#I can imagine colonel and damien doing that somehow

[cptdark]

I dreamt darkstache were fencing each other. I watch enchanted and I step in and warfstache lets me duel darkiplier. and thats when the enchantment lifts, because I realize I do not know how to fence, and I am up against darkiplier. so I pathetically swing my lance to no avail, and then he approaches, and I wake up immediately as evasion. so far I dont fw them markiplier bitches in my dreams unless theyre frozen or far away

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Wilford - Haunted

Dark isn’t the only one haunted by ghosts of the past. William takes time to reflect on current matters. Who knew a game of Cluedo could have such an after-effect?

(Minor note: The introduction is based on the original, UK version of the Clue board games. I Americanise enough things in my life while writing on this blog and I’m not bothered correcting this.)

Word Count: 1,183

-

It started as an innocent thing. Yanderplier and some of the other Egos were taking a break from studio research by playing Cluedo in the break room. Wilford had been roped in, eagerly snatching Professor Plum because “he’s hot”. Murder mysteries were always a fun way to spend time with the egos, since it allowed them to discuss various weapons and violent techniques in a way that wouldn’t get them in trouble with the egos on the more moral side of the scale, and provided new and exciting techniques for them to use in the future. Win-win!

However, at the game’s end, Yan put the pieces together and discovered that Professor Plum had killed Dr Black in the ballroom with the rope.

“It was you!” They laughed, triumphantly pointing at Wilford. “You’re a murderer! You hear that, Wilf? A murderer!” Wilford, to his credit, dramatically shrugged with a response of “Ya got me!” before deciding to ‘punish’ himself by getting a coffee.

Once the coffee was made, he returned to his office to sit and reflect.

--

That’s where he is now. The coffee is lukewarm, long forgotten on the heart-shaped coaster. Wilford’s attention is on the precarious position he’s in, where he is stuck in the past and the present at the same time. A moment where he is both Wilford and William, set into motion by the direct accusation of being a ‘murderer’. It’s a rare event, one that he somehow manages to forget every time it passes. With a shifted view on life, Wilford’s perspective changes a lot to fall in line with how William used to see things.

On his way back to the office, Wilford had spotted Dark discussing something with Google. With his straight posture and deadpan expression, it’s hard to determine anything from him. But as Wilford passed, William had noticed the choice of words, the focused gaze, the slight wave in his hair.

How can he forget that whatever Dark is was once his dear friend Damien? It’s so obvious, and that’s going beyond the sense of style that’s as stuffy as ever before. His accent still has traces of that high class mimicry. Both he and his sister have the same explosive temper, for crying out loud!

Ah, Celine…

To this day, his heart still yearns for her, even if he knows she’d not want to see him at all. Then again, they say you always have a soft spot for your first love. He knows that at one point when he met ‘Dark’, Wilford had asked about her. At the time, she was ‘sleeping’. Is she still sleeping? Or is she actually dead and the truth was too difficult to admit back then?

One twin might possibly be dead, one twin might possibly be alive within a creature. Both might not exist at all. What a terrible fate for two people with such potential.

William slumps forward onto the desk with a heavy sigh. When he’s caught in the middle, with full knowledge of what happened and what is happening, he knows this is all his fault. All he can think about is how he would want to turn the clock so far back to that fateful weekend. He doesn’t regret shooting the man he once considered a brother, so it would have to be the morning after. He knows it would be that last time he and Damien had a private conversation - or rather, a full blown argument. If he could turn the clock, he’d tell the truth.

He can imagine the scene so clearly. Admitting his crime to Damien - who is also qualified in a legal setting - is as good as a confession. The mayor would recoil in horror, at first questioning whether William was joking, then letting dread set in once William makes no attempt to clarify or laugh it away. Following that, Damien would call for Abe and repeat what just happened, even if it would be by William threatening that William himself would do it instead. The Colonel would be hated by all, yes, but the siblings would live. Damien could walk out of the manor with that friend from work, Celine would not need to step foot in the manor, and William would gladly spend the rest of his life behind bars if he could be content in the knowledge that for once, everyone lives. 

Slowly shifting his head, Wilford spots the photo sitting on the desk. It’s a group photo of himself, some of the other egos, and normal staff on a ‘research trip’ Wilford took them on to make sure his favourite hot chocolate cafe was still the best place for hot chocolate in the city. A heavy sigh pulls him up so he can tug the frame closer to him.

He’s the cause for awful things. Like Abe said one night long ago: he is the bad guy. So many people died and suffered because of him. And what’s his punishment for that? He loses his memories behind some giant mental block that only opens for small windows of time when someone calls him a ‘murderer’. How is that a bad thing?!  He’s the happiest he’s been since before the war! He can sleep soundly without waking with frequent nightmares. He can chat, play games and be silly but never be considered ‘odd’ or overhear whispers of an asylum recommendation. He can drink alcohol for fun, not as a necessity to drown feelings! He can even be openly affectionate to those he cares about without the fear of being seen as less than ‘manly’! How is any of this a punishment for his crimes?!

A good soldier knows when a wrong is being committed, and William would know precisely what to do, and what needed to be done to try and make amends. But that is itself a problem. William won’t be around long enough to do anything of the sort, while the man he now is won’t remember any of this dilemma. Leaving a letter or some sort of reminder would not clear up anything, and might cause more confusion. The last thing William needs is Dark knowing moments like these exist. He doesn’t know what else exists in that body with Damien, and he’s not willing to try it out. 

So what can he do, really? A man of tactical renown and practical approaches is powerless in a world where the absurd and the impossible reign supreme, yet the man he has become cannot defy reality enough to make real change to the situation at hand. It is with resignation that he has to accept that until one of these ‘egos’ turn out to be an actual time traveller, William can’t do a thing. Instead, he lifts a pen and writes a simple note:

“Scrap the coffee. Make a hot chocolate. Past you.”

 Once that is done, he drops forward and wills himself into a nap. William can’t do a lot of things, but future him can live without the guilt of the past weighing him down. It’s a nicer life that way. 

[interdimensionalspaceworm]

alright lads, I almost forgot I was supposed to make this.

it’s the markiplier lore color post that I have made because I think way too much about these things

so let’s start at the very beginning (I've heard it’s a very good place to start)

(putting a thingy here because it’s probably going to be quite long; also, sorry for all the parentheses and the pretentiously complicated language)

Prologue

So at the beginning, the early egos, like Wilf and (not-yet-canon) Dark didn’t really have color schemes to them. It was just Mark doing weird shit (and it kinda still is, but I digress). Even in the cyndago days, Wilf didn’t really have consistency in his outfit choices, so beyond just pink there isn’t really a whole lot we can say about his color scheme at this point. And it isn’t really until the interview skits that he gained his classic outfit, with lots of pink, some tan, some white et cetera. We’ve all seen it, we all love it, and I think that these colors were picked just to look neat, to go well with the situation and with Wilf's flamboyant nature. All this starts to get more interesting, however, when we get to the lore proper.

The Lore™

I’d just like to say before I start that most of the things I will point out in this section are likely just coincidental. For example, Damien and Celine's association with blue and red respectively was most likely included in The Lore because those colors are most commonly associated with Dark's aura (although, in ADWM, his aura includes other colors, and in AHWM, it is overwhelmingly red, but that’s another post entirely). However, as the recovering game theory addict that I am, I enjoy making connections where none usually exist, and I've been thinking about this stuff for way too long. So enjoy! This means nothing!

I’m going to start with Actor, since he happens to be the center of all the lore, which I’m sure he’d be very happy to know. His color is red (any red, really, though he does share the color with his wife)- the robe he died in was red, he wears a red version of Damien's outfit in DAMIEN, and even in his appearances in ADWM and AHWM he has a red tie while he’s wearing his suit. So it’s safe to say that he is often associated with this color, and for good reason, of course: red is the color of energy, emotion, and anger, and Actor displays all of these (he is an actor, after all) in spades. But I believe that this choice of color is significant in another way. 

Several characters in The Lore have red, or a shade of red, associated with them. Actor uses it, Celine uses it, Colonel uses it (the handkerchief around his neck, his suspenders) and, as Wilf, he will later be very strongly associated with pink (side note: yes, I know it’s more of a magenta-ish pink than a light red, but bear with me). What does this mean? What do these specific characters have in common? Then it struck me.

In a word (or thirteen): all of these characters are known to be associated with the House Entity (I really wish we had a better name for it). And, by saying associated, I mean manipulated by it in different ways. The intensity of the red that they are associated with corresponds directly to the depth of their corruption: Actor's red is traditionally depicted as the darkest of the three, and as we all know, his connection to the Entity is the deepest, having been influenced into betraying his friends and gaining a myopic, narcissistic vision of the world due to it. Celine's red is still very saturated: as one-half-to-one-third of Dark, a corrupted version of her personality exists in him, and even on her own she has enough knowledge of the occult and connection with the Entity to create a time loop in which to house her brother. William is less straightforward: he was also, in some interpretations of WKM, influenced by the Entity as a child and/or while having his affair with Celine, hence the red he’s associated with as Colonel, but why the pink? 

First, imagine a laundry machine (please,,,, for the love of all that’s holy,,,, stay with me here). Today, you’re washing your white clothes. But there’s something you forgot: there’s a fucking red sock. In your valentino white clothes. Now all your nice clothes are fucking red. You try to wash it out as best you can, but the best you can do is make your formerly PERFECTLY OK white dress shirt pink. Fucking pink. You can try all you want, but you can never get rid of the traces that that red sock left behind. Wilf is the dress shirt in this scenario. He no longer uses red- the signal of corruption by the Entity- because he’s no longer connected with the Entity anymore. My theory is that, in going mad at the end of WKM, he somehow made his mind inhospitable to the Entity. His reality-altering powers stem from the Entity, most likely, and of course his mind was broken indirectly by it, but for the most part the Entity cannot possess him utterly like we see it do with Actor (for most, if not all, of the time we know him) and Celine (in that rather dramatic instance in WKM). He is free of its influence, but its traumatic power still hangs over him: the pink dress shirt stained by that long-gone red sock.

And so, as Wilford, William is associated with pink: traditionally the color of whimsy, and of love and compassion. Wilf has no lack of any of these: as we see in WMLW, he helps Abe out of his distress, and out of all the canon characters he is one of the few who actually seem to care about Y/N. And, of course, he’d never be complete without more than a bit of whimsy.

And then, finally, there’s Damien. He is associated, as we all know, with blue: the color of trust, confidence, and sincerity. This fits him well, clearly, and there’s not really too much to say about that: he is what he is.

As Dark, Damien and Celine's souls are twisted and their worst aspects brought to the forefront of their combined personality. This can also be seen in their color choices: red can be associated with anger, blue can be associated with coldness, and both these qualities can be seen in spades with Dark. It’s so fun when everything works out, huh?

To be honest, I could go on for ages about the use of color in all the other egos, the palette changing from greyscale to oversaturation and back in WMLW, and all kinds of other things. And I will. But not in this post. I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for ages and I hope y’all aren’t disappointed, but this is the product of like 5 whole minutes of thought, which is more than enough to tire me out. So I’m gonna end it here. Stay crazy, y’all!

[emilightniing]

You Can Fix This (Part 5)

(I don’t know why I’m on a roll this week. I’m just... really excited about this story. Sorry if this chapter’s a little shorter, but it’s really picking up now, so expect a longer one next time!)

@schuyleryette @bitchwannatryme @fleecal @cryptidjourney

----------------------------------- 

“Oh, it’s you.”

You have to strain to see the Colonel sitting in the corner of the darkened room. Since things do seem to be transpiring exactly as they did before, you’ve decided you might as well play along for now. So here you are, once again, feeling just as awkward as you did last time. Less intimidated, though, which is ironic— after all, you didn’t know he’d killed Mark last time, and now you do.

But you also know it wasn’t his fault. Not really, anyway. Not entirely.

You’re more afraid of the possibility that he’ll be able to tell something’s off with you. Mark picked up on it so quickly; you’re sure William will notice it too.

He doesn’t seem any different, though. Nonchalant, flippant as always. As you approach him, you do your best to keep a light but compelling tone. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “No more than I’ve already been bothered.” Despite the shadows, you catch a hint of a wry smile. “I assume the detective sent you to get my alibi.”

“What makes you think that?” you ask, not confirming or denying.

“He doesn’t like me,” William answers matter-of-factly. “Can you imagine that?”

Half of you wants to smile; the other half is already starting to feel a tug of frustration. “Well, I don’t not like you. So no, I’m not going to ask you about an alibi.” Ha. You’ve surprised him. He frowns, trying to figure out what’s happening, and you continue: “I don’t really care if you have one or not. Even if you didn’t, I could— hypothetically— make it seem like you did.”

“Oh?” Now he’s interested; he leans forward in his chair a bit. “And why, hypothetically, would you do that?”

“I told you.” You struggle to match his level of irreverence. It’s proving to be a challenge. “I don’t dislike you. And if Abe has it out for you, whether you did it or not, he’s going to think you did.”

The Colonel laughs. “Funny. That’s what Damien said. So I’ll tell you what I told him: if I cared what they thought of me, I’d be out there, wouldn’t I?” He leans back, satisfied with himself. Too satisfied. Bordering on smug.

You close your eyes briefly. This is going to be harder than you expected; you’re thinking of just dropping all your cards right now. It’s always easier for you when the guilty party isn’t in denial, but of course he’s going to make this difficult. Up until now, it surprised you that anybody could make Damien lose his temper that quickly, but you’re starting to understand. “How can I get you to trust me?” you ask him, lowering your voice.

There’s a moment of silence as the two of you stare at each other. For a second, you think he might be letting down his guard a little, but it doesn’t last. He folds his arms definitively, signaling that the conversation is over. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The note of warning in his voice makes you decide not to push the matter any further.

“Fine.” You turn and exit the room, huffing in frustration. All right, so you won’t be getting a confession from the Colonel yet. Fair enough.  

You’re pretty sure you’re supposed to run into Benjamin at this point, but you recall that encounter not really leading anywhere… not that he’s not good company, but you’ve seen quite enough of the wine cellar. And you definitely don’t want to go into the kitchen; you’re on edge enough as it is.

You wonder briefly if you could just skip your half-assed investigation and go find Damien right now. But in a moment of curiosity, you decide to head back into the… you’re going to call it the murder room for now. Just to see what might happen. Maybe if nothing else, you can get a chance to talk to Abe a little more.

He's not there when you enter the room, though. Everything’s a little too quiet, eerily so. You feel as if the room itself is in another dimension-- which you suppose isn’t too farfetched a notion. Nobody’s coming in. You can’t hear anything from the rest of the house. 

And then you look over at Mark. 

Well, technically it’s Mark’s body, but you’re having trouble calling it that since it appears to be sitting up. And it— he— is looking at you with a wide-eyed stare, which just confirms your earlier feeling; he’s definitely mocking you. 

Several seconds pass as you debate whether to say anything; you doubt screaming will do any good. And you know you shouldn’t be surprised, but regardless of everything you’ve already seen, there’s no way this could not be jarring to you.

He stretches one arm, then the other, as he stands up somewhat shakily. Finally, he addresses you. “A little speechless there?”

You make an indignant sputtering noise. “Well— what the hell do you expect me to say?”

“I don’t know. A ‘hello, nice to see you’ might be nice.” He saunters over to the bar, finds a particularly reflective glass, and begins fixing his hair, of all things. You’re almost certain now he’s just trying to get a reaction from you.

Well, he’s not the only one with a knack for being irritating. “Oh please, I’m not that good of a liar.” 

The two of you exchange sour looks. It’s a draw.

“Well, you knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?” he says at last. “You must have. I mean, you were there when my ‘body’ disappeared in that… other timeline.”

“Yes, but I didn’t actually see it happen. It’s one thing to hear about a corpse going missing; it’s another to actually see it stand up and start walking around!”

“I have a name, you know,” he says dryly, rolling his eyes. “So what do you plan to do about it?”

That’s not what you expected to hear. “Do?” You pause for a second, letting everything sink in. Then you sigh. “I don’t know. Nothing, I suppose.”

He grins. “Now there’s the spirit.”

“What can I do? You’re alive now. Sort of. I can’t very well let you die again, and I don’t think anybody else would believe me if I told them I saw you stand up and fix your hair before just walking out of the room.” Actually, now that you say it out loud, that’s exactly the kind of thing you’d believe about Mark.

As if reading your thoughts, he laughs. “No? Why shouldn’t they?”

You don’t answer, and you don’t laugh with him. You’re torn on what to do right now. True, nothing’s actually been happening differently so far, but are you really even trying? 

What would happen if you did reveal him to everyone else? For a second, you’re almost considering it, but then you glance back over in Mark’s direction.

He’s vanished.

————————————————————

It’s colder outside than you expected it to be. It’s mid-October, true, but the sun is so bright that you’d expect it to be a little warmer. The wind insists on blowing in your face, though; between that and the brightness, you find yourself squinting a little. 

Damien’s there, just as you knew he would be. He’s facing away from you, and due to the wind, he doesn’t hear you approach until you greet him. “Hey.”

He turns around, as if surprised someone would find him out here. “Oh, Y/N.” It’s hard to read his tone, but you detect a note of hesitancy in it, like he’s not sure if he wants you there. It was there last time, but it still stings a little. Especially now that you have all this knowledge that he deserves to know… but you still can’t tell him. Not yet.

Although you’re longing to because of the cold, you decide not to get too close. “How are you doing?” You wish you had a better question, a better answer for him, but that’s all you can really say right now. 

No response. He turns and looks out at the sky, the vast expanse of trees surrounding the house. It’s so quiet. Even the wind has died down. His arms rest on the railing, and you both wait in silence.

After what seems like ages, he motions for you to join him. Slowly, you do; you’re almost afraid to make any sudden movements for fear that it will be wrong somehow. And you want to be right, for once; you just want to do the right thing for someone.  You want to be enough. You hope your presence, your company, will be enough for now.

He breaks the silence, both startling and relieving you. “I’m sorry about earlier. What you saw, with the Colonel… I lost my temper and it wasn’t right.” He does look genuinely sorry, which twists at your heart. He shouldn’t be the one who’s sorry— not here, anyway, not now. Not for this.

“Don’t worry about that,” you tell him quietly. “You had every right to be upset.” He simply nods; you see from his eyes that he’s been crying. It’s killing you not to reach out and take his hand, but it’s not the right time or place. Rather than risk the temptation, you keep talking. “He was your friend. I mean, he was a friend to all of us, and it’s... it’s not fair.” 

You wince, remembering as you speak that those were the words Mark himself used. At least you think it was him. God, you don’t know anymore. And you know you’re certainly not helping. You know you should just go back inside, that Damien would be better off left alone right now rather than with you; even when you can manage to make a difference, all you ever seem to do is make things worse--

He’s hugging you. In an instant, he’s wrapped both arms around you tightly, locking you in a warm embrace. It takes a moment for you to process, but rather than questioning why, you wrap your arms around him in return, just letting it happen. 

When you both finally manage to let go, you realize you’re shivering a little, but you don’t care. You don’t have anything left to say, so you just give him a cautious, sad half-smile. 

The two of you stand in a comfortable, melancholic quiet-- which you appreciate, knowing it’s probably the last you’ll get all day-- until you’re finally forced to go back inside. 

And when you get there, of course, you’re told what you already know. The body’s missing. 

But what the detective doesn’t see is the window just behind him, where on the other side, Mark looks back at you, laughing silently.

[maniacwatchestheworld]

So… My brain is officially stuck on Who Killed Markiplier… So here are some thoughts I’ve been having about it because I need to get them out somehow, and I have no one to gush to!

Damien is a sweet, innocent boy. He did literally nothing wrong. He was only a victim time and time again in this series. You can argue that Celine and the Colonel were in the wrong as Celine did cheat on Mark, and the Colonel did ‘take her away.’ But Mark is downright villainous in this.

I feel like we should give a different name to Darkiplier… After all, the D does allude to Damien, but ignores Celine… And we only really call him that because he looks like Mark. A bit rude to call someone a name because that’s who they look like. But I also can’t come up with a better name… Especially since we don’t know the POV character’s name. Cemien? Daline? If someone can come up with a mix of Damien and Celine’s names but with ‘you’ or ‘I’ or ‘us’ or ‘we’ associated in the mix… You deserve a trophy. (… Yumiline?) Also we’ve never really seen what people call him in-universe… All we get is, ‘you.’

Darkiplier gets a lot of his mannerisms and vocabulary from Damien… He gets his powers from Celine… Celine also probably does the makeup (while Damien is the one in charge of style)… And I like to think that the POV character contributes to the fucking weirdness… Remember Darkiplier tackling Mark in the pool (from a floaty swan) and then feeding him marshmallows and peppers and cumin? That he gets from us, the POV character.

He is at least 1/3 female. I am perfectly fine with this. I want him to flirt with everyone. Especially Warfstache. (Hey! Celine did cheat on Mark with William. Thinking that relationship continues in spite of Celine being dead and Wilford being crazy amuses me. Also I don’t imagine the attraction they had for one another would just stop.)

I prefer to think that we were with Damien the entire time, and that Mark appeared and took Damien’s body during the seance, not that Mark was pretending to be Damien the whole time. It just feels a bit more consistent with how Mark acts, and I would like to think that we actually got to know Damien throughout the series. Also why would Mark be trying to make amends with the Colonel if he was trying to frame him?

Have you noticed that we’ve never actually seen Darkiplier do anything that bad? I mean… He tackled Mark in the event I described previously and it’s implied that he kidnapped and tried to shoot Mark… But he doesn’t succeed… And after Mark killed two of them and got the third one killed too (more or less)… I think Mark deserves to get shot at least a little.

So the chocolate ending of ‘A Date with Markiplier’… ‘Who Killed Markiplier’ makes it a good ending, not a bad one. Not to mention that Darkiplier actually shows some concern over you killing someone instead of the fascination that Mark gives you in the vanilla ending.

Can I just pretend that Mark accidentally got some of Damien’s empathy when Mark took his body? That’s what I like to think. It helps explain why, in spite of his reprehensible actions, Mark is still an adorable cinnamon roll 85% of the time. Makes things a little more consistent.

Also the POV character has nice fashion sense… I like looking at Darkiplier’s neck and chest… Mmmmm. We look great.

[wolfox76]

Wolf in sheep’s clothing (Part 2)

Another chapter. Enjoy! After all, life is ours to choose...

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

It was her happiest day. She looked like an angel in that long white dress. And Damien was so proud. Both Celine and Mark were smiling and kissing each other all the time. But somehow, Damien felt like he’s lost a friend. With each kiss, Mark seemed to be a little bit further from the gang. Since Mark started dating Celine, he’s changed. And William felt it too. He was always Mark’s closest friend, Damien sometimes thought Will must be jealous.

After all, he was the only one at Mark’s wedding who wasn’t smiling. He was just standing there in his finest uniform and with a glass of wine in hand.

William changed too. Something around him was just odd. Everyone agreed he was balancing between sanity and madness. Because something happened, but William didn’t want to tell them what. He also decided he didn’t want to be referred to as William. Friends now called him Colonel.

“Damien, I hope you are enjoying this party.” This was the first time Damien noticed a smile on Colonel’s face. He approached him happily. “But you are not. Is something wrong? Aren’t you happy for Mark?”

Colonel frowned. “It’s not about that. I’m glad Mark has finally found someone he loves… I mean, it’s not like this is gonna affect our friendship, right?” Colonel laughed quietly.

“William, is something bothering you?” Damien raised his eyebrow slightly and looked at him with suspicion. He always sensed when his friends had troubles.

“Me? No, of course not! I… God, I can’t lie to you. Ca-Can we talk in private?”

Colonel seemed to be nervous which was very unusual.

They walked through the glass french door to the little salon. And somehow, any of them couldn’t remember if they’ve ever been here before. Damien never understood the physics of this house. When they were kids, it always fascinated them how the corridors seemed longer than they should have been and how the rooms seemingly appeared and disappeared on their own. But to quote Mark: “Just ignore that, it’s just a house after all.”

“So what’s the matter? You look...”

“Damien, listen. I owe Mark money. And I don’t want your help.”

“Excuse me?” Damien couldn‘t believe it. How could Mark do this to his best friend? Damien took a deep breath and asked: “How much?”

Colonel bowed his head. “A lot,” he whispered.

Damien sighed. “Will, I can...”

“No! I don’t need anyone’s help. Especially not from you. You are mayor now, I can only imagine the stress you are already under.” Colonel meant it, Damien was sure about that.

“But let me talk to Mark at least-”

“This is not your fight, Damien!” Colonel yelled. And the room fell into silence. It seemed like the house also wanted to listen to the argument of two old friends.

“You are such a good person, Damien.” Colonel said when he calmed down a bit. “Too good for politics. I know you want to help. You always want to. But I don’t need your help. Just leave me be.” And with that, Colonel wanted to leave. But Damien put the cane into his way.

“Then why did you tell me?” Damien asked without giving Colonel a single look. That caught Colonel off guard.

“You seemed to be worried,” Colonel whispered. He grabbed the cane which was in his way. Damien received it when he won the elections and became the mayor. It was a beautiful masterpiece. Smooth black wood with a silver head.

Colonel took a deep breath. “Damien, you are my friend. And I respect you. Mark respects you too. Stay out of this.”

And Damien finally got it. Now he understood why Colonel avoided Mark. Why Mark hasn’t been talking about Colonel lately.

“Mark doesn’t hate you, William.” Damien was aware Colonel didn’t go by that name anymore. No one knew why. Something broke William. But no one was brave enough to ask.

“Are you sure about that?” Colonel smirked and handed the cane back to its owner. Damien stepped out of his was. But before Colonel left, he said: “Well, life is ours to choose.”

Colonel smiled. Again. It was a kind of sad smile, but at least he tried for Damien. Then he left. Damien stood there for a moment, fidgeting nervously with his cane. He should get rid of this habit.

* * *

Damien has probably never seen Mark drunk. He hasn’t touched a glass of alcohol even at his own wedding. After the talk with Colonel, Damien needed a drink. Or two. He lost count of them soon.

 There was a fight.

 Colonel and Mark.

 At first, they were just arguing.

 Then Mark punched William.

 Damien was there to take care of him.

 But when he helped Colonel back on feet, he noticed something.

 A gun.

 Colonel brought a gun to Mark’s wedding.

 Damien didn’t tell anyone about it.

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[rogue-of-broken-time]

Some songs for the WKM egos~

I’ll link each of the songs for anyone who wants the full musical experience!

~

Song: Everything by Michael Bublé

Ego: Damien

This song is the DEFINITION of fluff to me. Cheesy? Maybe, but just imagine Damien saying (singing??) these things to you (if you were interested in that possibility of him and (Y/N) being closer if things had been different). Just listen. LISTEN TO THE FLUFF. Bonus points to you if you imagine him playing the piano parts.

“And you play it coy, but it’s kinda cute, and when you smile at me you know exactly what you do”

~

Song: Fixing A Hole by The Beatles

Ego: William

My idea for this one was more towards the Colonel’s descent into madness, but in an unsettlingly gentle way. I think the rhythm of this song has a bit of Will’s lilt in the swing of the beats, and it switches from minor to major tonality pretty often, which to me really fits Will’s mental moral dilemma. (I couldn’t find a good YouTube video for this one, sorry!)

“And it really doesn’t matter if I’m wrong, I’m right… where I belong, I’m right… where I belong”

~

Song: Sleepless Nights by Time Atlas

Ego: Mark

This song might seem pretty innocent or even young-sounding on its surface, which might confuse some of you, since– isn’t this Asshole Mark™ we’re talking about? And you’d be justifiable in that stance. But the person I chose this song for isn’t Asshole Mark, not really. It’s for the younger Mark of the past, freshly scarred with the wound of his friend’s betrayal and his wife’s abandonment, having nothing to turn to but his own restless thoughts– the darkness of the house hasn’t reached him quite yet. This isn’t for Asshole Mark– it’s for “heartbroken idiot” Mark who doesn’t understand what he did wrong.

“I’m a fighter, I’m a coward, I’m a ‘call me back in an hour’ because I need to talk to someone tonight… I’m a goddamn honest liar, I’m a pro at starting fires, but then I gotta put 'em out, put 'em out– can you hear me?– put 'em out, put 'em out– can you hear me over the flames?”

~

Song: Vincent by Don McLean

Ego: Damien

I’m not 100% sure why I like this pairing so much. I think… I think it’s because I can imagine all of this imagery as what remains of Damien’s mind and soul after his spirit was shattered– nothing but impressionist, blurry memories of the world, drifting from one place to another as the images get a little more pained.

“Starry, starry night… paint your palette blue and grey… look out on a summer’s day, with eyes that know the darkness in my soul… shadows on the hills… sketch the trees and the daffodils… catch the breeze and the winter chills, in colors on the snowy-linen land”

~

Song: A Day In The Life by The Beatles

Ego: William

I know this is the second Beatles song I’ve listed, but this one just works so well. It starts out slow, yet the lyrics are kind of unsettling… then it falls into complete and utter CHAOS that just builds and builds and builds until there’s this SNAP and then– totally different song. Different beat, different key, it’s faster, let’s get a move on, I’m going to be late for work– then the chaos starts creeping back towards you slowly, slowly, slowly, until somehow we’re back in the old song again and the madness delivers you to a surprisingly coherent and beautiful ending. To me, it reminds me of the way Will slips into and out of insanity, regarding highly-concerning matters with flippance, then snapping out of it and trying to find his feet again– and doing it over and over again until he’s trapped somewhere in the middle.

“I read the news today, oh boy… about a lucky man who made the grade… and though the news was rather sad, well, I just had to laugh… I saw the photograph… he blew his mind out in a car, he didn’t notice that the lights had changed…”

~

Song: Viva la Vida by Coldplay

Ego: Mark

This is vengeance-filled Mark. This is Mark when the house gets to him. This is Mark plotting. This is the house whispering, no, it’s NOT fair. Look at where weakness got you. You’re lower than you’ve ever been. They took everything from you. I can help you. Let me in. I’ll make you strong again.

“I used to rule the world, seas would rise when I gave the word– now in the morning I sleep alone, sweep the streets I used to own…”

~ *BONUS*

Song: Demons by Imagine Dragons

Ego: Darkiplier

I’ve talked about this one before, but I’ll do it again: this song is PERFECT for Dark, at least for the moment in WKM. This is the moment he raises himself in our dead body and things go cold. This is the moment he was dealt his cards. This is the moment he went from self-pity to cold-hearted purpose. This is the moment all of the love he was born from was shattered into deep, dark hatred.

“No matter what we breed, we still are made of greed– this is my kingdom come, this is my kingdom come…”

~

So yeah, there you have it! This was fun to do, let me know if you maybe want me to do some more for other egos or something, I guess? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this, let me know what other songs you think of for these guys (I most likely will have no idea what you’re talking about since I’m uncultured lol but I’ll do my best) :3

[little-owly]

Imagine Colonel and Damien having a few- well, "few"- drinks tighter and Colonel gets frisky when he's drunk and slaps Damien's ass, nothing a playful way like its loud and he grabs Damien's ass after words for good measure- giving him a quick cheek kiss before he let's go and attempted off, and Damien is praying no one notices how hard that made him- he either runs off to the bathroom to rub one out or the Colonel comes and drags him off- forcing Damien to try and hide his erection from him

OH MY GOSH Y E S ENJOY THIS SMOL FIC SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKESSSSS--The manor was quiet as the rest of the group set up. The butler making their first drinks of the night, the detective and Mark preparing the decks of cards, and Damien staring out into the window at the night sky above. Absentmindedly counting the stars again. Something he'd do when anxious, especially when waiting for /him/."Damien!" William laughed, bringing in the flustered Mayor with a hug from behind, "so good to see you! I was afraid you wouldn't show!""Oh, gosh," he stuttered, "of course I'd show! You know how long I've been looking forward to tonight?" "Ah, I know. It's just my nerves I believe. Between my safari hunts and your duties to this city -- it's nice to sit and catch up with an old pal." William smiled. His heart nearly bursting at the sight of his childhood friend. The tuxedo fitting perfectly on him, the flower corsage blending in nicely with his bowtie. "My, why so fancied up for poker night with the lads?" "Oh!" Damien smiled, pulling away from William's embrace, "I just...like making an impression. It's nice to dress up and show your best. Never really know when it'll be your last time seeing someone.""Oh, don't talk such foolery. We have all our lives to make impressions! Settle down! Relax!" William purposed, shimming the other's coat off, undoing his bowtie. Stopping as they stood face to face, warm brown eyes meeting, their breaths slowed. A soft smile crept on Damien's face. The same feelings from before rising back to the surface. Feelings of guilt. Feelings of jealousy. Feelings of lust. And the one he hated the most. The one feeling -- no matter how hard he tried -- he just could not forget. Yearning. Yearning for his dear friend. To hold him in his arms. To confess his dreams and wishes to. To spend the rest of his life with. Yet, never could. "Damien? Are you coming along or do you wish to stare off more into nothingness?"William's voice shook Damien out of his apparent trance. Heat rushing up to his cheeks as he weakly laughed, "coming!"///"Egad, man!" William yelled, uniform half open, liquor staining his lap, "I'll bet another 2,000 if you promise to shut up!""Why do you talk like that then? I'll bet 4,500 for you to talk like you're not in a game of Jumanji." Mark retorted, sneering as he drank another shot of...well, whatever liquor William had brought overseas. "Now, gentleman, I believe we can just bet an equal 200 each--" The Butler added in, taking an empty glass from Damien. Damien said nothing. His mind wandering to other affairs. Affairs involving his (clearly wasted) friend a few feet away. His smug grin as he argued with Mark, his low, sly voice as he bet even more money, and of course that damned twinkle in his eye. A twinkle of danger, mischief, and trouble. Everything Damien loved about the man. "Damien, Jesus, lay off the bedroom eyes and play your cards." "E-excuse me?""Bedroom eyes. You. Directed. At. Him." Mark pointed to William.Shit. "Of course I'm -- I mean, well --"Real panic set in as William turned to Damien. Smirking behind his mustache. Those half hooded eyes and rich smell of his cologne intoxicating in every way. "Well, Damien! If it's the bedroom you wish to take this night to, I'd be honored." He smiled, getting up to tease the embarrassed man. Hugging him from behind as he fiddled with his collar."What is it that draws you to me, Damien? Is it the way I can effortlessly sweep you off your feet? Is it the way I can make you shiver with my voice alone? Or is it the pure fact alone it'd be scandalous to be more than friends?" William laughed as his hand reached down to squeeze at his rear. Massaging the soft flesh of his cheek."W-William," Damien, coughed, "I..I can't--""Is this poker night or 'let's fuck one another' night?" Mark huffed. Shooting The Detective a look as he continued to howl with laughter. Damien's cheeks turning a bright red as he stood. William still hugging him. "C-can I be excused? Please?"With a quick kiss to Damien's cheek and a slap to his rear end, William let go. Giggling drunkenly, "I'm just kidding, Damien! It was all a joke! My, you should've seen the look on your face when I held your ass!" Damien shooed William off as he awkwardly walked away from the laughing table. A deep heat in his stomach making him wince. Embarrassment running through him. More so, embarrassment and a half hard cock. Restrained by his underwear and tight slacks. God, the way he had teased his neck and collar. The way his voice rumbled through his ears and reminded him of his deepest, darkest thoughts. Deep, dark thoughts of them alone -- William's mouth working over his hard shaft, teasing him for getting so hard so quickly, soft lips over the very tip before diving down into the warmth of his mouth--Damien jiggled the doorknob of the private bathroom open. Panting heavily. Anxiety and fear creeping through him. No. No! He couldn't do this! This was his childhood friend -- the same man he'd grown up with! The same man he'd bonded and grown close to! The man he counted as a brother.The same man he'd love to have bend over and fuck him senseless, pull his hair, and thrust his hard cock into him. Making him moan and beg to cum. Making him scream his name. "F-fuck..." Damien looked down. Hard erection /very clearly/ pushing against his slacks. Throbbing against his thigh, demanding attention. With a shameful moan, he'd worked his slacks and underwear down his thighs and freed his aching cock. Wincing as he spit into his hand for lube and grabbed himself. His heated skin against his cool palm. Mind wandering once more. He imagined William. He imagined William's body against his again. Warmth enveloping him -- his chin resting against his shoulder, mustache tickling his neck. "My, Damien -- someone was clearly worked up." He'd laugh, taking his heavy cock in hand. "I've been waiting to touch you like this for so long," he'd tease, his hand moving up to tease his foreskin and head, mewling as Damien would gasp, "so sensitive here, eh?"William's hand would grip a bit too tightly around his cock. Pre cum already forming from the sheer sound of his voice alone, "let's hurry this up, darling. Before the other get curious.""Or would you like that? For Mark or that stuck up Butler to find us here? My hand jerking you off, hearing the way you'd scream my name, looking at your pathetic fucking face.""Oh...oh fuck, William--" Damien gasped to himself, too far gone in his imagination to care about his loudness. "Shush, Darling," the imaginary William would laugh, jerking up his shaft. Using the pre cum as lube, twisting his hand at the top for friction at his most sensitive part. Drinking in the needy moans and harsh groans. "Or would you prefer them watching as I pound you from behind? My hips smacking against your ass as my cock hits that sweet spot inside you. Making you scream out how much of a dirty whore you are for me."Damien's own hand -- his substitute for William's, jerked him as fast as he could go. Biting his lip to keep the small noises in. So close. So close to that guilty sweet orgasm. Imaginary William whispered low in his ear, kissing up and down his heated neck. "Cum for me, darling. Cum for your master."/Master/. That single word wrecked Damien. His orgasm crashing down on him. Cumming against his hand, staining his underwear below, shaking as he held onto the sink for support. He couldn't help the quiet whine that escaped him as he shook. Body heated and cock throbbing, softening up. Messy with his cum around his thigh. With his orgasm, came the bad thoughts. The guilt running through him. Guilt over his attraction, his feelings, even his fantasy. All clogging his mind as he shamefully cleaned up.Oh, also add to the list of guilt -- masturbating alone in his friend's bathroom. ///"Damien!"His blood ran cold as he emerged from the bathroom. Hair a mess, hands damp, and face still a blushy mess. "W-William.""Oh, I thought you left." He laughed, somehow slightly more sober. "Listen, I'm sorry for the inappropriate joke I played. It was highly disrespectful and immature. And I'm sorry if it offended you in anyway -- I just, really need to watch myself when I'm drinking--""It's fine, really." Damien replied, voice soft as can be, "I know you meant no harm. I'm perfectly okay." The two stared back at each other, that twinkle in William's eye inviting him closer and closer. Before he pulled him into a tight hug, laughing drunkenly. "I'm glad we're okay! Let's go join the others, shall we? I just bet 5,000 in your name so..."So close to sealing their lips together. Yet, so far from admitting his feelings. Instead, he smiled and walked behind William. Ready to spend the rest of his night with his dearest friend.

[seraphm00n]

Mayor Damien Headcanons

i love him so much and haven't stopped thinking about him since the first second i saw him in the first chapter of who killed markiplier so....save me

• Damien is honestly a nice guy, probably the nicest you'll ever meet.

• He does have a temper, but it only comes out when it's something to do with his close friends being in trouble is when he loses his temper. He just cares so so much for his friends ,,,

• I feel like Damien really likes flowers. As in, he probably has a new vase of flowers on his desk each week. All sorts of flowers too in the vase. Probably has the flowers there to help give his office a nice smell. His favorites (to me) would probably be chrysanthemums, primroses, and marigolds, probably many many more— Just imagine Damien with flowers with me ple ase,,,

• Damien and Colonel are obviously good friends and I can see them doing fun things together besides poker nights and stuff. Like them working on stuff for the city together and Damien going exploring with Colonel sometimes.

• He is literally the craziest person when you get him drunk, hence the kegstand. I'm pretty convinced he's done other insane things while drunk and survived...somehow.

• While on the topic of Damien and alcohol, I'm pretty damn sure he's one of those people who never get hungover or doesn't get an awful hangover and are totally fine in an hour after waking up. lucky bastard

• Damien takes great care into his appearance since he is the mayor and wants to look presentable, but just imagine with me him wearing casual stuff...But the dressy casual style outfits, yknow? Then again I would love to see him just not caring and wearing messy clothes l ol—

• I can see him being into classical music a lot, but I'm also very sure he's into some weird music too that he never lets anyone know about.

• Damien did (probably) do some shady things from the things that were shown in the detective's investigation stuff, but he never wants to speak about it. He wants to keep up his reputation of being a nice, good guy and not talk about some things he's done.

• Honestly the best person to talk to about your problems?? He'll sit and listen to you rant and rave, be a shoulder to cry on if need be, and will give you a hug if you'd like one. Plus, would be one who would give advice if he can to help you out.

• He ironically likes the color black. It's a powerful color and a professional looking color for suits and such.

• Without his hair slicked back, Damien has fluffy as hell hair and the one time Colonel and Mark saw him without his hair slicked back, they would keep calling him "Fluffy" for weeks and weeks. Damien was dying.

• He's a restless sleeper. Tossing and turning and changing positions throughout the night. Some nights, he can't seem to sleep with things eating away at his mind. The nights he actually gets good sleep is those "poker nights".

• Damien is such a gentleman. I mean, look at him, he's incredible and kind and is just...s o great i'm so sorry i'm just gushing here

• Him and Mark have their fun together too, mostly playing poker without the alcohol. Mark had a celebration party for when Damien was elected mayor. It was the best night of Damien's life, he couldn't be happier.

• He's very thankful and appreciative towards the chef and butler dealing with him, Colonel, and Mark when they have their drunken nights and they're going crazy while the butler and chef deal with it.

• Damien encourages everyone so much, he just wants to see them succeed doing what they love and have fun.

• He loves animals a lot and wants to have a dog or cat, but with his busy job he doesn't think he'll be able to care for a pet.

• He is such a sweet talker too, he'll make anyone's heart swoon easily.

okay that's all i have for now maybe

if you have any of your own let me now! i just love and adore damien a lot and he deserves better—

bring damien back mark

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Who Killed Markiplier - What if Damien Went to War?

A note before we start. Both William and Damien would around 19/20 years old toward the end of WW1. There are some minor differences in how I write them here compared to how they would normally be. Damien is still caring and loyal, but he is shy. It’s only in university that he properly gained his voice and confidence, so he grows timid a little easier. Because of this, he’ll be a little more passive than what might be expected if it was closer to their normal ages. As for William, while he is still eccentric, he’s far more grounded during the war. With all the responsibilities on his shoulders, he has enough to keep himself busy and focused. His odd nature is channelled more into keeping morale boosted. 

Word Count: 2,410

TW: War, guns, violence, major injury, death.

--

William had to read the letter three times to be sure he wasn’t going insane.

It was dated from a month ago, written in Damien’s neat handwriting, and had the shortest message his friend had ever sent:

I’m coming out there.

Damien.

Out of context, it sounded rather ominous. Had William gotten in so much trouble that he had to be chased after and scolded by a young man his own age? But take the date it was sent into account - April 23rd, 1917.  William was in the French trenches. And soon, so would Damien.

-

The men in the Colonel’s squad couldn’t understand the source of his frustration. Despite the wall of the trench being made from solidified mud and wooden beams, he had still managed to punch the earth so hard that his fist left a dent. There was one thing that William had made Mark and Damien promise - no matter what, don’t follow him to war. Don’t get involved. Mark was far cockier than William was. He would try and play the hero, do something reckless and get himself killed. But Damien was nothing like that. The political student was too soft for his own good. Everyone knew that the world was cruel. It was nothing like how plays and stories made it out to be. However, war was something else entirely. It was ruthless, unforgiving, and thrived in suffering. Once you enlisted, you lost all sense of identity. You became nothing more than a pawn in a larger game you had no control over, and you had to hope you’d make it out alive.

When meeting with other high-ranked officials, he pulled strings. He pleaded and bartered to make sure Damien was in his regiment, under his command. It would be one way to ensure he wasn’t driven insane with worry. It also meant that Damien wasn’t alone. Even if William was busy attending to other matters, his right hand man Jean would be there to keep an eye on him. The group of men under his command were a friendly bunch too. They’d be able to help him adjust to the awful setting they were in.

--

When Damien did arrive, terrified was an understatement. His eyes were wide as he took everything in. The grime, the muck, the injuries, the stench of blood, the sound of gunfire far in the distance. It truly was as his instructor had warned the new recruits. Anxiety was hitting him hard, but there was no way he could back down. He had to do something beyond hiding in a university and hoping for good news.

“Damien.”

Of course, he didn’t expect good news upon arrival either. The second-in-command had taken the other men elsewhere, leaving the two old friends alone. William was tired and worn out (and seemed to be growing a moustache), but Damien would swear that he had never once been so intimidated by him. William’s arms were crossed, and his head held high to glare at the slightly younger man.

“Were you not the one who once told me of the importance of trust?” William paused for a response, but none was given. “Were you not the one who always insisted that he would never break a promise?” That, at least, got a nod from Damien. “Then what in God’s name are you doing here?! I thought I made it clear in every fucking letter I sent home that you should stay where you were! Why bring yourself to death like this?!”

“I…. I had to. Men were being called in for extra support, and -”

“I don’t care! You weren’t supposed to come! This isn’t a place for someone like you, Damien!” The sudden shout made Damien flinch, but William didn’t care. “Look around us! Every man here is in danger! You could get shot, knocked back into something, have a shell dig into your skin. You could go to hospital and get an infection or catch some sickness they don’t have the medication for! Any man here could die at any moment. I could die tomorrow, and then what will you do, Damien? What will you do when you watch someone die for the first time?”

Silence.

Had Damien ever seen William this furious before? While he was also angry, an argument would only make matters worse. After several long moments, holding his tongue proved to be the better option as William marched forward and pulled him into a tight hug.

“God, I’m sorry. Just… Promise me you’ll go home as soon as you can.” Damien didn’t answer at first, but he nodded into the other’s uniform.

--

Six months was a long time in the trenches. Once William had calmed down after his initial outburst, Damien recognised the teenager that had been one of his dearest friends. But of course, they were barely twenty years old, but William had to put that aside. He was a Colonel, one of the youngest around. He was holding a position normally given to a man twice his age. During the long, boring days, he could see the pressures William was under. William spent a large portion of his time making sure all the weapons were in working order with enough ammo, that the trenches were stable, that they all knew how their weapons worked, what exactly needed to be done when the ‘go over the top’ order was given. Damien and the others were given chances to practice hand-to-hand combat, basic first aid - “put pressure on the wound and don’t let go!” - and what to do if someone was discovered to be missing.

No wonder William wrote letters. There was little else to distract yourself with.

But somehow, William managed. He would regale stories of his younger days and encourage others to do the same. In fact, Damien would swear that this was fuelled by his own arrival. Weeks bled together, and he got to know most of the other men better. As a whole, they were a friendly, supportive group who had dreams and ambitions beyond the trenches. Some kept to themselves, while others disappeared after catching an illness from all the time spent outdoors, or were injured in combat.

As for those who were killed…. He mourned them. How could he ignore the impact it made on him? No one deserved to die in such an awful place. The longer he spent there, the more certain of it he was. Sometimes, he was convinced William thought little of him for getting emotional over the loss of human life. But he knew William well, and was sure that the Colonel would mourn quietly and alone. He had to keep morale boosted, even if it meant hiding his grief. The war would continue on.

“I need to finish my studies when I get home,” he explained to William one night. The pair sat aside from the rest of the men, as they would in times when they just needed the company of the other. “This all started because of politics. If I could somehow get there, I want to make sure this never happens again. I don’t want anyone else suffering like this.”

“You would have the support of a million men and women who have seen it for themselves,” William agreed with a nod. His moustache was looking better, but Damien was still getting used to the sight of it. He couldn’t imagine how unkempt he must look in comparison. “I’ll make sure of it myself, damn it. You won’t start that movement alone.” His right hand firmly grasped Damien’s shoulder with a smile. “You’ll be the finest politician out there, Dames.”

-

January 20th, 1918.

The call had gone in that morning for an ‘up and over’. It had been bloody, but no ground had been lost. The other soldiers had pulled back to check their own injured, and William’s men were doing the same. One or two had received gunshot wounds, but they were injuries that could be treated quickly in a nearby emergency medical setting. 

Damien had lingered behind to make sure everyone was able to return to the trenches safely.  They were all tired, but all could walk. 

“MEN! HURRY UP! THIS ISN’T A WALK IN THE PARK. GET DOWN HERE!”

Himself and another man found energy out of nowhere to frantically race back to the trench as bullets zipped past them. Never had such a dismal place looked like sanctuary. Both men made it to the trench, and the first climbed down. With Damien there, all would be accounted for, thankfully.

A cry of agony ripped through the silence as Damien fell straight into the trench. A bullet had gone clean through his left thigh. Not only that, he had taken the impact of the fall on that leg. Even without the bullet wound, it was badly broken.

“GET A STRETCHER, NOW!”

William’s booming voice was filled with desperation as he knelt down beside his friend. He took one of Damien’s hands.

“Come on now, Damien. Stay with me. Squeeze my hand. I’m right here.” The tightened grip was nothing painful for William, but it was a good sign that the other could respond immediately. “Peter and Eddie have gone to get one of the stretchers. There’s a medical centre about a mile from here. They’re going to take good care of you there. You’re going to be alright.”

“Will, please… Don’t leave me. I don’t want to go alone.” Damien’s voice strained with the intensity of the pain. It was a struggle to keep awake.

“I’ll be there, Dames. I’ll make sure I’m there with you. I said I’d protect you, didn’t I?” He had, he remembered. Damien had smiled and said that he was honoured that such a brave soldier would be like a knight in shining armour for him. But that was before the war. Before Damien joined him here. Before that blasted attack. Before -

“Dames? Dames! Please! Wake up! Stay with me!”

“Colonel, move back!” 

To William’s horror, the men had managed to get some of the medical assistants over as well. He saw the look they shared. He tried to scramble to his feet, but Jean held him back.

“He’s not dead! He can’t be dead! He’s fine!”

--

--

--

Ten months.

Ten months with no news on Damien.

After a lot of badgering, he was told that the injured party was transferred to a hospital in England. That was never a good sign. He wrote letter after letter pleading Mark or Celine to tell him what happened, even if that meant telling him the worst.

In January, he was upset, but optimistic. He confided in Jean that Damien had to be alive, that William would somehow know if Damien was dead. The pair pulled together and set about keeping spirits up.

By March 4th, 1918, he had lost Jean too.

For two full weeks, William was inconsolable. It was as though all the pain of war had finally broken him and left his chest hollow and numb. But on the fifteenth day, he was behaving like the man he was before - loud, optimistic, hard-working. All his grief and sorrow had been bottled up and buried as deep as possible. Never did he want to consider how he was letting the men who were still alive down. He would make sure they would all survive and go home.

And that was exactly what he did. Through some miracle, not a single man under his command died between March and November 1918. He had to do it. Damien would have wanted him to protect them.

-

The trip back to America was long and lonely. Part of him almost didn’t want to return, but he had nowhere else to go. Every mile felt much longer. Every day felt like another month. But eventually, land could be seen. A boat bringing soldiers home was docking on the east coast, which only meant that a painfully long journey alone faced him. Why was California so far away?

But as he stepped off the boat, two figures were standing in the crowd waiting for him. He had to restrain himself from charging over, but both Celine and Mark were pulled into a tight hug the moment he was close enough to reach them.

“It’s so good to see you both…” Jokes and casual banter would come later. He had to overcome this important moment first. Neither Celine nor Mark pulled away until William did so first, and both were surprised to see him crying.

“I’m so sorry… I tried. I tried as hard as I could. I couldn’t save him…” A man of his position shouldn’t be blubbering like a baby, but the tears flowed without any intent on stopping.

“We have a hotel booked near here, but we want you to get checked up first. God knows what sickness you have under all that uniform. And it’s being sponsored by the city, so it won’t cost a dime.” Mark meant well, but neither expected such a strong refusal to go to a hospital.

“William, please. Just for ten minutes, and then we can go out for dinner. We’ll be with you the whole time.” The couple had to reassure William three times before they could get him to budge, but they kept their word. The entire time they stayed with him, keeping him company and trying to distract him from whatever troubles were eating at him.

The check-up went well, and William was prescribed with some simple medicine and tasks to help rebuild his immune system, and the three began to make their way back through the hospital. The Colonel had noticed the way Celine took in their surroundings, but put it down to making sure they wouldn’t get lost amongst the swarms of people. She took his hand and took a sharp right into a room.

It was a one-bed ward. The room was in need of painting and new quilt covers, but it was peaceful. Even so, alarm bells began to ring the moment he noticed the empty bed.

“You two said we were going for dinner! You promised we would only be ten minutes! I am not letting either of you leave me here like some forgotten creature! I-”

“Colonel…?” 

William quickly spun at the voice. A figure stood at the bathroom door.

He was on crutches to support his missing leg, and looked unwell, but it was Damien.

He was alive.

[blackaquokat]

Hello, 81 and 37 Acting Attorney please

Sorry this took so long! Some things came up. This could be considered a…draft of sorts for a future scene in Satisfied. Hope you all enjoy! I have one more prompt in my inbox to do after this!

37.  “Can I kiss you?”

81. “Sweetdreams.”

Oo00oO

“Comeback and say that to my face, you stupid dick—”

“That’senough, my friend, that’s enough,” Mark assures his friend as he drags them outof the room with Damien’s help. “I think you made your point when you punchedAbe.”

“Hepunched me first,” they slur.

“Weknow, we know, we were there,” Damien chimes in as he nudges the DA’s bedroomdoor open with his foot.

Markand Damien awkwardly maneuver the DA into bed after they went curiously quiet.Damien leaves, but before Mark can, the DA grips his sleeve. They sit up in thebed, shoulders slumped, their curls falling onto their forehead.

“I’m…I’msorry for what I said to you…that night.”

Markstiffens.

Heturns to look at them. They’re staring up at him with those ancient eyes,vulnerable and tense at the same time somehow.

Hehad a million possibilities in his head for how tonight would go, and the onlyone that really mattered at the time is the one where he ends up dead and hisformer friend is framed for the deed.

Hetries not to think about that night, he has ever since it happened.

“Mark, I’m tired ofgetting hurt.”

Itwas his fault, what happened then. Even now, with his mind and body in tatters, he can admit that.

“Youhave nothing to apologize for,” he says, but even that concession has theentity hissing at him, telling him to condemn his friend (only his friend,always his friend, the one time he tried to change that and he ruined theirfriendship forever).

“Sometimes…”They shake their head and Mark realizes just how drunk they are when theysuddenly confess, “Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t just let it happen.”

Theair leaves his lungs so quickly he nearly collapses. As it is, his knees goweak, so he sits on the edge of the bed beside them.

They…they…really?!

There’s still hope?

For us?

Hereaches out for them—he has so much to say, so much to tell them, he wants tohold them and reassure them that nothing has changed—but then he feels the darktendrils of the entity grab his hand.

Remember why you’rehere.

“Mark?”

Markshakes his head, against the slithering feel of the entity’s voice in his head,against the DA’s concerned, safe tone.

TheDA. Focus on the DA. Don’t let them grow suspicious.

“Whatis it?”

“Iwant…” They look down suddenly and then back up again. Uncertainty lines theedges of their mouth. “Can I…kiss you?”

Mark’sthoughts stutter to a halt, all of his plans turning into ideas he can’trecall.

Hisbrain shrinks down to two things.

Thefirst thing: if he were a good person, he would turn away. How could he do thisand then die on them only hours later? Yes, a better person would walk out ofthe room and let his friend sleep off the alcohol.

Hehasn’t been a good person for a very long time now.

Hecups their face in his hands and kisses them.

Ashe does so, he feels the entity stab into his mind, reminding him of theawaiting Colonel and his vengeance.

TheDA reaches up to grip his neck, and suddenly it doesn’t hurt so much.

He’sable to ignore the entity for about another minute before it becomes toooverwhelming and he pulls away.

Thelingering confusion in the DA’s face is almost more painful than the entitygrappling for his attention.

“Mark?”

“I…”He clears his throat. “You need to go to sleep,” he eventually says.

Hurtflickers across their face so briefly Mark almost thinks he imagined it. “Right.”Their voice is quiet. “Right. What was I thinking?” They shake their head. “I’msuch an idiot. How could I do this…?”

Theypull away from him. The distance has never felt more palpable than this verymoment.

Hestands from the bed and they settle into the mattress, tugging their blanketsup to their chin. Their back is to them.

Heshould say something. Right?

GO!

Markjumps at the entity’s impatient shout, a sweat breaking out across hisforehead. He hurries to the door and stops, turning his head just a little.

“…Sweetdreams…”

Histone is apologetic. Not just for what just happened, what he’s making them feelright now and what he’s made them feel in the past.

It’san apology for what’s to come.

Oo00oO

@starcrossedforever87 , @dontworryaboutanything , @beereblogsstuff , @silver-owl413 , @sassy-in-glasses , @chelseareferenced , @sketchy-scribs-n-doods , @falseroar , @intemperantiae , @ren-mon , @memetoyoko , @soul-wolf , @marki-dumb , @withjust-a-bite , @raimeyl , @im-also-dead-inside , @timelords13 , @ur-fairy-god-dragon , @conceitedink , @unknown-maned-wolf , @ohnoimshook , @mayazen , @skyewardlight , @gabs-ink , @purple-anxiety-blog

[emilightniing]

You Can Fix This (Part 2)

(Finally finished the second chapter; I really hope it was worth the wait! I was so happy to see that people seemed to enjoy chapter 1 so much, and I can’t wait to continue.

I’ve had a couple requests to tag people for new chapters, so @fleecal and @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell (as well as that one awesome anon; you know who you are!), here’s part 2! And if anybody else wants to be added to the tag list, please do send me an ask and let me know.)

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He looks like shit.

You’re surprised you didn’t notice it the first time around, but Mark really does look like… well, death. Standing much closer to him now than you did before, and knowing what you know, it’s blatantly obvious that he’s not okay. His eyes are hollow but manic, with deep bruise-colored bags underneath, prominent against his ashen skin. And that’s just the face— you don’t want to think about what you’d find underneath his robe. 

Thirty-seven times. Goddamn. You don’t know if it’s more disturbing that he’d choose such a brutal and painful method, or that somehow it still didn’t work. Now that you think about it, in fact, it makes sense that he’d want everyone to be drunk for this final attempt— drunken eyes miss things, and sure enough, nobody suspected a thing that night. It worked out far too well, and part of you feels a tug of doubt; maybe you’re already too late. Maybe none of you should have come at all.

You take a sip of your champagne, partly to calm your nerves and partly to hide any expression that might potentially give you away as you listen to Mark’s soliloquy. 

“… Who knows?” he’s saying with a smirk. “I could be dead tomorrow.”

A shudder runs through you and the drink turns sour in your mouth. You don’t want to listen anymore, and you certainly don’t want to talk to him alone. The way he laughs sounds so bitter and cold; maybe it’s just your imagination, but it sounds like he’s enjoying this.

It shouldn’t really surprise you, you realize. He does know exactly what he’s doing; this was all done as some sort of twisted revenge on the Colonel and Celine, and maybe even Damien— who, as far as you know, did his best to stay out of the messy affair between his sister and his closest friends, but you suppose that through Mark’s eyes, anyone who wasn’t on his side was against him. Neutrality wasn’t an option. 

Part of you wonders how much of that was really Mark, your friend, and how much came from the house’s influence… but regardless, he did steal Damien’s body. That’s something you still can’t really fathom, and you want answers. You need to know why he felt the need to drag everyone else into this. He may have been selfish, but he was still your friend. At least, that’s what you thought. The time you’ve spent in this house has certainly done well to challenge everything you thought you knew.

------------------------------------

Everyone’s mingling still, but you know the first round of poker will be starting soon. Now’s your chance.

“Mark,” you say, catching him just as he’s slipping out of the parlor, obviously trying to go unnoticed.

He turns around, clearly not expecting to see anybody following him. 

“Ah, Y/N! Glad you could make it tonight, what with your new job keeping you so busy.”

“I— of course I came,” you say, wanting first to try and lead him into trusting you. Then you’ll go from there. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. I’d like to ask, though… how have you been?” You look at him with a slight amount of sympathy, but not enough to give yourself away.

“Well, I’ve been excellent, thank you,” he replies, a little too quickly. Very, very casually, he picks up another glass of champagne off the butler’s tray and hands it to you. You accept but don’t drink it yet. It’s painfully obvious to you that he wants you to pay as little attention to him as possible. 

(This, you note with some amusement, should be your first clue that something is out of the ordinary with him.)

Cautiously, you press on. “Well, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you properly. I’ve been really anticipating talking with you.” Not entirely a lie, you tell yourself.

His smooth smile doesn’t falter, but you can see in his eyes that he knows he’s trapped for the moment and he’s looking for a way to divert your attention. Well, two can play at that game, you think. “I was actually hoping I’d finally be able to meet Celine tonight.”

There. It works as expected; he’s caught completely off guard. Of course he’s kept the affair a secret to avoid public scandal, and as far as everyone not directly involved knows, he and Celine are still happily married. But it’s been so long since he’s left his house that he hasn’t had to pretend for anyone for awhile. It’s clear from the look on his face that you’ve opened a fresh wound. Guilt tugs at you briefly, but you know you need to stand your ground now.

After taking a long sip of his drink— which is another thing, you’ve really only just realized; you haven’t seen him drink socially in years— he looks at you and responds noncommittally, “She won’t be joining us this evening, I’m afraid. She has other… affairs to attend to.” 

Your eyes widen; you can’t help it. The way he says is is so casual, so blasé, that it’s almost a little funny. But you realize immediately that it’s too late to cover your surprise. Mark’s seen your reaction, and it tells him more than enough. He just raises one eyebrow and smirks. 

“Aha. I knew Damien couldn’t keep himself from telling you. He swore up and down he wouldn’t, but I’m not stupid, Y/N. I know he tells you everything.”

You shake your head, perhaps a little too emphatically. “No. He didn’t tell me, I promise. He doesn’t even know that I know.”

He scoffs, clearly not convinced, but the two of you are interrupted by the detective as he comes over to introduce himself to you (so his name is Abe; why didn’t you bother to learn that before?) and chat with Mark. You excuse yourself after a moment, glad to have more time to prepare for the confrontation that will almost certainly have to continue later.

Not too long after that, a game begins at the round table in the corner. The butler— whose name, you learn, is Benjamin— continues to serve more drinks than necessary, clearly under Mark’s instructions. Unsurprisingly, it’s hard for you to focus on playing poker, and you end up losing a lot more often than you did the first time around. The others poke fun at you for it, and you take it in stride. What else can you do?

“Well, let’s see,” Mark muses as the third round begins (or is it the fourth? You can’t really tell; unfortunately, in your desperation to calm your panic, you’ve probably drunk more than you should in this situation). “Y/N, surely you can do better than that. Maybe you something to motivate you to play to your full potential.”

You stiffen slightly, now on your guard. This didn’t happen before, you’re sure of that. “Oh?” is all you manage to say. Clever.

Mark is shuffling the cards with impressive dexterity, not breaking eye contact with you as he starts to offer his wager. “If you lose this round…” He smiles mischievously; you can see his eyes light up as he settles on the stakes. “You’ll have to kiss Damien.”

The Colonel and Abe both laugh out loud; the former especially sounds particularly giddy at the prospect.

You’re less amused, however. “What? I— you’re joking.” It’s more of the unexpected nature of the dare than any unwillingness on your part, but you’re suddenly terrified. “Come on, be serious.”

“Oh come now, Y/N,” Mark says jovially, “you know I’m dead serious.”

Nobody else notices, of course, but you do, and your flushed face drains of color slightly. He’s trapped you. You have to play this off as embarrassment, or else everything will be ruined. “Well… fine then, but if you lose the round, then you have to kiss Damien.”

The words leave your mouth easily, and you’re thankful for that. To any uninformed observer, this looks like just some teasing banter between friends. William laughs even harder (you get the impression that he’s fairly intoxicated already, but still, part of you is glad to have made him laugh), and Damien raises his eyebrows as high as they can go. 

“Why is it me?” he protests indignantly, trying to play it off cooly, but you can see how deeply he’s blushing. For a second, you consider taking it back so as not to embarrass him, but then he shakes his head and lets out a resigned laugh. “All right, well then. I suppose this is a challenge for me to lose this round.” 

This makes everyone chuckle. The game begins.

------------------------------------

You try. 

At least you’d like to convince yourself that you’re trying your hardest, but you’ve never been very good at keeping a neutral face anyway, and your diminished concentration (and all right, perhaps some subconscious, well… curiosity) essentially guarantees that you lose the round in less than fifteen minutes. If you’re being honest with yourself, you never stood a chance. Your beloved host is clearly trying to distract you by any means possible, and it’s working.

Mark shakes his head in mock disappointment at you. “Well, well, seems like you’re not exactly on the top of your game tonight. One might almost think you’ve had something else on your mind entirely this whole time.”

Bastard. “Well, I don’t play well under pressure,” you mumble, taking another sip of the cocktail you’ve been holding onto for a bit.

Damien looks at you, sensing your embarrassment; you try to avoid his eyes. “It’s fine, Y/N, you don’t really have to—”

“Oh yes, you do!” Mark and William say in unison, cutting him off a little too enthusiastically. They exchange surprised looks followed by slightly warmer smiles, which you take as a good sign.

“Be nice to them,” Damien chides his friends, but you can see that even he’s suppressing a grin. Whether it’s due to the drinks and lively atmosphere, the fact that the Colonel and Mark finally seem to be reconciling their differences, or— do you even dare to think that he might be smiling at the thought of you having to kiss him? Surely, you think, it’s laughter that he’s holding back more than anything.

“It’s— it’s not really any trouble,” you rush to say before your nerve leaves you. “I mean, I don’t mind. I agreed to it, after all. If, well, if you don’t mind, that is.” 

You wince slightly at how much you’re stammering, but Damien looks… pleased?

“Not at all. It’s certainly not the worst possible outcome of that wager, anyway.” He gives Mark a pointed look, earning another round of laughter from the table.

Your seats are technically next to each other, but you still have to stand up and take a step over to him in order to be close enough to reach him. He stands as well, a few inches taller than you but not so tall that you can’t lean up a little and press your lips to his. 

So that’s what you do. 

It’s not as awkward as you thought it would be; in fact, it feels pretty natural. And warm. You can’t deny that.

It doesn’t last very long; only a few seconds pass before you both lean back, not daring to make eye contact. You know you’re already a little flushed from the alcohol, but your face is burning now. A side glance confirms that Damien is just as red as you are. But he’s smiling.

The Colonel, Abe, and Mark raise their glasses in mock toast. They spend the next hour or so grinning cheekily and making the occasional comment that makes you either shoot them a death glare or stare down at the table, feigning deep interest in your hand of cards. 

At some point, you feel a brief reassuring squeeze on your shoulder from Damien, and it helps you relax a little.

------------------------------------

The game is abandoned eventually, as you knew would happen, and the group splits off to begin some absurd drinking challenges. You politely decline this time; your head isn’t completely clear, but you still haven’t forgotten what you need to do here, even if the answer to why you’re here at all still eludes you.

Your watch reads 10:24 when Mark pulls you down into the wine cellar, requesting to speak with you alone.