re… What happened to you?”

"We tried the séance again.” Celine murmured, moving to fetch a bowl from the sink. “Mark interfered and possessed their body, then sent a creature to take mine. I managed to stop it before it caused more harm when you were all outside the room, but it cost me my life." She knelt at their bedside, lifted a wet cloth from the bowl, and hesitated. "You were right. I should have listened and left when I had the chance. I thought I could get to the bottom of this if I tried one more time." The cloth was gently dabbed across the Attorney's forehead, prompting them to let out a shaky sigh of relief. "But how did you get here? There's no one else who could perform a séance. Damien wouldn't have the skills, and you certainly don't either."

"I know. I'm dead."

"What?" She looked up in disbelief, only to deflate. "So, Mark got you too, huh?"

"Actually… Damien did."

"What?!" The cloth was flung into the bowl with such a force that it rattled. In the blink of an eye, she was on her feet with a tight grip on the collar of William's jacket. She shook him, and the hat clattered to the floor. "Don't you start playing games with me, Colonel. This isn't the time for joking around. They used their energy to send you messages and warnings from their own memories to find my brother, and this is the shit you want to pull on us?!"

"I'm not kidding." He put a hand on hers with the intention of prying it off. Instead, images of those final moments flashed through his mind. Celine let go, eyes wide as she stepped back. When she looked him in the eye, he somehow knew she had seen the memory too.

"No… He can't be there alone. Mark is out there looking for him… Looking for you. Whatever sick game he's playing, he's not going to rest until he has Damien. You need to go back. Now!"

"How the bloody hell do you expect me to go back? I'm dead. I just told you that!"

"Death doesn't work the same way here! That house has some connection with a dark magic that I can't even begin to fathom. Whatever it is, it doesn't allow the souls of anyone who died here to move on." Celine reached out again. This time, she placed her index and middle fingers on the side of William's neck. "You're still alive. The pulse is weak, and you will likely be injured, but your body is still out there. That is why the darkness was hunting you. It wanted your body for itself. Whatever is out there, it's angry. Furthermore, that's why I couldn't let you in so easily. If it got in, it would have consumed them," she waved back to the Attorney. "I need to get you out of here. Get back to Damien, and protect him for me."

The guilt set in again. Was he really worthy of a second chance? William shook his head. "Take my body and go in my place. I'll stay here."

"Are you even listening to yourself right now?"

"I am. And I can't go back. Celine, everything that has happened here is my fault. I can't face Damien and know I'm the reason he's lost everyone he cares about."

Celine took another step back and bumped the bowl with her heel. "What do you mean?"

"I shot Mark through a rigged game of Russian Roulette that he claimed would help put the past behind us. Something switched the bullets. I left one in the gun, but there were four left after Mark was killed. No one would have believed such nonsense, especially not when the blasted Detective was after my head the whole time."

"Then Mark was right… He's out there looking for you. He has no idea you're here."

"But if he finds Damien first, he won't be able to defend himself from Mark. You need to be there for your brother. If I'm there, I'll be no better than a giant sign pointing to him."

"And what about me? I'm the woman he agreed to divorce amicably, then changed his mind the next day and kept me under surveillance." She turned to the Attorney, briefly considering them as the contender to go. "They're too weak to travel. They're only able to keep stable."

"A body might give them the protection to help them."

"It isn't that simple, William. Look what Mark did in his quest to possess them." She gestured for him to follow her back to the bedside. When she knelt, he did likewise. Her hands, cloaked in a pale blue glow, hovered over one of the Attorney's. Their hand had a soft green light, but it was the two circular marks that caught his eye. The wounds were barely the size of a water droplet each, with the dried remains of something black around the edges. They reminded William of a snake bite. "He tried to corrupt them with darkness from the inside. They've been able to fight it off, but it's weakening them. I don't know how far it will go. If they leave this cabin, they could be consumed whole by the darkness. I didn't heed their worries, and they paid the price."

William reached out and took the Attorney’s hand. A gentle squeeze was given in response as they opened their eye again. "You're a stubborn trooper. No wonder Damien always spoke so highly of you." It was the right thing to say, as their lips curled in a fond smile.

"That means one of us can go."

"And neither of us deem ourselves worthy of a second chance." William gruffly concluded.

"You promised Damien you'd always help him when you met him in the hospital."

"To me, helping him is reuniting him with his sister."

"He'd never forgive me if he knew I abandoned their friend here."

"He'd never forgive me if he knew I abandoned his sister!"

"Colonel -" A tap on the back of her hand interrupted Celine. The Attorney's eye was on her. They wanted to speak their piece first. It was a struggle with how weary they were, but they brought forth the idea that no one should stay with them. They were exhausted and only wanted to sleep. Damien needed all the help he could get. They both should go.

The idea resonated with William as he looked at Celine. "Can we do that? You have the ability to come here so we can check on them. We can keep working together if we stick as a team. Besides, I'm a strong guy. Two souls wouldn't be that heavy a burden."

"This might not work. It could change us if we get intercepted by those creatures."

The Attorney waved their hand and gestured to their head. If the pair made the journey back to William’s body inside the cabin, they would protect them with their own darkness.

Celine swallowed a lump in her throat. “But you -” The Attorney pulled themself up to sit on the bed. If all three of them could work together and save Damien, then they could sleep peacefully here. Despite their differences, wasn’t that the one thing they all had in common? Both William and Celine's arguments were based on what they believed was the right thing to do to help Damien, after all.

“They’re right,” William nodded, “and there’s more of us than Mark. Two heads to clunk together to get a good plan in one body would give us such an advantage!” The Attorney pointed excitedly to William. See? He got it! “And anyway, I don’t know magic like you do. Mark’s a magic user, remember? Look what he’s already done, for God's sake!”

“But -”

“Celine.” William reached over and firmly planted both hands on her shoulders. “Damien needs you. You’re the only one who can help him. I can't do this alone, not if Mark can do all this and more. Come with me. Please." Celine's head was bowed as William spoke. It was true. Damien was in danger and arguing over who went alone wasn't going to help. She nodded and put her hands on William's to lift them off.

"Then we better hurry. We don't have much time. If Mark learns that you’re here and not out there…" She didn't want to think about what might happen. William nodded. They had to go. She turned to the Attorney once she was on her feet. "Are you sure you'll be -" They quickly shook their head and shooed the pair with their hands. "Okay, okay. We're going. Ready?"

"Ready."

Celine gave a look to the Attorney. In response, they grinned and gave a thumbs up. They wouldn't be swayed, and they had William on their side. No matter how stubborn she was, she knew she was outnumbered. Raising both her hands toward William, she closed her eyes and began murmuring an incantation.

Around them, the cabin began to distort and bend. Only the three occupants and the bed were unaffected. The Attorney's one working eye darted from corner to corner, making sure that none of the shadows hid anything dangerous. Then, as William and Celine began to shift into light, they shot out their right hand. A wave of shadow burst out and wrapped around the pair like a protective bubble. Immediately after that, something large and dark burst forward through a twisted gap, only to collide with the barrier and turn to useless mist. Then, they both were gone, and the Attorney was left alone in the locked cabin.

Not that they minded. They knew Damien would be safe. It was enough peace to let them settle back down and go back to sleep.

Next Chapter

#writersofmark #who killed markiplier #wkm role swap #william the colonel #celine the seer #the district attorney #angst #body horror tw #body corruption tw #self harm tw

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