#DAEmmaBailey

[beesartandstuffs]

Chapter 43 of “Shot in the Dark” is up, and I have to say, this is where everything really starts unfolding. Hold onto your hats!

Read it HERE!

~~~

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@mayor-damien-protection-squad

@markired

@blackaquokat

@pleaseletthisjimbetaken

@jojored22

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@racheljoyauthor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[thecrowehousehold]

“That’s kind of weird...”

~~

Ask them questions!!!

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad@markired@blackaquokat@pleaseletthisjimbetaken@gravitykaz@jojored22@neverisadork@withjust-a-bite@221biotchplease@gmcfyuffins @the-asexual-reaper@satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[beesartandstuffs]

EVERYONE LOOK AT THIS AWESOME PIC MY FRIEND MADE OF EMMA

HECKIN AMAZING

GO CHECK THEM OUT, THEYRE A GOOD BEAN

D.A. Emma

OK SO I COLORED IT AND OUTLINED IT IN PEN AND NOW ONE EYE IS SHAPED DIFFERENTLY AND JUST AAAAAAAAAAAGH *has done a fail*

@beesartandstuffs

[beesartandstuffs]

Chapter 42 of “Shot In the Dark” is up!! This one is a doozy, guys.

Read it HERE!!!

~~~

Tag list: 

@mayor-damien-protection-squad 

@markired 

@blackaquokat 

@pleaseletthisjimbetaken 

@jojored22 

@neverisadork 

@withjust-a-bite 

@gmcfloppins 

@satansladydoor 

@racheljoyauthor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[beesartandstuffs]

Shot in the Dark: Interim- Chapter 5

(IMPORTANT CHARACTER INTRO ALERT???

Also, please note that while this chapter is written in second person, it is not a reader-insert.

Don’t forget to LIKE, COMMENT and REBLOG!!!)

SHOT IN THE DARK MASTERLIST (find more stories here!)

~~~

You've never had a brother that you know of, but if you could name one person who would fill that role, it would be your cousin, Michael Bailey.

He was your cousin on Emma's side. Five years older than you, cool to kids and adults alike, Mike knew how to have fun without getting in trouble. It was partly for that reason that Emma and Damien liked to have him around to entertain you, you supposed. 

Mike's dad— Emma's older brother— had died in the War, so you never got to meet him. Mike never seemed put out about it, though. He always had a smile on his face and a joke to tell— something that you, a kid with no friends and few things to smile about, appreciated greatly.

When he was fifteen (three months after your tenth birthday, to be exact), he moved in with you, Emma, and Damien. You remember sitting on the stairs when you were supposed to be getting ready for school, listening to the three of them talk in the living room.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want," Damien was saying. 

Mike murmured something, probably some sort of expression of gratitude.

Emma offered him breakfast. Mike refused politely, saying something about carsickness.

Damien asked Mike about his mother. He was being polite because Emma already knew— she was always taking care of her sister-in-law, the only family she had left— but Mike responded with the same information that you all knew already. Ellen was the same, still sick and getting sicker. You remembered the word typhoid being mentioned when they had spoken about it before.

You clung to the banister, pondering. Why did adults find it necessary to talk about things they already knew? Wouldn't it be a better use of their time to ask things they didn't know?

Footsteps rattled the staircase, and you watched a head of tight orangey-red curls turn the corner at the landing.

Mike stopped when he saw you, sitting on the stairs, still in your bedclothes.

For a moment you stared at each other. His fine eyebrows were raised, making his pale blue eyes seem almost silver. Your eyes were dark as ever and mostly hidden, strands of coal black hair curtaining your face. 

Then Mike grinned. His skinny arms were strained from holding his suitcase. "Hey, squirt."

Uncle Abe called you squirt, too. Mike had started doing it only recently, probably trying to mimic him, and you supposed that was alright. You’ve been called worse. 

Emma came up behind Mike. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw you. "Liam, honey, your uncle will be leaving for work soon. Did you want me to drive you instead?"

Slowly, you shook your head. You wordlessly stepped down and pulled Mike's suitcase from his hand and took it up the rest of the stairs to the spare room, then sat on the bed.

He didn't seem bothered by your presence. He was wearing nice pants and a sweater vest with a blue jacket with patches on the elbows, kind of like how Damien dressed on Saturdays, except Damien was strong and had a big rib cage while Mike was all arms and legs.

Mike took off his jacket and draped it over your head, prompting a quiet giggle and a flail, resulting in the jacket ending up on the floor instead.

He laughed, too, ruffling your mop of hair like everyone else seemed to like to do. "Doncha have school, kid?" he said, opening his suitcase on the bed next to you.

You got up on your knees to see if he brought you anything. "Nuh-uh," you said, although that wasn't exactly true. You would just ask Damien to stop by your school after work and get your homework from your teacher.

Mike grinned. He knew what you were up to. "Just wanted to spend time with your favorite cousin, huh?"

"You're my only cousin," you pointed out, reasonably enough. "Except if Emma and Damien have a baby."

"But then the kid'd be your sibling, right?"

You paused. "... I guess."

Emma and Damien had become your legal guardians a little under five years before, but you still didn't really think of them as your parents. They'd never tried to make you call them "Mom" and "Dad", didn't even make you call them "Aunt" and "Uncle" (but you did anyway). They were just kind of… there. They took care of you, clothed you, fed you, taught you manners and morals the best that they could, helped you with homework and played with you when they had the time.

You liked them a lot. Maybe you could even love them, someday.

But would a child of theirs really be your sibling?

"You're thinking pretty hard there, kid," Mike pointed out, carefully placing a stack of folded shirts in the dresser. He sat on the bed next to you and kicked off his shoes.

You nodded thoughtfully. You did think a lot. Emma always said it was because you were so smart. Damien said it was because you were wise.

You didn't really like how much thinking you did. It got noisy.

"Hey, Liam. Gotcha something."

Said something gently tapped the top of your head. You looked up and it gently smushed your nose instead.

"A book?" you wondered.

Mike dropped the item in your lap. "It's a new journal. Auntie said that yours was almost full. You good at writing?"

You shrugged.

"You like writing?"

This time, you nodded. Reading and writing was as natural to you as breathing.

"How much you write a day?"

"Two thousand words." You’re not quite sure how you know that but it sounds correct. 

"Two-thousand? A squirt like you?" You frowned up at him, and he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Just teasin'. Writing is good, good for your brain."

Emma said that too, sometimes. She was always pleased to see you writing in your journal. Did she put Mike up to giving you a new one?

"Why didn't Emma give me this herself?" you asked curiously. 

Mike's smile wavered, then turned into a scowl. You opened your mouth to apologize but he shook his head. "Nah, kid, Auntie didn't tell me to get this for you, I just— I wanted to, y'know?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Gosh, man. Don't your friends ever give you stuff?"

You stared at him blankly, and his frown deepened. But he didn't look angry at you, or at anything really. It was more like when Damien was worried about something. His forehead went all scrunchy and one corner of his mouth leaned to the side while the other stayed in place.

"Don't you have friends at school?" he tried again.

You shook your head slowly. You spent your class time doing your work, and recess reading and writing. You didn't have the time nor desire to spend time with other kids— You never knew how to act with them, anyway, and they didn't know what to do with you either. Best not to bother.

Mike didn't say anything more about it, but when Emma came to the room to check on him and was clearly about to scold you for delaying, he smiled and said, "Actually, I was wondering if he could stick around, just for today. I know you and Uncle need to work so… I thought maybe he could show me around. Keep me company, y'know?"

Your eyes darted between the two. Mike didn't need to be shown around. He'd spent plenty of time here. Did he really want to spend the day with you?

Emma's lips twisted around, like they always did when she was thinking. But then she looked at you, and a smile flitted across her face. "Just for today, understand?"

"Yes ma'am," you said, at the same time that Mike said "Thanks, Auntie."

You grinned, ducking your head. Emma and Mike laughed.

You'd never had someone around all the time, someone who wasn't an adult.

It took some getting used to.

But… it was nice.

~~~

~~

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad​​@markired​​@blackaquokat​​@pleaseletthisjimbetaken​​@gravitykaz​​@jojored22​​@neverisadork​​@withjust-a-bite​​ @gmcfyuffins​​ @satansladydoor​​ (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[beesartandstuffs]

Shot in the Dark: Interim- Chapter 4

(oh, did I say the next few days? It’s today :3

Also, please not that while this chapter is written in second person, it is not a reader-insert.

Don’t forget to LIKE, COMMENT and REBLOG!!!)

SHOT IN THE DARK MASTERLIST (find more stories here!)

~~~

It would be easy to say that your life goal has been very simple: Reunite with your parents and live the rest of your lives in peace. That's all you wanted, at first. That's the only thing that made sense.

Well, besides the fact that your mother was dead. For some reason, that never really deterred you. 

You remember the look on your uncle's face when you first said you wanted to see her. In retrospect, you feel bad. The lines on his forehead had deepened and he was speechless for a moment as you waited expectantly.

"Your… you can't see your mother anymore, Liam," he had said to you, as gently as he could. His eyes were misty but resolute. "We buried her in November, remember? Did you want to visit her graveside?"

You had shaken your head. No, you wanted to talk to her in person. You had questions that only she could answer. Uncle Damien hadn't been able to say anything else and Aunt Emma had spoken up. "Maybe we can talk about this when you're older, dear."

You were a reasonable child. You waited until about five years later, a week after your tenth birthday, to bring it up again. (You had waited a week in order to avoid interrupting the festivities.)

"I want to talk to my mom and dad," you had said, in the most grown-up tone you could muster.

Emma and Damien had exchanged glances.

Damien left to make a phone call.

All three of you woke up with bloody noses that night. 

~

Col. William was in a good mood when you sat across from him at the big metal table in the big cold room. A guard in a uniform stood nearby, but the Colonel was handcuffed. You weren't afraid of him, anyway. 

��Hello, Dad,” you said in a friendly tone. You sat politely in the big chair, your feet dangling several inches from the ground, with your hands in your lap.

He didn't look up from his notebook for a while, but when he did, he looked surprised. "Well, good morning, my boy," he said kindly, even though it was early afternoon. "My name is William J. Barnum, but you may call me Colonel. I'd shake your hand, but…" He gestured with the handcuffs on his wrists. You smiled slightly, and he continued. "What brings a young lad like you to a place like this?"

So he'd forgotten already. Emma had warned you he would. "My name is Liam," you said patiently. "You forgot me, but I'm your son."

"Son?" He shook his head, laughing. "Oh, I can't have a son. Celine would never allow that to happen. Her husband is quite the unpredictable man, you know."

Celine. Your mother. You grasped onto that, leaning forward. "What was Celine like, Colonel?"

He paused and tilted his head. "Celine is… strong. Stubborn, but brilliant, vivacious, enrapturing…" A sigh escaped his lips and he smiled dreamily. "My first love. My only love, truly."

Quickly, before you thought to lose your nerve, you asked, "Was she a witch?"

"Heavens no!" You were thankful that the Colonel laughed, instead of being offended. "Goodness, where could you get an idea like that? Ah, wagging tongues, most likely. Most unfortunate." Shaking his head, he looked down at his journal and laughed to himself. "No, she was not a witch, my boy. She was fascinated with the supernatural, had been since she was but a slip of a girl. I never discouraged her, but… I'll admit I did worry." He shook his head again, his smile fading. "But she was always quite a bit smarter than I, so I didn't question her. I assumed she knew what she was getting into." 

Suddenly, he frowned, and looked up at you. The sharp gaze of his dark eyes was sad but incredibly intelligent. "... How could this be?" he asked softly. "She told me she gave you up."

It took you a moment to realize that he knew who you were. "She did. Uncle Abe found me and took me to Emma and Damien."

He nodded, not seeming surprised. "Honest Abe… so he did hear me," he murmured. "You're a fortunate boy. Damien's probably a better father than I could ever be."

You never even tried, you thought you might like to say. But you didn't, because your father was here and he recognized you and you could be a family now.

"They'll raise you to be a good man," he continued, and your heart dropped. "I'm not getting out of here any time soon, so I hope you visit me again. It'll be a nice change from only seeing Abe every few months."

"But—" This isn't how it's supposed to go. You found him, he knows you. He's supposed to take care of you. "Why can't I stay with you?"

He smiled, and this one was sadder than ever. "Prison isn't a good place to raise a growing boy, I'm afraid. Besides, I'm…" He looked down at his journal. "I forgot again, didn't I? I remembered the wrong things."

"I remember wrong things too!" you insisted, but he shook his head gently at you, not looking up.

"Not like this. Like this, I'd… I couldn't do right by you. Emma and Damien are good people, they aren't… like me."

"What's wrong with you?" you demanded, hurt and scared and naive.

He didn't answer then, so you asked again. But he didn't say anything even when the guard came to pull you out. You weren't sure why the guard had come until you felt moisture on your face and your throat was sore, and you realized you'd been crying, which had escalated into screaming, and you didn't know how to stop.

The guard passed you off to the warden, nursing a bloody nose, and you didn't remember hitting him but you were sorry, and you tried to apologize but the only noises you could make were sobs and cries like a wounded animal’s.

Uncle Abe was waiting for you in the front office. You couldn't stand the look on his face when he saw your state, so you turned your face away, allowing yourself to be handed off like a limp marionette and burying your face in his shoulder.

He didn't say anything to you as he buckled you into his cruiser, but he did squeeze your shoulder. You guessed that that was his attempt at comforting you, so you decided to appreciate it.

The warden came out to the car, then, and Abe shut the door to talk to him in relative private. After a subdued but tense conversation, the warden handed Abe a package, which he tucked into his jacket.

He didn't say anything at all until he asked if you wanted to get some ice cream, to which you nodded miserably.

He let you choose a park bench to enjoy your treats. You always got chocolate with liberal amounts of sprinkles, and he indulged in a simple scoop of strawberry.

The park bench was too tall for you, but you were a bit small for your age. You didn't mind getting to swing your legs, and it's hard to cry when you're eating ice cream, because the salt doesn't taste very good, so you were starting to feel better.

Abe passed his cone to one hand and reached over with the other to ruffle your wild black hair. "Didn't go how you expected, huh?"

Wordlessly, you shook your head. 

"That's okay, kid. Nothing can really prepare you for that." His hand fell back to his lap, and you contemplated his statement.

"What's wrong with… with William?" you asked finally, having decided not to call him by either "Colonel" or "Father", for he was neither your friend nor a paternal figure. He had forfeited that right.

Abe sighed, took off his hat and ran his hand over the fuzz on his head. "He's… well, I dunno for sure, kid. He's not all there, yknow? Forgets things. Remembers things wrong. Thinks things are true that aren't. Stuff like that."

"I do that too," you point out, because it's true. Just the night before you had woken up thinking you had a dog, and Damien had had to keep you from going out in the cold to find her because she had "gotten lost in the golf greens".

It still felt like you had a dog, but there was no dog there, so you'd decided to believe Damien.

Abe knew you weren't lying. He simply searched your face, nodding thoughtfully, and finished his ice cream with a pensive scowl. As you both crunched on your cones, he spoke up again. "Liam, there's something the Colonel wants you to have."

You immediately abandoned your determination to forget William ever existed. "A present? For me?"

A small grin crossed his face as he reached into his coat and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. You reached for it instinctively, then remembered yourself and placed your hands back in your lap, waiting for him to speak.

Taking note of your rarely-seen excitement, Abe passed the package to you. "I think there's a note inside, but it might be hard for you to re—"

Before he could even finish speaking, you'd already torn the string and paper off and were reading the handwritten note tucked inside the cover of a small, plain, blank notebook.

The note was written in elegant but firm script. Some of the words were crossed out and rewritten, and you noticed that most of them were when he referred to things in the present when really they were in the past— a mistake you'd been known to make as well.

My Dear Son William Jr.,

I hasten to write this while I still have my mind. It comes and goes these days, and I fear that you may be predisposed to the same problems. Hence, this little gift.

My boy, sometimes the world will not make sense to you. Sometimes, you may forget things, or remember something that didn't really happen. In times like that, it may be helpful to have something you can look back on, something that you know is correct and unchangeable. 

The written word is a powerful thing, my boy, and I pray that someday you realize just how true that statement is. 

This journal is a tool, my dear son, to help you keep your mind in order. Everything you experience, every thought you have, write it down in this little book. It may feel silly at first, but I promise you, the minute you remember something that no-one else does, you can look back in this book and find the truth.

I hope you find it useful.

All my love,

The Colonel

~~~

~~

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad​@markired​@blackaquokat​@pleaseletthisjimbetaken​@gravitykaz​@jojored22​@neverisadork​@withjust-a-bite​ @gmcfyuffins​ @satansladydoor​ (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[beesartandstuffs]

Shot in the Dark: Bittersweet- Chapter 4

Read the previous parts HERE!

(I’m very excited to share this with y’all, especially after watching Damien. Don’t worry, there aren’t any spoilers for that in this chapter! Don’t forget to LIKE, REBLOG, and COMMENT!!!)

~~~

It was past midnight, the night after the dinner with Abe and young Liam. The shadows of the house were deep and oppressive, and the owners of the house were feeling their effects.

Emma's eyes snapped open, her muscles stiff and her breath coming in strangled huffs. Shaking, she stared unseeing into the darkness, willing herself to stay awake.

At her back, her husband stirred. A gentle hand touched her arm. "Darling?" came Damien's hushed, sleep-roughened voice. "You alright?"

She rolled over to face him.

It had been a while, but it wasn't the first time she had seen her own nightmares reflected in his eyes.

They lay on their sides facing each other. Emma had one hand pillowed under her cheek and the other resting on the mattress in front of her. Damien reached out and placed his hand over hers.

"Tell me if you wish," he murmured.

She pressed her nose to their joined hands, steadying her breathing. She didn't often want to talk about her nightmares. They were too real, too fresh in her mind, and Damien had the same ones often enough for it not to be necessary. But this time she opened her mouth and spoke in a whisper.

"We were back in the manor. It was burning… all around us. We… you, Abe, the Colonel, and I… we were all dead, but we were walking around. Living corpses. And… and Celine…"

Celine. It always went back to Celine. Damien’s brow furrowed, but his eyes were sad, not angry.

Emma swallowed. "She wasn't there. Sometimes… I thought she was, but… " She shook her head. "She was gone. It was my fault, it's always my fault—"

Damien released her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to his chest. "Emma, listen to me," he murmured into her hair. "We've talked about this. What happened to Celine wasn't your fault."

"I pulled the trigger," she whispered against his nightshirt. "She's gone because of me, if I hadn't shot her—"

"If you hadn't shot her then something worse might have happened." He pulled away and held her shoulders, looking her in the eye. "Emma. Celine was gone long before she showed up at the manor."

He pulled her close again and for a moment, they held each other. Emma took shuddering breaths and Damien rubbed her back, rubbing his face on her head and catching her fine hair in his scruffy beard.

Eventually, her grip on his nightshirt loosened. Damien prepared to let her move away, but she stayed close, murmuring into his chest, too quietly for him to understand.

"What was that?" he asked gently.

Emma pulled back, just barely. "The dream was different this time."

Her husband frowned at the tone of her voice. "Different how?"

"It wasn't just us this time." Emma shuddered again, and Damien's hold on her tightened. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse with raw fear. "There was someone else."

"It wasn't real, darling," he soothed. "It was just a nightmare."

"I know. But when I saw him, standing there, surrounded by the flames, I couldn't… it felt so wrong. It was so wrong. He was just standing there, staring at me."

Damien's throat tightened, his wife's fear contagious. "Who was it, Emma?" he asked softly.

She swallowed hard. Her arms came up to wrap around his back and she pressed herself against him, as if his closeness would somehow protect her from the horror. She opened her mouth, and the words came out in a harsh, coarse whisper.

"It was Liam."

~

The morning came, and brought with it rationale, comfort, and to a degree, shame. Who would have a nightmare about an innocent little boy you've just met? Damien rationalized as they were getting dressed that it was Liam's connection to Celine, something that would traumatize anyone. He didn't mention it, but Emma noted the shadows under his eyes were deeper than usual. She didn't have to ask to know that he had slept poorly.

It was Sunday, and so the pair dressed for church and headed to the small chapel they had taken to attending. The congregation was small but warm, and had welcomed them with open arms.

Today, however, they didn't sit alone. Next to them on the pew were Abe, looking slightly uncomfortable, and Liam, whose eyes were shining with excitement. Evidently he had attended Sunday School before the service, and had been awarded a piece of chocolate for excellent behavior.

Damien had grinned at the news, and knelt to tousle the boy's hair and congratulate him. Over their heads, Emma and Abe exchanged looks. Abe's was characterized by a grin and lifted eyebrows, while Emma shrugged lightly. Damien was good with kids and this didn't surprise either of them.

Liam insisted, in his quiet way, on sitting between Emma and Abe. He was well-behaved, to a degree. He stood and sang the hymns with a lovely soprano, and while he had a hard time sitting still during the sermon, seemed to quiet down when Abe slipped him a pen and a pad of paper to scribble on.

The four went to picnic in the park afterward, giving Liam space to run around and play. Emma expected him to do so as soon as he finished his ham sandwich, but he didn't— instead opting to sit with the adults a while, listening to Abe recount one of his recent cases.

The detective didn't mince words around the kid. He spoke with his usual level of (often grotesque) detail and vulgarity, causing Emma and Damien to exchange concerned glances. But Liam didn't seem bothered or even surprised. He simply nodded along.

Halfway through the tale Liam stood and wandered away. On instinct Emma almost called him back, but Abe waved it off. "I don't mind," he said cheerfully. "I told him if he ever gets bored when I'm telling a story he has special permission to leave. Kid gets bored sometimes. So do I. I get it."

"Will was the same, his whole life," Damien said without thinking. "Couldn't sit still without a pipe in his—"

He stopped. Emma's hand brushed his, and Abe nodded, unbothered. "He's doing well," he offered quietly. "I called this morning to give him an update on Liam. He didn't… he didn't remember what I was talking about, but he sounded happy. Guess they gave him chocolate today, or something."

Strained smiles were exchanged.

Liam came back with a fistful of wildflowers. He offered one to each of them. "For you," he said with a shy, gap-toothed smile.

Emma noticed he still had flowers clutched in his fist. "Saving those for a special someone?" she said, attempting a teasing tone.

The boy didn't blink. "These are for my mom," he said matter-of-factly.

A pained, awkward chuckle, ripping through Damien's chest, broke the silence that followed. "That's real sweet of you, kid," Abe managed, reaching up to ruffle Liam's hair.

Emma said nothing. She couldn't.

~

"I'm next of kin," Damien said forcefully that night, throwing the dish towel onto the counter.

"That doesn't matter! Are we even capable of giving him what he needs?" Emma retorted. Her sponge landed with a pathetic squelch in the sink.

"We won't know until we try."

"If we try, it's already too late."

"I thought you wanted kids!"

"Eventually! And with you, not—"

From them.

From Celine.

Emma's voice cracked like a looking-glass. "How long are they going to haunt us, Damien? How long will we have to live… How long do I have to live with…"

"Emma."

He wasn't angry.

Damien was capable of having a temper, just like his sister. Emma had seen him angry, seen him with rage and terror and hurt in his eyes and voice and seen his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel after a fight. His knuckles had been white just like that at the drive home from the picnic. He had asked her if she wanted to take Liam in.

She knew what his answer was going to be.

He knew hers.

But now, he wasn't angry.

"Emma, if we don't do this, it may… they may haunt us forever."

His gentle hand took hers, tugging lightly. After half a second of resistance she conceded, allowing him to pull her into his arms.

For a moment they stood there in the kitchen, their arms around each other.

"This is our chance to stop running, my love. To do something right, to stop hiding from the world and bring… bring some good into it for once."

He was right. Of course he was right.

"He's a smart little boy," she mumbled into his chest.

She felt Damien smile into her hair. "Just like his uncle?"

"I'll give you that one, sir, but don't push your luck."

He laughed, and Emma felt herself relax.

Damien's hand fell to the back of her neck and she allowed him to pull back to lean down and give her a light kiss. "I'm not going to force you into it," he murmured. "God knows we both need to be all in for it to work. But, Emma…"

"I'll do it, Damien." She smiled at his mid-sentence slacked jaw. "You're right. About all of it. Liam needs us and… maybe we need him. Maybe a child's laughter is what this dreary old house needs."

"It's not that dreary…"

"I'm scared, Damien. Terrified."

He looked down at her, raising his eyebrows. "Well… yes, of course. Me too."

A pained but cautiously hopeful smile broadened his wife's face. "But we can do it. We can do it for our nephew. Can't we?"

He grinned, and leaned down to kiss her again.

"We can."

Together.

~~~

~~

~ Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad@markired@blackaquokat@pleaseletthisjimbetaken@gravitykaz@jojored22@neverisadork@withjust-a-bite @gmcfyuffins @satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!) 

[beesartandstuffs]

(If you cant read my handwriting, it says: “they had bags under their eyes the whole time i knew them. It took me a long time to find out they weren’t always like that.”)

Sometimes Liam reminisces.

[beesartandstuffs]

Shot in the Dark: Bittersweet- Chapter 3

(AND WE’RE BACK. The story is far from over, folks. Lets take a look into the past once more.

Read the previous parts HERE!

Dont forget to LIKE, REBLOG, and COMMENT!)

~~~

Abe put the car in park and settled back to look at his companion. “You ready for this, kid?”

The dark-haired individual shrugged, staring straight ahead.

“Yeah. Me too.”

It had only been a year since Damien and Emma had gotten married. It had been a small affair, with only a few friends and family present and one of Emma’s lawyer friends as an officiant.

Normally, Abe didn’t care for weddings. He hadn’t been there for Mark’s and he considered that a blessing, especially after what ended up happening. He preferred to keep a clear head when it came to picking sides in such important matters.

For Emma and Damien, however, he made an exception.

Which is why he now sat in the car in front of their house, preparing to make the long walk to the door and change their life, for better or worse, possibly irreparably. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go.”

From the absence of Damien’s car in the driveway, Abe assumed the man was getting overtime at the retirement home. He had hoped that they would both be there, and he nearly turned back at the notion of confronting Emma without her calmer half at her side.

However, when a set of small, tentative fingers wound around his, a glance to his diminutive companion reminded him of his mission.

Emma was there at the second set of knocks. Her dark, curly hair was past her shoulders now, and the sides were pulled back with a blue ribbon. Abe noted the silver rings on her ring finger.

Her first expression was that of shock, and suddenly Abe wished he had given her more preparation. But then she smiled. “Abe. I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

He managed a returning smile. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that, I had to uh… you know.”

She didn’t, by the looks of it. Abe cleared his throat. He tugged gently on the small hand clasping his, pulling it forward. “I, uh, have someone for you to meet.”

Emma’s eyebrow quirked, then her eyes fell to the small boy at Abe’s side, seeming to finally notice him. Her eyes rounded. “Oh. Hello, there.”

"Small" was rather generous, to be honest. He was positively tiny, with an unruly mop of jet black hair dwarfing his head even further. He was wearing his Sunday Best, which truly wasn’t that impressive, but he wore it with dignity, which was more than most five-year-olds could say, Abe thought with pride.

Emma knelt carefully. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

The boy hugged Abe’s leg. He mumbled something into the coarse fabric, and Abe ruffled his hair affectionately. “It’s Liam,” the detective said when the boy fell silent. He waited for Emma to look up before he continued. “His full name is William J. Barnum, Jr.”

She shot to her feet in an instant. She opened her mouth, attempting to speak, but it seemed she was unable.

Instead, Abe offered gently, “Let’s talk.”

Young Liam was busied with cookies, two pencil stubs, and a legal pad. The two adults sat on the couch as he worked seriously on the coffee table.

“How old is he?” Emma asked quietly, not taking her eyes off the boy.

“Almost six,” Abe replied.

“Does he know? About…?”

“He knows.” They watched Liam carefully trace one of the cookies onto the paper before Abe spoke again. “He didn’t know either of them very well, though. Colonel visited him occasionally. Barely remembers his mom.”

“I see.”

The two fell silent once again. Liam took a bite out of a cookie, then traced the bite mark onto the paper with remarkable precision.

“Is he very shy?” Emma said at last.

Abe snorted. “Only with strangers. Kid can be a chatterbox when he feels safe." He glanced at her. "Which— I'm gonna be honest, partner— isn't very often." He looked back at the boy. "Took me a while to hunt him down— the Colonel had trouble remembering where he was. Sometimes even who he was. So I took the bits of what Colonel said and pieced them together with the paperwork. Led me right to him."

"An orphanage?"

Seems being a bank teller hadn't dulled her wit any. "Bingo. Sixth one in five years, I heard. They kept kicking him out."

"Did he get in trouble?" Emma asked worriedly.

"Nah. Trouble got him, according to his caretakers. His parentage got to be a hot topic among his peers. Calling him a witch and such. Guess some gossipy adults had loose lips." He shook his head. "They didn't want to make the effort to put a stop to it, I guess."

"Poor kid."

"Yeah. He's a tough little guy, though. Smart as a whip, too." He waited for Liam to look up, then grinned. "Might want him as a partner some day."

The boy smiled. It was the first time Emma had seen him do so.

She cleared her throat. "So, Abe. It's… nice to have some kind of closure on this matter. But I have a feeling you aren't here to close out this chapter of our lives."

Young Liam grew still, his smile disappearing. His eyes darted between the two of them, nearly hidden behind the curtain of his wild hair.

Abe shifted uncomfortably. He folded his hands in his lap and sighed down at them. "The Colonel wants you two to take the kid in."

"Wh—" Emma glanced at the boy, then back at Abe. "What?"

"I was hoping to catch Damien while he was home, but…"

"He'll be back soon." She blinked and swallowed hard. "Why us?"

"Ironically enough, you're two of the only people the Colonel actually trusts," he snapped. He lowered his voice. "Emma. He was lucid. For the first time in months. I had told him you were getting married, and he lit up like a poorly maintained gas station. He knew you were the only hope for his son!"

"What about the orphanage? Surely you can take him back—"

"I am never taking him back there." His tone was cold, but fury bubbled close beneath the surface. He took a breath, and continued. "He will never set foot in that place again if I've got anything to say about it." Across the coffee table, Liam's shoulders relaxed.

Emma bit her lip. Her knuckles were white on the polished arm of the sofa. "I… I need to talk to Damien, I…"

"I know. Take your time." He nodded toward Liam, standing and picking up his hat. "He's staying with me while you decide."

Emma stood as well. "Are you still staying for supper?"

His eyebrows rose slightly. "Am I still welcome?"

"Of course."

"Then do you mind setting out another plate?"

~~~

~~

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad@markired@blackaquokat@pleaseletthisjimbetaken@gravitykaz@jojored22@neverisadork@withjust-a-bite@221biotchplease @gmcfyuffins @the-asexual-reaper@satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!) 

[beesartandstuffs]

Shot in the Dark: Bittersweet-- Chapter 1

(YALL I HAVE BEEN WAITING SO LONG TO WRITE THIS)

(dont forget to LIKE, REBLOG, and COMMENT!!)

SHOT IN THE DARK MASTERLIST (find more stories here!)

~~

It had been six months since the manor burned.

Emma tried to keep busy. She resigned as District Attorney and closed down her law practice, instead choosing to get a job at the local bank. She was welcomed into the business and adjusted fairly quickly. Her coworkers were polite and friendly, and she liked that they didn't get into her business.

She liked that nobody asked questions.

Privacy was a luxury, in those early days. It was difficult to walk down the street without being accosted by news reporters and journalists and paparazzi, all asking questions. Emma took to traveling in secret and only when absolutely necessary.

Eventually, most of the media grew bored. New exciting news drowned out the death of Markiplier and the burning of the manor, and eventually, the survivors were left mostly alone.

Now, six months later, things were quiet. The only person she ever heard from was Abe, through sporadic phone calls late at night. He had turned in his badge as a police detective, but only a month later had opened his own private investigation office. "It's different, being your own boss," he had said one night. "But it's… well, it's a good different, y'know?"

They didn't talk about the manor. Occasionally he updated her on the statuses of the others— she assumed he did the same for them. Benjamin was having a hard time adjusting to his new office job, but evidently had made a lady friend. Chef was contentedly working at a small independent restaurant, after finishing three more weeks at culinary school. Service was mediocre but the food was good, Abe said.

The Colonel had been given a life sentence. Abe visited him when allowed, more for the sake of the others than anything. Evidently the Colonel hadn't been causing any trouble, spending most of his time writing in notebooks and asking for more when they were full.

The one person Abe wouldn't tell Emma about was Damien. "Call him and ask him yourself," Abe urged. "I can promise you he's not mad."

Emma always came up with one excuse or another, and Abe would retreat.

However, one night, Emma had gotten ready for bed and was reading a book while sitting by the telephone. As always, she planned to wait for thirty minutes, and if Abe didn't call she would go to bed.

This time, she had barely sat down before the phone rang. She picked it up, and offered a curious, "Hello, Abe?"

The voice on the other end was not Abe's, but rather one she hadn't heard in many months.

"Hello, Emma, it's… it's Damien. Abe said you'd be available about this time."

Emma's hand froze to the receiver. Her greeting had been open, unguarded, used to the casual intimacy of her conversations with Abe. Now she was left raw, struck down by her best friend's cautious voice.

She covered the mouthpiece of the receiver and cleared her throat, then put it back to her cheek. "Hello, Damien."

"Hello."

There was a long silence. Emma knew he hadn't hung up; she could still hear him breathing on the other end. "...How are you?" she offered. Her voice was distant. Guarded.

"I'm well," Damien responded automatically, then paused. She heard him grunt softly in frustration. His politely unattached attitude fell away. "No, actually, no, I'm not alright. I'm… I'm quite unwell, in fact."

Judging by his tone, Emma could wager his illness was of the emotional sort rather than the physical. "I understand," she said. A piece of her emotional shield fell away, revealing a sliver of genuine empathy.

"Emma." Damien was pleading, suddenly. "Please, may I… may I see you?"

"S-see me?"

"Tomorrow. Please meet with me tomorrow. At a park, at a cafe, neutral ground, whatever you wish. Just… let me talk, let us talk, and then we never have to see each other again."

Her heart stopped at the very idea. "Damien, I can't…"

"An hour, just give me one hour, and then— and then I'll leave you alone."

"Damien—!"

"Please, Emma. I… I don't have anyone else."

Those final words, offered barely above a whisper. The previous ones having rushed out like a burst dam.

Damien was hurting. Of course he was. Had anyone spoken to him since the manor? Had everyone been giving him space, giving him so much space he had no one left to grieve with?

How ironic that the one he turned to was his sister's killer.

"Yes," Emma choked, then cleared her throat again. The next day was Sunday and she had no plans. No excuse. "Yes, I'll meet with you. Everman Park at 4:00, is that all right?"

"That's… that's wonderful. Yes, that will do nicely."

They fumbled with their goodbyes, each hesitant to hang up.

The minute she set the receiver down it rang again, and she snatched it back up. "Damien?" she croaked.

The cheerful voice on the other end was no longer her best friend. "I see that conversation went well," Abe said.

“Did you set that up?”

“I told him to call you. That’s it. Anything else is out of my jurisdiction.”

Emma growled and Abe laughed. “I can’t believe you, Abe.”

His voice lost its joking manner. “And I can’t believe you, Bailey. I mean, six months? Really? I was starting to think I was his only friend.”

Her throat closed. “That’s not fair, Abe.”

“Not a single part of this is fair, kid. Not a single one.” His voice gentled, and there was the tell-tale creak of his old office chair. She could picture him leaning back, maybe pinching a cigar from the box on his desk. “Now I’m going to assume you’ve scheduled some kind of longer conversation considering this one was so short?”

For some reason, Emma felt a blush warm her cheeks. A flutter in her chest at the thought of seeing Damien again. Like some kind of... silly schoolgirl. “Tomorrow, at the park.”

“Sounds romantic.”

“Abe!”

“Alright, alright. I’ll give you guys some time. I get it.” But she could hear the grin in his voice and despite herself, she felt herself smiling as well.

She didn't realize it, but she was humming as she got into bed that night.

~~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad @markired@blackaquokat@pleaseletthisjimbetaken@gravitykaz@jojored22@neverisadork @withjust-a-bite@221biotchplease@gmcfyuffins @the-asexual-reaper @satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!) 

[beesartandstuffs]

Who Killed Markiplier: Shot in the Dark- Chapter 3, Part 3

(Guys. Guys. This is it. I’ve been waiting to write this part for months. I’m so pumped guys. That being said, THIS IS AN EXTREMELY CRUCIAL PART OF THE STORY SO IF YOURE NOT CAUGHT UP DO THAT FIRST. Here is the masterlist if you need it!

This is also a really long one (over 2000 words) so buckle up kiddos.

Spread the word everyone! Big things are happening!!)

~~

Because I know Celine, I recognize that she's accusing me. Whether it's simply of being out of my league or of actually killing Mark, I'm not sure, but it doesn't really matter. The goal is to deflect the attention back to me. To turn the distrust on me.

And it's working.

"What makes you think you're qualified to be a detective anyway, missy?" Chef sneers. "You think reading big books and arguing with prissy boys in suits makes you able to crack a case yourself?"

I open my mouth to reply, but Benjamin speaks up too. "And if your wardrobe is any indication, keeping up appearances isn't much of a motivation either."

Abe is looking at me uncomfortably, chewing his lip. "I guess I might've been a bit… hasty. I didn't even consider that you might not have much field experience… I'm sorry, Bailey. I shouldn't have put this on you."

I look at the Colonel expectantly.

To my surprise, he's frowning, in… pity? As if he feels bad. Is he immune to Celine's influence?

A warm hand covers mine, easing the chill from the storm. Damien's. I hadn't even realized that I was bracing my hands on the table, as if I was about to stand in protest. Damien doesn't look at me, but his open display of support and pointed glare at his sister speaks volumes.

Celine suddenly smiles, appearing sheepish. "I'm sorry. I know today has been… hard. And I know you're only trying to help, like any of us."

Nods and apologetic murmurs drift around the table like spectres.

"That's why I need your help." Her voice is soothing, coaxing. This is for the good of everybody. This is our only shot. "We can figure out who killed Mark and what else is going on, once and for all. Together. Won't you give me a chance?"

I'm nodding before I realize what I'm doing. Damien looks at me in alarm, but I've already agreed.

Celine grins. "Perfect. Come with me."

She starts to stand, but Abe slams his hand on the table. "Hey, wait a minute!" he snaps. "We may have just met yesterday but Bailey and I have endured through thick and thin, and I'm not about to let you drag her off to her very likely death!" He jumps to his feet. "I won't stand for it!"

"W-well I trust Celine with all my heart!" The Colonel stands as well. "I don't see why anybody should doubt her!"

"What other choice do we have?" Benjamin says insistently. "If this is the only way to find out what happened to Master…"

"Gotta admit something's weird about all this," Chef mumbles.

Celine sighs. "If you want to stand watch outside, you may. But my work must not be interrupted."

The Detective laughed. "Oh, I'll keep watch, all right. I'll keep watch on every single one of you… even myself." His eye twitched. "...Especially myself."

I follow Celine to the stairs, but Damien beats me to it. He slams a hand on the railing to stop his sister's progress. "Celine, wait!"

She looks up at her brother. Her voice is soft when she speaks. "Yes, Damien?"

He searches her eyes, opening his mouth to speak but stammering. "I… are… are you alright?" Celine sighs and looks away but Damien moves to try to stay in her vision. "I know this… this news can't be sitting well with you."

She pushes past him and heads up the stairs. "I'm fine for now."

"I… er…" He looks at me, fumbling, near-panic in his eyes. I shake my head wordlessly, and his jaw clenches. He turns and darts up the stairs after Celine, calling after her. "B-but all this talk of the occult, I thought you had given that up, and… and Mark's dead! Wait!"

He catches her at the top of the stairs, his outstretched hand on her arm. "I just…" he swallows. "I didn't think you would get mixed up in all of this. Not after… everything."

Celine's posture stiffens, and she wrenches her arm from his grasp. I'm standing on the landing, one foot on the next step. I look between the two of them silently, ready to jump the final few steps to rescue Damien if needed.

"There is more to this world than you could ever hope to imagine, Damien," she snaps. "I just had my eyes open to a small portion of it."

She leaves, heading down the hall and into a dark room that I could have sworn wasn't there before. "Just be careful!" Damien calls after her, before sighing in defeat.

I move to follow Celine, but he catches my hand.

"Emma, wait," he says softly.

I stop, and look at him.

He's worrying his lip. "You be careful, too."im

His eyes flicker over my face, coming to rest more often than not on my mouth. I feel heat blooming up my neck, but I don't step away. Instead, I step forward, knee-to-knee with him. Damien's free hand comes up to rest on the back of my neck, pulling me closer automatically.

Here, alone with him at the top of the stairs, I don't resist.

The kiss is brief and soft. We both know we can't afford anything more than that.

Regardless, we pull away breathless and flushed, our eyes fluttering open wide.

I place my hand on his chest and feel his heart beating as hard as mine. He huffs a laugh, and I look up into his eyes, which have been clouded over with grief for so long I'm almost startled by the delight.

"We should do that again sometime," he says.

For the first time in a long time, I feel myself grin. "Absolutely."

That moment exists in a bubble of time, and too soon, far too soon, we must retreat to the real world. So we release, with lingering fingertips and longing looks. Each of us wishing we could stay in that moment forever, away from the tragedy and the heartache.

Celine is waiting for me in the dark room. I close the door behind me and sit across from her at the velvet-draped table. A crystal ball sits in the middle of the table, and I raise an eyebrow, looking up at her.

She's mirroring my expression. "You're close to Damien," she says. It's a statement, not a question.

I nod slowly. "And you're not."

She nods back, unoffended. "It's been a long time since we've spoken," she says quietly. "He… he doesn't understand a lot of things about me. About… us."

"Us, as in you and the Colonel?" She makes a startled sound, and I incline my head. "I've been watching how he looks at you. It wasn't hard to deduce."

In the privacy of this dark room and the company of a fellow woman, Celine turns transparent, her charm melting away and leaving a raw, trembling widow in its wake. I'm taken aback, but I sit still and let her speak. "Damien never figured it out," she whispers. Her hands toy with the talisman from before, working it between her fingers on the table. It's an upside-down star. "I think… I think he doesn't want to."

"Why did you leave?" I ask, as gently as I can muster. "Why didn't you just approach Mark and ask for a divorce?"

"Mark was… he was so sweet. He would have given me anything. He would have given me the world. He tried to, he… he gave me books. He said I would like them." She gives a little whimpering laugh. "I did. I did like them."

"Books about the occult."

"He understood me." She leans forward. "He… he wanted me to be happy."

"So why the Colonel?"

Her laugh is short and humorless. "It was always William. From the beginning. But then he… he left. For the war. So I moved on. But then he came back, and… we… saw each other sometimes."

I fold my hands on the table. I dread the answer to the question I'm about to ask. "Celine…" I bring my folded hands to my mouth, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. "… Why did you leave. Really."

When I open my eyes, she's sitting up straight, looking right at me. Her gaze has grown cold, but not cold like stone. Cold like a lake that is still not yet frozen yet, still wet and churning and angry, and could kill you if you dipped a toe in. "You know," she says quietly. Dangerously. "You know why."

I remember the crib in Mark's bedroom. Pastel blue. Untouched. Carefully and lovingly maintained.

"Mark always wanted children," she whispers. "But I didn't. I didn't want them to end up like…"

Like their father. I'm not sure why I know, or why it makes sense to me. But the look on Celine's face and the feeling in my gut tells me that her years living in this house were not always happy.

She takes a breath. Calming herself. "... There was no way the baby was his. I had to get away. If he found out that it wasn't his, that it was William's, he'd… "

My blood runs cold. "... Why are you telling me this?"

She pauses, as if wondering herself.

Then she smiles.

"Because it doesn't matter anymore," she says. "Mark is gone, and we can find out what happened. We can finally find out the true nature of this… fascinating place."

The true nature…?

"I didn't quite understand before. But now that my eyes are open… there are dark forces surrounding this manor. And I feel that that's been the case for a very long time."

My eyes fall to the crystal ball. I've never subscribed to such things, but the room is unnaturally warm, and the flickering of the candles are almost hypnotizing…

I drift.

Voices and images flicker in and out of my head.

I see Celine, Damien, Mark, the Colonel, young and happy, together…

I see myself, next to Damien. We hold a small child between us. Damien is murmuring a lullaby.

I hear cutlery clattering, gentle conversation. I catch a whiff of coffee and chocolate. I feel safe and warm.

There's blood. Someone is screaming. The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't quite place it… then I realize there's more than one voice.

Another voice calls out. It's aged, but strong, confident, wise. It overpowers the screams and leaves me feeling grounded. "It's been years," it drones. "I'm starting to run down, I'm afraid… "

"Emma!"

I startle awake. Celine glares at me. "Well?" she demands as I look around in a daze. "What did you see?"

I shake my head. "I didn't…"

"You saw something! I know you did!"

"Something… some old man. I don't remember, it's all jumbled…"

"An old man."

I look back at her. Her jaw is clenched. Her eyes are blazing. The force of her fury pushes me back in my chair.

Then I realized I am being pushed, harder and harder against the back of my chair by some unseen force. It compresses my chest and makes it hard to breathe.

"This was our only shot," Celine growls, rising to her feet. "This was our only chance to find out what truly happened. And all you have to show for it is… an old man?!"

My chair clatters to the ground as I'm slammed against the wall. "You were supposed to help," Celine cries. "You were supposed to be the one who finally helped!"

I can't breathe. My toes brush the ground, scrambling in a panic as I'm pushed further and further against the wall. I can barely move my arm but I manage to shove my hand in my pocket and retrieve my Derringer.

Celine is sobbing. My vision blurs, making the colors in the room shift and warp. Her outline becomes fragmented. "WHY DOESN'T ANYONE LISTEN?" she screams. The pounding in my head adds thrumming layers to her voice.

With tremendous effort, I raise my gun in both hands. I can't breathe and I'm seeing double, but she isn't that far away. It's an easy shot.

Too easy.

I see her eyes widen just before I fire.

~~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad @markired @cosmic--frappucino @blackaquokat @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @gravitykaz @jojored22@neverisadork @cherrybomb-jaguar @221biotchplease @gmcfyuffins @the-asexual-reaper @satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!) 

[beesartandstuffs]

Shot in the Dark: Interim- Chapter 1

(This continues from the end of A Bit of Madness Part 3.)

SHOT IN THE DARK MASTERLIST (find more stories here!)

~~

I stopped writing.

My pen shook in my hand, and I quickly set it down to avoid getting splotches of ink on the paper.

She really did shoot her.

My laptop dinged cheerfully, and without a thought I reached out and closed it. I could answer that later.

I leaned back and ran my fingers through my hair… I had forgotten to gel it into a fauxhawk that morning so it was soft and fluffy. I’d considered just letting it grow out but that seemed like such a hassle….

Right, Emma.

She had shot Celine.

I leaned forward and tugged a piece of paper from my stack of notes. To be honest, there wasn’t a lot of information about the event that I didn’t already have. None of those who had been there had written much down about it, so most of what I had was second-and-third-hand, from news reports and gossip magazines.

I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and started a summary from where I left off.

The others found Emma, shaking on the ground, with Celine’s body slumped in a chair, a bullet wound straight through her heart.

The house was oddly quiet as they removed the corpse. The storm outside was gone, freeing everyone to come and go as they please. Unsurprisingly, nobody was eager to return.

The manor burned down mere days later. They all refused to comment.

After Celine’s small funeral, the group went their separate ways.

The Colonel—whose full name Emma found out to be William J. Barnum— turned himself in as Mark "Markiplier" Barnum’s murderer. Detective Abe Eckerman had the joyless task of taking him in, and at the same time turned in his badge.

The Chef went back to culinary school, realizing that he could always refine his skills.

Benjamin the Butler became Benjamin the Office Worker, having decided that he would finally be his own master.

Emma and Damien… well, their story could be considered the most interesting out of everybody. For several months after the manor burned the two didn’t speak. Both were wracked with grief and guilt… each haunted by their own decisions.

However, one day Damien showed up at Emma’s apartment with

Clattering from the other room had me automatically shoving my extra notes and notebooks into my desk drawer. I yanked my laptop open, clicked back onto Ancestry.com and scattered some random, safe notes on the desk.

I leaned back to admire my handiwork.

Good enough.

The apartment was quiet as I opened my bedroom door, but after a few seconds I heard the tell-tale creak of our gross old couch.

The couch faced the doorway to the hall. I walked the short distance and leaned against the frame, waiting.

Dakota Farz, local law student and one of my two best friends. Also my housemate. He had his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, breathing heavily, like he was wearing an oxygen mask.

After what seemed like forever he looked up. “Hey, Liam.”

“Hey, man. Any luck?”

He shook his head wordlessly. Missing persons posters and legal documents stuck out of the folder on the coffee table in front of him. I crossed over to sit on the arm of the couch, picking up the folder.

Have you seen this girl? Asked one paper in bold type. Name: ANNA BAILEY. Age: 21. Last seen…

I looked at the next page. It was a photocopy of a missing persons report. Of course Dakota would have photocopies… but the disorganized folder was unusual.

"Liam."

I looked up.

Dakota was leaning back, his burly arms crossed over his chest. His eyebrow was raised at me. "Have you eaten at all today?"

Somehow the charm on my necklace had gotten between my teeth. I spat it out and paused to think.

Did I eat today? I'd been writing since that morning… "Uh. No."

Dakota didn't complain. He simply got up and wove through the furniture to get to the tiny kitchen, which was open to the living room. "Do we have any Korean left?"

"Think you had the rest of it already."

"Right, right."

I sat on the counter with the folder in my hands as Dakota dug through the fridge. "So did you find anything else about Anna's aunt?" he said, frowning at a moldy hunk of cheese.

"Nuh-uh." I started folding a blank sheet of paper into an origami frog.

He turned his frown to me. "You sure?"

"Look, Emma didn't write anything down about the event before it happened, and a lot of documents are classified. There's a reason they call it the 'Manor Mystery', y'know?"

"Well, they couldn't have all died in a more convenient way…"

"They didn't all die," I said, cautiously. "At least two eyewitnesses escaped, the butler and the chef. They… may have surviving descendants. I've been trying to find them," I said quickly as Dakota's eyes lit up with hope, as well as indignation that I hadn't told him right away. "But they did everything they could to get off the grid. Whatever it was that happened… they don't want anyone to find out. But I'll keep looking, don't worry."

He seemed satisfied with my explanation, and turned back to the fridge.

We ended up eating cold fried chicken and waffles. Under the pretense of doing more research, I retreated to my room as soon as I finished the dishes.

My bedroom door felt rough against my back, even through the barrier of my shirt. Slowly, I slid to the floor and put my head in my hands.

She's fine. There's no reason to worry. I know exactly where she is.

A compact mirror was heavy in my palm. I didn't even remember taking it out of my pocket.

No. That's a last resort. Things are different, now.

I'd tell Dakota… eventually. It just wasn't the right time.

I had time.

For once, I had time.

~~

To follow (and take part in) Emma and Damien’s story, go here.

~~

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[beesartandstuffs]

HYPE HYPE HYPE HYPE

The next part of Shot in the Dark is coming out soon, and its one of the most crucial parts in the story so far! So if you arent yet caught up I suggest you do so now!!

Here is the masterlist if you need it!

GET HYPED ONCE MORE MY FRIENDS

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad @markired @cosmic--frappucino @blackaquokat @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @gravitykaz @jojored22 @neverisadork @cherrybomb-jaguar @221biotchplease @gmcfyuffins @the-asexual-reaper @satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[thecrowehousehold]

[Emma is relaxing after a long day.]

[Why don’t you say hello?]

~~

(Emma is available for questions!)

[beesartandstuffs]

Who Killed Markiplier: Shot in the Dark-- They’ll Be Happy... (Oneshot)

(Taking a break from the angst for some fluff! :) :) :) Don’t forget to LIKE and REBLOG!!!)

“Emma, I’m going to marry her.”

I blinked. Carefully placed my pen back on the desk to prevent the ink from dripping onto the paper. I twisted in my seat to look at the speaker.

Mark sat cross-legged on the table, wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt over a white undershirt, a red sequined jacket over that, and absolutely nothing except his union suit, garters and argyle socks on his legs. A jester’s hat and lime-green sunglasses adorned his head.

I raised an eyebrow. “You better not be talking about who I think you’re talking about.”

“I mean it, Emma. I’m going to marry Celine.”

“Might I ask why?”

Mark took off the sunglasses. His eyes were wide and earnest. “I’m in love with her.”

“You hardly know her.”

“I’m going to get this part and make it big. She’ll come to live with me in the house.”

“Oh, yes, the house.”

“Do you think she’d be happy?”

I looked at him. His eyebrows were knit and his jaw was tight. He looked tortured, not like when he quoted Voltaire, but…genuinely? “Why are you asking me?”

“I don’t know. You’re a woman. You two are…” He fought for the correct word. “…Similar?”

I laughed. Mark sighed. “All right, perhaps you’re not exactly birds of a feather. But surely you’d know if she’d be….unhappy with me, right?”

I sighed and turned my chair so I could look at him directly. “Mark, does she love you?”

His cheeks turned red, ever so slightly. “She said she does.”

“If you love each other enough, then… I don’t see why she wouldn’t be happy.” I shrugged. “You’re fairly lovable, I suppose.”

He grinned. “Awww, Emma.”

“Don’t read into it. You’re still irresponsible, egotistical, and I’m pretty sure you have a screw loose.”

“You got that right, baby.” He finger-gunned me and I rolled my eyes, shaking my head.

“Before you ask Celine, though, you should probably talk to Damien—”

“Talk to me about what?” Damien froze in the doorway, took in Mark’s attire, opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Er, am I interrupting something?”

“Nope,” Mark and I said in unison.

“…Okay.” Damien kicked the door closed and tossed his book bag on the couch. “So, uh, what’s going on here?”

Mark and I exchanged looks, engaging in a brief, silent conversation.

I raised my eyebrow. You should tell him now.

His eyes widened slightly. No way.

I let my lips twitch in a smirk. If you don’t, I will.

His jaw tightened. You wouldn’t dare.

Try me.

Mark took a deep breath and slid off the table. He moved to stand before Damien— who was now looking more than a little confused— and straightened his back.

“Damien, I would like to ask Celine to marry me.”

The slightly taller man blinked. “… Come again?”

“I’m not asking for your permission… but your blessing.”

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose under my glasses. “You really need to work on your clarification skills, Mark.”

“I’m trying, okay!”

Damien shifted his weight slightly, staring down at Mark. His gaze slid from Mark’s face to mine, and he met my eyes. Barely moving his lips, he mouthed What.

I shrugged. “He just told me, too.”

“You’ve seen us together,” Mark insisted. “You know we get along. We love each other. I have the house, I have a good job, or at least I will…”

Damien shook his head as if to clear a fog. “You… want to marry Celine?”

“Yes. Damien, I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I just feel that—”

“You want to marry my sister.” Damien blinked hard, and both Mark and I heard the crack in his voice. “Of course. Of course you have my blessing. Of course.”

“Aw, Dames.” Mark wrapped an arm around his shoulders and patted his chest. I moved to Damien’s other side and hugged his arm.

“She’ll be so happy,” Damien choked.

I grinned at Mark, whose eyes were glistening nearly as much as our friend’s. He patted Damien’s shoulder once more, and I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw him mouth, I hope so.

Tags:

@mayor-damien-protection-squad @markired @damiendeservedbetter @blackaquokat @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @gravitykaz @jojored22 @sassy-in-glasses (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)

[beesartandstuffs]

Who Killed Markiplier: Shot in the Dark— Abandoned (Oneshot)

(*strikes match and drops it on the fandom* Dont forget to LIKE, REBLOG and COMMENT!)

SHOT IN THE DARK MASTERLIST (find more stories here!)

~

The call came near midnight.

I was still up and dressed, making some last minute notes for a court case the next day. I must have dozed off, for the ringing of the telephone made my eyes snap open as I jumped in my seat.

I fumbled for the receiver, clearing my throat. “Emma Bailey’s legal services. This is Emma speaking, how may I—”

“Emma, I just got a call. Something’s wrong with Mark.”

I paused. Damien Crowe, my best friend, was on the other line. “Damien? What are you talking about? What happened?”

“I don’t know. The manager of Prism Hotel just called me and said he just checked in and was acting strange, and she was worried about him.”

“Bless that old busybody,” I mumbled under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Are you heading over there?”

“Yes, I’m about to leave. Will you meet me there?”

“Yes. I’ll see you in a minute.”

“All right. Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

We arrived at the hotel at the same time. The manager, Lois, was fretting and fussing, but she was very helpful and told us the number of the room Mark was in.

Our ride up the elevator was tense. Damien kept straightening the cuffs of his sleeves, and I could see him fidgeting. If we weren’t in an elevator, he’d be pacing.

We found the room easily. Our eyes met. My own mixture of pain and resolve was reflected in my friend’s face.

Damien rapped on the door. I stood nearby, ready to lower my shoulder and smash down the door if needed.

“Mark?” he called when nobody answered.

We waited.

Nothing.

We exchanged glances. Damien tried the handle, and the door slowly creaked open.

I pushed past him and into the room, my heart in my throat. “Mark?”

He was sitting, hunched over, on a worn couch. His head was down, his elbows resting on his thighs. His hands dangled between his knees.

A wine bottle hung carelessly in Mark’s fingers.

Damien and I were instantly on alert. Moving as one body, my companion turned on the light, and I moved swiftly to kneel in front of Mark.

With one hand I gently pried the bottle from his hand, and with the other I combed back his loose hair. “Mark?”

He looked up blearily. Dark circles framed his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in a week.

“Emma?” he croaked, as if he had a hard time recognizing me.

I cupped his face. “Mark, what’s going on?”

He made a small grunt-whining noise, turning his face into my palm. I felt wetness smear on my skin.

Tears?

“Mark?”

“Celine’s gone.”

I hear Damien catch his breath. “What?” he said. “Is she—”

“Gone.” Mark shook his head, jostling my hand slightly. “No note. No call. Just… gone.”

I turned to look at Damien. He looked shocked for a moment, and then angry.

Very angry.

I pushed Mark’s hair back again. “When did this happen?”

“A week ago, maybe. I was… waiting for her to come back.” He gave an ironic laugh and jiggled the wine bottle. “Guess I was pretty stupid, huh?”

“Do you know where—” Damien started, but Mark interrupted him.

“Who. She’s with a who.” He grunted. “I knew I didn’t have a chance.”

Damien came up to crouch beside me, concern stilling his anger for a moment. His eyes widened when he saw the wine bottle, and he picked it up quickly. He breathed a sigh of relief a moment later. “Unopened.” He looked at Mark sharply. “Death by merlot, Mark? Really?”

Mark chuckled into my hand. “Best way to go.”

I lightly whacked him on the head with my other hand. “Alcohol poisoning is not a good way to go, Mark.”

He chuckled again. And again. His fingers closed around my wrist and he pressed his forehead into my palm, choking on sobs.

“Oh,” I whispered. I moved to sit next to him on the couch and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

Damien got up to set the wine bottle a safe distance away. Then he came back and knelt in front of us as Mark cried into my shoulder.

I stroked Mark’s hair as I looked at Damien in anguish. His hands were curled into fists on his knees and his jaw was strained.

I was sure that if I had let him he would be hunting Celine down and giving her hell. I would probably have joined him if there weren’t her grieving husband crying in my arms.

After several minutes, Mark pulled away, rubbing his face. I kept my hand on his shoulder.

“She wasn’t acting strange, or anything?” I dared to ask.

He shook his head without looking up. “She’s just… gone.”

I heard Damien grunt, and risked a glance in his direction.

He looked absolutely murderous.

Maybe she’ll be back, I wanted to say. Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe she just wanted a break. Maybe she’s confused.

But we had known Celine. We knew what she was like.

We knew all those things were lies.

Damien stood. He pulled at the cuffs of his sleeves like before. He looked at me.

We could find her.

She doesn’t want to be found, Damien.

We don’t know that.

Yes, you do.

He ground his teeth, and started pacing.

Mark stared at the ground. I combed back his hair again, fussing. “When was the last time you slept?” I demanded.

“Dunno.”

“Mark.”

“A few days, probably.”

Damien made a noise of indignation. I shot him a warning look. “You should sleep,” I said to Mark. “Why don’t you go back home?”

He looked up then. “I can’t sleep there.”

There was something in his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. Not a darkness, but something alarmingly bright, like a wild animal caught in the glare of a flashlight.

He wasn’t angry, like Damien was. This… this was far more frightening.

Damien noticed the look on my face and stopped pacing. He took a step toward me in alarm, but I lightly shook my head, and patted Mark’s hand which had somehow attached itself to my sleeve. “You don’t have to go back yet.”

His grip loosened slightly, relief relaxing his face. “Thank you.”

“But you still need sleep.”

“I’ll sleep here.”

Damien and I both looked at the merlot, provided courtesy of Prism Hotel. It would have been easy for Mark to get more.

“I’ll stay with you,” Damien said.

Mark laughed humorlessly. “You’re a bit too important to just disappear, Dames.”

“I’ll call in.”

The room fell silent. We both stared at him.

“Damien… the workaholic… is calling in,” Mark said in disbelief.

“I’m not a workaholic!” my friend cried indignantly. He composed himself. “Besides. Family emergency.”

The room fell silent, the numerous meanings of that statement falling heavy on us.

Mark’s hand fell on my arm, and I looked up at him. He gave me a faltering attempt at his bright smile. “Thanks for coming by, Em,” he said. “You should go back home now. It’s late.”

I wanted to argue, but remembered the court session. I swallowed my worry and stood, squeezing his shoulder. “Call if you need me.”

Damien met me at the door. “I’ll bring you your emergency set of clothes,” I said. “Do you need a blanket?”

“Please,” he nodded. “And bring an extra for Mark, if you can.”

“Okay.”

“Be careful.”

“You too.”

~

Tag list: @mayor-damien-protection-squad @markired @cosmic--frappucino @blackaquokat @pleaseletthisjimbetaken  @gravitykaz @jojored22 @neverisadork @cherrybomb-jaguar @221biotchplease @gmcfyuffins @the-asexual-reaper @satansladydoor (If I’ve tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged, please tell me! Inversely, if you would like to be tagged in these, don’t be afraid to ask!)