gottawriteanegoortwo - Tumblr blog

gottawriteanegoortwo · 7 days ago

Text

A Surprise Visit to Yancy

As Captain, you can finally return to your home planet, however briefly that might be. Your first free day happens to fall on the third Sunday of the month.

You thinking what I’m thinking?

Word Count: 1,976

(Note: Can be viewed either as romantic or platonic)

Ever since the colonists had settled on the new planet, you had received a request from the main association on Earth to provide an in-person status report. You had put it off because difficulties arose that you wanted to sort out. However, it also allowed Mark time to set to work on a new project.

You thought he never would have wanted to be anywhere near the Warp Core, but he promised he had one final spark of inspiration. You checked in on him frequently, and within three weeks, he had made an amazing adjustment to the computer. Somehow, he had managed to create a ‘route’ linking two areas between the two planets. The warps could happen safely now, cutting a trip that would have taken decades into a week, maximum

It meant you could finally agree to meet delegates in person and provide the required updated and progress reports. The plan had been to take a small crew who would help with other tasks on the home planet and leave the Crew Leads in charge, but Mark insisted he would tag along. He didn’t need to explain why - both of you wanted to make sure no one else remembered the events of the Paradox.

On Earth, your arrival was kept a secret, and both of you attended numerous meetings and conferences to provide updates and projected plans. You negotiated supplies to be brought back to help the colony’s establishment, and in return you provided suggestions on what could be done to help enhance the colony’s development.

Dawn broke on Sunday morning by the time you and Mark could drag yourselves out of the meeting room and get some fresh air on the walk back to the hotel. Conversation was good, but it was clear that Mark’s thoughts were elsewhere. This was only confirmed once you entered the hotel lobby. He paused, and stretched, hoping to relieve some tension from his stiff back.

“Well, Captain. I would love to talk more, but I think I’m gonna get some shut eye. I have a flight to catch this evening.”

This was new information, and you made this clear. What was he up to?

Mark’s face broke out into a wide grin. “I’m gonna go home and see my Mom. She’s no idea I’m here and I wanna surprise her tonight. I’ll keep you updated!” With a salute and a laugh, he hurried to his room.

A surprise visit? It was a good idea. You both had a few days before any official business resumed. But it wasn’t quite as easy for you as it was for him. You could visit your own family, maybe, and this idea spurred you to pull your phone out of your pocket as you made your way down the corridor to your room. A quick press of buttons unlocked the screen to the calendar page where you had last used it to schedule meetings, but something caught your eye.

The current date was highlighted. Sunday 15th. Not only that, it was the third Sunday of the month.

Wait a minute.

Once inside your room, you quickly checked the time, then opened the phone app. You had a call to make, and you needed to make it now.

The morning routine was the same as it always was. Get up for morning call, shower, have breakfast, then tidy the cell in the short lull before he was called for his first shift of the day. At least it being Sunday meant Yancy had a little longer in his cell. He could finally fold his spare prison outfit properly. It had been tossed on the desk on Saturday morning and he hadn’t time to fix it.

A knock on the heavy, metal door startled him.

“Uh… Yeah?”

The door opened. Officer Smith poked his head around the door. “Morning Yancy. You’re gonna need to get yourself ready.”

“For what? My shift ain’t for a while yet.”

“Well, you’ve got a visitor who wants to see you today.” Officer Smith looked rather pleased at this announcement, but the sentiment wasn’t shared with Yancy. He sighed and turned back to folding a t-shirt.

“Look. I, uh, I don’t mean nothing bad by this, but I ain’t going. I don’t got a reason to.”

“C’mon Yancy…”

“It’s true though. I don’t got any cousins in the area, or any schoolmates, or former work colleagues or whatever. I don’t wanna go all that way just to see that I is face to face with some reporter or snotty kid trying to do a psych report for college again.”

“Then what about a friend?” Warden Murder-Slaughter opened the door wider so he could also be seen. “I know yer a good fella, Yancy. It’d be rude ta leave a friend waitin’ out in th’ visitation room when they came all this way just to see ya.”

The shirt dropped from Yancy’s hands to land in a crumpled heap on the table.

Happy Trails had two areas dedicated for visitation. The first was for the unscheduled ‘drop-ins’, where you stepped into a booth and spoke through the phone. This space had multiple purposes: people who happened to arrive in, or were seeking an interview, people on official business like lawyers, or prisoners who were deemed too ‘dangerous’ to be in direct contact with visitors. This was where you had last seen Yancy, when you were thrown out of one wormhole and dropped onto a chair. You don’t know how long it had been since he had last seen you, but it must have been some time in the past if he was still using the cover of ‘space camp’. Once the dust had settled and the universe was normal again, you had remembered this, and felt guilty. He had been so surprised to see you, like he had expected you to never return.

Even now, he assumed you were on another planet entirely. Though, this time around, you were keeping quiet on purpose. You wanted to see the reaction.

By phoning ahead, you were able to arrange the visit in the public visitation rooms. Traditionally, this was the default location. Since Happy Trails focused more on rehabilitation, this room was one that would help bring a sense of ‘normality’ in an isolated setting. It was a large, bright, open room with tables and chairs dotted around the place. There were guards on duty, but if you had your back to them you could pretend you were simply catching up in any public setting.

A guard had assigned you to a small table beside the window. You shrugged off your jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. The plan had been to sit down, but a shout of “Yancy wait -” caught your ear. Your turned your head in the direction of the shout and had no time to react to a man running at full speed and charging into you for a hug. The impact hurt, and you collided with the floor, but you didn’t care as you returned the hug.

Of course, it was barely a few seconds before a guard pulled Yancy back onto his feet by the back of his t-shirt, while the Warden offered you a hand up.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Captain.” The Warden smiled as he patted your shoulder - you were able to hold steady and ignore the pain. “Normally we’d be raising alarms ‘bout a prisoner physically assaulting a visitor but… I think we can make an exception to this.”

You chuckled, turning your attention to see whether Yancy was okay. To no surprise, the greaser was lost for words, looking utterly dumbfounded as he stared at you with wide eyes. With this lack of response, the amused guard who had hoisted him up guided him to the free chair and encouraged him to sit down. Then, just for good measure, the guard gave him a light pat on the shoulder before he and the Warden walked away.

Silence settled in for the first few minutes, and you decided not to push Yancy into talking. In time, he reached forward and patted your arm, still holding an expression of disbelief.

“This don’t feel real,” he admitted, finally regaining the ability to speak. “Youse is… here. And not way out there. But… How? I thought this whole thing was ‘sposed to be a one-way deal. Once youse left… Youse wasn’t ever meant to come back.”

That was true. When you had agreed to the position, you had assumed it to be that way. However, Mark’s ‘extra experience’ with warp core technology, the distance was a lot shorter than it should have been. What should have been impossible was now possible.

Yancy’s head lowered as he processed this. “So… Wait. Why did youse come here, then?”

You shrugged. Wasn’t it obvious? You wanted to see him again. You had to make up for lost time.

“Yeah, and the fact that youse had to go before youse could properly hear that song. But that’s okay! I know youse is super busy and I don’t hold that against you.” You couldn’t ignore the way his expression softened when he realised that you were here because you wanted to see him.

You decided to bite the bullet and ask whether anything else weird happened the last time you visited. You needed to know what he experienced when the universe was in disarray

“Aside from the sudden leaving? Nah. Everything was the same as it always was, y’know? I mean, the few days afterward are a bit blurry, but that tends to happen. Prison’s got that routine, y’know? Very easy to lose track of the days if youse ain’t careful, so it ain’t nothing to worry ‘bout. I guess that’s further proof that nothing weird happened, eh?”

That did a little consolation, but the memory of the last visit brought another question to the forefront of your mind before you could stop yourself - did he spend many other visitation days waiting in one of those booths?

A hand slowly rubbed the back of his neck. “... A few. I knows I wasn’t ‘sposed to ‘cause I knew youse was gone by then but I couldn’t help it. I just thought youse would be pissed if I wasn’t there when youse wanted to come. Not that I expected that or nothing, youse ain’t under some sorta ‘contract’ to visit or anything like that. Youse got waaay more important things to do than to come here and -” Yancy stopped himself. He was rambling and risked spiralling into a low mood. He took a moment and exhaled slowly to get himself back on track. “Eventually the Warden told me that he’d let me know if anyone came to visit. Think he felt bad that I was sitting there for so long. But, uh, I guess he kept his word. He did come by and say that someone was here to see me. So… I owe him for that, I think. And aside from that? Uh, the parole stuff ain’t going nowhere fast. It’s, uh… Gonna be a long while, I think. Got a lot more hurdles than others given my, uh, ‘circumstances’.”

You winced in sympathy, knowing that it would likely be a difficult challenge for Yancy to pass the parole board. However, you didn’t want to spend the entire time worrying about the future. Instead, you looked around, dramatically making sure no one was nearby, before asking whether he wanted to see proof of aliens.

“You got something??”

You got something, and you pulled out a small photo album to prove as much. It would be a much better starting point for your space adventures that steered far away from the troubles of the past. Maybe he would be surprised when you reveal the stories of how you have befriended aliens!

#writersofmark #yancy ahwm #in space with markiplier #yancy the prisoner #self-insert #iswm captain #(Engie is here too but I'm not using his proper tag)#(read more is for tidiness! :D )#go visit yancy #(man; it's been a while since I wrote a proper visitation setting; eh?)

14 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 11 days ago

Text

Mayor Attorney - Quarrellsome Snow

Winter is beautiful, but it can be a stressful time of year. Damien has reached a cracking point of stress, and you're the only one there. Can you weather the winter storm with him?

Pre-Mayor era, doesn't have to solely be a (future) District Attorney!

Word count: 681

The middle of winter brought with it the bitterness of long nights. The air was sharp, the darkness was isolating, and the cold cut through you like a knife. Worst of all, Damien was in an unusually foul mood.

Not that you could blame him. He worked insane hours at his father's law firm, treated only slightly better than an unpaid intern. Even a man with bountiful patience would reach a moment of breaking point.

"- about my decisions! I qualified last year! I know what I'm talking about. Yet Father still acts like I'm that seven year old boy trying to understand law terminology." Not everyone was shoved into a profession from a young age. It was something more commonplace amongst the upper class, but few were thrown into the deep end as harshly as Damien was. You decided to keep quiet, letting him rant as you took the long way to where you lived. "It's almost like he's trying to belittle my education and prove that I should have stayed in this city to study. But it's a qualification! The level and standard of the degree are the same, and both institutes are renowned. They're on equal status! The only difference was that I wasn't - I wasn't stuck here!"

He threw his arms in the air, and you were quick to reach out and take one of his hands in your own. This wasn't something you could offer advice on. A gentle squeeze was enough for him to stop talking, blink, and sigh.

"I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you want to hear when you've had a long day and want to go home. But please, let me buy you a hot drink on the way. It's the least I can do, as an apology."

You shook your head, insisting he shouldn't. The plan was that he would walk you home, and then he would go home and get some sleep. It was better to stick to that. Damien - uncharacteristically - rolled his eyes.

"And what, speed up the return to the monotony of my existence? Am I not allowed to have some sort of life outside of my job? If you don't want me here, just tell me and skip the formality."

That wasn't what you meant, and he knew that as well as you did. He was twisting your words. You didn't want him to get sick because he's too exhausted to fight the seasonal flu.

Normally, you two were like two peas in a pod. There was little that you two would disagree on, and a compromise was found on the rare day it happened. This time, however, was different. Middle ground seemed like an impossibility. His anger was starting to rise. You were the scapegoat, and it was frustrating you. Trying to be the voice of calm - as he would often be for you - was only making matters worse.

Damien tugged his hand out of yours, about to say something, when he felt something land on his hand. His irritation shifted to confusion as he looked up. You did the same in time for something small to land on your face.

Suddenly, the heavens opened as snow began to flutter down on top of you both.

You found the abrupt interruption startled you out of the surging bad mood. But it wasn't just you who reached that conclusion.

Damien laughed. He was giddy, reclaiming your hand and yanking you into a tight hug.

"Oh, why am I quarrelling with you about this? I know you're thinking about my wellbeing in all of this. I'm sorry."

You pulled back just far enough to look at him and ask whether the offer of a hot drink was still there. You couldn't possibly go home when you were so cold!

A playful smile pulled on his lips as he pulled off his scarf and wrapped it around you.

"For you? The offer will always be there. And when I am finally move away from my parents, I'll buy you a hot drink any time you like. That's a promise."

#who killed markiplier #writersofmark #mayor damien #short snippets #blue soul (damien)#mayor attorney #mayor damien x reader #Self ship #Mayor Damien x oc #Canon x oc #Mobile posting so hoping for normal formatting

4 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 1 month ago

Text

Marmien: I Tire of this Party

Socialising is exhausting, even for those who have been doing it all their lives.

Word count:

787

Another Saturday night, another gathering of the upper class.

However, it was at the home of Mark's parents, recognising the work of a local orchestra at a recent event. Mark had been encouraged to come, and he naturally invited his three closest friends.

Spirits were high. Compared to the normal social outings, this was the closest to "among peers" any of them could get. There were no masks to don, no secret rules of formality to follow. Dinner was pleasant, and the music playing on the gramophone was keeping the jubilant ambiance going. Everywhere he looked, the people that mattered most to Mark were having fun.

Ah, life truly was for the living!

William could loudly announce he would challenge someone to a drinking contest and three people would shout their interest in participating. Celine could meet with the musicians she had studied with and gossip about people they all had the misfortune of knowing.

As for Damien….? Mark glanced around.

Strangely, Damien was nowhere to be seen. He was normally upfront with the actor if something was wrong, relying on little touches to give Mark a proper hint on what was on his mind.If his partner wasn't around, something must have happened. Mark stepped out of the main function room and began searching.

The other rooms dedicated for socialising were busy, but each lacked a familiar face. That ruled out the option of Damien making the social rounds. The bathrooms were empty, and he wasn't hiding in the kitchen. That didn't leave many options, unless…

He opened the back door to step outside.

Finally, there he was.

Damien was slumped on the stone bench overlooking the garden, head rolled back as he absentmindedly watched the branches sway in the late evening breeze. There was a small adjustment to his position as Damien noted Mark's arrival, but he made no effort to move.

"I'm sorry I stepped out without telling you. I didn't mean to worry you."

"You don't need to apologise. I know you were tired before we ever arrived. We can leave if you -"

"No, no…" Damien's interruption was slow, "I'm alright. You go back in and enjoy yourself. I'll be in shortly. I simply need a moment to collect myself."

Mark sighed. It wouldn't feel right leaving the politician out here alone. He threw a glance behind him, and an idea hit him.

"I'm not really in a rush to go back inside. Everyone is loud tonight. I tire of this party. I think a break would be ideal. Scoot over." Mark playfully waved his hand as Damien moved.

This was the perfect chance to strike.

Mark sat down beside Damien, wrapped his arm around the other man's shoulders, and pulled him close until Damien's head was resting on Mark's shoulder. Barely a second passed before Damien nestled in closer and let the arm that wasn't pinned in between himself and Mark drape lazily across the actor's chest. Once set, Damien sighed, and the tension he had been holding slipped away.

It was rare for the couple to be affectionate in public. With Damien's position, there was a high risk of trouble if he was discovered by his parents. However, not a single guest cared for his family here. The pair could relax.

Time was kind on the couple, opting to let the seconds pass slower so they could relish the other's company and the peaceful environment. The party felt like it was on the other side of the world. They could be anywhere else right now.

Hm. That was an idea.

Mark leaned down to kiss the top of Damien's head. "You know… I would be content to leave the party early tonight. I have done my duty as the faithful son."

"Mark -"

"I'm serious, Damesy. I've had the thought of us cuddling in bed together planted in my mind. That's far more inviting than anything here." He gently squeezed Damien's shoulder to support this. "What do you say? Would that be much better than this bench?"

"It does sound inviting," Damien murmured. "But you are sure you want to skip the rest of the night? You were so excited for this."

"I was, but now I want to go home. Otherwise, I will need to keep you in my arms everywhere I go at that party."

"You need to stop being so clingy."

"Actually, you need to stop being so perfect to embrace. It's like we were made for one another." Mark's words were familiar, and Damien lazily hummed in agreement.

The night was young, and spending the time together sounded ideal. The pair would have to move before the night chill set in, but there was no rush for that.

#Marmien #mayor damien #actor mark #who killed markiplier #writersofmark #(I had to spend an afternoon in the office with the actor pestering me. First draft hype so he can leave me alone)#(I wanna sleep xD)#short snippets

5 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 6 months ago

Text

Dilliam/Darkstache - The Forgotten Betrayal

The memories of Wilford Warfstache are something that are generally underestimated. What if he was the one who remembered what happened before the events of Who Killed Markiplier, and Dark didn't?

Adding to that, what if William and Damien had been secretly dating, and William threw all that away in an act of selfishness?

(This story covers infidelity and arguing. There are also references to a gun.)

Word Count: 3,901

The night was coming to a close. With the studio focused on projects beyond the antics of the egos, there was ample time for those on the production and managerial sides to come together and focus on some well-needed restructuring and organisation. Meetings were long and dull, but productive. Plans were being put in place for the future.

It meant that by the time Dark and Wilford got home, it was nearly bedtime. The reporter had opted to have a quick shower to freshen up after his night routine. By the time he came out of the ensuite in clean, soft pyjamas, Dark handed him a cup of herbal tea and kissed his cheek before stepping into the bathroom.

Wilford slowly sank onto the bed with the cup cradled in both hands. The tea was the right brew that had been recommended to help Wilford relax before bed, made just the right way. Dark had even picked Wilford's favourite cup for the tea (distinct from his favourite cup for coffee).

He had always made it clear in the studio that he was the luckiest man in the world, maybe the shattered multiverse, to have Dark love him. Right now, that was all that was on his mind.

Why did Dark love him?

"Will? Something the matter?" Dark had stepped out, adjusting the sleeve of his pyjama shirt, only to stop when he noticed his partner's vacant expression staring at the tea. "Is it the wrong one?"

Wilford blinked, shaking his head as he looked up at Dark. "No… No, it's perfect. Have I told ya lately that I love you?"

"I would guess about an hour ago when I finally ended the board meeting," the entity answered with a smirk. He crossed the room and knelt down in front of Wilford. Placing a hand on the reporter's knee, he continued, "If there is one thing I know for sure in this distorted world that's a far cry from the one I grew up in, it's that you love me." Dark shifted himself so he could reach up and place the hand on Wilford's cheek. "You don't need to worry that I've ever forgotten that, William."

"Thank you, Damien." Wilford closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. For a moment, he could have the reassurance that everything was okay.

"Come on," Dark's hand gently patted Wilford's cheek, "It's time for bed."

Unsurprisingly, after such a long day, Dark had fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Unsurprisingly, with so much on his mind, Wilford was wide awake. He turned to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. Both hands move to interlock on his stomach to stop them from fidgeting and lessen the risk of waking Dark.

Dark valued honesty in communication. If something was wrong, he wanted to be told. But how could Wilford talk about what was troubling him when the weight of truth was like rocks shackled to his ankles dragging him under the waves of guilt?

Dark should not love him. Damien would have never given him a second chance.

But Dark didn't know that there had ever been a first chance, or maybe he did; and he instead didn’t know that the first chance had been ruined beyond repair. Damien went through something as awful as William during their years apart. While Wilford ultimately picked pieces from the broken lives he had experienced to create the person he wanted to be today, Damien's memories had been smudged at points, as though someone had wanted to erase everything and leave him as little more than "Dark", the "monster". It was a miracle that Dark had regained any true semblance of self after everything.

So how could Wilford ask about something that Dark didn't remember? Why bring forward pain that wasn't there? Why give him memories that he never asked for?

But oh, how brightly those memories shone in the pitch black bedroom for Wilford. It had been some time since he reflected on the life of the broken soldier, yet the thoughts of his actions still brought Wilford pain.

The Mayor's office was resplendent. It was furnished with perfect, varnished dark wood features. Everything about the office boasted its age, wisdom, and experience, without considering the splendour that people like William would never afford. It perfectly encapsulated the "us and them" divide that was so clear throughout the city.

But there were two large windows at the back, letting the light of reality pour through and bring some sense of normality to the room from another world. More importantly, the sunlight gave the man sitting behind the desk a radiant glow. In that moment, Damien was more an angel than a man.

The fitted, black suit looked like it had been invented just for him, and every other man in the city suffered with the stiffness and awkwardness of the formal wear. There was not a wrinkle out of place, even after a full day of pulling the jacket on and off as required. The flower pinned on the lapel was made from fabric, preventing the warmer weather from wilting it too soon.

Not that William minded. Beauty blossomed on the young Mayor's face as he looked up and realised the soldier had snuck in.

"Will!" Damien scrambled out of the ornate chair, tripping over his own feet in his haste to throw himself at William. The action, though uncharacteristically clumsy of Damien, was rewarded with a strong pair of arms wrapping around him and holding him close.

Damien's beauty was an undisputed topic. Everyone knew it. Only William saw this side of him, where Damien's entire frame relaxed while he rested his forehead against William's shoulder. It didn't matter that strands of hair had fallen out of place in the flurry. Right now, all that mattered to Damien was pulling back just enough to beam at his partner.

There was no denying that this was a man in love; and somehow, William was the lucky fool who had captured his heart.

"I didn't think you were back until the weekend!" Dark brown eyes sparkled up at William, and he found himself briefly lost for words. Fortunately, Damien spared him from becoming too lost in those eyes as he nestled against William.

"Things finished faster than I thought. McKinley offered to take me out fishing to make up for the shorter security job, but I said I wanted to come home. I missed you."

“I missed you too. I can’t wait to hear the stories of what happened while you were away. I hope you were alright throughout it.”

Damien’s beauty was in more than just his appearance. He valued honesty, and loved the opportunity to have open conversations about the good and the bad. Whenever William had a problem, Damien listened, and William returned the favour when the roles were swapped. Things were perfect just as they were, with the pair in an embrace that brought a familiar comfort to it.

William didn’t answer, opting to kiss Damien instead. The moment was short-lived when the secretary knocked the door to ask whether the Mayor would be free to attend a meeting in ten minutes. The pair haphazardly sprung apart in case the door was opened.

Only a small handful of trusted people knew that Damien and William were dating. As far as the public were concerned, Damien was a bachelor - a fact that William loathed, and one that he hated being reminded of.

"Blast that woman," William hissed as he stormed over to a chair to sit on. "Can't we get five minutes in peace?"

"She's only doing her job, Will. She knows better than to throw the door open." Sighing softly, Damien followed William and sat on the other chair so he could rest his hand over William's. "I hate lying about us as much as you do, but it's something we need to do. I just need you to wait a little longer -"

"Haven't I waited long enough?"

"I just need a little more than a year. Please. My term is nearly up, and I'm not running again. One more year, and then I am yours, fully yours. I know you hate hearing people trying and play matchmaker with me, but surely you know my heart is only yours… Don't you?"

There was a short pause. William tried to hold firm, but a heavy exhale and a slump of his shoulders proved otherwise. "I know. I'm tired of pretending."

"And I'm tired of pretending we aren’t together." Damien softly squeezed William's hand in reassurance. "We're nearly there. Once the role of Mayor has been passed to my successor, you and I are going to France on that holiday you've been promising me for two years."

William's chuckle was hoarse. "You still want to go?"

"I've been reading books all about France! I want to see the controversial Eiffel Tower with my own eyes, with you and no one else."

The frustration passed, but the simmering anger remained as it always did.

–

Wilford sighed. That soldier was naive. He had grown up in the circles of the rich. He thought he knew their workings and believed Damien was overreacting.

In reality, however, William was only on the periphery. Damien was the one stuck in the circle of the elite from birth, forced to perform the same song and dance as was expected of his calibre. He was viewed with as much potential as thoroughbred horses. If there was any trace of imperfection, Damien would have been stripped of his family name and whatever savings he had, just like a horse only needs to trip once to be deemed worthless in the eyes of its trainers.

Had this happened in the world of politics, he would have been dragged through the mud and shamed with such intensity that he wouldn't be able to publicly show his face in the state again.

All Damien wanted was to wait before making the relationship public. In hindsight, it wasn't a big ask - but at the time, it was a large obstacle.

All William wanted, however, was to feel like he was in a relationship and not be some dirty secret. Damien might have been completely upfront, and the relationship was established on these terms, but it still felt like Damien treated him as an acquaintance when at an event. Just once, he wanted Damien to react to him in public the same as he did when no one was looking at them. He wanted to step into a room and see Damien's face light up. He wanted to be able to take Damien's hand, or kiss him on the temple like other men in relationships can.

Like how Mark could with Celine. Did they take for granted the simple luxury of expressing affection? Celine always looked somewhat indifferent to it, yet looked for that attention to show how important she was. Why couldn't Damien be granted that simple luxury? Was that too much to ask the world? Why was a man who had worked so hard to get to this place denied the basics?

… Why was William denied the basics because of this?

These thoughts were ultimately shoved aside, as they always were. He promised he would wait, and wait he would.

However, the longer he worked in the Manor of the Actor, the more he found these thoughts returning to the surface. Each time it emerged, it grew harder to fully quash it, until it remained in the back of his mind at all times. The thought began to sour his perspective of the relationship, as he reached a terrible conclusion: Damien was truly being selfish.

Was William not worth being seen? Was he some sort of embarrassment? Why couldn't he have something good for once?

After all, Celine was giving him a look when Mark was out for rehearsals. She flashed him a playful smirk that teased him to get more.

He would swear he could hear whispers egging him on.

So he listened.

By the time he realised the full impact of what he had done and the consequences of his actions, it was too late.

Mark had walked in on them one night. He lost his temper and threw the pair out without so much as handing them a jacket. Celine left town, revealing that the feelings were never mutual beyond a fling.The stories ran rampant in the local papers. His entire professional and personal history was on display for the whole city to see. His name was being thrown through the rumour mill over and over again.

And Damien?

Damien knew.

That was the worst thing of all.

Damien was Celine's twin, almost identical in looks, yet there were aspects that completely contrasted one another. While Celine had a notorious short fuse, Damien had the patience of a saint. He could weather many irresponsible mishaps, he could keep his cool during the most heated of arguments in favour of hearing out both sides. But there were two things he could not tolerate:

Liars, and cheaters.

Damien loathed the concept of dishonesty, and was known for looking down on those who would go behind the backs of a romantic partner. He was of the opinion that if someone claimed they were happily married, only to have an affair, then there was no redemption for you, for you could not be trusted with anything. Of course, things were not so simple, and situations might differ if a relationship was strained or potentially dangerous, but William’s actions were not caused by a neglectful partner.

---

The argument in William's home was explosive. For once, it was William trying to keep things calm.

"Damien, please -"

"Don't you 'Damien please' me!" Damien turned to glare at William, a fire burning in his eyes that didn't belong. "There is one thing I always made clear: if there was a problem with our relationship, tell me! We're both adults! We can have a conversation! We could have found a solution to what made you so unhappy-"

"But I am happy!" William countered. The words, however, had the opposite effect.

"Then why did you sleep with my sister?! Do you have any idea how vile such a thought is?! Did that empty head of yours consider, for just a moment, that choosing my TWIN over me was a bad idea??"

"What did you expect me to do? Life is short! I can't spend it playing pretend!" William's temper got the better of hindsight, but the anger was a spark in comparison to the inferno raging from Damien. The Mayor marched forward and jabbed a finger against William’s chest.

"When you courted me, I told you upfront that you would need to wait until I was finished my term as Mayor before we could go public. You agreed to this! You agreed on the premise that we spent weekends together where possible. And we did! The only times I have ever cancelled is when something came up last-minute, or we were spending time with Mark and Celine. I never went back on my promise!" With the cane thrown aside in frustration at one point, Damien began pacing the room, wringing his hand with such intensity that the knuckles were turning white.

"There are fourteen months left in my term. Three of those are dedicated to the local elections and preparing for the successor. I've had a calendar hidden in the top drawer of my desk since January. I've been marking off every single day that passes because, while I am honoured to be in my position, I want to experience life as a nobody. That promise of a trip to France kept me going through it all. I've hated every minute of pretending we aren't dating! I wanted to introduce you to others as 'my partner' for so long! I was going to propose to you the day after I finished as Mayor! I had already gotten your parents’ blessing, for God’s sake!"

The revelation forced Damien to a halt. Both hands dropped to his side.

William felt his blood run cold. The cards were laid out on the table before him and their message was clear: he ruined everything.

Tears began to line the Mayor's eyes as he shoved a hand into his pocket. "Fine. You win. If you want to be in a relationship where you can do everything you want at the drop of a hat, you can go right ahead and find it. I'm sure Celine would work." A brown key was taken out and slammed on the counter. "But as long as I live, Colonel, you'll never get that life with me."

William tried to reach out. His hand grabbed only the air as Damien pulled away. He lifted his cane and tucked it under his arm as he reached the front door.

"Goodbye, William."

The slamming of the door left with it an echo that was as hollow as the gaping hole growing in William's chest.

Mark was lucky, in one way. His descent from stardom and his gradual disappearance from the public eye could all be justified because of the affair and how he was handling it.

Damien did not have that luxury.

His relationship had never been discovered, so he had to go through the grieving process of a difficult break-up without anyone catching on. His personal life could not interfere with his duties. He had to pretend everything was fine, even when the reporters asked for his opinion on the affair and the consequences of it. When he responded that the matter was personal and that he would rather not talk about it, it was respected. The reporters all assumed it was because it was due to his sister's involvement, and Damien didn't have the energy to correct them.

Meanwhile, William had to live with the consequences. He had happiness. He had a life where someone loved him despite all his flaws and his problems. Damien deemed him more important than the moon and the stars that were so precious to him, and how did William repay this?

He threw it back in Damien's face because his selfish impulses won out over common sense.

When they would next cross paths, Damien would smile and be polite, but it was like nothing had ever happened between them. The gap was too wide. William would never be allowed to cross, and he knew Damien would never allow himself to love another person. They would both be doomed to remain unhappy.

Instead, all William could do was lie in a half-empty bed, hands interlocked over his stomach as he stared at the ceiling. How could he sleep when the pain of regret weighed heavy on his mind and his heart?

Wilford blinked, tears briefly blurring his vision. He turned his head a fraction to make sure Dark was still asleep.

Damien would find out the truth one day. Wilford could continue dancing around the topic and let Dark believe the lie that he remembers more than Wilford, but that wouldn't work forever. Celine would 'wake', and she would make a comment about it. Would it be in relief to see her brother happy, unaware he didn't know the truth; or a snide comment about giving chances to those who didn't deserve them? Either would be likely for her.

What would he do when that day arrives? He had behaved. He used to sleep around, but cut that out immediately the moment he realised he had a chance with Dark.

William had been asked to wait less than two years. Wilford had to wait nearly a century thanks to the soldier's selfishness.

This second chance, this ability to love Dark, should not have been permitted. Damien had vowed to never forgive William because he couldn't trust the soldier. Was Wilford just as bad for pretending he didn't know the truth?

He was happy. He didn't want to lose this second chance.

A sniff and a shaky breath stirred Dark from his light sleep. He blinked to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, realising that Wilford was still awake. The reporter was staring at the ceiling, ignoring the tears that stained his cheek.

"Will…?"

No answer. Wilford didn't even budge in acknowledgement.

The entity lifted himself up so he was propped up on his right arm and could place his left hand on Wilford's bicep. Thankfully, this gave a result.

"What are ya doin' up?"

"I could ask you the same question," Dark whispered. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin' is wrong. Go back ta sleep."

"I know when you're lying to me."

Wilford sighed. It was wishful thinking to hope that Dark would have been too groggy to notice anything was amiss. He should tell the truth and speak the thoughts on his mind, but the fear of losing Damien again makes him ask something else:

"What do ya think of second chances?"

Dark frowned. "What about them?"

"Do ya think people should get 'em?"

"I'm hardly in a place to make that judgement after all the atrocities I've committed." That seemed obvious to Dark, but he did acknowledge the possibility that Wilford simply wanted another opinion. "But to answer your question… A second chance is an opportunity for someone to prove they are better than what is perceived of them. If they seek such a thing in earnest, and prove themselves to be better, then I don't see the problem with trusting someone one more time."

Wilford frowned. That seemed too easy compared to Damien's previous stance on the matter. "What would ya do if I hurt ya?"

There was a short pause. "But you did. Remember when you shot me in the shoulder when trying to show off your 'gun tricks' to Illinois?"

The icy fear of the first sentence paired with the surge of relief with the second brought out a laugh from Wilford.

"Are you still worried about that? That was months ago. Everything healed just fine, and I already forgave you for it. Besides…" Dark lifted his left hand to rest it on Wilford's right cheek and gently brush away the tears with his thumb. "I know it was an accident. I know you can be impulsive, and you can be an idiot sometimes, but you're my idiot. You have a good head on those shoulders, and a kind heart in that chest." Then, Dark leaned down to kiss the tears away on the left side.

"It's okay to feel regret for the past, but you shouldn't let it hinder our future. Wouldn't you agree?" As Dark leaned back, he caught a hint of surprise on Wilford's face.

"Yeah… Yer right. C'mere, there's been somethin' else on my mind."

"And what would that be?"

"I'm low on my daily cuddles."

Dark snorted as he lowered himself to press against Wilford's side, and was swiftly trapped by a warm arm before he could change his mind. It was a familiar moment - a sense of safety that lasted a century.

"Dark?" Wilford's voice was soft after a moment of silence. "Ya know I'll never hurt ya again, right?"

"Of course I do. I banned bullets in the backstage areas for a reason."

Wilford chuckled, kissing the entity's hair. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it would help ease his troubled mind.

While this isn't a songfic, the song 5 to 7 Years is a great way to compare what Damien was trying to ask of William.

#dilliam #darkstache #writersofmark #who killed markiplier #(why hello there. :D )#(I feel like I've not written this dynamic in quite some time; and while I'm still in the camp of giving Damien the love he deserves #I also have never written the ship in a setting where WKM does happen. Usually I do a side-step AU or have it set earlier in the timeline)#gun tw #cheating tw #(read more is for tidiness! :d )

32 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 9 months ago

Text

The Day After the Day of Fools

Word count: 460

"Dark! There ya are."

Sometimes, for reasons known only to fanon, Dark would spend his downtime in a dark, spooky place. For people like Wilford, it made it a pain to find him. It's not like the dark, spooky place has a particular location or building within it!

"Wilford. It isn't like you to come all this way. Is something the matter?" The book Dark had been reading was closed and put aside so he could give his full attention to the other ego.

"Sure is. Mark's been actin' out again. Folks have heard him talkin' 'bout some scheme 'bout magic an' horses an' how he needed to find some friends ta help him, an' while I'm not a guy who knows a lot 'bout anything, it might be -"

"Another production," Dark finished with a snarl. "I told him to only do such a thing after long discussions with the rest of the team. The days of pulling people into those stories are ones I want to keep far behind us. We have too many traumatised 'viewer characters' to concern ourselves with." He rose to his feet, the couch and coffee table vanishing in an instant as he stormed up to Wilford. "Thank you for telling me about this. I'll go have a -" Dark tugged the lapels of his suit jacket for emphasis, " - quick word with him about this."

With that, he was gone, and Wilford had been deposited into the empty meeting room in the studio. With the coast clear, he broke out into a goofy grin as he left the room and made his way toward the break room.

"You're looking very chipper today, sir," piped up Young Jim, who had fallen into step with the senior reporter.

"I just pulled off one of my April Fool's Day pranks. Mark's booked th' day off work, so I put a whole bunch of "My Little Pony" toys in his office like he was playin' with 'em. Oh how angry Dark is gonna be when he realises he's been tricked by such a devious scheme!" He turned his head to Young Jim, waiting for an agreement that didn't come. "... What?"

"Today's the second, sir."

"Hah, nice try, kiddo. Yer not gonna get me that easily."

"No, really!" Young Jim pulled out his phone and displayed the lock screen.

"April.. Second…" the rosy cheeks of triumph had been swiftly replaced with the blanched face of dread. "Jim, my boy? Ya might wanna go tell th' others there might be a fight. I gotta, uh, do an intervention…." Without waiting for a confirmation, Wilford broke into a sprint in the direction of Mark's dressing room.

How could friendship be magic if the people he was trying to make friends again were fighting??

#(later reblog)

10 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 9 months ago

Text

The Day After the Day of Fools

Word count: 460

"Dark! There ya are."

"Wilford. It isn't like you to come all this way. Is something the matter?" The book Dark had been reading was closed and put aside so he could give his full attention to the other ego.

"You're looking very chipper today, sir," piped up Young Jim, who had fallen into step with the senior reporter.

"Today's the second, sir."

"Hah, nice try, kiddo. Yer not gonna get me that easily."

"No, really!" Young Jim pulled out his phone and displayed the lock screen.

How could friendship be magic if the people he was trying to make friends again were fighting??

#short snippets #Wilford warfstache #Darkiplier #writersofmark #Markiplier TV #the girls are fighting

10 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 10 months ago

Text

Mayor Attorney - The Charity Gala

Tonight was the night of the charity gala, one that had been highly anticipated for some time now. There had been a large drive across the city to organise small events to raise money for a good cause, and this gala was no different. The organisers had put a lot of care into making sure everything would go just right. The guest list included both the Mayor and the District Attorney, along with names that Damien eagerly reminded you of. People that had supported him in his campaign, patrons, and not a single person that would give him a stress headache trying to avoid for the entire night.

It was strange to know it was one that Damien had no direct involvement in, but that was a nice relief knowing that he might actually be able to enjoy himself. As Mayor, he would have to socialise and make his presence known, but you hoped he would have time to just be Damien for a little while.

It would be nice. The previous few weeks were too busy for both of you to find time for a date, and you had already agreed to attend this event together. Would it be wrong to make the most of the night?

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror so you could make the final adjustments to your hair. Your choice of outfit was a simple one - neat and black, plain and simple. It had been Damien's idea to co-ordinate with only black, but you couldn't ignore the suspicion bubbling up. Damien, a man who loves the chance to dress up nicely, the man who had once confessed that doing so was a 'guilty pleasure', opting for something ordinary? He had something planned.

But what? Damien wouldn't want to do anything that would throw him in the spotlight when he didn't want to be. He also wasn't someone who would add a flamboyant flair to his outfit.

Before you could mull further on what said 'plan' could be, there was a knock on the door. He was here. Your hair would have to do. A coat with money in a buttoned-up pocket was plucked off a chair on your dash to the door.

Damien stood in the doorway like a lingering shadow. He had kept his side of the deal. His black suit was pristine, with barely a crease in sight. The mayoral ribbon he wore for public events was the perfect shade to blend in with the material. His shoes were barely visible thanks to your shadow obscuring them. Even his shirt and bowtie were barely discernable from the jacket. What you did notice was the lack of accessory on the right lapel. He was known for wearing a flower, and you had expected him to find a black blossom.

The cane was neatly tucked under his left arm so he could carefully hold a small bouquet of white roses with both hands, as though afraid a mere breeze would damage them.

"I'm sorry," he smiled bashfully when he noticed your eyes drop down to the flowers, "I know we had agreed that we weren't to give any gifts ahead of our 'date' but… they were in their prime, and I couldn't help but be reminded of your sweet smile. You look perfect tonight, my love."

Ah, Damien. Roses might be a symbol of love, but you knew they were one of Damien's favourites, even before you two started dating. Once you let slip that you preferred the white blooms over the red ones, they became a reminder of you. You playfully rolled your eyes, accepted the bouquet, and invited him in so you could fetch a container of water to house them in. You would never be forgiven if they were left to dry out in the open air all night.

As you began placing the stems into their temporary, watery home, your gaze drifted over to Damien. He had stayed near the entrance, staying quiet so you could focus on your task and occupying himself with admiring the pictures on the wall. It was a common tactic he used for the sake of good manners. You waved a rose to get his attention, joking that you thought he had long lost 'guest' privilege by now.

You hit the nail on the head as he sheepishly chuckled and scratched his cheek.

"Ah. Yes. Well… This is a date, and I don't wish to behave so casually when it is the first time we've been together in a while." He paused as he noticed your wave beckoning him over. Who was he to argue with that? Slowly, he crossed the space to where you were working. "I simply want to make this a special night, and make sure you know how thankful I am that it is me you love." Your hands were preoccupied, and he took advantage of this to kiss your cheek.

The wall of formality was finally lowered, as Damien relaxed enough to engage in casual conversation about how the day went for both of you. His cane

For those few moments, you had forgotten the purpose of the night, until you glanced in his direction and was reminded of the empty lapel. You were quick to point this out.

"I did think one of my flowers would be a little too 'much' for a night that I have no involvement in. However, I did have an idea." He put his hand inside his jacket and pulled out two small, heart-shaped pins. One was red, the other was green. "A little gesture to show support, wouldn't you say?"

You flashed him a knowing smile. Your hunch was right, but you never would have expected how simple the act would be. He handed you the green pin so he could set to work putting the red one on your outfit.

"Sometimes, we have to remember the purpose for an event like this. It isn't merely to show how 'good' we are, or to make ourselves feel better. It's to help those who need it, and show that they aren't alone when it feels otherwise." With both pins in place, Damien stepped back to admire his handiwork. "There. Perfect."

You had a playful grin as you shook your head. You couldn't go just yet. His pin wasn't perfect, you claimed, as you reached back to the pin you had just put on him. He believed you, and that was his mistake. It left him open for your hands to swiftly move to either side of his face and pull him toward you for a kiss. When you leaned back, you saw a familiar lovestruck expression plastered on his face that you adored.

You asked if you should both get going to the gala. He nodded, leaning forward to close that gap between you one more time before it was time to go.

Do you want to help make a charity gala a success? Why don't you go check out Heropliers4Palestine, a week-long event dedicated to raising money to help the Palestine Children's Relief Fund (PCRF). Click here for more information on how you can support a good cause or help raise awareness, and get yourself something special and made just for you in return!

#(An extra day to do this in recognition of the strike!)#(Help support a good cause! Get some amazing arty stuff!)

33 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 10 months ago

Text

Mayor Attorney - The Charity Gala

But what? Damien wouldn't want to do anything that would throw him in the spotlight when he didn't want to be. He also wasn't someone who would add a flamboyant flair to his outfit.

The cane was neatly tucked under his left arm so he could carefully hold a small bouquet of white roses with both hands, as though afraid a mere breeze would damage them.

You hit the nail on the head as he sheepishly chuckled and scratched his cheek.

The wall of formality was finally lowered, as Damien relaxed enough to engage in casual conversation about how the day went for both of you. His cane

For those few moments, you had forgotten the purpose of the night, until you glanced in his direction and was reminded of the empty lapel. You were quick to point this out.

You asked if you should both get going to the gala. He nodded, leaning forward to close that gap between you one more time before it was time to go.

#(If you haven't already; check out the campaign and help do some good!)

33 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 10 months ago

Text

Mayor Attorney - The Charity Gala

But what? Damien wouldn't want to do anything that would throw him in the spotlight when he didn't want to be. He also wasn't someone who would add a flamboyant flair to his outfit.

The cane was neatly tucked under his left arm so he could carefully hold a small bouquet of white roses with both hands, as though afraid a mere breeze would damage them.

You hit the nail on the head as he sheepishly chuckled and scratched his cheek.

The wall of formality was finally lowered, as Damien relaxed enough to engage in casual conversation about how the day went for both of you. His cane

For those few moments, you had forgotten the purpose of the night, until you glanced in his direction and was reminded of the empty lapel. You were quick to point this out.

You asked if you should both get going to the gala. He nodded, leaning forward to close that gap between you one more time before it was time to go.

#writersofmark #mayor attorney #mayor damien #a date with markiplier #selfshipping #y/n district attorney #who killed markiplier #(no readmore because this is important mwahaha)#(Help support a great cause during the strike week!!)#(mobile posting so I am REALLY hoping it comes out okay)

33 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 10 months ago

Text

Hey everyone! If you're like me and are barely on the former bird app, you may not be aware that they've just announced the start of Heropliers4Palestine, a week-long fundraiser featuring a lot of incredible creative talent.

And I'm taking part!

For all the information, click here!

#Heropliers4Palestine

8 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 10 months ago

Text

When Do We Ditch This City? - Mayor Attorney

Word Count: 549

“So when do we ditch this city for good?”

You don’t remember which of you had asked the question in the Mayor’s office. There was a function happening in the main hall, but Damien had opted to step out citing a headache, and you were quick on his heels to check he wasn’t sick.

As it turned out, he was fine. He was merely ‘sick’ of the formalities. You two had slumped onto the couch together, partially tangled up as you both willingly blocked out the existence of the party.

Leaving the city? After everything you both had put into it?

“My term will end in a year. I don’t plan to run for a second one.” Even with all the precautions he had taken, Damien was exhausted. “I’ve been saving, and I intend to move out of the city. Find a home of my own somewhere far from the claws of my parents. But… I’m willing to postpone that plan if you wish to continue working here.”

You pulled yourself up just enough to give him a bewildered look. You’d quit your job tomorrow if it meant Damien could escape his horrible family situation. Once you knew when his tenure would be up, you would hand in your letter of resignation. You were sure you had some medical ailment that you could ham up.

“I don’t want people thinking you are dying.”

You dismissed his concern with a light bat of your hand. You will be unwell with a bout of ‘stringititis’, which makes you want to lie on your bed and wave your arms like they’re made out of noodles.

Damien snorted, which only served to bolster you. More severe cases would make you want to learn how to tie your arms into ribbons so you can look very pretty.

“You’re already pretty. I can give you one of my bowties if you’re that desperate.”

As much as you appreciated the offer, you opted to decline, stating that bowties were his thing, not yours. Leaving a kiss on his forehead, you admitted that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth if it meant you two could stay together.

“It will be grand when we’re both free,” he promised in a whisper. His right hand reached up to gently cup your cheek. “I would love nothing more than to find a place in the world with you. Somewhere quiet, somewhere small. A place where we can be near people, yet stay entirely separate if we so choose. Where would you want to go? It doesn’t have to be America.”

Anywhere? That was a rather important question that you couldn’t possibly think of a good answer for. All you could think of was how Damien’s plans sounded nothing short of perfect.

That was the right thing to say. His smile grew wider. “If I can live out my days with you as a family of our own, in whatever form that may take, with the ability to finally showcase my love for you in public without fear of having to avoid my family’s gaze, I will be the happiest man in the world.”

However cheesy that response may be, the sentiment behind it made something in your chest flutter as you leaned in to kiss him again.

#writersofmark #mayor attorney #selfshipping #mayor damien x reader #who killed markiplier #mayor damien

45 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 10 months ago

Text

The Call of Bedtime - Captaineer

Word Count: 554

It was getting late, according to the Invincible's internal clock system. You had finished your last patrol of the evening - an hour later than usual, thanks to a distraction in ADS. You were invited to join a game of "blind man's buff" featuring a droid with disabled optics and a pokey stick attached to one arm. Gunther insisted it was to test the capabilities if sight was disrupted, but you couldn't shake the feeling that he simply wanted to let his team take a break and have fun. And so, you allowed it.

The only drawback was that you left your partner unattended, and that was never good.

As the Captain, it was assumed that you were the one who worked to the bone and needed supervision. In reality, you worked hard, but you paced yourself. You took frequent breaks, made sure to regularly get up and stretch, and set defined lines between ‘on duty’ and ‘off duty’.

Mark, on the other hand…

The door of your shared quarters whizzed open as you stepped inside and peered at the desk. Sure enough, Mark was hunched over some tiny project, immersed in loosening a screw to make adjustments on the newest gadget he was working on. You clicked off your helmet and stepped into the bathroom to change into your nightwear and complete your bedtime routines.

You knew the Head Engineer well enough to know he would still be hard at work by the time you were finally ready to get some sleep.

When he got like this, there was no point trying to drag him away from his work. He would start bickering and complaining, ultimately feeling too mentally alert to want to stop and rest. It would only cause more headaches than anything else. In time, you learned that the best thing to do was to simply let him know you were going to bed.

Lazily, you approached from behind and loosely draped your arms around his neck. This action, finally, stirred him from his work.

“Evening, Captain.” He turned his head to kiss your forearm, and you realised that it wasn’t simply his voice that was tired - it was his entire being. How long had he been here for?

You corrected him, pointing out that the helmet was off, and so you were off-duty. He hummed lightly in agreement, leaning his head against your arm as you continued speaking. You were going to bed, and you’d see him in the morning.

“I’ll try not to make too much noise, promise. I’m nearly done.”

You didn’t believe that, but you decided not to share this. The correct choice was to pull your arms back until your hands could press on the underside of his chin and tilt his head back far enough for you to kiss his forehead. Then, with a ‘goodnight’, you stepped back and retired to bed.

In the main area, Mark slowly got back to work. His hands felt sluggish, and he had dropped the screwdriver twice. Instead of keeping mental notes of the process of repair, all he could think about was that kiss and how the touch still lingered on his skin.

The small gadget was placed on the table and the lamp was turned off. This could wait. Right now, he wanted to be in your arms.

#writersofmark #in space with markiplier #captaineer #engineer mark #selfshipping #iswm captain #(scheduled post)

23 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 10 months ago

Text

The Stress of an Election - Marmien

Word Count: 743

The election campaign was causing a lot of excitement across the city. It was expected that the young lawyer with little experience in both life and in politics would have survived the process of getting political backing to even begin his campaign.

Yet, despite the odds, Damien survived that and two election debates. He was truly the underdog that was shooting up the popularity rankings. But just as a pendulum swings to and fro, so too did this approval rating come with a cost of fierce opposition.

"- could have some sort of negative consequence if I make even one mistake. And you know as well as I do that my family will not be there to support me, which further backs the claim that I'm merely doing this for attention."

Mark, lounging on the sofa in the living room of his family home, watched with furrowed eyebrows as Damien paced the length of the coffee table. His words were as quick as his steps, doing nothing but amplifying the fears he had skilfully kept hidden from everyone else in the small circle of trusted confidants.

"What if I ruin everything?" At last, the pacing came to a halt as Damien turned to Mark. "I'm running an election campaign on a shoestring budget, ten years earlier than I planned because I allowed my parents to push me into this so I could be of use to them. And when I refused their money so they couldn't turn that into 'favours owed' down the line, they upped my office hours!"

"Damesy…"

"So now I'm juggling two full-time jobs when I should be in a position to take a career break because I can't afford to take time off work. But on the other hand, I'm already too far to back out."

Oh no. The pacing had resumed. This time, it was paired with the frantic rolling of one hand over another. Mark knew the gesture well as one of Damien's clear anxious ticks. He normally hid it well, but if anyone on the opposite team caught wind of it, Damien would be a goner.

A thought briefly crossed Mark’s mind as to whether he should find something to help alleviate the stress by channelling it into a held item. An idea for another time, for sure. Right now… If Damien was left to stew any longer, his worry would likely bubble over into a panicked mess.

It was time to act.

"Damesy…" The affectionate pet name was repeated as Mark got to his feet and snatched both of Damien's hands in his. "The people love you. You chose to run so the common people would have a voice that wasn’t tainted. You don’t speak for the rich snobs who already have other politicians in their back pockets. You’re already making waves and getting people to pay attention.”

“Yes, but -”

“Those who don’t like you can see the change you’re bringing. It was easy to keep the status quo when the majority weren’t paying attention, yes?” Mark’s question earned him a slow nod from Damien. “It means you’re doing everything right. Things wouldn’t be easy otherwise, and where’s the fun in that?”

“Easy for you to say.” Damien huffed, glancing aside. “You’re the one who could break an antique vase and still have everyone loving you by the end of it. I wish I could back out, but it would prove everyone right -”

Words were not going to help quell the worries in the young politician’s mind, so Mark opted to lean forward and kiss Damien on the forehead. When the action prompted a brief pause, he ducked down just enough to peck Damien’s lips.

“What you need right now,” he murmured, refusing to move too far back, “is a nice cup of tea, a chance to sit down, and something else to worry about. I mean, not that I’d know anything…”

“Mark…?” When the actor coyly stepped back, Damien reached out to grab his wrist. “What else is going on?”

“I mean… You didn’t hear this from me, but our childhood friend with the yard brush for a face accessory was an absolute buffoon when he came with me to the theatre’s band practice yesterday.” The opening line was all he needed to have Damien’s attention shift away from the worries of today. Mark seized the opportunity to pull Damien close to him, wrap an arm around his waist, and lead him into the kitchen.

#writersofmark #marmien #actor mark x damien #before the mayor was mayor!#who killed markiplier

15 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 10 months ago

Text

A Quick Trip with Illinois - Illinois x Reader

Word Count: 472

The heavy stone door slammed shut behind you, narrowly missing your foot. You stumbled out of the haunted ruins into the morning sunlight. Both hands were thrown ahead of you to press against the long, damp grass and attempt to save you from an embarrassing fall.

Unfortunately, your shoes did not provide adequate grip in said damp grass, ensuring you slipped anyway.

A chortle had your head snap up in fury, like your glare alone could prompt your adventuring partner to share your fate. Illinois was not affected by your powers. His left hand flicked the brim of his hat up a fraction, as though making sure you could see the glee on his face at the sight of your bad luck. Slowly, he sauntered over, unwilling to lend you a hand as he instead crouched down so he could be at your eye level. How the wet grass was not hindering his footing was an infuriating question that you knew you’d never get an answer out of him.

"Bumpy landing, partner? When you said you wanted a bath after this excursion, I didn't think it would be quite this early."

You adjusted your position just enough to flip him the bird, though your action didn't faze him at all. Instead, it prompted him to stand back up and take your hand.

"Alright, let's get you back on your feet. Can't have you getting a cold as a souvenir."

His hand was warm and calloused from his time on the road, but you had learned it was more than merely wear and tear from the harsh weather conditions he willingly endured. There were small cuts from fights, a bruise on his wrist that was finally beginning to fade (admittedly, you poking it when you wanted Ilinois to shut up might have slowed the healing process), and a small, red mark on the bend of his right middle finger from where his sketching pencil would press a little too hard while he was lost in his work.

His grip was tight, but not painful. It was one fuelled with experience of rope climbing, of abseiling, and of making sure a retrieved artefact did not slip away. But it was also protective, one that accompanied a squeeze when he guided you through the labyrinthine backstreets of an unfamiliar city.

A turn of his wrist flipped your hand, leaving the back of it vulnerable for a kiss. His head tilted up a fraction, letting you see the warm gaze of affection just below the rim of his hat and strands of messy curls.

"I do recall saying I owed you a night in a hotel to make up for our spoiled vacation. Shall we make tracks, darling?"

You nodded, though you were quick to remind him it was two nights he owed you, not one.

#writersofmark #illinois x reader #selfshipping #awhm illinois #fluff #(one day I'll share my Illy propaganda for headcanons; but today isn't that day. Back to work I go! :D )#(It's already getting late here my time so I might consider scheduling some as I go)

6 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 10 months ago

Text

I hope people are in the mood for short fluff with kisses today.

#(I wasn't planning on doing anything but I figure I need to practice shorter pieces that don't need world building)#(I have at least four ideas so far. I'll see how things go after that)#ash rambles #(What ships? Uhhhhh I don't fully know. Whatever I feel like)

4 notes · View notes

gottawriteanegoortwo · 11 months ago

Text

Acting Attorney: The Props that Shape Our World

When you step out into the world on your own in university, there are many new challenges to face as part of growing up.

But what do you do when you have a crush on your best friend’s childhood friend? And worse… What do you do when your best friend knows?

Word Count: 2,655

University was a strange place. Uncharted territory. Countless unknowns. You found you were constantly bracing yourself for the worst. Someone would pull the rug out from under you and deem you unworthy of attending this course. Someone would come up from behind and stab you in the back while taking what little savings you had. Something, inevitably, would happen, and these safe spaces that you were only starting to get used to would be lost forever. This was all too good to be true.

The betrayal you were expecting. But never from Damien. Never about Mark.

The first meeting had not gone well. Mark had specially travelled to the campus for a visit. His academic hours were far fewer, allowing him more time to make the short journey to where you and Damien were staying. You were left with a sour taste in your mouth because Mark oozed rich kid energy and seemed so out of touch with reality. You could have said the same about Damien, but Damien at least was raised in an overly sheltered, narrow-minded environment. Mark didn't have that same excuse.

You would have left it there, but you couldn't disappoint your friend. It was a begrudging promise that paid off. The second time Mark came over, it was to get out of his own place for a little while. He was stressed, pacing back and forth across the tiny living room with such intensity that you were surprised a path hadn't been worn into the floor by the time you arrived. He had his first performance exam coming up, and the nerves were kicking in. Damien had quietly explained to you that Mark always hated exams, especially auditions, even though he was more than capable. When he stepped out to fetch drinks, you had stepped in to help.

Somehow, you had pried the book from Mark's hands and began to guide him through the soliloquy he was assigned. Damien was right - Mark was confident in the performance, but it was the worry of ruining an opportunity that was eating him alive. When Damien returned with three glasses of water, you suggested that the legal students should pretend to be an audition panel, even going as far as pulling out the heavy winter scarves and messing each other’s hair to complete your "disguises". It had been so ridiculous, but it worked. Mark couldn't stop snickering, and afterward had questioned whether you had missed your calling in the theatrical world.

His grateful smile after it all stuck with you for some time. Just when you thought you could box everything up and move on, Mark would swing by, and you'd have to start all over again. You'd keep this to yourself. You had more important things to focus on. A crush was not one of them!

But Damien. Your best friend, your worst traitor. He grew up in the legal world. He was an ace in reading body language and subtle cues. When you tried to insist you saw Mark simply as a friend, you knew he didn't believe you (truthfully, you didn't believe yourself either). You had never seen him give such a mischievous smirk when he was presented with clear proof of your infatuation from your disastrous attempts to lie. When you pleaded with him not to say anything, Damien had promised you he'd never initiate such a conversation with the man of the hour.

Nothing more was said.

Trusting Damien to leave it in the past was a mistake.

Your course was on break for a week, and he decided that the two of you should pay Mark a visit for a chance. It was in the same city, nothing a short bus trip couldn't handle. However, he immediately set off toward the main campus instead of what looked like the residential area.

"Mark mentioned in his last letter to me that he was helping his tutor go through the storage backstage," Damien explained as he pushed one of the doors open. "I'd hazard a guess he's still poking around here. If he had any excuse to spend more time around props when we were children, he'd take it. Otherwise, we follow the, uh…" He trailed off, passing the page he had been carrying to you. Instead of writing out an address and directions, Mark had opted to draw a map.

Ordinarily, a map would be a fantastic aid, a guide through the labyrinth of buildings and streets to help lost travellers find their way. Unfortunately, in his excitement of potentially having visitors, Mark had made what was frankly the worst map you had ever seen:

It was made in a hurry by someone with a heavy colouring pencil and no eraser. The road outline was scribbled over several times to try and hide a mistake. One building had an extra piece attached to it, while another had a corner that was slightly scribbled out. His pencil had even made a small hole in the paper from the pressure. Finally, the rectangle in the top-right had a poorly drawn face with two bold arrows pointing to it. However, Mark had neglected to label a single thing. Without suitable directions (or even any sort of visual landmark), you understood why the university was the safer option.

You handed it back with a grimace and Damien swiftly pocketed it. At least the floorplan in the main entrance hall was easier to navigate than Mark’s diagram of lines and boxes.

The auditorium was nothing like the lecture halls you attended. While those were tiered seating with built-in chairs and long tables, this was a single level hall with a large stage at the back. Chairs were set up in neat rows, with a gap in the middle for the main aisle. You did recall Mark talking about lectures happening here. Without even a small table clipped onto the side of the chair, you felt sorry for the students that would try to take notes here. Surely students couldn’t take notes here, right? They would have terrible back strain!

Damien had approached an older lady and asked her if she had seen Mark. She pointed to the back and said he would be finishing up soon. Once she had hurried off, he led the way backstage.

"Really, Mrs Butterly. I told you I can manage this just - Damien!" Mark scrambled out of the prop set he was tangled up in so he could charge over and pull the law student into a tight hug. Then, as he pulled back, he noticed you standing just behind Damien. There was a flash of confusion that was quickly replaced with a grin. "I thought Damien said you had study classes today. Come here!"

As you were pulled into a hug, you glared at Damien. In response, he shrugged with feigned innocence. "Apologies. I must have misremembered my dates. Mayhaps that is happening next week?"

"To-may-to, to-mah-to. Doesn't matter. You're both here! And it's the perfect time to do so. Once I finish here, I'll be free for the day. Is there anything at all you want to do?"

"Find a bathroom," Damien unceremoniously answered when Mark moved back toward the boxes.

"Oh! That's simple. Go back out the auditorium the way you came, then take the left corridor beside the steps. You should see the door signs from there."

"Thank you. Won't be long."

It wasn't until Damien was gone that you realised you had been betrayed. He left you! Alone! With Mark! How on earth were you going to get out of this??

An idea hit you as you stepped over a box and asked what Mark was even doing.

"I volunteered to help one of my lecturers go through some of the props we store backstage. They want to take inventory to see what we can keep and what we can throw away to replace. It's a treasure trove, and we've barely scratched the surface. I'm just putting all these items away."

A large assortment of items were scattered around the floor surrounding the three large boxes: mugs, books, gardening tools, board game pieces, empty photo frames, folded cloth, and that was at a glance. A fourth box was behind Mark, the flaps on top loosely closing it. In the distance, you could make out other large containers stacked against the walls.

You offered to help tidy things away, and Mark was delighted to have another pair of hands. As you gathered the pieces of a chess set, Mark explained that there was currently no system as to where to return items. The plan over the upcoming summer break was to renovate the storage space, and then better homes would be assigned for items in the fall.

You admitted it sounded like a lot of work, and Mark agreed.

"You don't realise how much goes into acting. In order to recreate the feeling of watching life unfold, you need everyday items." As an example, he lifted an empty tool bag, "But with so many stories, there are so many props. It's a world all its own. It follows the rules we expect, but has its own laws." As he lowered the bag into one of the boxes, you found yourself unable to look away from the sweet, wistful smile on his lips that often appeared when he could talk about the arts. "It's easy to lose yourself in all the things you can find. Life seems so much simpler in a story, and yet… It's a weird world. We found two broken tubas this morning. Not even Mrs Butterly, the head of drama, could tell me why they were here."

The ridiculous example, along with Mark turning his attention to you, wasn't what you expected, and it brought out a surprised snort. The moment seemed to spur inspiration that brought joy to Mark's face.

When you later found a set of thimbles, questioning why actors needed something so tiny that the audience wouldn't even see, Mark reached over and snatched one out of the box, along with his coat. In moments, he had created a scene of an older lady standing by the window, trying to focus on her sewing when she knew her granddaughter was in the maternity ward. His hand shook, miming the needle pricking his hand despite the thimble.

"- which symbolises that despite the familiar security, the suspense for big news has her distracted." He carefully returned the thimble to its place once he had finished demonstrating his improvised scene, and dumped the coat back on the ground. "Even if the audience can't see it, it helps the actor portray a scene to the best of their ability. You get what I mean?" Chocolate eyes glanced to the side to look you in the eye, and you nodded with a breath caught in your throat. Whatever he saw on your face was enough to prompt Mark to drop to his knees and rummage through the box.

"It's like, uh…" Several things were lifted and taken out. Mark was muttering, stalling for time while searching for something. You stayed on your feet as you peered into the box, like you could somehow magically know what he was looking for. It meant that you could see the way his face lit up when he grabbed a small box and presented it up to you.

"Like this! To the audience, this box could be anything, but you and I can see the fake glass in the lid to allow us to peer in and see what's really inside." You gasped. It was a beautiful golden pocket watch. The face was a pale cream with bold, black Roman numerals circling it. The hands were stuck at half-past two, but that didn't matter. "It adds to the surprise when the audience sees what your character is excited about, only having to wait a moment for you to open it and share the discovery with them."

"Something to share with me?" A new voice startled you both, heads spinning to see Damien leaning against the wall with arms crossed. "Well, I didn't think you'd propose quite this fast, Mark."

Your head whipped back to look at Mark, suddenly keenly aware of the situation. Him, kneeling on one leg with the other raised and foot on the ground for better support. You, standing as you hold a generic jewellery box. You felt your face heat up as you watched Mark's cheeks begin to turn rosy, only to glance away and try to admire a ladder resting against the wall when Mark caught your eye. Anything was better than looking at Damien's smug face. He was probably relishing seeing his two friends caught right in the middle of a moment.

"I, uh, well, it's more that…" Mark fumbled over his words as the ability to give a reasonable explanation was surprisingly sparse. It was as though something was very suddenly on the forefront of his mind and he was trying very hard not to blurt something out about it. "We were - we were acting! Testing their ability to react to a present."

"Uh huh…." Damien wasn't convinced, even if it was the truth. "So, do I get to be best man?"

"Damien, you are one of the best men I know."

"You're still kneeling."

That, finally, prompted you and Mark to break from the prolonged freeze-frame and scrambled to his feet with such haste that he nearly tripped into the crate. Dropping the jewellery box back where it belonged, uncaring whether it landed safely, you surged forward to help rescue Mark before he became part of the prop inventory.

"Hey, uh… sorry. For putting you in that situation, I mean. I didn't realise what I was doing…"

"Living out your daydreams?"

"Can you stop being a third wheel for ten seconds, Damien?"

Your gaze lowered for a moment while you struggle to think of a response. Was Mark apologising for the embarrassing situation, or for having feelings for you?

"Are you okay?" Cautiously, Mark rested a hand on your shoulder. Your silence had made him grow hesitant. "I've made you uncomfortable, haven't I?" You shook your head, deciding to redirect focus back to him with your question of whether he was uncomfortable. "Me? I, um, I don't want you to think that I am at all because, well -"

"He wants to ask you out for drinks."

"DAMIEN!!"

"What? You said ten seconds. I gave you fifteen!" Damien raised his hands in self-defense, but you knew that smile was one that was tinged with evil. He was enjoying every minute of this. "Look. You've both danced around this for weeks. And since you've both foolishly confided in me, I decided to take matters into my own hands instead of subjecting myself to any more of this farce. The feelings are mutual, so we should hurry up and get this tidied up so you two can go out and enjoy yourselves."

In all the time you knew Damien, you never expected him to be so blunt about a matter like this. Judging by how Mark's mouth was gaping open like a fish, he was thinking the same. Damien casually stepped around the two of you and began lifting the scattered props like he hadn’t just dropped the biggest secret you and Mark had been desperately trying to hide from one another out of fear of rejection.

"Would you be okay with that?" Mark's whisper caught your attention. When you confirmed as much, Mark leaned over to kiss your cheek. "We'll plan something nice when we're back at my place." He turned away with the intention to help Damien. But when you didn’t move, seemingly still trying to comprehend the last few minutes with eyes lowered, he returned to your side and gently squeezed your hand.

You looked up at him. He smiled.

Somehow, you knew that smile read ‘I love you’.

#writersofmark #acting attorney #actor mark x reader #who killed markiplier #selfshipping #wkm actor mark #mayor damien #(look. I like writing a sweet Actor.)#(read more is for tidiness! :D )

17 notes · View notes