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beesartandstuffs · 6 years ago

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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!)

#markiplier #who killed markiplier #WKM- shot in the dark #OCLiam #DAEmmaBailey #WKM Damien #Mayor Damien #WKM Abe #Abe the Detective #writersofmark #fanfiction #fanfic

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onlyonecanbeking · 7 years ago

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I Promise

( What would happen if Damien was able to create his own body? Energy attracts to energy, and Damien finds himself face to face with Dark, the man he brought back to life. Roleplay by @onlyonecanbeking and @the-good-mayor )

ASD: Dark walked deeper into the greenery, the picture frame against his inner elbow as he let the peace and relief gently fall upon him like an autumn leaf. Alone, with the picture of the colonel there beside him, he could only think of the events that transpired to create this world and life all over again. The friends that perhaps he had destroyed by digging too deep. He cursed the fact he had gone to Poker Night at all.

But then, an itch. There in the base of his scalp, blooming from within that nagged at him. Distant words melting together...'I promise... I promise...' in murmurs he couldnt grasp. They swarmed him, they suffocated him, he stopped along the stone pathway and simply... Felt this discomfort. And suddenly, an explosion of neon blue from within him, creating intense pain as his reality crackled and spasmed, the red overcome by teal as his color was swallowed by that blue, bending down.

Pain. Images. Faces. Words. This will fix everything, I promise. Just let me in. I promise.

His skin was blue, his eyes blue, he choked on the air as Damien swarmed his mind and body with a strange pulsating energy. And as quickly as it had begun... It stopped. The agony, the surge, the cracking of his very soul, it ended as if it hadn't started. Dark gasped in precious air and stood, wide eyes glancing around, alone in the garden.

TGM: Damien wasn't sure what had directed him here, to this lovely garden under the stars. The main pulse that attracted him had faded, but he still felt the residual feelings as if they teemed under his skin, only sated as he approached the entrance to the garden. His perception was clearer now, as he pushed through the doors, quietly taking in the scene once again. The flowers were lovely, more splendid than he had remembered, and the trees that dipped their branches over the cobbled paths gave the place a relaxed aura. The cold air bit at his face, his fingers, but he didn't mind.

With his hands in the pockets of his dress pants he began to stroll down the path, allowing instinct to guide him. He kept up the appearance of leisure, as if it truly was just a relaxing stroll and not some call from an unseen force; until, of course, he spotted another figure on the path.

Damien knew this person, he could tell even before he was close enough to see their face. Approaching slowly, carefully, he attempted to minimize the sound of his shoes clicking against the stones; but as he came closer, the light seemed to grow around them, and so their face was revealed. He was speechless, unable to breathe, and it surely showed in his face. After a moment of shock, a moment to allow himself to be surprised, he smiled, chuckled even.

"It's been so long, I almost forgot what I look like. Hello, old friend."

ASD: He lay his hand against his chest, feeling the pattern of his heartbeat as it echoed against his ribs. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he didn't want it to happen again. It had hurt, almost a saddening pain that had transported him beyond, to a newer Manor, an earlier time. And now back, he faced that ache beneath starlight. Stepping then.. He heard it only faintly. He assumed it was Mel arriving to check up on him, so he lifted back up to a straighter stance, rocking his neck to adjust himself, appear presentable, not be so weak. He turned himself in order to meet her arrival, but.. It wasn't a her at all.

Blue illuminated. It hit his eyes and immediately he froze as if ice had slithered into his veins. Bright red eyes were round in shock, as he simply stared at the face so similar to his own. The smile... The presence of him. He didn't move as he looked upon this apparition. Wonderful, he was going crazy. The longer he surrounded himself with his past, the more real it became. But this felt different. The ringing in his head remained and a feeling in his chest was undeniable. And then, the man spoke, as if murmuring from a veil of time. The past talking to the present. Dark jerked. This was no hallucination.

"How.."

The words left him breathlessly, as he felt his knees shake. Fifteen years he had shoved him away. Fifteen years.

"How the hell did you get here?"

TGM: He removed his hands from his pockets, feeling the need to rest them on something but having no surface with which to do so. He was uncomfortable without his cane, but he would manage; instead, he clasped them together, and allowed his gaze to wander to the sky in thought.

“Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. I was drawn here, by some energy that I can’t really identify.”

He looked back at Dark, the shaken shell of a man, and gave him a wry smile.

“Well, couldn’t anyways. Now that I’m here, I’d guess that you are what attracted me to this place? I can only speculate, really.”

His eyes wandered once again, this time to the surrounding flora. He was attempting to distract himself from the past whilst recounting it, a hopeless task. His brow furrowed in discomfort, his lips taking on the slightest frown.

“One moment, I was nothing, just a consciousness drowning in pure nothingness, and the next? I am myself again, standing at the base of the stairs of this magnificent manor.”

He became starry-eyed, almost lost in thought as he dreamed of the wonders to come. And yet again, he smiled at the grey man that stood before him.

“You preserved it well! Almost as lovely as the last time I was here, if not more so in its own special way… But what, may I ask, are you doing here?”

ASD: His eyes simply roamed themselves across Damien, taking in every detail. The crisp black suit. The fanned white undershirt. The bowtie. He was still just as trimmed and refined as he recalled Mayor to be. Something in him was almost desperately comforted by his appearance. He had this horrid need to approach the man who had been a guidance and friend to him for so long... He wanted to grasp his shoulders and simply admire him. And yet, something held him back.

Even in conversation Dark could hardly believe it. He slowly shook his head, mouth moving but forming no words. Damien had been gone... Lost to the Void. A fragment shunned by its host. But now he was here, in a physical body smiling at him like kin. He found his words, but they came slowly.

"The.. The Manor. Well I never left. After everyone was gone, and the Colonel left in search I.. I stayed. To care for it. I..."

He lifted a hand, still dumbfounded. He ran his hand across his scalp, mouth agape.

"Damien I... Its been 15 years..."

He shook his head again, falling silent.

TGM: “Fifteen years…”

Time lost much of its meaning in the Void, especially when you were nothing but a consciousness, a mind without a body, a soul adrift in the wind… Damien had known that a great deal of time had passed, he’d felt it, but now that there was an actual number to tack onto his misery, he had to take a moment, simply to process.

“That’s… a number, certainly. Too many years spent alone, if you ask me, are you keeping in good company? I can’t imagine that there’s much activity here.”

He waved a hand vaguely towards the outer edge of the garden, towards the Void. He was stalling, collecting himself and his words, trying to know from appearances alone what Dark had been through in the nearly two decades they had been apart.

“Yes, fifteen years… I suppose it never worked out, then, our plans of revenge?”

Another wry smile.

“Fifteen years of having nothing but yourself, you tend to think a lot. I can’t say I’ve forgiven what happened to us, to the Colonel, to everyone… but I’m no longer angry, nor resentful. I’m content, I suppose.”

ASD: A friend. A friend was standing in front of him, and despite the amount of time that had separated the two, Dark almost felt like he was stepping off right where the two had left off. He felt like nothing had been lost between the two of them. The same affection and protectiveness was housed there in Dark, somewhere tucked away that he had not experienced in quite a long time. He almost smiled, more a faint grin in comparison, and slid his hands into his front pockets, seeming to relax and accept that indeed, Damien was here in front of him.

"I've been hosting a few events here and there."

He murmured, of course hinting to the fact that humans and figments alike were constantly flooding each room. But, that grin of his faded, much like the moments of expression, at the mention of failure to everything that had been planned. The very reason Dark had been lifted from the curse of death, the very reason he walked on two legs today. He swallowed down spit that suddenly tasted sour.

"Well. I'm glad that you've reached a level of peace."

TGM: Though it was subtly conveyed, Damien could tell that he had struck a chord with Dark. In a flurry of rapid thought he analyzed Dark’s words, and then his own, attempting to uncover what upset his old friend; contentedness, or something of that vein, with his place in the world, with his stakes in revenge? In fifteen years, had Dark not had the chance to move on? No matter. Clearly it was a sore subject, and there was no good direction the conversation could travel. So Damien dropped it.

He smiled, nodded slightly, dismissing the old conversation without using words.

“But enough about me. So long in this manor, and hosting events for residents of the Void— as chaotic as those being tend to be— you must have some stories to tell? Please, don’t let me dominate the conversation.”

ASD: As gracious as ever… it almost aggravated Dark on just how similar Damien remained from the last time they had ever conversed. The last time he had seen Damien, the mayor had been walking away with Selene, to provide comfort and protection as he always seemed prepared to do. He always was so selfless that way, and that was ultimately what killed him. His willingness to sacrifice himself. But, Dark let that thought pass swiftly, so that he wouldn’t start building an anger towards something he could have never controlled.

He rocked in his shoes for a moment, nodding and training his eyes past Damien’s head and instead towards the Manor windows, where he could see bodies moving past in the hallways and rooms that were always bustling with life.

“The stories are in the hundreds, Damien. It would take another fifteen years to be able to tell you them all in length.”

He spoke warmly, perhaps the only time he had truly shared a calm and gentle emotion with anyone in the Manor in a long, long time. Even his own children had never experienced this type of patience with him. Damien had broken into a soft spot in his heart, black as charcoal but still beating all the same.

“But it should please you that multiple figments have found their home here. Many of Mark’s old partnerships and figments come here. Wilford, Author, The Host, they’re all here. Humans have found a safe haven in this place away from the Void dimensions that swallowed it. It has taken quite a bit to keep this place alive, some energy, but I would not let this be drowned into darkness before I let myself be ruined.”

He swept a hand up towards the grand estate fondly.

“It houses much pain, perhaps. Memories I want to let go. But it is the very place that began everything. I would be damned to release all the artifacts that are burned into my mind…. Ah, that reminds me. Your cane. You’ll find that tucked in my office. I've kept a careful eye on it, it's as clean as ever."

TGM: He was glad that Dark had been able to keep busy, to but the old house to good use, so much so that Damien’s eyes seemed to glow in his delight. The whole area, in fact, seemed to light up, as if in response to his excitement.

“That’s wonderful! I’m glad that you’ve been keeping in good company, and that so many can find a home here. It gives this place a new purpose, and a entirely new connotation.”

At the mention of his cane, he paused, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. He wasn’t sure if he should have been surprised that Dark had kept one of his prized possessions safe and well-maintained, but whether it was to be expected or not, Damien was still grateful.

“I… Thank you, Dark, I truly appreciate it. You’re in no rush to return it to me, of course, I’d rather spend our time catching up, as it were.”

His eyes wandered down the path, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, dropping his former air of formality.

“Is there perhaps a bench we could sit on, or somewhere inside where we could continue talking? Standing here so stiffly I feel as if we’re in a business meeting, not just two friends making conversation.”

ASD: Dark twisted himself in order to bring his gaze down the twisting stone path, looking down the rows of tinted roses, buried lilies, all with a shade of blue from the rays of moonlight dancing against the closing petals. Still his mind churned with gears across his scalp, scrambling for the one thing that could help him grasp that this was truly happening. He searched for the sanity that he had left in him, but it was in such few and small numbers. Gritting his teeth, he slowly nodded his head, sliding his hands into his front pockets and rubbing the fabric between his fingers.

“It would develop a few… questions if I brought you in with me into the Manor.”

He murmured under his breath, and swept a hand out down the cobblestone, to a small oak bench that seemed suitable to rest and relax. He paused to let the cold breeze from the autumn air rush past his ears, before speaking again as he began to walk forward.

“Many people here do not know you exist, Damien. It would bring quite a shock to see someone such as yourself enter into the place with me. I hate to ask this of you of course, friend, but you must never speak of our history to others.”

He sighed, each step bringing him closer to the bench, each step feeling almost painful as he seemed to be trying to push Damien away again. It felt like a return from the past, but there was little he could do. “

As far as we are concerned, you are simply another figment to Mark’s regiment. We have no history together and have no friendship.”

TGM: Damien thought about the request for a long moment, passively observing as Dark maneuvered to a nearby bench. On one hand he was slightly hurt that Dark would choose to hide him away, repress the history between them, but on the other hand he understood. In the battle that waged in Damien’s mind, it was that understanding, and the fact that he cared for his friend, that won out in the end.

“That... does make sense, yes. You always were a very private person, even before...”

He trailed off, and waved one of his hands as if to dismiss the thought, to dismiss the tragedy of the past.

“I’m sure my influence didn’t help with that. Nor Celine’s for that matter... We were all rather secretive, weren’t we?”

Now chuckling, he began to follow behind Dark, making his way to the bench.

“Ah, well, it’s in the past. And you have my word, Dark, I will keep our past in the past. Though, now that I think about it... We may need to fabricate some false background for me, to explain my great absence?”

Again he looked off, off into the distant Void, shielded by countless breathtaking arrangements of flowers and trees that made up the wonderful garden. Damien scratched at the stubble at his jaw, considering the situation to come. “

You mentioned that several other figments of Mark’s were here, no? It might be thought odd that I arrived so much later than the rest of them, and I wouldn’t want to arouse suspicion by not having my story straight. Ah, shall we?”

Turning back to face Dark, he gestured to the bench behind them, a silent offer to sit. Aside from plots and alibis there was still conversation to be made, stories to be told, history to be recounted and recorded in memory before it was locked away. Despite his initial discomfort, Damien looked forward to whatever was to come.

ASD: “I suppose that would be the best.”

Dark’s return was uncertain and perhaps remorseful. He had already experienced long years of forcing Damien into the background, claiming his own body. Here he was again, requesting Damien to deny his identity and again be pushed into a place that he had no choice in. It hurt in Dark’s chest, somehow, to think of such facts, but it was a hurt that didn’t stem from sadness. It was a hurt that was created solely for the reason that this could potentially place turmoil on his artificial past.

“I am delighted to hear that you’re willing to work with me. As far as my mind can perceive, it would be best for you to take the appearance of one of Mark’s figments. So, why you would be arriving so late is….”

Dark screwed his brows down, pausing as he slowly turned himself, resting down against the old wood of the bench. Lost in thought, he maintained silence for a moment or two, before finally letting his gravely tone return.

“Hmm. It would have to be deemed that you are new. A new developed figment that Mark didn’t need until recent. Perhaps you house his… his… um… I hardly believe anyone has any strict guidance to his civility and refinement. That are things that people would believe you have a grasp on. After all, you are…”

Dark motioned with his hand towards the spotless design of Damien’s dress.

“Certainly kept well. Of course, this would… cause for the issue of pretending we do not know each other well.”

TGM: Nodding along to the other man’s ponderings, Damien stared out at the garden, caught up in his own plans and visions. He would be able to pretend as if he was new, of course, as the comings and goings of Figments in general, not to mention those in Dark’s domain, were quite foreign to him. At Dark’s proposal of emotional range he couldn’t help but chuckle, and to straighten his bow tie in a display of faux haughtiness.

“Civility and refinement... I would think I could pull that off. If it wouldn’t be any trouble, though, I would like to claim hope as well, as my own? Because... Here I am, sitting with you, my old friend, caught up in an in impossible scenario and faced with infinite trials of patience and wills... and hope is all I can seem to feel.”

A pause, and then a brisk nod of agreement; he turned back to look Dark in the eye.

“Pretending as if I do not know you may be an issue at first, I agree, but I assure you I will adapt myself to the role. And who knows, maybe something good will come of it?”

He waved his hand in the air wistfully, as if hoping to share his exact vision of the future with his friend.

“It will be like meeting for the first time, a clean slate, if you will; we can get to know each other all over again. We'll be able to move on, to make new memories and have new experiences, without the shadows of the past to hold us back. We'll learn, and we'll grow, and we'll be better for it, I think.”

ASD:

Something in Dark seemed to... shift, a certain knowing of something from deep within him at the fact that Damien seem prepared to simply forget everything that had occurred, to shove away the past that had haunted and ruined everything that Dark was today. It was his past that had made him, his past that had remolded him and turned him into this floating, emotionless thing that was being pupeteered by two people in his mind. Damien wished to forget all that? Had he forgotten everything he had done to the one standing in front of him?

"I hardly believe I can be better."

His voice was now crisp, tense, nagging on the potential edge of aggression as every blanketed emotion came back to the surface.

"Considering the things you and Celine did caused me to become this way. Unable to change."

He chuckled but it was hollow, brisking himself to the side to train his gaze far off, brows knit down and rocking his jaw back and forth. He did not wish to get into an argument, not now, but things were already flooding his mind and introducing things he wanted to say for years upon years. He did not hold them back.

"How charming of you to be willing to adapt to something as minimal as identity. I no longer have my own name, Damien. I no longer have my own feelings. My very existence is guided by iron hands that control everything I think and do. I am incapable of giving a damn for my own children. And you caused this."

TGM:

Dark was right, and Damien knew this. Because of the former’s… unique, state of existence, he was incapable of change. His actions were bound by the thoughts of a few, his emotions by a few more; he was not his own man, not in any aspect of himself, and Damien understood this. And despite everything that he had done in order to protect Dark from the horrors of the Void, to shelter him from the nightmare that was resurrection, everything that had been done to save his dear friend, it was still Damien’s fault. "Identity is something that I do not take lightly, Dark, yours or mine." His tone was serious, no longer wistfully dreaming of the future. "It is with the utmost respect to this identity, to this life that you have made for yourself— yourself! You built this without me— that I choose to resign our past. You would like for me to keep our history under wraps; I am respecting this wish. And it is in the spirit of that respect that I must sincerely apologize, for all of the pain that I have caused you." Hesitantly, almost afraid of the emotions that he knew were bubbling under his friend's skin, Damien reached out to grasp Dark's shoulder in some gesture of comfort, of reassurance. "It’s been fifteen years… of living in a cruel and heartless Void, under the thumbs of so many that do not care, and that would not have you care either; I cannot imagine what you have been through, but I accept that it is my fault. And I apologize."

ASD: He could feel Damien's grasp there on his shoulder, and for a daunting moment he mentally cringed to the touch. The touch of someone who had once meant so much to him, who had given him so much, a future, home, only for it all to be taken away by the hand of cruelty. But he did not move himself, or deny Damien's touch, but merely dropped his head towards his lap, slowly shaking his head.

"I appreciate your sentiment. But apologies do nothing for me."

He leaned back in his seat, swinging one leg up in order to rest an ankle against the cap of his knee, sighing openly. A hand lifted to tentatively brush away Damien's fingers from his suit, in a supposedly gentle fashion but hurried to desire his own space again. Time and pain had done that to him, desperately clutching onto the only body he had left.

"I have been apologized to hundreds of times for pains endured. Little has been of benefit. But... I suppose I owe you an apology as well. My supression and banishment of your influence to me surely caused for your own turmoil. Of course small fragments of you remain but.. you were blasted away into the Void. You did not deserve that. But the whispering, the talking, the arguments, the contradictions. They were driving me mad."

TGM: He nodded solemnly at Dark’s words, still not letting go of the almost mournful expression. Upon being brushed away, Damien’s hand fell limp in his lap. He took on a similar posture, one of frazzled relaxation, as he considered what Dark was saying. “I am willing to forgive you so long as you are able to forgi— well, no. I shouldn’t and I don’t expect forgiveness to come quite that easily, and it was frankly unethical that I attempt to bargain with you in such a way. But nevertheless, your apology is appreciated and you have my forgiveness.” He paused for a long moment, idly turning his gaze between the garden, and Dark, the garden, Dark… “Well, now that I have my story straight and our confessions have been given and received, shall we move on, and enjoy this beautiful night?”

ASD: He sighed again, but this time, the stress that had weight itself in his breath relaxed again, nodding his head in agreement to the idea of simply letting bygones be bygones. Yes, he had held onto grudges for over fifteen years, and perhaps he had made plans to deliver suffering to those who had ruined him, but Damien here sitting before him offering solace and asking for forgiveness, he knew he did not have it in him to refuse. Damien was one of his greatest friends, if he could still consider himself capable of friendship.

"That sounds like a terrific plan, Damien."

#darkiplier #who killed markiplier #darkiplier roleplay #darkiplier x damien

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