#Mayor damien fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theknightmarket · 1 month ago

Note

Knight, knight, knight- a fluff idea where the reincarnated!reader picks up dark's novements or understand his way of expression just like the way the d/a is quick to catch on what damien even in tiniest actions (its how they survive in college without bieng picked on even being pressured) even though everybody else swear that tha man in question is expresionless

(typing your name three times in a row feels like summoning beetlejuice /pos but instead you dropped us with this masterful pieces)

"You know me so well."

In which Dark's exterior is easier to crack than people say. TW: comedic mentions of violence Pages: 23 - Words, 9,000

[Requests: OPEN]

When you thought about it, you were the living embodiment of Task Rabbit, and you didn’t know how to feel about that.

For the last six months, you’d been running errands for the various residents of the manor, ranging from delivering packages to reminding them where they were supposed to be. You couldn’t exactly call it ‘working’ for them, because that would have implied you were getting paid, but you supposed the reward for your service was a rent-free room on the first floor.

You had a thing about heights now.

That brought you to the other reason you were still there, though. Your life had quickly become a tangle of unanswerable questions and questionable answers, only muddied further by the growth of your relationships with the people you currently lived with. One moment, you were using your hard-earned college degree to sweep floors in a local café, and then the next, you were face to face with one man who had killed you and another who had stolen your body because – oh, yeah – reincarnation was a thing, apparently, and you used to be the district attorney in the 1920s, because, of course, why didn’t you assume that before—

Despite all the time that had passed between that revelation and now, that subject still touched a nerve.

You supposed you would get over it quicker had you not chose to interact with one of those men on a day-to-day basis. A wound never quite healed if you kept picking at it, and you voluntarily dug your fingers in every time that you made your way up the stairs from the foyer to the second-floor hallway.

You slid your hand up the banister alongside you, remembering to lift your hand when you got to the sixth step to avoid the splinter that stuck out like a threat. You made a mental note to sand that down later as you stepped onto the rug. There were a number of residents who had a flair for the dramatic, and using the banister as an express route to the first floor was not below any of them. Considering the message that you were on your way to deliver, it was an accident waiting to happen.

Shoes planting themselves outside his office, you lifted your hand to knock on Dark’s door. Any interaction that didn’t begin with that courtesy was off to a bad start automatically – read: anytime that Wilford appeared in the study – and you didn’t want to get him anymore annoyed than he was going to be.

Or than he already was; the seconds ticked by, each one dragging you further into concern. Ordinarily, having a small delay was to be expected, but Dark was anything but ordinary, and those seconds meant a lot.

That was why, when the creaking bit away at the silent hallway, your first words were a refrain. “I can come back later if you’re busy.”

It didn’t take more than a second for Dark to respond, “No, it’s quite alright.”

For someone so cold and single-minded, he had never been able to shirk the manners that had been imparted onto him. You knew he had never been taught them directly, but some influence from the facets of his mind was inescapable. As such, he was going to let you in, and the only thing that changed was how far he glanced down the hallway before he closed the door behind you.

Once to the left, once to the right – repeated twice more.

You marched into the study swiftly, every part of you becoming painted with an inky blackness the moment you crossed the threshold. It was like there was a physical barrier between the hallway and the room, as though the door were still firmly locked shut with barely a slit at the bottom to let the air flow. Sometimes, you wondered if it were magic or just for dramatic effect.

Knowing the man behind you, it was probably both, but you weren’t about to have a conversation in the cave from The Descent, so you gripped the closest swath of fabric and tugged it to the side. Rays of sunlight poured in, finally letting you see your own hands and those of Dark as he pulled his chair out from under the desk.

They were always so gray. It was the first thing you had noticed about him when you met, just how surprisingly monochrome he was because it wasn’t just his hands, no, it was him. He was completely devoid of color, every pigment taken up by the waves of red and blue that surrounded him. Even his clothes were one spectrum of white and black, from his shoes to his suit to his glasses that he adjusted when he was situated between the arms of the chair.

“Thank you,” he muttered, making himself comfortable again, “I never noticed how dark it is in here.”

You decided to keep your grin at the irony to yourself, and, instead, you deigned to sit in the other chair that had been moved to the middle of the room. It was a plush, leather thing – more an obstacle than a piece of furniture – that someone had taken it from the library the first time Dark had called for a one-on-one meeting. It had taken up residency in the study after that, and you often found yourself using it for general relaxation whenever the rest of the manor got too loud.

But now was no time to be yearning for a nap. You had important business to tend to, even if you had to fight back a grimace at the mere texture of the manila envelope in your hands. In a last-ditch attempt to seem confident, you balanced it on the edge of the wooden surface while plastering a small grin over your lips.

“Now,” you sighed, “do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“Neither would be preferable, but I’ll hear the worst first.”

A pessimist at heart was Dark, but he was smart enough to hear both sides of the story before acting. No matter how much he tried to demonstrate himself as a force not to be messed with, creeping into loose-cannon territory was below him, and there was a measurable pattern to the punishments that he doled out for each transgression. According to what you’d seen, there was a good chance he’d let the offenders off with just a warning.

With a cautious tone, you said, “We lost Hee-Hoo again.” And when the corners of his mouth tilted into a frown and his fingers wrapped against the arms of the chair, you rushed to amend, “But it wasn’t the Jims’ fault this time.”

“So somebody else let him out?”

You grimaced, knowing exactly the words that he wanted to hear and that he would indeed hear if you told him the truth. You didn’t have a lot of ways out from this problem; if you stayed silent, a single house meeting would make everyone responsible, but if you ratted the resident out, you had very few methods of saving their hide. Even before you made a decision, you had to contend with Dark’s piercing gaze he knew damn well you couldn’t refuse.

The words came rushing out of your mouth before you had a second to comprehend them. “I left the gate open last time I went to check on the squirrels. I thought I closed it behind me, but I didn’t, so Hee-Hoo managed to get out.”

Dark didn’t have to say that he didn’t believe you, and you silently berated the hold-over impulses from the district attorney. You had the speed, but you didn’t have the logic.

“Bing didn’t mean to—”

He cut you off with a stern and blunt, “Bing.”

“He didn’t mean to. And he’s trying to find him right now.”

A quirked eyebrow and a slow blink.

“Google’s with him.”

At that, Dark leaned back in his chair – the material dipped ever-so-slightly behind him – and his shoulders visibly dropped in relief. Bing, alone, wandering the city in search of a wild animal was not the most comforting image, you would admit. Having someone to guide him, and to make sure he didn’t short-circuit in a fountain, gave him understandable hope that he would come back safe.

“Good,” Dark said, removing his glasses, as though getting a headache would supersede any from the stress of the residents. “At least Google will be able to bail him out if he gets into any trouble.”

“What, you think a naked caveman running through the city center will draw attention?”

The room stayed just as silent, but his hands moved quickly to drag across his face, shielding the glint of mirth you knew had grown in his eyes, like the first star in the night sky. Of course, he was much too busy being dramatic and broody to outwardly laugh at your joke – perish the thought that he experienced emotions.

Still, you ducked your head slightly to peek under Dark’s hand. “Do you want to hear the good news?” you asked teasingly.

He nodded as he ran that same hand through the curls of his hair.

“Wilford’s late-night show got approved.”

“And that is the good news?”

“Yes, it is—” You levelled him with a certain look of expectancy, “—Would you rather he try to interview Murdock again?”

You, Dark, and everyone else in the manor remembered the last time those two were in the same room. It wasn’t a shock when they pranced off to compare favorite weaponry – you, for one, had heard the merits of knives over guns too many times to count – but it was certainly a concern when the lovesick schoolgirl joined in with them, and then, suddenly, everyone was too afraid to sleep at night.

The only ones who actually got any sleep for the next few days were the Jims because they slept in shifts.

With that thought in mind, you said, “It’d do him good to interact with the general public for once.”

“The general public is what I’m worried for.”

The second that his hand met the surface of the desk, you reached over and laid your own over the top. He was as cold as he had been the day you met, but the pressure was more than enough to make up for it. It had Dark looking directly at you, not hiding from the comfort you were trying to provide or pushing back against it. It was just you and him together in that study.

“Hey, as long as he’s happy, right?” you muttered.

Despite not needing to, Dark took a breath in and then let it out, before he responded in kind. “As long as he’s happy.”

“And he’s talking about joining the war!”

“It’s for a good cause, isn’t it?”

With one set of fingers curled around your own mug of tea, you gently guided Damien’s into his hands, making sure it was secure before you let go. The ceramic wasn’t too hot, but it was better safe than sorry, especially when the little loveseat was vulnerable to staining. Now that you thought about it, maybe eggshell wasn’t the best color to go for when half of your nights ended with your drunken stumbling with a bottle of beer hoisted high.

Although, you supposed that the little pockmarks of soaked in alcohol served to tell the story of your college career.

You covered some of them up as you dropped onto the cushion beside Damien.

“Well, of course, but couldn’t he choose something less suicidal?”

You shrugged as you took a sip from your mug. “Then he wouldn’t be Will.”

In the corner of your eye, you saw him inaudibly tut at your suggestion, but his avoiding eye contact told you everything that you needed to know – that he knew you were right.

But there were still some things that supported his argument, mostly the emotional side that you never liked to disagree with. William had been Damien’s friend since they could conceptualize friendship, and to hear that he was going off to take blind shots against other soldiers? He was bound to be upset. The most you could do was try and get him to see the positives of the situation, however hard you had to search through the blood and gore of the last three years.

“Besides,” you started with a knock to his shoulder, “it can’t last forever, and when it does end, he’ll be back home, and you won’t have to worry about him.”

“I think I’m going to worry about him until the day I die.”

His head flopped against the channel back of the couch, and you joined him when you sensed there was going to be no more talking for the moment. It was a quant silence that enveloped the pair of you, as if a bubble had formed to protect you from the outside world, but that left you to the mercy of your internal troubles.

You didn’t know it, but, for Damien, that included you – or, rather, your safety. Whether or not William skipped off with a gun in hand, war was coming. It had come for Europe, and an ocean wouldn’t stop its slow but deliberate march forward. You wouldn’t be on the frontlines, neither of you would, but there would be damage back home, and he didn’t want you to get caught in it. He didn’t want to lose someone else to the war.

He didn’t want to lose you.

Your thigh tapped against his own.

“What’s on your mind, huh?” you asked. You had been watching him from the side, saw that he was thinking about something and that the conclusion he came to was not a happy one.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Come on, there’s something bugging you.”

Damien sighed. It was just his luck to fall for someone with the stubbornness of a mule welded to the ground.

Although he opened his mouth to explain, only the vaguest of noises came out when he turned to look at you. You were smiling. Damien was wondering if you would make it through the war, and there you were, with a lopsided grin that barely showed a tooth peeking out from the edge. What was more, you were planted firmly against the crook of the loveseat, in the process of pulling a leg up to sit more comfortably. You weren’t moving, come hell or high waters.

Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to worry about you if you were with him.

He grabbed your ankle and tugged you down so that you slid awkwardly against the arm. Your squawk of dismay was only met with a quiet, “Nothing.” And if you had any ideas about asking anymore questions, they were trampled by the lazy play fight you would be caught in for the next ten minutes.

Back then, everything was different – everyone was different. The man who ran off to the trenches was more William than Wilford, and most of the lucid time you spent with Damien was helping him up onto a keg or down from a hangover. The only thing that didn’t really change was the frequency with which you found yourself pouring over documents with the man in front of you. Your identities might have been molded by experience, but your pastimes were not.

And that gave you pause.

Absentmindedly, you squeezed Dark’s hand tighter, having wrapped your fingers around his palm sometime in your memories.

“Y’know, you could take a break.”

“A break?” The bleakness of his tone only made you want to push harder.

“Not a long one. Just…” you trailed off into a sigh. You didn’t remember a day that he spent outside of the manor, and you were well aware of the years between your presence – even getting into the hallway was a miracle. “You need to get out of here at some point. It’s not healthy to stay cooped up in your office for days on end.”

You leaned forward despite the look he sent you. You were well aware that he wasn’t human.

“You still take on stress like everyone else does,” you said, “and, right now, you’ve taken on too much.”

In a fraction of a second, Dark’s eyes shot away from you, and, although they returned soon enough, he was too slow for you not to notice. He was cracking, and that was just what you needed to see.

He reached for the files that you had placed down earlier as he muttered, “It won’t kill me.”

He was an inch away from getting it, too, when you pressed your spare hand down on the top, securing it firmly against the desk and receiving a huff from him for it.

“It’ll make you miserable, though. If you keep going like this, you’ll just keep breaking down until you don’t have a choice.”

Dark worked like a machine. As efficient, constant, downright surgical as he might have been, he also required upkeep. At the start, he was a chainsaw of a man, teeth bared at every little thing, whether he would bite into the soft remnants of a garden or the debris of a wrought iron fence. However, as he started to get worn down, rust invading his muscles and atrophying his veins, he remolded himself into a clock. The hands would go around and around and around, spinning endlessly in a routine of management. Not a second early and not a second late, lest everything fall apart. But that wasn’t the problem, no, it was that the rust was never removed, and it spread just like before. At this point, where the ticking was a distant whisper and the numbers were half-scrubbed off, there was very little of him left.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what was keeping him going on like that.

“They’ll be okay.” It was an undebatable statement that had Dark looking from the office door back to you.

“What makes you think that? Weren’t you telling me about our escapee not thirty seconds ago?” Still, he let the file go and dropped back into his chair. “If no one’s here to look after them, they’ll burn down the manor or die trying.”

You knew Dark was – collectively – over one hundred years old, but the air of tire had never been so strong. It was no longer a case of wanting him to take a break, shoddy personal opinion, it was now a need. He was so clearly on the cusp of toppling over the edge that you resolved to take drastic action, which just so happened to be utilizing one of the district attorney’s old tactics.

“Don’t you trust me?”

Emotional blackmail.

There was a stab of guilt in your chest that you ushered away as he leapt to say, “Of course I do.”

You chose not to say anything else, wary of pulling at his heart strings too much. He was smart, he’d figure it out – and he did, but he was also smart enough to protest, despite the warping of the bi-colored waves around him.

“You can’t keep them in line all by yourself.”

“Hey, you said you trust me.”

“I do trust you. Them, not so much.”

The rhythm of your fingers tapped on the file produced a dozen small thumps. There was little evidence to combat that, and Dark was gradually regaining control of the red and blue lines. He didn’t have the upper hand yet, but if you waited any longer, you’d surely lose your advantage.

“What if I make them all promise to behave?”

A light scoff. “I’d applaud you,” Dark replied with an underlying amusement. “It’d be the first thing they have ever agreed on since two of them were put under the same roof.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” was your offering. While you didn’t expect it to have much of an effect, the combined weight of your promise and stubbornness appeared to give you the break in his wall that you needed.

Meanwhile, Dark was trying not to let anything give. It wasn’t that he had lied; he did trust you, that wasn’t the issue at hand. He had seen what happened when someone tried to wrangle the residents of the manor – he was the unliving consequences of that – and he would do anything possible or impossible to make sure you didn’t fall victim to that same fate. What you were suggesting was just a small break, but if he gave an inch, you would take a mile, and then he’d be sent on day, week, month-long vacations with nothing to do except watch you bow under the weight, and then he’d be in your place, begging you to take some time off, and then you’d refuse because you felt like you were saving him from the work, and then you’d bow deeper and deeper and deeper until you broke, and then—

And then what was he supposed with the shattered pieces of you?

What was he supposed to do without you?

That explanation wasn’t going to fly with you, so, instead, he simply said, “I don’t want you wasting your time on this.”

“It’s not a waste.” Your assertion came with a confidence Dark could never hope to match, and he followed your eyes as you rose to your feet, that surefire smile playing on your lips.

“Give me twenty-four hours, and I swear, I’ll have their agreements, signed and dated.”

It was your final bid. If this didn’t work, basically telling him that you were going to do this, then you would leave the issue alone. For today, at least. Maybe until dinner. Probably just an hour or two.

Oh, who were you kidding? You would wait outside his office and tackle him the moment he opened the door.

But fortunately, Dark sat up straighter in his chair and sent you a weary look that nearly had you bouncing up and down on your feet.

Before he even opened your mouth, you knew you had won.

“Do you really want to?”

“Yes.”

“And can I change your mind?”

“Nope.”

He gestured to the door with one hand and used the other to give yours one last gentle squeeze.

“Good luck, dear.”

In every other room of the manor, there were cameras. Theoretically, it was for safety. Practically, it was to fuel Google’s megalomania. The line that had been drawn was laid at the threshold of Dark’s office, and that meant it was just the two of you who were privy to the look you shared. It was something more than intimate, it was an undeniable and unbreakable confirmation of belief in one another – that you would get those signatures, and that Dark would follow through with the break.

The corners of Dark’s mouth tilted upwards ever so slightly, propping up his cheeks and returning the twinkle to his eye. You responded in kind, a slight chuckle and a playful wink, before you opened the door and ventured out with a plan of attack.

While that moment stayed contained in the office, your giddy sprint down the hallway was not as protected, but you were too hyped up on adrenaline to care about who saw you.

The energy you wore like a second skin was unexpected, but the stubbornness was no surprise to Dark. Even though you were in a new body, had lived years of a double life that you didn’t know was a double life, that was a trait that stuck to you. It wasn’t a bad thing. In some ways, it was a survival tactic because, as nice as some of the residents of the manor were, nearly all of them had a tendency to push boundaries. Sticking up for yourself and your ideas let you keep your head above water.

It wasn’t too often that it was used against him, though. Only you and Wilford were able to get that far without being thrown through the nearest window. Both of you were a soft spot, but you were one he deigned to keep hidden. You were open with everyone, and you did your best to get along with them. Wil was too erratic for people to get close to, but you?

Unless there was evidence to suggest otherwise, you helped.

You always had.

As soon as class ended, students ran for the doors like bats out of hell, or, more accurately, like a flood because it was incredibly easy to get swept up in it and pushed to the other side of campus before you could escape the stream. Even the professor tended to duck out in the chaos of it all. It was much easier to just wait the extra few minutes before it was relatively calm again, so that left you, Damien, and a handful of other classmates milling around the room.

As you shoved out your chair from your desk, you made idle chat with your friend about upcoming assignments and visits back home for the holidays. You knew Damien wasn’t excited to return to the white-knuckled grip of his parents, so you tried to keep the positive in his mind – it didn’t have to just be networking and arguments, it could be seeing his sister and relaxing after months of college stress. He tended to lament the fact that you would be staying after you said these things, but a pat on the back and a shared cup of tea never failed to make him smile.

In that moment, you were debating a complete reconstruction of your organizer when a voice broke through the mumble of the classroom.

“Oi, Whitacre!”

You stuffed a sheet into your bag – adding another reason to reorganize to the list – as Damien whirled around to see who had spoken.

It came from one of the boys in the middle of the room. A clump had formed around a table, all of them old-money and none of them with respect for the tables they were sitting on. They still acted like teenagers, and it made you grimace when you thought about them in the legal profession or in any sense at all.

Damien had no such qualms. He called back in a less abrasive tone, “Do you need something, Jameson?”

“Wanted to know if you’re coming tonight!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at you. You shrugged and collected your papers. No matter your reputation as a live wire, you didn’t like to frequent wherever Thomas Jameson went. You were on opposite sides of the university by design, and you wanted to keep it that way.

With no option, he asked, “Where?”

“Bunker’s place, a party. His father’s out and his sister won’t tell.” Although he trailed off into a laugh, the man beside him, the aforementioned George Bunker, attempted to shove his friend off the table. He wobbled, shot him a dirty look, and then returned his attention to Damien, who, ever the Victorian gentleman, sent back a small smile.

“Thanks for the invitation, but we’ve got things to do tonight.”

“Come on, it’s only one night. There aren’t a lot of chances to let loose like this.”

In the background, you heard another conflict between Bunker and Jameson – which ended in the thud of someone falling off a chair – but you didn’t pay any mind to it. Instead, you glanced towards your own friend, whose expression told you everything you needed to know, if his body language wasn’t already screaming it. The slight twitch of his fingers on the desk, the sliver of his lip that had been pulled into his mouth to be worried by his teeth, the practically invisible raise of his shoulders.

“I have plans with my friend already.”

“Just blow them off, Whitacre, they won’t care.”

“I think they will, Jameson,” you piped up, though you didn’t bother to connect the dots for him.

His head lolled backwards, and he spoke to the ceiling with the whining of a toddler, “I wasn’t talking to you, was I?”

Your mouth opened to snap back as soon as he started, but Damien laid a hand on your shoulder, an old grounding method from your first term, before saying, “We have exams to study for.”

“The next one’s in two weeks, you’re not going to lose your perfect grades over one bash.”

Why was he trying so hard? Was it a power play or just him being a jerk for the fun of it? It was certainly getting on your nerves, but the thing that got to you most was the sight of Damien beside you. His hand carded through his hair, and his eyes flickered to the sides of the room, to the door, to you, and back to the door like butterflies in a jar – Jameson was a kid shaking it for his own amusement.

After the fact, you realized it would have been wiser to just take Damien by the hand and leave. It would have been easier, too, because the boys would have moved on to some new sadistic entertainment by the time you saw each other again. However, it would have been less satisfying, and the absolute disgust on Jameson’s face when you stormed up to him and poked him in the chest was gold.

“If he says he doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t want to go.”

His mouth curled into a sneer. “Didn’t you hear me when I said I wasn’t talking to you?”

“Didn’t you hear him when he said he doesn’t want to go?”

You didn’t know how many times you had to say it to get it through his thick skull, but you would write it on paper and stick it to his forehead if he would finally understand.

But that would have been too simple; he leaned around you to make eye contact with Damien again, saying, “Look, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to—”

“Which he doesn’t.”

“But wouldn’t it be nice to hang out with someone else for a change?”

You turned on your heel to see Damien getting closer, and now that everyone still in the classroom was looking towards this spectacle, you imagined you were supposed to feel worried. He was slipping between the desks, intently marching towards you and the group, a plan in his mind that he was going to go through with. Yes, you should have felt worried that he would choose them over you.

But he was content with what he had. He locked eyes with you instead of the boy behind you. He grabbed your hand.

“No.” His voice was so blunt that you stifled a laugh. “I’m happy with my friend.”

And just like that, Damien guided you back to your table, picked up both of your bags, and then headed for the door, barely giving you long enough to make a face at Jameson before you were out into the hallway.

In a burst of energy, you let loose all the chuckles you had stuffed down your throat. You started alone but soon you coaxed your companion into a fit. The noise danced down the corridor like a spring breeze, but you leaned your head against his shoulder to calm yourself down when you reached the more populated section.

“I love you, Damien.”

“I love you, too, dear.”

While both of you picked up on each other’s darkening, the color too vivid to be blamed on the laughter, and the tiny grins that were only ever the product of combined nerves and excitement – neither of you were able to say for certain what kind of love that was, for fear of being wrong or for fear of simply saying it aloud.

Still, you both seemed to decide that this moment, as you stumbled over each other out the building and onto the main center of the campus, was enough for now.

Having such a variety of characters living in the manor meant your days were full of entertainment and excitement and adventure and all manner of other good feelings. But, damn it, did they have to be so widespread?

You had started your search for signatures around when everyone would be waking up. Most of them weren’t cosmic deities or cthulu-esque monsters, which meant a knock at their bedroom door when the clock struck eight was the easiest way to find them – and that had indeed worked for a handful of the residents. Hell, Eric had even offered to help you out, but you waved him off in favor of letting the poor guy get some more sleep.

The problems you faced fell into two categories. Either the person you were looking for had apparently disappeared completely off the map, or they realized that the contract you had drafted was suspiciously lacking compensation. It was easy to figure out who was who.

That meant, as you practically collapsed against the backdoor with scratches and grass stains, it was almost seven o’clock at night. Illinois had been the trickiest to track down, not because you didn’t know where he was but because figuring out how caving gear worked was the world’s most boring hassle. Luckily, there weren’t many requests you were following through with, but you knew the hardest part would be dealing with Wilford’s nitpicking as you polished his guns, if you were able to hear him over the sound of Yancy’s tap-dancing for a week straight.

But it was all going to be worth it in the end. The only ones left on your list were the ones that had started this whole ordeal. Google, Bing and Hee-Hoo were on their way back to the manor, and you had finished up in time to wait for them with the most stereotypical-disappointed-parent face you could muster. They were signing that contract the moment they stepped through the door. While you didn’t think Hee-Hoo had a signature – or was able to write or even knew his own name – you were going to make him. Somehow.

You didn’t get long to think about how you were going to do that before a pair of figures were fighting their ways through the darkness. They were still caked in darkness as they got closer, until they were marching up the cobblestone path to the door.

You slid it open for them, receiving a barely noticeable nod from Google, but it was when Bing shut it behind him that you peered out into the night again.

“Where’s Hee-Hoo?” you asked, suspicions rising. If they didn’t find him, they were going to deal with a lot more than just your contract.

However, Bing just wiped his shoes off on the mat and replied, “Don’t worry ‘bout it, dude. We sent him to get cleaned up with the hose.”

Slowly, you blinked, turning back to him. “We have so many bathrooms.”

“You do not want him in the house.”

“…Okay.”

You weren’t going to argue about it. You’d had too much running about for one day that getting into a fight would surely send you over the edge. That, and you still needed them to make their promises.

You caught them as they both started in the direction of the door, producing the paper from its plastic wallet alongside a pen. You might have died, but you still valued an unfolded sheet.

“I need you two to sign this.”

With one hand, Bing took the contract from you, while he used the other to remove his sunglasses. Why he wore them at night, you didn’t know, but it only mattered to you that he slid them over his shirt before he started reading.

“’Any persons’ – that’s not right—”

“’Any persons to be present in the mansion on April twelfth,” Google said, peering over Bing’s shoulder with the most inconvenienced expression he was programmed with, “are to sign on their individual dotted lines, pledging to conduct themselves in an appropriate manner from zero hundred hours to twenty-four hundred hours.’”

“I was getting there!”

Bing’s protest went ignored as Google read on, “’Appropriate manner is defined as causing no destruction or harm of person or property, nor causing any sound above fifty-five decibels, including gunshots, shouting, or any attempt at cooking.’”

As expected, both of them looked at you like you were insane. You would admit that you went slightly overboard on the terms, but precautions had to be made. You only got one shot at this; if Dark left for a break and then came back to an empty patch of land where there should have been a building, he would never step foot outside again. It had to be exact, with no room for loopholes.

“What’s it for, anyway?” Bing asked.

“Dark needs a break, and he’s only going to take one if you all promise to stay in line, so I really, really need you to sign this.” Your explanation finished with a pleading expression. Although they were androids, they had been programmed with emotions – even if one of them only had the ability to feel annoyed with your puppy-dog eyes.

Bing didn’t seem to show much resistance, but he did take the opportunity to probe, “Why does he need a break?”

“Have you looked at him?”

This time, Google cut in. “Dark is an entity beyond human comprehension.” Obviously, only when it was time to poke some holes into your logic did he decide to speak up. “He has looked the same as he has for his entire existence.”

“No, he hasn’t,” you asserted as a headache crept up on you. “He hasn’t been out of his office in days, he doesn’t even show up to the house meetings, he doesn’t talk to anyone unless they go to him, he—”

Was wearing his glasses more often to fend off the eye strain, he only noticed how dark his office was when you opened the curtains, he hadn’t touched a book in months, he had once asked for the worst combination of Advil and Tylenol you had heard of in your life that he swore was for an experiment but you knew it was because his hand was cramping from writing so much – his neck unconsciously twisted, his lips were bitten in the corners, and his eyes weren’t just black, they were dull, like someone had sanded down his irises.

“—he’s tired.”

A second ticked by on the clock.

“Alright then.”

Before you realized that he had said anything, Bing took the pen from your hand, clicked the top, and scribbled a vague drawing of a skateboard on the dotted line next to his name. When he finished off a wheel with a flourish, he tossed the pen back and slapped the contract onto Google’s chest.

And then he was walking out of the room, spots of mud that he had failed to get rid of trailing after him. With a peace sign thrown over his shoulder, he called out, “See ya later, dudes.”

While he rounded the corner and disappeared into the body of the manor, you were left with Google.

All you could say was a simple, “Please.”

However, you should have known by then that, if given the opportunity, Google would go back to his power-hungry programming – and hell if this wasn’t the goldest of golden opportunities.

“Who will be in charge while you are gone?”

His tone didn’t give anything anyway – not that you needed it to – but you pulled back in surprise at his suggestion.

“Oh, I’m not taking a break, this is just for Dark.”

“Do you want him to actually relax?”

“Of course.”

“Go with him.”

You opened your mouth to argue. Your entire proposition to Dark had relied on you being there to take care of the manor. Going back on that would let him go back on his promise as a whole, and that wasn’t an option. You also weren’t the one who needed some time off. You ran errands. You kept the residents from being at each other’s throats every second of every day. You did not try to protect the entire manor while tracking down who you were defending it from. You did not spend every waking moment in a cramped room with no sunlight and no socialization, working through the massive pile of lawsuits from misadventures. Dark needed a break. You didn’t.

And yet you closed your mouth because there was a simple way out of this. After all, if you could trust people on their word and integrity you would not have spent the last eleven hours chasing them through caves and sacrificing your future energy for a little inked line.

So, you held the pen out and said a blunt, “Fine.”

Before he took it, though, he stopped to look you in the eyes. Despite his deadpan expression, there was an aura of smugness that permeated the air. “And my question?”

“You can be in charge, but just for that day.” What did you care? You weren’t going to honor this promise, so he could have the plastic keys to the kingdom.

“This is satisfactory.”

You didn’t think he would notice if you were a little casual, too wrapped up in his pride and too busy signing the contract that supposedly gave him the power-trip he wanted.

He handed it back with a barely contained smirk, the lights in his eyes whirling with anticipation. You took it gladly. Just one more to go, you were almost done, so close to freedom you could taste it.

You nodded at the android, too excited for words, and leaped to the backdoor and shoved it open, ready to search for that caveman.

In your haste, you left the door open, but that only meant you were able to yell a quick, “You’re not getting admin privileges!” before you got too far.

You didn’t hear Google’s reply, but you definitely felt his anger burning into your back.

The evening was always the most flexible in regard to the activity of the manor; some days, everyone would be too tired out to get up to any real mischief, but others would see the residents bouncing off and through the walls. There was something more about tonight, though, a certain expectation that hovered in the air like fog over a lake. It hid reality. Of course, you could assume that everything was tranquil and still from the undisturbed layer, but it was never a certainty.

Dark supposed it was because he was waiting. The manor tended to reflect his emotions the most, the people and the place equally, and he caught himself glancing towards the office’s door more than usual – and this time, it wasn’t out of apprehension of another fight breaking out or the old ceiling crashing down. It was, rather, an anticipation that gripped his unbeating heart and squeezed the few drops of blood left into his dusty veins.

A knock at the door practically crushed it into a mess. He’d fix it eventually, remold it like he always did for the next time you paid him a visit.

He moved quickly to the door and pulled it open even quicker. You were there, as he expected, with that damn grin and a prideful twinkle in your eye and that contract you had made clenched between your hands.

Silently, trying to fight back his own smile, he stepped to the side and gestured for you to enter. You followed his order, he followed you, and then he was sitting at his desk again with you standing in front of him, triumphant and gorgeous.

Even with the strange spots of dust and water that hadn’t been there the last time he had seen you.

You didn’t explain, despite his raised eyebrow, and simply slapped the paper down onto the wooden surface. Dark adjusted his glasses to peruse the signatures, skimming them but not doubting the authenticity. You had said you’d get all of the residents to sign it, and there was never a time you failed to deliver.

You watched his eyes trail down the page, saw his lips slightly tilt up at the corners when he got to the bottom, heard his scoff at the messy dirt thumbprint you had improved for the caveman. The sound was almost silent but nonetheless amused, so you didn’t worry when he put the sheet down and peeled off his glasses entirely. Instead, you beamed at him, absolutely ecstatic.

“You got them all.” It was a statement that you relished. If you were feeling confident, you might have said there was a tone of reverence.

“Yep, every single one.”

“And they really all agreed?”

Your prepared response died on your tongue. You didn’t want to mention the huge amount of favors you owed, or the hell the manor would be put through in the coming weeks, so you just said, “I got the signatures.”

Dark stared at you.

You felt sweat pool at the back of your neck and blood rush to your face.

He continued to stare at you.

But then he nodded and pushed his chair back from the desk. “Alright.”

Your feet melded to the floorboards at that one word, and, for a moment, you wondered if you had been actually remade as a robot because you felt like you were short-circuiting.

You barely managed to get out, “Alright?”

Poise radiated from Dark as he crossed one leg over the other, seeming to look straight into your soul with not so much as a care that you were so shocked.

“Alright,” he repeated, placing an elbow on the armrest, “I will take a break.”

That was easy. Well, obviously the lead-up had been torture and offering the idea in the first place was a stress-test, but this little moment? It was too straightforward. Everything about Dark had told you he would resist a little more than that, if only to set an example to the other residents, but there he was, ready and willing to go through with your plan.

Seconds ticked by on the clock.

Realizing he was waiting for you to say something, you shoved the sentence out of your mouth as if it would kill you to keep it in any longer. “Great, great, I can, uh, find a nice café locally or I can ask Wilford to take you if there’s somewhere you have in mind—”

You stopped short as soon as Dark cut you off, saying, “As long as you accompany me.”

There it was. The resistance. The search for an advantage. The addendum to the original idea that gave him more of what he wanted, that was what you expected from Dark, and it gave you comfort to know you hadn’t gotten him wrong. He was an opportunist at heart – not that it was a bad thing, you liked a good deal, too – and it was familiar for him to stay true to his nature.

Only after the thought calmed your heart rate down did you acknowledge what he had actually asked for, at which point the heat of the Earth’s core flooded back along the bridge of your nose. After all, you’d never gone out with Dark as a group, much less one-on-one, and you didn’t see any reason he would ask you specifically that didn’t have consequences of one sort or another.

As a last-ditch attempt to save face, you asked, “Google didn’t put you up to this, did he?”

“No, he did not.”

“Right, okay—” Your arms dropped uselessly to your sides, “—so why?”

How he managed to look you in the face as he spoke was beyond you. How he managed to say anything at all in such a controlled voice made you jealous. “I would feel more comfortable with you at my side.” He was blunt but not rude – hell, the tone was so gentle that you became suspicious.

“Then who’s going to, well, babysit?”

That suspicion grew tenfold for other reasons as Dark paused for a millisecond too long. It didn’t help that he averted his gaze over your shoulder before it returned with a cracked in his coolness.

Now was your turn to stare him down and his turn to crumble.

“Google did talk to me,” he admitted slowly, “and he would be willing to take on the duties for the day.”

“Did you…?” you trailed off, making a vague gesture with your hand.

“I did not give him admit privileges.” ‘No, he wasn’t stupid’ was the unspoken comment there. “If anything does go awry, he can contact me, but everyone has signed this contract, so that would be extremely likely.”

An unspoken comment that you didn’t pick up on was the general consensus that whoever disturbed them would be absent from house meetings for the foreseeable future. While Dark wasn’t a loose cannon, pre-meditated murder was just as painful as voluntary manslaughter, and it was an experience too familiar for many of them. The punishment fit the crime.

You would have likely been more jittery if you knew that thought was jumping through the minds of the residents, but you were blissfully ignorant, so you just stumbled through saying, “Great, yeah, that sounds great, I just have to figure out where to go.”

“You mentioned a café?”

An awkward chuckle forced its way out of your throat. You were starting to have doubts about everything – the carefully selected spot for relaxation was gradually degrading in your opinion. “Yeah, it’s on the outskirts of town, opens at six and closes at eleven, only one barista, serves coffee so black you might as well be eating the beans. It’s normally dead on a Thursday.”

It was adorable when you resorted to your roots, laying out the evidence and letting him be judge, jury and executioner. You somehow managed to break through the barriers he thought would have stopped him from feeling anything like this; air invigorated his discarded lungs, his stomach flipped in each direction almost methodically, and he could have sworn his skin got warmer, as though an early sun laid itself on the surface.

Dark leaned forward and placed his head on layered hands. “You know me so well.”

“It’s- I’m just doing my job.”

“This is more than your job.”

You watched, frozen where you stood, as he rose from his seat and glided over to you. Once a ghost haunting the same room for decades, he was now a man, solidifying more and more every step he took towards you. He stopped when he was a foot away.

The eye-contact returned, and the breath was knocked out of both of you.

“Thank you,” he whispered – did he whisper – softly – or was he talking normally, and you were losing yourself in the proximity?

You didn’t expect him to lean closer or take your hand in his or have the effect that he did on you with not much more than his simple being there.

However, when you caught sight of the spark in his eyes, the burst of sincerity and a slight awkwardness, you did expect the buzz in your skin where he placed a soft kiss. The electricity seemed to transfer between you, lighting up your skin enough to rival Times Square, before it dissipated through to the rest of your face.

Between your last life and this one, you weren’t sure you had ever been treated with such gentleness. Maybe it was a shift in the power dynamic – you were human but Dark was notably different – or maybe it was just the consequences of taking such a risk, which, really, wasn’t a risk because both of you knew your reaction.

Almost silently, you breathed, “No problem.”

When he pulled back, you almost missed him, but you were comforted by a moment of understanding; Dark was watching you with that glimmer of openness. Calmness. If you wanted to, you could copy him, and, if you wanted to, you could take a bigger not-risk. Doing neither was fine, doing both was welcome.

So, you opened your mouth to say something, your hand still held securely in Dark’s, with a helpfully clear mental image of what his break would look like.

Until the mood was shattered by a crash, yell, and yet another crash from downstairs. The noise practically shook the foundations of the manor, reminding you just where you were. You were still in the depths of the woods, and the thought of getting peace was growing more and more attractive every second.

You shared a look with Dark. It was anyone’s guess as to who caused the mess, but both of you knew who was going to clean it up.

[so, hello! Thank you so much for requesting - and, yes, I am secretly Beetlejuice - and I'm sorry this took so long (and yes, I know I say that about all of these, but, y'know) but I kept adding things and then it ended up twice as long as it was meant to be. Still, I hope you've enjoyed reading, and I wish you a good morning/night!]

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neenthebean11 · 4 months ago

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Dark DESPISES snow. He hates it, it makes his joints hurt, he's scared of it, he hates the cold, he HATES snowstorms.

Every winter season, all curtains are closed, heating cranked up all the way, and no one will see Dark for even days at a time. "Only bother for emergencies," a sign on his office door says. Some days he can be found hiding in his room, layers of clothing and blankets on, peppermint tea in hand. Staring blankly out the window. Muttering something about a little pink flower.

#darkiplier #markiplier #markiplier egos #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #mayor damien #celine the seer

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lostcybertronian · 3 months ago

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"ill always be there for you" and “You’re a terrible liar.” for either marmien or actor and dark ? Make it hurt.

Turning. Emerging into consciousness draped in soft, silk sheets. His head pounded with the beginnings of the world's worst hangover.

Damien opened his eyes, squinted against the light pouring through the cracked curtains, and hoped fervently it was still morning.

One glance at the alarm clock on the-- mahogany, clearly expensive-- bedside table confirmed it was not; it was early afternoon.

Damien scrambled, throwing the covers aside and swinging his bare legs over the side, not sparing a thought for why he wasn't wearing any clothes, and why were his clothes from the party last night all over the floor?

The world tilted, a wave of dizziness washing over him suddenly, and he thought he might tip over, if not for the hand taking his arm, firm and warm.

"You stayed." Said the groggy voice from the opposite side of the bed, and Damien twisted to see Mark, blinking his eyes open, a soft smile gracing his face.

Damien melted a little. "Of course I did," he murmured, remembering last night, the stripping of clothes and the running of hands over skin. Out of every guest at Mark's party, he was only now remembering who it was he'd went to bed with. "I wouldn't just leave." He cocked his head. Smiled. "Didn't I say I'd always be there for you?"

"Well, get back over here, then." Mark tugged on his arm. "I know you have nowhere better to be."

Damien snorted, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again and slipped back under the covers.

===

"You're a bad liar." Mark picked up the empty wine bottle, examined it for a moment, and threw it. It shattered on impact against the opposite wall, inches from Dark's head.

Dark didn't flinch. He leaned back and rested his head against the rotting, cracking plaster. Looked up at the decaying ceiling like it held revelation. Maybe it did. "To which instance are you referring?"

"I'll always be there for you." Mark said, putting in a flawless reproduction of Damien's cadence. Of his earnest, genuine, puppy-dog love. This was absorbed by the closed in box of the second-floor corridor, the Manor eager to eat up anything and everything. He leaned forward, draping his arms over his drawn knees. "Is that how you put it?"

"Careful." Dark warned. Wine-drunk aggression and decades-deep exhaustion warred for dominance in the blue-red stammering of his outline. "Celine never was too thrilled about that."

Mark coughed a sharp bark of a laugh. "She going to wake up?"

Dark snorted, and one half of his dead, gray mouth twitched up into a bitter smile. "Fuck, no."

Mark smiled; it was really a drawing back of the lips from the teeth. For a moment he flickered. Now a rotted corpse. Now a young man, handsome and in his prime. "I think, then, I can say what I like."

#darkmark #marmien #the actor #actor!mark #darkiplier #mayor damien #markiplier egos #writersofmark #fanfiction #ego shipping #lostandwandering #lost writing tag #writing prompts #horror #angst #tw alchohol mention #asks #lovely anon

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thebowieconstricker · 3 months ago

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Your Ivy Grows Chapter 3 Out of Context Spoliers

Inspired by the amazing fic by @autisticskeleton-s !

contains one (1) image at the end some may find disturbing

All images courtesy of Pinterest, can’t wait for chapter 4!

#your ivy grows #darkiplier x the da #darkiplier x y/n #darkiplier fanfiction #darkiplier x reader #darkiplier #who killed markiplier #who killed markiplier fanfic #damien markiplier #wkm damien x reader #damien x reader #mayor damien x reader #markiplier ego x reader

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reinxxoi · 1 month ago

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𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝓊𝑒

𝕎𝕙𝕠 𝕂𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕚𝕡𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕣?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ๋࣭݁ ⭑🪩๋࣭ ⭑. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The Long And Winding Road The Beatles

“the long and winding road

that leads to your door.

Will never disappear.

I’ve seen that road before.”

𐙚°🥂⋆.ೃ🪩*•°🥂⋆.ೃ🪩*•♡☾‎‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧‎‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧

Me and Mark had a lot of history. He’s the one who metaphorically pulled me out of the hole that is addiction. That night he met me in the bar I was wasted and up to my eyeballs in debt but he paid my debts and set me straight. It’s thanks to him that I have my current job as a detective. Despite how close we are it did come as a shock to me that I received an invitation to poker night at Markiplier Manor.

I hopped into my 1974 Plymouth Satellite and began driving. I had no clue what to expect, it had been awhile since I played poker. Gambling is the reason I went so deep into debt, tonight would really test my sobriety. Turning on the radio The Long And Winding Road by The Beatles came on and I found myself humming along to the tune. I was big into The Beatles, pretty mainstream of me right? But what can I say? I’m a sucker for Beatlemania.

Passing by the portrait-esque landscape got me thinking deeply about the upcoming party. I pondered what the purpose of this party could be, I’m sure Mark had some cause for celebration. He always was one for the flamboyant aspects of life and yet he was also someone who struggled so much. To be honest I admired him deeply, my infatuation with him only grew stronger with each meeting I had with him. There’s something so charming about him, may it be the charisma or otherwise… Regardless, my attraction to him couldn’t be denied. I just hoped that I would get the chance to confess these feelings I had for him…

I finally pulled into the long drive, parking my car next to a 1976 black Cadillac Eldorado. It was a nice looking car, must’ve been bought pretty recently. Whoever drives this must be pretty well off. I stepped out of my car, staring up at the large manor in front of me. Outstanding was an understatement to say the least. This manor was straight from a movie. Looking at my invitation one last time, I inhaled the crisp morning air and headed inside.

“Why hello, invitation please?” An attractive man greeted me at the door… His attire, he must be The Butler.

“Ah, right.” I brought myself back to reality, handing him the invitation.

“Right this way, I shall fetch you a drink.” He smiled charmingly.

“No need, I don’t drink.” I responded dismissively. I don’t even need the temptation of alcohol, I know how I get when I start down that path.

The Butler shrugged and walked off.

“Abe!!” I heard a familiar voice. Turning, I see that it’s Mark walking towards me. His red silk robe complimented his muscular build so well. “It’s been too long, old friend!” He firmly shakes my hand.

“Truly.” I agreed. “You know, I was surprised by the sudden invitation. Do you have cause for such a celebration?” I inquired.

“Yes, yes! This shall be the celebration of the decade! Mayhaps, even the century!” He smiled so brightly, it put all my worries at ease. “Oh yes, I should introduce you to my good friend Damien! Right this way!” Mark led me into the manor, there stood yet another very attractive man in a nice suit and cane… I recognized him. “Abe, this is Damien, The Mayor.” He introduced us. “I’ll leave you two to entertain each other, I have other matters to attend to!” And with that he left us alone.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” I extend my hand for a greeting.

“Pleasure’s all mine, good sir.” He takes my hand, shaking it warmly.

“So how do you know Mark?” Damien asked me with genuine curiosity.

“It’s quite the long story and I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details, I’m sure you’re a busy man.” I dismiss the question politely.

“Oh please, we’ve got time! The Colonel hasn’t even shown yet… and who knows if he will.” Damien’s voice trailed off as his gaze fell elsewhere.

“If you insist…” I pause, trying to figure out whether or not I should tell The Mayor of my struggles with addiction.

“I do!” He eagerly interjects.

As I go on explaining my tale of woes to Damien I notice the door open and a surprisingly handsome and/or beautiful person enters, handing The Butler an invitation.

“Oh them?” Damien asks. “That’s The DA, and my old college buddy.”

“How nice…” I respond blankly. I was caught up with the person behind them. he wore a safari uniform… this must be The Colonel.

“Oh here they come! I must attend to this, pardon me.” Damien smiles softly, clearly allowing me to investigate this strange man.

I approach him cautiously, he was shockingly attractive. Under that helmet I knew he would be quite the gentleman.

“Can I help you?” He asks coldly, a stark contrast to the manner in which I expected from him.

“Perhaps you could, I’m Abe.” I extend my hand for a greeting.

“My friends call me The Colonel.” He grips my hand tightly. “I assume you shall call me the same by the end of the night.” He grins pompously.

“How long have you known Mark?” I inquire.

“Too long, that’s for sure.” He brushes aside the question.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, more curious now than ever.

“We grew up together is what I mean. And it shows.” He left it at that and before I could move on to another one of my many questions, our attention was drawn elsewhere.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all. My name is Markiplier, thank you for joining me on this auspicious evening.” Mark began to descend the stairs, stopping briefly to continue his monologue. “So good to be surrounded by such close and trusted friends… Now, this evening, it’s not all about the poker. It’s not all about me. It’s about you. So drink up and be merry! Life is for the living! And who knows? I could be dead tomorrow.” At that last statement he begins laughing uncontrollably. I was understandably caught off-guard by this but oh well…

We all go into the dining room and begin playing a round of poker, I didn’t want to drink very much due to my past in alcoholism but I figured I should take Mark’s words to heart, life is for the living after all.

We partied hard, The DA perhaps more than others. I didn’t expect someone so handsome and/or beautiful to party like an animal. Everyone was pretty black out drunk… everyone but me and Mark. We only got a little buzzed while everyone else went wild. After most people went to their rooms to crash, me and Mark were left.

The two of us sat on the couch for a moment..

“Quite the party, huh?” Mark smiled sadly.

“It certainly was.” I agreed, matching Mark’s somber expression.

“You know Abe… you’re my best friend” Mark remarked out of the blue.

“Where’s this coming from?” I was a little worried knowing Mark’s mental state..

“I just figured I should start appreciating the small things.” He stared out the window into the deep dark sky.

“Mark, you know you can tell me anything.” I took his hand.

“Abe…” He looked at me suddenly with tears in his eyes. “Not this, I couldn’t possibly tell you this.” Mark looked ashamed, as if he’d done something awful.

“I think you should get some sleep and we can talk it over in the morning, okay?” I pull him into an embrace. “Just sleep, don’t do anything else.” I mutter into his shoulder.

“I promise.” Mark held me tightly… too tightly.

I bid him a good night and started toward my room… I saw Damien carrying The DA back to their own room. I didn’t think much of it and I went into mine, crashing out at 1:16 a.m.

In the morning I woke up at 8:30 to an alarm. I definitely didn’t schedule it; so maybe Mark set it for the next part of his festivities. I got up out of bed and changed into some clean clothes, then I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

As I went through the mundane routines of the morning I began picturing Mark’s face last night… He stared at me as though that would be the last time I see him. I should really talk to him about my feelings, I’m terrified he could do something stupid.

I shook away the thought, I didn’t want to think of the fact that Mark could take his life.. I loved him too much to even consider the notion.

I finished up and headed downstairs, hoping to see Mark awaiting me. As I was headed downstairs I heard lightning strike.

“Did anyone hear that lightning?” I asked aloud to anyone. And then I saw The DA standing next to it…

It lay there cold on the floor… Mark’s dead body.

“OH MY GOD!! THERE’S BEEN A MURDER!” I scream for the whole manor to hear.

I run quickly to Mark’s side, trying to see if he was bleeding, perhaps we could still save him?

“Excuse me, did you hear lightni- OH MY GOD, MURDER!!” The Butler came in, seeing the grisly sight as well.

“Did you- MURDERRRRR!” The Chef screeched upon entering the room.

Each time the ‘M’ word was thrown around lightning would strike… It was almost supernatural.

I couldn’t help but notice how calm The DA appeared. Perhaps this murder had just occurred.

“What the hell happened here?! Who’s in charge around here?!!” I gripped The DA tightly by their collar. “Trick question- that guy. And he’s dead now, which makes ME in charge. So you better listen up good, bucko. ‘Case you haven’t been paying attention, there’s been a bit of a… killin’. ” I narrowed my eyes at them, hoping to scare them into confessing their crime.

There was a long pause, I was kind of hoping for a confession by now. No matter, I’ll just make it even more clear that this handsome and/or beautiful devil and/or angel is on my radar…

“And you’re my prime suspect. So you better get to explaining right quick as to the what, where, when, and why you happen to be here upon this man’s death.” I grill them even further. They seemed shocked by my accusation, perhaps they really didn’t do it..

“Sir, the body is cold… He’s been dead awhile.” The Butler interrupted. I felt my heart sink into my stomach, I felt like I was going to hurl. Was this my fault? Maybe I should’ve stuck by his side last night instead of telling him to sleep it off.

“A likely story… That I happen to believe completely. All right, you’re off the hook for now… But I’m a detective, and-“ Before I could finish my thought The Chef interjected.

“Oh yeah? Prove you’re a real dick!” He spat.

“Here’s my badge, asshole.” I showed him my badge but as I was doing so the photos of my old partners fell out with it.

The DA stared at them intently as if studying each of them individually. I saw their confused expression, they probably wondered how I knew these people.

“Ah, those are my old partners. Don’t ask me about them- Fine! I’ll tell you.” I didn’t leave much room for protest. “Each one of them died. Each death more tragic than the last. A few of them even died in ironically hilarious ways. Which made it all the more tragic” I explained.

The DA and Chef looked at each other in horror. I figured that’s the reaction I’d get, but I don’t need their sympathy or their trust. I’m investigating this murder case and that’s all that matters.

“But hey, you look like you’re up to the task. You’re my new Partner!” The DA shook their head aggressively clearly not wanting to become my temporary Partner. “That’s what all my old partners used to say… Right before they died.” I began to wonder if I may be cursed or perhaps unlucky.

The DA and Chef flashed each other another horrified expression. Specifically The Chef who looked like he had witnessed a murder before his very eyes… I should look into that.

“All right, hand me that finger printing kit behind you, partner.” I held out my hand waiting for them to do as I told them.

They reluctantly help me set up the crime scene, tracing the body, marking evidence, putting tape up. I was quite thankful to not be doing this alone, especially since the guilt from last night was taking over me… I felt awful for dismissing Mark the way I did.

After we set up the scene it was time to investigate..

“Thanks, Partner.” I nodded. I began inspecting the body when I heard footsteps approaching.

“What the hell happened here?” Damien asked, confused by the scene considering I had Mark’s body covered.

“Oh! Mr. Mayor… I’m so sorry, there’s been a murder.” As The Butler explains, lightning strikes.

“A murder?” Damien asks as more lightning strikes. “Who?” He continues with his questions.

“It’s Mark..” The Chef shrugs nonchalantly.

“I’m afraid he’s telling the truth… Mark’s been” I hesitated.. a part of me still didn’t believe it so to say it out loud was like trying to put your hand on a hot stove… realistically you could do it but something in your brain just prevents you from doing so. “…killed.” I finish.

“Why? Who would do this?” Damien didn’t understand any of this and it was clear. I know he’s childhood friends with Mark so this must sting twice as much as it does for me.

“That’s exactly what me and my new Partner are here to find out.” I reassure him. I know that I’ll uncover the truth and get answers to piece together why Mark of all people had to die.

“Um, excuse me. I feel like we should call the authorities for them to handle this matter.” The Butler chimes in.

“Look- Buddy, as far as you’re concerned, I AM the authorities.” I flash my badge at him. “The fact of the matter is… I believe the killer is right here amongst us in this very house.” My mouth moved before my mind did and came to the conclusion.

It shocked everyone else and even me… This night was for Mark’s closest friends so who here would want to kill him? And suddenly I made the connection… the lightning.

“With that freaky lightning storm outside, none of us would get very far anyway.” I concluded. I put my badge back into my pocket. “So in the meantime, we’re stuck here. But I’m gonna get to the bottom of this.” I reassured them.

I have full confidence in my abilities to find the culprit however I have this rookie with me now. I don’t even know why I brought them into this, something about their blue-ish, brown-ish, green-ish, hazel-ish eyes compelled me to do so. There may be hope for them yet, if we can just secure the area then together we’ll find the culprit.

“The rest of you, get back to your rooms, hunker down, and pray to God you’re not next to be murdered.” I firmly ordered everyone as lightning struck outside.

“I’ll… I’ll check on our other guests..” The Butler hesitantly left the room.

“I’ll get back to cooking… All this death made me hungry.” The Chef added, departing from the room.

“I- I need to talk to The Colonel about this.” Damien seemed to know more than he let on. Our first exchange was normal enough but when I met The Colonel… he was different. Damien left hurriedly, The DA staring at them as a lost puppy stares at a bone...

“All right Partner.” I brought them back to the reality of this tragedy. “It’s time to get to work. Judging by the temperature of the body that I measured rectally. Um, which is obviously the most accurate way to get the inner body temperature of a corpse… That’s a fact- totally procedure! Don’t tell anyone I did it.” I hurriedly finished the end of my sentence. “I am sure Mark was killed around 1:30 a.m. last night. So…” I stood up quickly. “What were YOU doing at 1:30 a.m. last night?!” I interrogated.

The DA told me that they had been asleep with their eyes open at 1:30 and so they couldn’t have killed Mark. And while it’s not a tight alibi, it’s the explanation I have to go off of so it’s time to question the other guests.

“I’m gonna ignore the strange fact that you sleep with your eyes open. But it checks out… So, we need to figure out where everyone was and what they were doing around that time or, at the very least, who saw Mark last.” I explained to my new Partner. “You need to get out there. See if you can piece together the story of what happened last night. I’ll stick around with the body and run more tests.” I kneel back down next to Mark’s body as The DA, my new partner, goes to interview the suspects.

I was conducting some more tests but the guilt of last night weighed heavily on my conscience so I left the room to get a class of alcohol from the kitchen… Something to calm the nerves, you know? But when I returned Mark’s body was gone

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I knew I had to find my Partner and let them know what had happened. As I snuck out into the back I saw them talking with Damien. Hiding behind a bush, I listened in on the conversation. Once Damien began to walk away I knew I needed my partner’s attention.

“Hey! Partner! Get over here, now! Hurry up!” I whispered loudly, leading them back inside. “You’re not gonna believe this- I can barely believe this! The body- it’s gone. It’s just fucking disappeared. Look!” I led them back inside.

I showed them the scene and all that was left was an outline I drew before the body disappeared.

“WHO DID THIS?!” I shouted frustratedly. I couldn’t believe my stupidity. Once again my alcoholism is the reason people around me suffer. “It certainly wasn’t me! No, no… somebody, NOT ME, must have moved it between the time I was the last person alone with the body in the room and then stepped out for a few minutes to take care of some personal business that you don’t need to know about!” I began rambling again, speaking so fast I didn’t even know what I was saying. “Could have been anybody… except me.” I felt it was obvious although my Partner is new and might not be able to piece it together without me spelling it out.

“What the hell happened here?” The Butler entered, shocked.

“The body’s been moved.” I state plainly.

“On its own?!” He cried in terror and confusion.

“No- of course not! Unless it did, in which case we’ve got way bigger problems than a simple murder” A flash of lightning appeared in the sky after I said that.

“What the hell happened here?!” The Chef barged in.

“The body’s moved!” The Butler informs.

“On it’s own?!” He’s stunned at the notion.

“We haven’t ruled that out just yet, but let’s not forget we’ve got a murderer-“ The lightning interrupted me before The Colonel could.

“Bully!” The Colonel made his first appearance since last night… I had my suspicions about him. “Quite a storm out there, eh, chaps? What are you doing huddled in here in fear?” He asks without a care in the world.

“We have a zombie problem.” The Chef scoffs.

“Ahh, Homo Necrosis! The MOST dangerous game.” He gets in my face with that snarky smirk of his. “Well… if someone needs to put the old lad down again, I’m well up for the privilege.” He has a cheeky grin spread wide across his face… something about what he said didn’t sit right with me at all.

“What do you mean by again? And what do you mean by privilege?” I narrowed my eyes at him scouring for any reason as to why he’d kill Mark, his childhood best friend.

“I’m just saying… I’ve got plenty of- experience on the matter.” He gestured to the chalk drawing on the floor.

“So do I.” The Chef agreed.

“Yeah- that just raises more questions?” I was so confused… What could The Colonel mean? Was he speaking in riddles?

“Well I’m off to the grounds to see if I can catch a whiff of the old bag of bones, eh?” The Colonel walks off without a care.

“Wait- weren’t you and Mark the same age?” The Butler asks as The Colonel laughs boisterously.

I lean into my partner, if I can trust anyone with my detectives insight it’s them.

“All right. I don’t trust him. Then again, I don’t trust anyone.” The DA didn’t seem surprised. “All right, lock this place down. Secure the front gate. I don’t want anyone in or out of this place until we get to the bottom of this.” I ordered The Butler and Chef.

“Locks won’t keep people from getting out, sir.” The Butler timidly disagreed.

“Locks won’t” The Chef agreed. “But Chef will.” He walked out towards the front door.

“Look, you’re a real smart son of a bitch. handsome too, beautiful even.” I caressed The Butler’s face gently. “But! We don’t have time for this. I think we forgot the most important question of them all during our arousing game of whodunnit.” I began… “Why…? Why? Come, walk with me.” I gesture The DA to follow me.

We started down the hallway past the main entrance as I continued.

“Why did he invite us all here?? Why tonight?” I prompted the question neither of us had an answer to. “He said we were celebrating something, but he never specified what. It’s almost as if this whole shindig of a hootenanny was just a ruse.” I occasionally looked back at The DA who seemed to be lost in thought. Nevertheless, I continued speaking. “Mark was my friend, had been for years. But then he went quiet. I knew something was wrong, I just never figured out what…” As I went on, my body naturally came to a stop. “Now I guess I never will…” The words stung like a bullet to the heart, it was true though.

Mark is dead, he’s gone and there’s nothing I can do to bring him back. If only I had known how much danger he was in… Maybe then I never would have left him alone last night… Maybe he’d still be here.

“Look… I’m gonna level with you. You’re my new Partner. I’ve been working with them for years.” I continue walking and occasionally glancing back. “Now I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I know something is wrong. There is a murderer—“ The lightning causes us to briefly stop in our tracks. I look at The DA to make sure they’re okay. “Here amongst us, and we need to find him.” We begin climbing the staircase. “Now you look a trustworthy…somebody. I know we just met, but I am an excellent judge of character… Excellent like a fox.” I winked at them.

I smiled and fed them a line of bullshit. The truth was, I couldn’t trust them any more than the other skuzz around here. But like my late partner once said right before he died, best to keep your enemies close. Wink wink.

I suddenly stop as we head back down a flight of stairs and turn to face The DA, jutting a pointed finger at them.

“You don’t look like you have a reason to kill him. And if you do…” I laugh mischievously. “Best to keep your enemies close, eh? Wink wink.” I said as I winked at them. After that I continued my descent. “So, the real question we should be asking is: Who stood to gain the most from Mark’s death?”

The two of us continued through the manor as we talked.

“Now, in my thorough analysis of the corpse’s anal cavity, I discovered that in addition to being stabbed 37 times, he was also poisoned, beaten, strangled, drowned, and shot, in that order.” I began giving them the rundown on the autopsy. “Now, if you ask me… That’s a lotta trouble to go through to knock off one guy, and it sure as shit is no accident.” I led my Partner back up the stairs once again, continuing the conversation “No. No, my friend. There’s gonna be no simple candlestick-in-the-library solution to this whole… puzzle… So, we’re gonna have to do the detective-ly thing and go through the victim’s most private and personal possessions.” I led them to a door and they stood there with a blank expression. “Well? After you.” I prompted them.

We entered the room, it was a disaster. Bed sheets tossed on the floor, pillows, blankets, towels, and books were thrown willy nilly.

“Looks rough, but I don’t think he was killed here. Take a look around, see if you find anything, but BE CAREFUL! I’ve lost three partners before to bedroom booby traps.” I warned my new Partner.

The two of us begin to look around the mess of a room Mark left behind. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was always the state of it… I wondered if Mark had been struggling much more than I expected.

“Make sure you don’t tamper with any evidence!” I call to my partner from across the room. “Let me know if you find anything.” I add onto the previous statement.

The DA caught my attention by holding up a shattered picture frame with the colonel’s photo in it.

“You find a clue?” I inquire. While they inspect it I continue to look around, not paying much mind to who enters the room.

“You’re quite on the case, aren’t you?” The Colonel must’ve come in while I wasn’t looking. “Say, Detective? May I borrow your friend here?” He requests of me. I didn’t trust him but I hoped my Partner could squeeze some info outta him.

“Yeah, sure.” I agreed. “Don’t worry, Partner. I’ll handle it from here.” I reassured them.

“Bully…” The Colonel muttered under his breath.

The two left the room, I really hoped I could trust my Partner to get some information out of The Colonel. Perhaps a friendly ear would prompt him to confess to his alleged crimes. I continued searching the room when I found it, a news article about The Colonel. He had “allegedly” “accidentally” “killed” someone while on a safari trip and Mark covered his tracks… There it is, that’s all I needed. Motive for murder.

I tracked down The Colonel in the living room and pointed my gun at him.

“You filthy murderer!” I shouted.

“What the fuck are you on about, Detective?!” He instinctually grabbed his gun and I lunged forward to disarm him when he fired a shot, prompting me to back off. We were at a stalemate.

“ARE YOU NUTS?!” I yelled so loud my throat stung from the tension.

“Back away from me you psychopath!” The Colonel hissed.

Suddenly Damien and The DA burst in and saw the interaction unfold.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at but you better lower your weapon, you murderer!” I grip my gun tightly, so much so that my whole hand turned white. The lightning was simply white noise in comparison to this chaos.

“I bloody well won’t! You’re the one that assaulted me! For all I know, YOU could be the murderer!” He stepped closer to me as I backed further away. Once again, nobody noticed the lightning.

“What the fuuu- Oh!” The Chef ran in and was shocked to see two guns pointed at him due to our surprise by his sudden movement.

“LAST CHANCE! Drop your weapon!” I shout, prepared to fire a bullet right between his eyes. I didn’t want to do it but he was leaving me no choice.

“Master’s prized vase!!” The Butler shouted over a vase we had knocked over.

“Everyone please! I know we’re all on edge, but can’t we solve this amicably?” Damien interjected.

“On edge?! This PSYCHO tried to SHOOT ME!!” I snap back at Damien.

“That’s a bold faced lie! I was merely doing some light target practice!” The Colonel keeps stepping towards me causing me to fall back towards the front entrance.

“Inside?!” The Butler nearly had a heart attack upon hearing such a thing.

“Well, yes, I couldn’t go on the grounds now with that bloody Chef in my way, could I?” The Colonel grit his teeth angrily.

“Damn right! You should’ve remembered that, Private!” The Chef lunged at him, waving a ladle in his face. “Besides! You’re not my boss anymore!” He taps him on the head with the ladle he has clutched in his hands.

“It’s Colonel now” He looked like he was about to kill The Chef for that.

“ENOUGH OF THIS HORSESHIT!” I shout “You knew I was onto you and you were trying to whack me off before I could finger you…… As the murderer!” I trailed off as the lightning struck outside.

“I will not be called a murderer in my own home.” The Colonel furrowed his brows in rage as lightning stuck once more.

“STOP!!” Suddenly a women burst through the door.

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“What are you doing?!” The woman shouts frustratedly.

“Who the hell are you?!” I demand.

“Celine? What are you doing here?” The Colonel’s expression softens…

"Celine? How the hell do you know her?” I once again demand answers from somebody, anybody.

“Madame, l'm afraid you've come at a very inopportune time. Something dreadful has happened here.” The Butler welcomes her remorsefully.

“I can see that, I’m just glad I got here before it got any worse.” She seemed relieved and yet worried.

“This is only the tip of the iceberg! And it's a big iceberg. How can I put this delicately…” The Chef seemed as though he was searching for the right words to say to comfort Celine and yet how can you find something to say for something like this… ”MARK'S FUCKING DEAD!” Well- so much for delicately…

“What?!” She was clearly shocked, she now seemed sad, guilty, and perhaps even a little anxious.

“Dead like my hopes and dreams…” The Chef went on… “And he’s a flesh eating zombie too!” He exclaimed.

“Homo Necrosis!” Celine repeated the same words I had heard The Colonel say…

“Exactly! Hence, the guns!” The Colonel waved his gun around like it was a toy airplane.

“That is NOT hence the guns!” I shake my gun around as a gesture.

“Stop waving those bloody guns around!” The Butler interjects.

Me and The Colonel, even The Chef with his ladle, shake our weapons in his face.

“Hol-Hold on! Tell me what happened! How did Mark…die?” Celine asked, curiously.

“It was murder.” Damien chimed in as lightning stuck outside. “And worse yet, the body is missing.” He added.

“What? Show me! And don’t say that word!” She ordered all of us.

“What word? Murder?” The Chef asked as lightning struck.

“Yes! That word!” She was insistent about it.

“Well I mean murder is a rather accurate description of what occur-“ The Butler ignored the lighting but was stopped by Celine.

“Do you not see the lightning?!” She threw up her hands.

“You sayin’ it was lightning that murdered Mark?” I asked this weirdo chick, also ignoring the lightning.

“Well, Mother Nature doesn’t exactly strike me as having murderous intent.” As the Colonel said that more lightning struck. “Unless you count that time I was sucked into the board game Jumanji and I wa-“ Celine interrupted him.

“Stop! Stop! Look, whatever’s happening here is tapping into forces far beyond our control!” She exclaims.

Everyone looks around at each other until we all look at The Chef.

“Murder” He says quietly with a cheeky smile as lightning strikes…

“Mur….doch?” The colonel tests the waters and nothing happens.

“Malarkey.” I decide to try it out as well, once again nothing occurred.

We all look to The Butler.

“Marco!” He exclaims as the loudest of the lightning strikes.

“ENOUGH!” Celine shouts and suddenly we’re all sat down at a table. “Look… Mark’s death is a terrible thing indeed. But I fear that there are forces much darker than anything we’ve seen here today.” Celine began. “I’m well versed in the arcane arts, but if you, untrained and uninitiated can summon lightning with a mere word… We’re all in far graver danger than anything we could ever hope to face alone.” She continued… “We’re gonna have to work together if we’re gonna survive this.” Celine seemed to have a plan in mind but what good would witchcraft do? My job was to solve this whodunnit…

“Celine, what are you proposing?” Damien seemed worried.

“We need to speak with Mark.” Celine kept it vague as if she couldn’t trust any of us with this information.

“I knew it! He’s a flesh eating zombie!” The Chef slams his hands on the table.

“No…” Celine sighs, defeated.

“Well, maybe one of those smart zombies: homeo sapio zombifus!” The Colonel proposed.

“No! No! I need to commune with the dead.” She finally put her real intentions out there.

“That doesn’t sound like a good Idea.” I advised against it.

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t need your permission.” She glared at me. “But, YOU!” She pointed right at my Partner. “You’ve been awfully quiet through this whole thing.” Celine pointed out…

She did have a point, I didn’t even know my Partner’s name. All I knew was that they were the most goddamn handsome and/or beautiful person I had ever laid my eyes upon.

“With those beady little eyes.” The Chef added onto Celine’s statements about my so-called partner.

“And wearing THOSE rags? pff..” The Butler scoffed.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have trusted someone so goddamn gorgeous.” I shook my head in disappointment.

They looked towards The Colonel who didn’t notice at first.

“Oh- I’ll pass.” He refuses to add on.

“But I feel like I can trust you… I sense you have a far greater part to play in all of this.” Celine continues, staring deeply into The DA’s eyes. “Will you help me find an answer?” She asks them patiently awaiting an answer.

The DA thinks for a moment and then nods. They had made up their mind and I knew there was no changing it… But still, this was too dangerous and I had lost too many partners to allow this.

“Alright, that's enough. I'm not gonna just sit around and let you drag my Partner off to their very likely death. I won't stand for it!” I stood up, angry with Celine for dragging them into this messed up game.

“Well I trust Celine with all my heart! I see no reason why an-any-any one should doubt her!” The Colonel, too, stands up, slamming his hands down on the table.

“Well, I have to agree with our intrepid detective here. It just doesn’t seem natural.” The Butler sided with me on the matter.

“I never liked this uptight asshole. He walks around with a stick up his ass.” The Chef shakes a finger toward The Butler. “But I think he’s right… Something’s weird.” He ends up agreeing with him in the end…

“If it makes you feel any better, you guys can stand watch outside the door, but my work CANNOT be interrupted.” Celine tries to negotiate but this still didn’t sit right with me.

“Oh believe you me. I’ll be keeping a close eye on every single one of you.” I began, looking around at all these guests… I knew one of them had killed Mark and I was going to bring them to justice. “Even myself… Especially myself.” I finished.

Celine got up from the table hurriedly, Damien and The DA following close behind as they all went upstairs.

The rest of us stared at each other, waiting for someone to break the silence.

“I’m going to grab a drink from the kitchen, I’m parched.” The Colonel was the first to speak up after what had just happened. He stood up and began towards the kitchen.

“Oh yeah? Well I’m going to make sure my Partner’s okay in there.” I try to one up him and quickly follow the others up the stairs.

Me and Damien waited outside the room in silence, just listening in. We hoped that maybe we’d get some insight too. Eventually we heard Celine shouting about something and I knew I had to stop this.

“What the shit is this?!” I barge into the room seeing The DA at a small table across from Celine. On the table, there’s various candles, and tarot cards, along with crystals scattered around like stars in the sky. I knew this ‘Celine’ character was bluffing about being a seer..

“Get out! We are not done here!” Celine hissed at me, pissed that I was here.

“Celine, I think this is quite enough.” Damien, the voice of reason chimed in.

“It’s enough when I SAY ITS ENOUGH!” She violently slams her hands down onto the table as she bickers with Damien.

As this went on I grabbed a piece of paper that had fallen off the table. I looked at it and it was a drawing of what looked to be a gardener… What could it mean- A groundskeeper. I had to find The Butler.

“C’mon Partner, let’s go.” I try to get their attention but they’re hyper-focused on the argument “Come on! Hurry it up!” I grab their arm and lead them out of the room.

I pulled them further and further away from whatever mess Celine dragged you into.

“What did she do to you? What is this?” I was at a loss for what to even say “Butler! Butler!” I cried.

“What? What is it?!” The Butler exclaimed, confused.

“This mean anything to you?” I asked him, hoping to catch him in a lie.

I showed him the drawing and The Chef arrived soon after, drawn by the commotion. He stared at it for a moment and then opened his mouth, hesitating before saying anything.

“Well, maybe… no, sorry.” He shook his head.

“Spit it out if you got something!!” I urge him to continue.

“Well… it could be our groundskeeper, George, but he only works on the weekdays.” The Butler admitted.

As The Butler said this my eyes wandered over to the chef who was super fidgety and nervous. He must know more than he’s letting on.

“Looks like your friend here may disagree with that notion.” I cross my arms, staring at him and waiting for an answer.

“Me?” The Chef tried to act surprised but I could smell a lie even if it was deep fried and fed to a hippo.

“Yeah, you.” I sarcastically remark.

“Uh… I don’t know shit man! I plead the fifth, man!” He nervously stood his ground.

“Chef, if you know something, for god’s sake spit it out!” The Butler for once was reasonable.

“Okay, all right, you’re twisting my arm” He began. “All right, George has been living on the grounds for years.” He finally spat it out.

“WHAT?!” The Butler was mortified.

“And you just now thought to share that information with us?!” To say I was shocked in an understatement… This revelation could have solved everything. “For all we know, HE could be the murderer!” I shout as lightning strikes once again.

“For the last time, stop saying that word.” Celine joins us in the hallway, Damien in her wake.

“Look, George just tends to the grounds, man. He’s a fuckin’ hermit!” The Chef is insistent that this George has nothing to do with what occurred last night.

“I don’t care what the fuck he is!” I disagree, this guy could have killed Mark in his own home.

“Look, all of this arguing is getting us nowhere! Just go outside and talk to this George and be done with it!” Damien was obviously fed up with the investigations and interrogations.

“Hold on a sec? You’re not coming with us?” I scoff, after everything that happened he still thinks he can just sit by idly?!

“I-I need to stay here with Celine.” He gripped his cane tightly.

“I don’t need help! Especially from YOU!” Celine scoffed, turning away from Damien.

“OUR FRIEND IS DEAD!” Damien shouts but then regrets raising his voice. He’s breathing heavily, the man is clearly frustrated. “I’m sorry… I just need answers to all of this. I already lost one friend today. I don’t want to lose another…” He admits his fear of losing Celine…

“Fine… but I need to stay here.” She sighs, turning back to Damien.

“Fine with me.” He nods.

“Fine, good, yeah, whatever, who cares? All right, you’re coming with me!” I look at The Chef, pointing a finger at him. “Partner, you too.” I look at The DA and we begin to walk towards the stairs when I realized it. “Hold on a sec… we’re missing somebody. Who had eyes on The Colonel?” I couldn’t believe my carelessness.

“Well, he appeared tired and went back to his room.” The Butler explained.

“I’m sure he did. And with any luck, he’ll stay there. All right, let’s roll out. Come on.” I gesture for everyone to start moving, we didn’t have much time. That George guy could flee at any moment.

I grab The Chef, making him lead us to George.

“Move it! Come on, Partner, come on!” I call out.

We made our way down the stairs, stopping at the back door.

“Lead the way cookie.” I insult him.

“Cookie? I’m not your cookie! I spent three weeks at culinary school!! I earned the right to be called a chef!” He got in my face, shouting.

“I’m very impressed.” I sarcastically compliment him. “Just tell us where we’re going!” I order. He looks as though he wants to fight back but bites his tongue. I shove him towards the door. “Come on! Let’s go!” I was fed up with this bullshit. It’s time to end all of this.

We go through the doors, walking around the old stone bricked building. This manor would be beautiful if not for the skeletons in its closet. But that wasn’t important… As we come around to the old stone stairs I see him, tending to the grass in the middle of the night.

I turn to look at my Partner who’s still following close behind. They give me a strange look, wondering why I’m staring at them.

“I think I see him.” I finally point out. We descend the stairs and I pull out my gun, pointing it at him. “Hey! Buddy! Hands where I can see ‘em!” I shout angrily.

“Hey, my hands are where they’re supposed to be. Unless, of course, you’d like to dig the hole for yourself.” He seemed aloof and as if this was no big deal. But…

He was right… I didn’t realize it before. It had been too dark to see but he really was digging a large hole…

“What the hell are you doing here?!” I come closer, expecting him to make a break for it soon.

“I’m the groundskeeper. I keep the ground, all right??” He rested the shovel on the ground, leaning on it like it was a cane. “I’d say, look around! The ground is pretty well kept in this place right?” He gestured his free hand towards the grounds.

“I’m sorry man. This DICK made me bring him out here!” The Chef pointed at me aggressively.

“You shut up!” I spat. “How do you not know about the murders going on in this house?” I asked, shocked by the lightning that struck over my head. “How do you not hear that lightning!” I gesture to the sky.

“Lightning is the sky’s business! Look at the ground! When the ground starts shooting up lightning, I’ll let you know!” George sarcastically responded.

“Alright then, smartass, why exactly are you digging that hole? And why shouldn't we suspect you for taking part in the death of your employer?” I interrogate him further. He just laughs.

“Employers come and go! Some die, some don't, some are murdered, some are not. It's not my business!” He rolls his eyes. “I’m digging this hole for a burst water pipe, if that’s all right with your gracefulness?!” His sarcasm was really starting to piss me off.

“See? I told you! George didn’t do nothin’ man!” The Chef spat at me.

“See?” George slams his shovel into the ground. “I just did nothing.” He scoffs.

“Forgive me for not taking you at face value.” I began sarcastically. “But we’re all gonna come inside, we’re gonna sit down, and have a nice lovely chat. And get to the bottom of this before I lose my mind and start dabbling in murder myself” The lightning is so expected now I didn’t even really react to it as much as I used to.

“Now you listen to me, sonny!” George begins, angrily. “It’s been fifteen years since I’ve been in that house and I am not about to break that winning streak now.” He shakes his head. “I don’t care how many murders there’ve been. I ain’t going near that house!” He was very insistent on it

The thing is, that just won’t cut it. We need everyone in the house so we can finally discuss everyone’s alibis. I need answers, not just for myself… But so Mark’s soul can move on.

Before I could think of something to say that would convince him, he started back up.

“However, there is one reason. One incident. One manifestation. That will get me to go into that mad house.” He finished as a silence washed over all of us… “And you had better pray to God that that reason never comes to pass.” He broke the silence created by him.

Suddenly a big flash of lightning strikes above the manor as all the windows inside shone brighter than the sun.

“THAT THERE’S THE REASON!” George shouts as he runs towards the manor.

We follow him as he heads up the stairs.

“Go, go, go!” I shout, making sure my Partner is still okay.

As we run, we pass by The Colonel who’s in complete shock. Then a door flies open and Celine emerges with an eerie light cast on her. I didn’t know what to do, I just stood there pointing my gun at her.

“Somebody help me!!” George shouts as he struggles to close the door.

The DA runs to his side, successfully helping him shut the door on Celine.

𐙚°🥂⋆.ೃ🪩*•°🥂⋆.ೃ🪩*•♡☾‎‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧‎‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧

George locks the doors with an old set of keys. Suddenly the house went back to normal.

“What the hell is going on?” The Colonel walks over to us, confused by the ruckus. “Where’s Celine?!” He asks, unusually concerned for her.

“She’s gone, and so is everything else.” George says bluntly, as he begins to walk away.

“Wait a minute! Where the hell do you think you’re going?!” I shout.

“Away from here! This place is cursed. If you had half a brain you’d all do the same.” He spat, leaving without a second thought.

“Don’t walk away from me! Where’s Celine?! Where’s Damien?!” The Colonel shouts, frustrated with the lack of answers.

“I’ve spent 25 years cooking for these uppity fucks! I’m not about to die for ‘em! I quit! Bitch!” The Chef shouts, leaving as well.

“I know things seem far beyond your control right now, but such that it is for all of us here. I shall take my leave and I implore you to do the same.” The Butler rests his hand on The Colonel’s shoulder.

“I won’t let my friends die in this godforsaken house!” He begins angrily. “And if you all are too much of a coward to do the same, you had best leave before I kill you myself!” The Colonel looks more angry than I’ve ever seen him. But he walks away without another word.

“Now you hold on a second, I’ve got more questions!” I shout after him, grabbing his arm.

“Get your hands off me!” He pushes me away, storming off.

“What the hell is going on here?!” I ask The DA before chasing after the colonel.

I chased him to his room but he slammed the door on my face, locking it.

“You can’t hide in there forever!” I shout.

“Oh yes I can!” He taunts me.

“I’m going to find something to break this damn door down, let’s see who’s laughing then!” I scream.

I left to go find a crowbar or an axe or even a simple lock-pick. I searched everywhere until settling for a slim, thin knife from the kitchen. I head back up to the colonel’s room, fiddling with the lock when I heard it.

“DETECTIVE!” The Colonel shouts from behind me, with a gun pointed at my head and The DA in his wake. Instinctually, I pull out my gun.

“You’d better choose your next words carefully, Colonel.” I grip my gun tightly, ready to fire.

“Only my friends get to call me that name by that name, and you, sir, are NO friend of mine!” He shouts angrily.

“Well you’re one to talk about friends, you Murderer!” I scream accusations at him as the lightning strikes.

“I didn’t kill anybody! This is MADNESS!” He doubles down.

“Oh? You wanna talk about madness? Madness is stealing your best friend’s wife!!” I had put two and two together… It took me awhile to piece the puzzle pieces together but now it made sense. I had heard Mark mention a Celine and divorce long ago… and seeing how the two of them acted together, it wad clear to me that The Colonel was the reason for the divorce. Not to mention the article I found about The Colonel receiving money from Mark. “Madness is squeezing him for cash to fund your own sick sexual exploits with that very woman!” I scream flying accusation after accusation at him, waiting for him to crack.

“SHUT UP!” He shrieks

“Madness is plotting the death of your childhood friend because you can’t handle the—“ Before I could finish there was a gunshot… Did… Did I shoot him?

I fell to the ground as the world around me went dark… I knew that this was the end for me.. I wanted one last look at my Partner but then another gunshot rang and my partner fell backwards down the stairs. I closed my eyes and embraced the darkness.

𐙚°🥂⋆.ೃ🪩*•°🥂⋆.ೃ🪩*•♡☾‎‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧‎‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧

I woke up in the hospital, my boss sitting next to me. He stood up upon seeing me awake.

“Abe!! Thank the gods you’re okay! Who did this?! Who shot you??” He held my hand, desperate to catch my attempted murderer.

“The… Colonel.” I whimpered weakly before the room went dark once more

𐙚°🥂⋆.ೃ🪩*•°🥂⋆.ೃ🪩*•♡☾‎‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧‎‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧

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shabeeboothedrawingender · 26 days ago

Text

A Pain in the Back - Short Dilliam Fic

The sliding doors opened, emitting a beep. William had only been informed a few hours ago by Celine over the phone. Damien had gotten into a terrible accident and he had a serious back injury. William listened to the quiet waiting room, tapping his foot anxiously to the sound of the coffee machine dripping.

"Mr Barnum?" his name was called and he was taken to Damien's room. He stared at the sleeping mayor in shock and slight horror. He walked over, knelt down and carefully took ahold of Damien's hand.

"God, you're an idiot. How did you, the most paranoid and careful person on the planet, injure yourself like this?" he sighed. "I can't even tell if it was an accident or if you..." he looked away. "I hope not." He listened to the heart monitor beep. Atleast Damien's heart was still beating. "I got you these."

He put a bouquet of white roses on the bedside table.

The mayor's favourite...

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year ago

Text

Markiplier Egos Masterlist

I have too many links on my main masterlist lol

Main Masterlist

AO3

Request Rules

Tag List Form

The Host

Please Stay - The Host x gn!reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, lots of blood, wound descriptions, implied self-h*rm, awkwardness, just sorta the beginning stages of a crush so it's really cute

Help - The Host x gn!reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, depression, intrusive thoughts

Friendship - The Host x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Cuddles - The Host x gn!reader (platonic)

Warnings: swearing, anxiety, awkwardness

“Did you sleep well?” Headcanons - The Host x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Wilford Warfstache

Blanket Thief - Wilford x gn!reader

Warnings: none, just pure fluff

Scary Movie Night - Wilford x gn!reader

Warnings: broken glass, panic attack, swearing, hurt/comfort but mostly fluff

Wilf Welcoming You Back Home Headcanons - Wilford x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of food and drink

Yancy

Pet - Yancy x gn!reader

Warnings: swearing, reader is angy, bad accents

Parole - Yancy x gn!reader

Warnings: cat

My Handsome Guy - trans!Yancy x transmasc!reader

Warnings: dysphoria (not explicit), Yancy calls you “doll” in a gender neutral way, period stuff

Breakfast - Yancy x gn!reader

Warnings: swearing, slight paranoia (?), slight abandonment issues

Star-gazing - Yancy x gn!reader x Illinois

Warnings: none

Solitary - Yancy x gn!reader

Warnings: panic attack, claustrophobia, swearing, hurt/comfort

Hyperfixations - Yancy x autistic!gn!reader x Illinois

Warnings: slight swearing???, fluff

Darkiplier

Just a Little Dark Drabble - Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: none

A Thousand Awful Days - Dark x transmasc!reader

Warnings: dysphoria, swearing, fluff

Overwhelmed - Part 2 - Dark x (implied) autistic!gn!reader

Warnings: overstimulation/sensory overload, being nonverbal, zoning out, swearing, can be read as platonic

Damien and Dark ramble - Damien x gn!reader, Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Grief - Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: grieving, depression, loss of a pet

Period Pains - Dark x AFAB!reader

Warnings: talk of period stuff that may cause dysphoria

Trauma (Songfic) - Dark x DA!reader, Damien x DA!reader

Warnings: angst

Birthday Wishes - Dark x DA!reader

Warnings: mentions of purgatory, fire/matches and a knife

Dark Drabble - Dark x DA!reader

Warnings: none

Just A Child - Dark & teenage!gn!reader (platonic)

Warnings: Actor is a creep (implied), hurt/comfort themes

Panic Attack Comfort Headcanons - Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: panic attack (obvi), mostly fluff

Pretty Boy - King!Dark x masc!reader

Warnings: things get a little spicy 😳

Gone, I’m Gone (Songfic) - Dark/Damien x DA!reader

Warnings: explicit descriptions of blood, broken bones, starvation and dehydration, swearing, manipulation, extreme angst

Papers (Songfic) - Dark/Damien x DA!reader

Warnings: Actor is an asshole, angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of some events from WKM

Illinois

Of Cowboys, Cave Ins, and Crushes - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: being trapped in a small area, death, minor injuries that are not explicitly described

Partner - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Free of Charge - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: illness, swearing, hurt/comfort

Reckless - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: death, blood, injury, swearing, ANGST

Family Reunion - Illinois, no reader

Warnings: none

Stay Safe - Illinois x gn!reader

Warnings: swearing

Star-gazing - Illinois x gn!reader x Yancy

Warnings: none

Careful Not To Fall In Love - Illinois & Indiana Jones

Warnings: none

Hyperfixations - Illinois x autistic!gn!reader x Yancy

Warnings, slight swearing??, fluff

Damien

Midnight, The Stars and You (Songfic Kinda) - Damien x fem!reader

Warnings: none

Damien and Dark ramble - Damien x gn!reader, Dark x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Trauma (Songfic) - Dark x DA!reader, Damien x DA!reader

Warnings: angst

Gone, I’m Gone (Songfic) - Damien/Dark x DA!reader

Warnings: explicit descriptions of blood, broken bones, starvation and dehydration, swearing, manipulation, extreme angst

Sodomy - Damien x male!DA!reader

Warnings: internalized homophobia, religious trauma, hinted emotionally abusive parents, sodomy laws

Papers (Songfic) - Damien/Dark x DA!reader

Warnings: Actor is an asshole, angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of some events from WKM

Googleplier

Hug - Google x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Reader Who Can’t Spell Headcanons - Google x gn!reader

Warnings: none

First Kiss Headcanons - Google x gn!reader

Warnings: none

ISWM

You’re Not The Captain AU

One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Ficlet

You’re Another Engineer AU

One

Captain’s Log - Ficlet - Addition

Dogs in Space Headcanons - ISWM Crew + Captain!reader (Slight Captaineer)

Engineer Mark

Kiss It Better - Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Warnings: minor injury, but mostly just fluff

Captain, My Captain - Engineer Mark x AFAB!reader

Warnings: period fic, cramps, swearing

In My Solitude (Songfic) - Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Warnings: loneliness, depression, possible su*c*dal thought (written in red text just in case), death, heavy angst, maybe a little fluffy at the end but like a sad fluffy

I Missed You - Engineer Mark x transmasc!reader

Warnings: being (unintentionally) misgendered

#1 Captain - Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort

Your Captain - Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, loss of identity, overworking

#fanfic #fanfiction #markiplier #markiplier egos #markiplier egos x reader #mayor damien x reader #damien x reader #wilford warfstache x reader #wilford x reader #darkiplier x reader #host x reader #illinois x reader #yancy x reader #engineer mark x reader #googleplier x reader

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otterlyinluv · 2 years ago

Text

A touch of darkness (pt.2)

Here's part 1

Summary: What happened after the office incident OR in which Yancy tries to eat breakfast and Wilford becomes a matchmaker

Pairing: Darkiplier x DA!Reader

Tags: sfw, fluffy, jealous Dark, proximity, thunderstorm, comfort, confessions and realisations

A/N: I apologize for the long wait, I actually finished it earlier but I decided to scrap the last third and rewrite it completely- Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2.9k

"So you like Mr. Doom and gloom, so what?"

You almost choked on the chocolate milk Wilford made you.

"No, that doesn't make sense. Nothing even happened. He just fixed my computer, and then I felt weird."

Wilford raised an eyebrow at you.

"My dear, you might not see it, but you look like a lovesick fool."

Your face started to feel warm.

"No, I do not! I came for advice, Wilford, but now I know I chose the wrong person." You stood up from the armchair, leaving the chocolate milk on the desk, when Wilford started to wave his arms around.

"Okay, okay, fine, I'll stop." He grabbed you by the shoulders and plopped you back on the armchair.

"Now," he said, no longer in the spot he was a second ago. His little teleporting shenanigans didn't bother you as much as they did during the first months of your stay at the mansion. Whenever he suddenly disappeared and reappeared at a completely different place, you'd always get a mini heart attack, which lead to him doing it even more frequently to mess with you. What you hadn't realized then was he did it only to get you used to things that weren’t exactly normal. Wilford was a good guy at heart even if his methods were a bit... unconventional.

"Since you don't believe me, we'll go about it in a different way." You turned around to where he was. He made you stand up from the chair and gripped your hands.

"Which thoughts race through your head like fluttering butterflies frolicking in a field when he’s with you? How does he make you feel in general?"

The corner of your mouth turned up at the metaphor, and you looked off into the distance. After the encounter in your office, you started bumping into each other far more frequently than before. Or maybe you noticed him more. And when you did see each other, his gaze seemed to linger on you a suspiciously long time. Whenever you made eye contact during meetings, you felt a flutter in your chest. A flutter you didn't feel with anyone else.

You looked at Wilford with a sense of epiphany. His eyes seemed to light up.

"Am I interrupting something?" Dark said, standing in the doorway, his arms crossed.

You ripped your hands from Wilfords'.

"Oh, Darkie. Why we were just having a lovely chat, nothing for you to worry about." Wilford drawled, putting his arm over your shoulder.

Dark's eyes darted to your shoulder, and his gaze hardened. The colored aura that surrounded him seemed to gain a more blue hue. It only lasted a couple of seconds before he rolled his neck.

"Excuse me." He suddenly ran off out of the room, his fists clenched.

You saw Wilford grinning out of the corner of your vision as he put his arm away from you.

"Wilford, what did you do?" You said, glaring at him.

"I just gave him a little push, that's all."

You really wanted some cereal.

The mansion was pleasantly quiet because you liked to wake up earlier than everyone else. While listening to Illinois boast about all his adventures or Google try to subtly persuade you to grant him admin privileges was entertaining once in a while, it wasn't something you wanted to do first thing in the morning.

You were able to find your favorite brand of cereal, a spoon, and some milk. The only thing that was missing was a bowl. You looked into the cupboard where the bowls usually were, but there were none. You wondered who kept misplacing the contents of the cupboards and kept searching.

Still nothing.

You grabbed a chair to stand on so you could reach the cupboards that were higher up. You carefully stood up on it and opened the one closest to you. Finally!

Unfortunately for you, the bowls were on the top shelf. You huffed and stood on your tiptoes. After stretching your arm as far as you could, you were finally able to grab a suitable bow.

But you leaned back so suddenly you lost your balance. You flailed your arms in a futile attempt to regain stability. You mentally prepared yourself to come into contact with the cold hard floor when you felt someone grab your waist to support you.

You let out a relieved breath only to look down at the grey hands, which were now firmly holding you in place. The area which the hands were in contact with was completely devoid of color. You turned around to see Dark without his signature jacket, his eyes wide. You were frozen, but your skin burned where his hands were.

"You should be more careful. You would have fallen if I hadn't gotten to you in time."

You couldn't move. The only thing you felt was the oddly gentle hold he had on you. The bowl, which you were now holding safely, was the last of your worries.

"Still as clumsy as ever," he chuckled under his breath. His thumbs twitched, and you blinked at each other in realization of your compromising position.

He cleared his throat as he stepped back as if burned, removing his hands in the process. You carefully got down from the chair.

It was so quiet you could almost hear his aura crackle in the air like static.

"I, uh... Thank you for... that."

"You are welcome," he said quietly.

You were looking at the ground, your face strangely warm. Your gaze traveled to his shirt, the first two buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands bordered with blue and red the hands that held you were now hanging at his sides.

You stared too long. You could feel him looking at you. You glanced at him.

He was looking straight at you. So intensely that you felt like he could see directly into your soul. So expressively, his eyes seemed more brown than black.

He took a shuddering breath.

"Is youse making cereal? Leave some for me!" Your head jolted to Yancy standing in the doorway.

Dark snapped out of whatever trance he was in and promptly left the room with no parting words.

"Woah, what got him so worked up?" Yancy walked to you as you looked at the door, deep in thought.

"I'd like to know that too."

After having finished your perfect bowl of cereal, it was back to sitting in your tiny office. Normally, it wouldn't be that big of a deal. Nothing special, just you sitting behind your desk working at your computer. Except you weren't. You couldn't.

Not when whenever you closed your eyes, you could remember Dark standing over you so clearly. Your little... encounter happened a few weeks ago, yet you still couldn't focus properly while you were here. It took you at least half an hour to distract yourself enough to at least start working. It was frustrating, but there wasn't much you could do. Talk to him about it when he has most likely forgotten about it already? Yeah, sure.

Now that you thought about it, there was something else that was making you unfocused today. Why did Dark look like he wanted to murder Wilford when he was just being touchy as usual?

And this morning... He just caught you out of politeness so you wouldn't fall flat on your face. Or maybe he just didn't want you to break the bowl. You didn't allow yourself to even consider the possibility that maybe he didn't want to see you hurt. And the way his hands stayed on your waist just a few seconds more... Boy, did you forget how to talk then.

Maybe you were looking into it too much. Sure, he was nicer than before, but he could simply be more comfortable with you. As a friend. Yeah, that must be it.

Satisfied with your thinking session, you were ready to get to work.

Your concentration was disturbed by the sound of your door opening, followed by a thud of something heavy being dumped in, and then the door immediately slammed shut again.

You looked up from your computer to a sight you never would have expected - Dark rapping at the door, violently shaking the door handle.

"Now Damie, remember what I told you. If you want something, go get it!" Wilford slurred, his voice muffled by the door.

"Wilford, open the door this instant, or I swear I will kill you. I am serious."

"Oh, promises, promises. Focus your energy on the important things!" Wilford's voice faded away as he supposedly walked away from the door.

"That insufferable..." he mumbled to himself, turning around.

His clothes were wrinkled as if someone tried to physically push him into the room but was met with resistance. You couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

"Uhm, welcome, I guess."

He sighed. "Hi."

"So, what happened for you to end up here of all places?" You leaned on your arm. It might have been an unexpected situation, but that didn't mean you weren't going to enjoy it. Dark, on the other side, seemed really determined to fulfill his promise to Wilford. "When Wil sets his mind to something, nothing can stop him. Not even me." He tried to open the door to emphasize his point, and as expected, it didn't budge.

"Can you not get out by... other means?" You never really knew how his powers worked. And you doubted he would tell you even if you did ask.

"No. I don't know how he did it, but he managed to completely lock me out -" He looked around. "-or in. Technically."

As his eyes surveyed the room, you realized how small it was. It was enough for you, but Dark seemed to fill a big part of the room just with the colored aura that surrounded him. Come to think of it, why was he standing so far away from where you were?

"Well, I'm guessing we're going to be here for some time, so why don't we sit down somewhere more comfortable?" You pointed to a light brown sofa leaning against a wall. His eyes followed your hand to the middle-sized sofa. You winced. You didn't want to make it awkward for him to sit down there alone, but maybe he would rather you didn't sit with him. Why didn't you just ask him what he wanted in the first place-

He simply nodded and sat on the sofa. Having no other choice, you plopped down next to him.

Small raindrops started hitting the window.

You turned to say something to fill the silence at the same time as he did, which resulted in you looking away from each other. He let out the quietest chuckle, and you couldn't help yourself but do the same.

"You can go first." Dark said.

"Ah, it wasn't anything specific, just that the rain is getting stronger." You expected him to simply nod and direct the topic somewhere else. Instead, he looked over to the window. The rain was now strong enough to be audible if you were both quiet, which is what was happening now. Dark looked as if he was observing the rain. As if simply the fact you told him about it gave it value.

"It indeed is."

After a couple of seconds, he took a breath. "I've never noticed how small this office is."

"You're right, but I like it. It makes it feel cozy. It also holds memories more easily. " In fact, your brain was recalling a rather specific memory involving him. But you doubted he would be thinking of that.

"Well, I'm glad. The area carries a certain air that only you have."

"Oh, and what might that be?" You smirked.

"Comfort. Something you want to return to and treasure every moment spent with."

You stared at him wide-eyed.

"Ah, I said too much, didn't I? Forgive me." He looked to the door.

You were touched by how highly he thought of you. Yet there was an unspoken implication in his statement.

Thunder rang out.

You flinched and crashed into Dark. His arms shot out, cradling you against him.

"Are you alright?"

You squeezed your eyes closed as you tried to focus on your breathing.

"I... I'm just scared of thunder. The sound..." You trailed off, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

His hold on you tightened as he gently moved your head to the crook of his neck. He rubbed his hand across your back in soothing motions with a soft "Shh" every couple of seconds. You let him hold you until you eventually stopped shaking like a leaf in the wind.

That's when you realized what a compromising position you were in and stared at him in shock.

"I apologize, I overstepped." He frowned, untangling his hands from you.

As soon as you felt the absence of him, you realized.

"I don't mind." You said, and his face visibly relaxed. "I actually don't mind a lot of things when it comes to you. Simply being with you is... nice."

He let out a quiet laugh. You wished you could put the sound in a bottle. "You're just saying that because we are stuck together."

You laughed and let out a rebuttal.

Minutes passed with other witty remarks, and before you could realize, the brief rainstorm had completely passed. You were confused that you hadn't heard another thunder since there had to have been at least one. But you had gotten too involved in Dark's quips to notice the sound. Dark cracking jokes... now that was something you would have never imagined.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Dark asked, leaning his head on his arm.

"What?"

"You were staring at me without saying anything for a while now, so I figured you had something interesting going on in that brain of yours."

Heat rushed into your cheeks. You didn't realize you had been looking right at him.

You cleared your throat and saw him smiling out of the corner of your eye. "I was just wondering," you smiled back, "do you often run away?"

Dark quickly turned his head away in shame.

"First, it was when I was talking with Wilford. You came in and then suddenly excused yourself. Then, this morning, too... What's going on? Did I do something?"

He sighed. "No, no, you didn't do anything. It's me." He added quietly.

"How so?"

He responded after a couple of seconds. "I am afraid that if I tell you, a lot of things might change... between us." The look in his dark eyes was earnest, almost nostalgic.

Oh.

You pondered upon his statement for a few seconds. "Does change always have to be bad?"

As soon as you said the sentence, you were hit with a sense of deja vu. You felt like you've said it before, but how?

In tandem with your confusion, a slight shock spread on his features. As if in a trance, you put your hand on his cheek. Looking him up and down, you studied his features. There was nothing different from what you've come to know. Why were you expecting to see something else?

Your fingers moved on your own in a caress.

His eyes fluttered shut. You traced over his forehead, moving to his cheekbones when you ended up near his lips. Features oh so familiar like you knew them for years. Now that his eyes were closed, he seemed different. At peace. So close.

He opened his eyes, and there it was again. The two of you in your office. The proximity close enough to feel electrifying. None of you said anything as a decision hung in the air. But only up until his onyx-like eyes flicked from your own to your lips.

He smiled. "Would it be foolish of me to say I want to kiss you right now?"

And you answered by leaning in.

You let yourselves be entangled by the sheer amount of emotion as your lips brushed against each other. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer like he wanted to drown himself in you. You basked in the softness of your embrace, finally feeling as if everything has fallen into place.

He pulled away as you tried to catch your breath.

"So beautiful." He whispered, tenderly tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Before you could respond, he went right back in. Not that you minded, of course.

No sooner than a minute had passed were you interrupted by your office door swinging open.

"Glad to see you've finally figured yourselves out! Now, if we could-" Wilford's voice was cut off as Dark slammed the door with a motion of his hand.

He brushed his hair away from his face and turned back to you.

"It did look like he needed something." You gazed at the door pensively.

"I am sure he did, but," he smoothed out your shirt, "I do believe you don't want anyone seeing you like this."

You tried to keep from laughing as you regarded his own disheveled appearance. "You're not too neat either, Sir 'Irons his shirts every morning'."

He rolled his eyes but smiled at you regardless. Getting up from the couch, he held out his hand, which you accepted, and headed to whatever wacky escapade Wilford was up to this time.

#x reader #reader insert #darkiplier x reader #dark x reader #darkiplier #damien x da #wkm damien #damien the mayor #awhm yancy #wilford warfstache #markiplier egos #iplier egos #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #imagines #otty writes

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miketheme · 1 month ago

Text

<< Beginning • < Previous Part • Next Part >

SHATTER - Part 4

Beginning

Previous Part

Next Part

The stars are getting shaky….

Now I have counted, there are three parts left to go :) I very missed writing fanfiction, so I‘m glad I got around to making this one! Angsty confrontations always were one of my favorite tropes.

#who killed markiplier #markiplier egos #actor mark #wilford warfstache #william j barnum #mayor damien #markiplier #wkm #wkm fanart #fanart #my art #fanfiction #shattercomic

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jacksepticeye-simp · 2 months ago

Text

Proposal

Pairing(s): Darkiplier x F! Reader

TW(S): None

Summary: Dark has called you to the manors garden to tell you something important, I wonder what it is?

Overall rating: Completely SFW

(Little gift for @otterlyinluv I meant to write this for you earlier but I got busy, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!)

(Enjoy the fluff while it lasts dear readers, my next fic is a yandere fic lol /lh)

Dark stood beneath the moonlight, clutching a bouquet of white roses and a small black box covered in velvet, waiting patiently for you. Despite the cold weather, Dark was sweating and fiddling with his wrist cuffs as he panicked internally. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

He knew that this moment would be one of the most important events of his life and he was determined to make it perfect. He fixed his gaze on the garden gate, anticipating your arrival. What if you said no? What would he do then? Was he moving things along too quickly? He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to clear his head.

You feel your heart flutter as he kisses your hand. "I could say the same about you my dearest. Every part of you is ever so intoxicating." He purrs as he runs his cold hands along your waist, your lips inches apart. "Which brings me to the reason I wanted to meet with you here." Dark gets down on one knee, taking one of your hands in his as he reaches into the pockets of his suit. You gasp as he pulls a small box from his pocket and opens it to reveal the most gorgeous engagement ring you've ever seen.

He knew he had to remain calm and focus on the task. He had to make this special moment count… You soon appeared, wearing the black knee-length dress he'd gifted you. He gazed at you, absolutely enamored by the way you looked in it. "You said you wanted to meet me? Something about an important matter?" You asked nervously as you stepped closer to him.

"Yes, darling. There is something I have been…itching to tell you." He says, his voice low and silky. "Oh, I almost forgot…A bouquet of roses for my sweetest rose~" You smile as you take the bouquet from him. "Oh Damien, you're much too sweet.." You take a deep breath and look into his eyes.

"My love, will you make me the luckiest man in existence and marry me?" Tears of joy flood your eyes as you nod your head in agreement. Dark slips the ring onto your finger gently as he stands up, sealing your lips together in a passionate embrace. "I love you so much, Damien.."

"I love you so much more, my little monster.."

18 notes · View notes

theknightmarket · 3 months ago

Note

i saw a post a while ago of someone begging for a damien x da fanfic based on i can see you by taylor swift and i haven't been able to get it out of my head since 😭

"I'll be waiting."

In which Damien and the DA are forced to sneak around despite holding the keys to the kingdom. TW: none Pages: 25 - Words: 10,000

[Requests: OPEN]

Even though you were roommates, you and Damien didn’t really know each other at the beginning of your tenure at university. You knew of each other, you knew that someone else slept in the same room as you, but you didn’t hold conversations. The maximum number of words you had exchanged in one interaction was a question about a fire drill, and, even then, it was less an exchange and more a statement of fact and an agreement. Needless to say, it wasn’t indicative of a budding friendship meant to last a lifetime.

In the present moment, you were sitting in your lecture hall, hoping that the wooden pew wouldn’t do any more damage to your spine than it already had. The need to listen to your professor’s monologue was nestled somewhere deeper in the back of your mind, but you weren’t overly worried about missing something. Half of your class were asleep, and the other half were on the way there. A seven o’clock talk on the differences between tort law and contract law wasn’t the most riveting thing out there, after all, and you found yourself glancing around the room to avoid knocking out then and there.

Your gaze landed on just the man you had been thinking of earlier. Damien was sitting on the opposite side of the lecture hall, head in his hand and a distant look glazing his eyes. Whatever was on his mind, it wasn’t optimistic. Had you been paying more attention to him when you were in your dorm at the same time, you might have known, but you hadn’t, so you didn’t. Your best guess was the mountain of work your class had been assigned over the weekend, mostly because that was the thing plaguing your own thoughts.

That mountain only grew as the class dragged on. New packets of questions to attempt and fail at, new chapters of your textbook to muddle through late at night until your eyes inevitably give up on you, new test dates to dread because working on your current subjects sucked up all the energy that you had so that you had none left over for revising the old stuff. In summary, you had half a mind to leave the hall and never step foot back onto campus again.

Fortunately for your education, it was only half a mind, and the logic center of your brain firmly reminded you that it was a bad idea. That left you silently thinking up ways to keep yourself sane before the clock hands finally ticked to eight-thirty and everyone scattered like rats before the professor had finished his last sentence.

You were one of the last to pack up, your limbs flailing about ineffectively. It seemed that the effects of too little sleep and too much coffee were working against you at the same time. Brain foggy and body energized, the only solution you could manage to come up with was a quick walk around the grounds. Autonomous but physically tiring.

It was as you were stumbling towards the old wooden doors of the lecture hall that you saw Damien headed in the same direction. You would have thought he would rush off amongst the other fellow students – what with his tendency to spend every waking moment at the library – but there he was, slow on the draw and lagging behind.

Something must have really been bothering him.

From your place a few rows away from him, you watched as he struggled with the door. It was a difficult thing to get open, and it was awkward to be the first person there because then you’d have an audience. It was always best to be in the middle of the pack, able to walk through without having to shove the whole weight of your body against it.

You unconsciously grimaced at the thought of doing that yourself when you’d get there after Damien had already gone through. At least no one would be there to see you and the door could be as uncooperative as it wanted, though in your state that might have ended with there being no door at all. Your grimace deepened with the thought of explaining that, too.

Except the possibility was wiped from your mind when you caught sight of Damien still standing at the doorway – or, more specifically, in the doorway. One of his arms kept his satchel close to his side while the other was stretched out to keep the door open. Briefly, you made eye contact with him.

He blinked.

You blinked.

And then you realized that he was holding the door open for you, so you tossed yourself over one of the pews and dashed to meet him. Knowing how heavy that door was made your arm ache in sympathy, and you didn’t want to make him wait longer than he already had been.

“Thank you,” you managed to get out in between light huffs. A law degree was not an easy thing to schedule an exercise routine around. You could only hope it wasn’t obvious.

If Damien did notice, he didn’t say anything. The only thing that came out of his mouth was a soft, “Of course,” before he was walking down the hallway. Although his manners might have played a part in it going unmentioned, you weren’t about shoot yourself in the foot by bringing it up.

The ensuing silence was only slightly better. The corridor wasn’t long, but it was a misfortunate feature of life that walking beside someone without talking made time pass infinitely slower. This was especially so given your complicated relationship with the man whom you had fallen into step with. Were you supposed to strike up a conversation? It could only be surface level – something about the weather or the work or the campus – so was it worth it? You only had a minute before you’d be separating, anyway, which meant there was no real reason to get stressed about it even though you already were, and you could have been using that time you were worrying to actually talk to him, but there was a slim chance of him continuing the conversation, which would only make the interaction more awkward, and could you even call it an interaction—

“After you.”

You were torn out of your thoughts by Damien once again holding the door open for you. This time, it wasn’t the stubborn mule of the lecture hall’s door, but the exit to the entire building. You held back from glancing over your shoulder to confirm that you had actually crossed the entire hallway, and, rather, you shot him a small smile and ducked out into the fresh air. In your peripheral, you saw him return it with a nod.

You waited for him to close the door behind himself, figuring that it would be rude to leave without a goodbye, even though you weren’t certain what it was that you would be leaving. That, and you were planning to walk in the opposite direction of him, no matter what. The route you were planning on taking for your little equilibrium session was a circle around campus, after all, which meant it hardly mattered which way you went.

What surprised you was the fact that Damien didn’t make to leave when the click of the door signaled it was safely closed. Instead, he stayed put to say, “I’ll be seeing you tonight, then?”

Unprepared for the assumption, your grip on the strap of your bag tightened momentarily, and you swallowed before replying, “Yeah, you will.” It felt too stale to leave it at that, and you felt the impulse to continue. “Are you heading to the library?”

He hummed in affirmation. “I’ll be back late, so leave a note on the door if you’ll be asleep so I don’t wake you.”

“Will do.”

That felt a better place to end it, so you took a step on the brick path round the campus. Damien appeared to have no objections, and there was a small part of you that swore you saw him sigh in relief. You were in the same boat, though, and you forced yourself to give him a small wave that he returned before you were walking as casually as you could past the building’s wall and out of his line of sight.

There were only two thoughts in your mind. The first was that the last five minutes had been absolute torture. The second was a spark of horror at the idea of seeing him later that evening that made you stifle a groan.

You liked Damien. He was nice. But the fault didn’t lie with him, no, it was with you.

During the class debates, the pretend court cases, the mock bar exams, you paraded the personality of a charismatic litigator who knew the loopholes of a law like the back of their hand and could argue a client out of triple homicide with sixteen eyewitnesses and their head left at the crime scene. Only, the façade was a crime in and of itself because you stole it from the people you learned from. Nothing about it was yours, and it didn’t carry over to the outside world. Being able to prepare yourself propped up your confidence, leaving you in shambles when it fell. Case in point, Damien now knew you were an awkward mess, and there was a voice in the back of your mind that told you it was best to ask for a room transfer, or, to be safe, a university transfer.

At the side of the path, you spied a bench and rushed over to it. The walk had been an objective failure so far. The only thing it had managed to do was flip the states of your body and mind around; aches were developing behind your knees and your thoughts were bouncing around your skull like a ping-pong tournament. Not even mashing the heels of your hands into your eyes did the trick in getting them to shut up.

Sighing, you pushed up your jacket’s sleeve to inspect your watch. Only fifteen minutes had passed, and you had five hours to kill until your next lecture rolled around. Your muddled brain offered to return to your dorm and attempt preparation for the next test. It was poor, given that there was a seventy-five percent chance that nothing would take, but it was the best, and only, idea you had, so you would have to make do.

You sent a wistful glance towards the scenery, and then forced yourself to your feet to make the journey back to the sleeping quarters. You wished you were able to spend more time outside, but motivation was a cruel mistress and never struck when you were comfortable. Instead, she favored the unforgiving rigidity of your desk chair and the stuffy air that came with a window that didn’t quite open all the way.

It was only after the last time you pulled an all-nighter that you understood why.

With dread settling into your heart, you realized that was going to be your future, so you hastened yourself in order to give yourself as much a chance of getting sleep as possible. You mulled over a plan in your head as you snaked between two buildings, worked your way across the stretch of grass, and clambered up the stairs to your dorm room. Solidifying your first goal of getting an hour of pure study in, you fished your key out from a pocket of your bag and then pushed it into the lock.

A frown pulled at the corners of your mouth when you realized the key wouldn’t turn. Pulling it out and retrying didn’t work, but you found that you didn’t need it in the first place. A lightning strike of fear flashed down your spine when the realization dawned on you that the door was simply not locked.

Explanations cut off questions in the shadowy corners of your mind, but they were to be replaced by more concerns like some mental hydra. You barely managed a deep breath to steel your nerves before you brought the door handle down and pushed inwards.

“Oh!” you yelped in surprise. Undignified, yes, but warranted considering that the man before you had told you he’d be in the library, not at his desk in your shared dorm.

A nervous grin spread on Damien’s face, as though he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but you were the one to turn beet red with embarrassment.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” you hurried to say as you closed the door behind you with more force than necessary, “I- I thought- well, you told me, you know, you’d be the library, I just didn’t expect you to be—” you noticed how loud you were being and made an effort to soften your voice, “—here.”

You didn’t know whether his laughter was a good sign or bad one, but some of your fears were quelled when you risked meeting his eyes. They held no offence, only a slight bit of amusement at your expense that you could have done without.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I should have warned you.” He put his hands up in a gesture of acceptance of guilt. In his fingers, he twirled a pen that looked well-used, if the few spots of ink and bite marks were anything to go by.

You waved off his words with the hand that hadn’t slung your bag onto your desk and begun digging through it for your books. All manner of textbooks and lined pages were spread across the actual surface, but the notes that you needed were somewhere in the depths of your bag. Admittedly, you weren’t the most organized person, and you began to regret not nurturing the skill at the ten second mark of searching.

You cursed under your breath as you pulled open pockets and spread apart any files that might have contained a trace of it. This is what you got for trusting future-you to figure it out, when you knew damn well that they were just as bad as past-you at sorting.

“Are you,” you slowed down at the sound of Damien’s voice, if only to hear him better over the rustling of sheets, “are you alright?”

“Yeah, no, I’m just… looking for something.”

“I can see that.” Then came the scrape of a chair against wood, and then the light from the window was blocked out by him getting to his feet. “What do you need?”

You didn’t answer immediately, too focused on working open the little tear in the bag’s wall that tended to swallow the smaller pieces of paper, but when there was nothing in it save for random stationary, you stilled your hands. A single huff permeated the air as you offhandedly said, “My notes from the cohabitation contract lecture.”

How you managed to lose them, you had no clue; the only places where you ever took anything out of your bag were your dorm and the lecture hall, which only made it more concerning. If you had left it in one of the pews, then it was at the janitor’s mercy, but there was only a slightly better chance of finding it amongst your loose documents on your desk. That meant you either had to waste more time on a search through your textbooks for the relevant section or hope to wing it in the test, and neither appealed to you.

“Are these what you need?”

Your head snapped up at the sound of Damien’s voice breaking your concentration, and then it snapped to the side to see the open notebook that he had placed in the single empty space on your desk. You momentarily considered that he had found your notes, unknowingly knocked to the floor or some other likely scenario that made you look like an idiot, but you quickly noticed that it wasn’t your handwriting nor your book.

He looked almost bashful as he drew his hand away to straighten the lapels of his jacket, and, despite your attempts, he refused to make eye contact with you while he explained, “I copy my notes out into a separate book after the lectures.” A blush was rising on his face like the tide. “It helps me to consolidate information.” It crept from his cheeks to the bridge of his nose to his ears. “And having multiples means I’m less likely to, well, lose them.” It was though you could feel the heat emanating from where you were standing.

Considering how kind he’d been today, you decided to step in before he drove himself into a fever. “Thank you,” you said, slipping a blank sheet from your pile, “do you mind if I make my own copy?”

“Go right ahead.”

A genuine, non-nervous smile spread over your lips, and he was quick to follow suit. Good, he didn’t deserve to be so anxious, and you didn’t want to feed into it when there were much more daunting things to be worrying about.

You dropped into your seat and uncapped a pen, tossing over your shoulder, “You’ve been a lifesaver today, Damien. Really, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m just glad to have been in the right place at the right time.”

That made you stop mid-sentence to ask, “Why are you here? You said you were going to the library.”

With your back to him, you weren’t able to see the blush that he had fought down struggle back up with a vengeance. He didn’t like being caught out, even when it hadn’t technically been a lie.

“Oh, I was, but I got there and found out that it will be shut for the rest of the week. A sign on the door said the lower levels were flooded due to a burst pipe, so the whole building has been closed.”

You hissed in sympathy at both the thought of those wrecked books and Damien’s tone of disappointment. You didn’t spend much time there yourself, but you knew a lot of other students and some faculty considered it like a second home, your dormmate included. Hopefully, it would be in full working order when they reopened, but, in the meantime, you didn’t want him getting upset about it. You’d seen many emotions on Damien late at night – annoyance, elation, a near constant wash of fatigue – but distress was not one that suited him.

“I guess you’ll just have to put up with me for the next week,” you tried to joke.

To your relief, you heard a chuckle.

“What a terrible punishment.” His chair squeaked as he collapsed into it. “I’ll have to request a room divider.”

“I’m not that bad. Not bad enough to warrant a physical structure built in the middle of our room, anyway. Besides, I think you should be paying more attention to the upcoming test.”

“Please don’t remind me. I’m ignoring it as long as I can.”

As mentioned before, you liked Damien, and that opinion hadn’t changed – if anything, your opinion of him had improved from having more interactions in the last hour than you had your entire year of sharing a dorm – but neither had you, and you tended to show your affection through needless teasing and relentless mischief for your own amusement. Therefore, your copy of Damien’s notes was abandoned on the table as you spun around in your chair to look at him.

“We have five days to prepare for writing three essays in two and a half hours without break.”

“No.”

“It’s on the relationship between the legal profession privilege and the legal disciplinary practice, and the obligations of attorneys for their clients as organizations and individuals.”

“Stop it.”

“It’s also taking place at eight o’clock at night because the people who make the schedules hate us specifically.”

“You are awful, and I am considering wading through the flood to get away from you.”

In an attempt to contain your chuckles at Damien’s deadpan expression, you feigned offence and gasped as dramatically as you could stomach. “You don’t mean that.”

He didn’t even blink. “Don’t test me.”

“Speaking of which…”

He tipped his head into the back of his chair and let out one final groan that launched you into a bout of laughter. Despite his theatrics, he didn’t last long before he was joining you with a surprisingly deep sound that seemed to vibrate your very bones, like the chiming of bells inside a church. You quite liked it, in fact, and you were slightly disappointed when you both trailed off into a long, albeit comfortable, silence. You also noticed that your sympathy about the state of the library had waned – if you were going to be under permanent stress, it was pleasant to hang around someone in a similar situation. Besides, what was wrong with enjoying it while it lasted? You were only going to be forced together for the next week, and it wasn’t as though it was going to have any permanent circumstances.

Right?

The sound of books clattering to the ground was one you steadfastly ignored as Damien nudged you into leaning against your desk with the weight of his body. His hands rested on either side of your waist, one absentmindedly rubbing circles that you could feel even through the layers of your uniform, while yours caressed his jawline to guide him closer. The only parts of you that weren’t touching were your mouths, but that was quickly rectified with a light tug on Damien’s tie. Immediately, your senses were doused by everything about him – the smell of his cologne, the sound of his breathing, the taste of his lips.

This wasn’t your first kiss, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. You found yourselves in this kind of situation regularly; sneaking a moment together in your dorm right before you had to rush off to class. All too often did one of Damien’s hands trail up from your side to card through your hair in a move that he had perfected, much to your chagrin given how weak it made you feel. He was aware of that, too, and you were sure it was half the reason he did it in such a risky position.

You caught a glimpse of your watch as you parted for breath, but you pushed it to the side in order to focus on diving back in. Damien accepted your silent proposition eagerly.

The logical part of your brain tried to bring the image back to your attention because it was clear evidence that you were going to be late to class if you continued on your current endeavor. Both you and Damien had ten minutes to make a fifteen-minute journey from your dorm room to your lecture hall, so if you stopped immediately and booked it with your bags, you would get in without drawing much attention.

The emotional part of your brain wanted you to take this opportunity to bring Damien impossibly closer and melt into his embrace. A safe feeling of comfort and care enveloped you when you were with him, and willingly putting an end to it felt like a national offence. The press of his fingers and the swipe of his tongue against your lower lip teased a possibility that you wanted so badly to let happen.

However, no matter how much you cursed your law degree in that moment, you were forced to cut it short with a press to Damien’s chest. He acquiesced with only slight resistance, but he shot you a look of confusion with a furrowed brow and concern swimming in his eyes.

“We have to get to class.”

He huffed and snuck a kiss to your cheek. His mouth positioned next to your ear, you reigned in a shiver as he whispered, “Do we have to, though?”

Your breathy, “Yes,” wasn’t any more convincing than the look in your eyes, but he shifted back on his feet nevertheless, just far enough to make you immediately regret creating that space.

A puff of air battered against the nape of your neck. Ever the cuddler, Damien buried himself between your collarbone and your shoulder, slotting perfectly into the dip. There was no question about his stance on leaving, but you knew it was the responsible option to attend the lecture – you knew, but you didn’t have to like knowing.

In a bout of movement much like pulling a tooth, you twisted in Damien’s hold and slipped off the desk. If you had thought much more about it, you would have stayed on that desk until graduation, and those puppy-dog eyes gave you half a mind to jump back on.

“Come on,” you muttered, plucking your jacket from the chair, “we need to get going.”

You watched Damien right himself out of the corner of your eye. First was reknotting his tie, next was adjusting his cuffs, and, as you expected, was the flattening of his hair with a comb to get it just so. When there was little trace of recent events, he turned to you, your bag in hand. “We’ll come back, though, right?”

“Of course, it’s our dorm, after all.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about, my little monster.”

You exchanged a grin as you took the strap from his hands, and, slinging it over your shoulder, you tried to fight back the flare of red on your face. You didn’t say anything, but he must have gotten the idea from you proceeding to slightly tighten his tie closer to his collar.

You waited for Damien to get his own bag, then opened the door and locked it behind you when you were both in the corridor. One more glance at your watch meant you barely registered the click before you were off to the races – calculations ran through your head, possible shortcuts you could take to save the extra second, all manner of obstacles that would be best to avoid like the club members who stood outside the gymnasium – and, all the while, as you sprinted to the end of the hallway and down the flights of stairs, you hoped Damien was behind you. Every sharp corner you took, you fought the urge to move your head that inch further to look back at him, and the thought before choosing another direction was centered around grabbing his hand to bring him to your side.

But you couldn’t. You stayed staring forward and your hand remained empty throughout your journey across the campus grounds because they were the campus grounds; you weren’t in your dorm anymore, you weren’t alone anymore. Clumps of people meandered along the pathways that you pushed through, each with a pair of eyes that could catch you in the act.

As if fate were playing a cruel trick, the two of you dashed past a couple walking the edges of the flowerbeds. First-years, hand in hand, lovesick grins on their faces and eyes only for the other. Free.

Regretfully but inevitably, your thoughts turned spiteful. Why wasn’t it a risk for them, why did expectations fall on your couple, a relationship forced underground, instead of them?

Your thoughts turned guilty. Why hadn’t you interacted with Damien at the beginning of your year, why didn’t you try harder when it was easy?

Your thoughts turned to an acceptance supposed to only come at the end of grief. This was how it was, and you were going to be late to class.

Huffing and puffing, you and Damien slid to a stop at the lecture hall door. Fixing your outfits after that moment alone was a moot point because rushing through the halls had done much worse for your state. Besides, you were going to draw attention anyway because, if the emptiness of the hallway was anything to go by, your classmates were in the room already.

It was just you and Damien.

You exchanged a brief smile that was marred only by the reminder of the rarity of this situation.

“You go in first,” he said, nodding towards the door.

“Okay—” you settled your shoulder against the wood but didn’t apply any force so that you could whisper, “I’ll see you after class.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

And, with that dramatic goodbye that felt as though it suited one of the drama departments’ plays, you pushed through the door, grimaced at the alarm of creaking, and scurried to your seat before the professor could call you out for your lateness.

Sitting by yourself on one of the benches never used to be so disappointing. During your first few lectures, you had actually preferred the space. You used to pray under your breath when someone new entered the room, and then curse even quieter when they sat down next to you. You enjoyed being able to spread your equipment out, and elbows jammed into your side or knees edging slightly too close to you set off the fight or flight instinct in you.

That changed when your relationship with Damien began; the two of you would enter the hall as a pair, laughing over your jokes all the way to your seats, making bets on the number of times the professor would reference his divorce as you removed the materials from your bags. At the time, it was the highlight of college career – in the present, where you were shifting to get comfortable on the unyielding wooden pew, it was a memory you cherished in the silence and chill of the room.

No matter how much time you spent with Damien, no matter how much joy you got out of every interaction with him, no matter how much you loved him, you were both at risk every time you demonstrated those feelings. You saw the way your professor squinted at your bouts of laughter, and you saw the subtle shake of their head as you walked out hand in hand. You used to think you could handle it – it didn’t matter if anyone liked you as long as they stayed unbiased, and you would gladly trade a positive relationship for the better one you had with Damien. The problem didn’t lie with the staff themselves, no, the problem was with who they spoke to. Specifically, Damien’s family.

While you had officially flown the nest the moment you were accepted into the university, Damien was another story entirely; being the prodigal son of the definition of ‘upper-class’ meant that his leash was pulled tighter than a horse. He was trotted around like one, too, whenever he found himself back at home during the holidays. Every social event was used as an excuse to network, and the children of anyone who attended were little more than bartering chips.

Had your relationship started at the beginning of your studies, you might have gotten away with it, managed to slip under the radar and carried out your days in uninterrupted bliss. However, certain recent family events meant that all eyes were on Damien, and his parents circled above him like hawks, because God forbid both of the Whitacre children went astray. They would have been the laughingstock of the city if the golden boy went courting a commoner after their darling daughter ran off with that actor – and that was a fate worse than death for them.

As a result, Damien was given no leeway, and so neither was your relationship. You couldn’t afford to take the risk of public affection, you couldn’t afford to take the risk of public anything. For all your professors and Damien’s family knew, you were roommates, and that was all there was to it.

But you knew. There was never any doubt in your mind about your feelings for one another. You loved Damien, and Damien loved you. Your heart raced every time he looked your way, and those milliseconds of eye contact showed you unquestionable peace. You both understood the situation you were in, and you were there regardless. Loving the other in private was just what it took to be able to love, and you were willing to stick with him, despite the pain of walking into rooms alone.

Nevertheless, you did have to choke back a laugh when the creak of the door broke through the lecture like a shot from a gun.

“Mr. Whitacre, you are late!”

And the vicious red that spread across his face at getting caught let the laughter win as it overwhelmed you. Damien could only spare a faux-threatening glare your way and a mouthed ‘you little monster’ before he threw himself onto the closest bench, trying to keep his head and blush down. You supposed there were some benefits to turning up separately, after all.

Your rushing through the halls of the law offices sounded like a tap dance to the people milling about at the edges. It was a gait very specific to you, and anyone who had been there for more than a few days knew what it meant. The first thing was that you were very busy, but the second thing was that you were very nervous. There would be days when you had a full schedule – meetings and cases and trials and investigations – but that would produce a one-two-one-two clicking noise of your dress shoes. Sometimes you would have only a few important events, which would fill the building with a skittering pulse. Now, however, at nine forty-five in the morning, it was a frantic rhythm that initially appeared to skip beats and combine steps, but it repeated every couple of doors to create a false sense of chaos and rationale.

Nearly everyone that you passed knew that today would be a stressful time for you, but not one of them knew why, until you got further into the labyrinth of offices. The rooms of assistant district attorneys were gathered here, and they were in a similar state to you. Questions of how prepared everyone was punctured the air, calls for an estimated time of arrival split the little silence there was left over, and the only source of calm was from the district attorney himself.

You tried your best to avoid the hurricane of panic that swelled where the group stood. You skirted around the edges, trying to get to your own office without someone asking anything of you. The documents in your grip were of greater concern than the temperature of the water cooler, though nothing could top the thought that reigned supreme over your mind as you rounded the corner.

There were only three people who had a key to your office. Yourself, the district attorney, and Damien – and, considering that you had already seen your boss, Damien was supposed to still be in the city hall, and you were yourself, you had no clue who was pushing open your door and walking inside without your permission.

You quickened your pace, disregarding the rest of the prosecutors and beelining it towards your door. There were important cases in there, you couldn’t afford to let a member of the public see them withyour permission, let alone accidentally. You would be in serious trouble, and that was not something you could afford today. Really, you should have been excited, but this security issue was top priority; you could get demoted, you could lose your job entirely if someone off the streets, unknown to anyone there, completely random and without knowledge—

The mayor.

It was the mayor who was standing in your office.

Damien was standing in the middle of the room without having broken in because he had a key that you had given to him personally.

There was no need to worry.

“Good morning, Mr. Mayor,” you greeted, nodding slowly.

“Good morning to you, too,” he said in response, tone as welcoming as the rest of his interactions with the public.

You placed a hand on your door’s handle. “What brings you to my office?”

“I have a meeting with the district attorney in half an hour, and I have some questions that I feel would be better answered before it begins.”

Your blinds were already down from the night before, so all you had to do was push the door closed, register the click, and turn back to Damien.

For a moment, the two of you waited, staring at each other as you ran through the checklist in your mind. Everything was as it should have been, with you inside your office and the public outside.

It took just a second longer for your façade to fracture like ice on a lake – the crack spread across your lips, bringing a grin from ear to ear, while Damien took the few feet forward to bridge the gap. He left his cane leaning against the desk, and his steps placed just him in front of you, but he threw his arms around your waist to tug you closer.

Face to face, barely enough space for you to freely breathe, you couldn’t help but laugh airily.

“What are you really doing here?” you whispered, noting how the corners of his eyes crinkled at your voice.

“I know, I know.” His tone showed that you had much the same effect on him as he did you, and you didn’t miss him glancing down at your lips. He tried to redirect his focus to speaking, but the little huffs in between his words made it obvious it wasn’t working. “I’m early. I just… had to see you – before we got into legalities.”

As much as you should have reprimanded him for showing up before his scheduled appointment, you simply didn’t have it in you. Instead, you laid your hands on his shoulders, padded by his suit for the sake of the meeting, and leaned forward to swipe your mouth against his.

It was a sweet, gentle, infinitely too short kiss. Some part of you wanted to take the day off and drag him back to your apartment to savor the time you had available, but you were at work. You both were.

That was always the problem. After graduation, you were thrust into the world of work unceremoniously. No grace period, no gap year, no moment to spend together before you were once again in the public eye, except, this time, with more of a strain. Now, it wasn’t just Damien’s parents circling above: it was also the press, your bosses, the expectations of adulthood to get settled down but with no leeway to get to know someone. It was supposed to be a business transaction, not a relationship, and that wasn’t what either of you wanted.

So, once again, your relationship went underground. You shared glances in the hallway, clipped greetings over the meeting table, nods at exits and entrances – but, when you were alone, you made every second count in the dim lighting of candles, only the moon and stars knowing your secrets.

It was times like these that you never anticipated, when both of your schedules aligned just so, and Damien was able to surprise you right when you least expected it.

You supposed he had never truly escaped the manners of his aristocratic upbringing; he looked embarrassed to have shown his cards, his grip on your waist tightening and a redness spreading to the tips of his ears. You couldn’t have that, no matter how much you once would have teased him for it.

Pressing a risky kiss to his cheek, you muttered a quick, “Thank you for coming.” You then pulled out the closest chair from the desk before rounding to your side, doing the same so that you could fall into it. With the blinds closed and door shut, you had the freedom to be laxer in every way, not only with your affection.

“The office is nervous, you know,” you commented, tugging open one of the drawers.

“The whole office?”

You hummed. “Everyone except the DA.” Fishing around in the depths of your mess, you pulled out items you had meant to sort out later – ‘later’ being two to twenty working days.

Damien watched you do it from across your desk. Even after all these years, you hadn’t perfected the art of organization, and he found himself barely containing his laughter at your gradually increasing franticness. He’d give you a chance to realize, see if you could figure it out on your own, before he dusted off his shining armor.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the district attorney in a panic.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him exhibit any emotion—” You unfolded a notepad but came back empty, “—I guess that’s what it takes to be a district attorney.”

“Now don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? There isn’t a lot of room for feelings when you’re supposed to be completely objective.”

“I think there’s plenty of room.”

In glancing up to respond, you caught sight of something that Damien held out towards you, and, with a bashful smile, you took it. However, it wasn’t only the fact that he had given you exactly what you were struggling to find – the meeting summary and checklist – but the affection he looked at you with. Nestled beneath the amusement and restraint for teasing was a certain glint that made you flush from your cheeks to your neck. It was something you often saw, but, being simultaneously faced with your future, you were granted a sense of calm that only came in the soft spots between your work, and you wondered, briefly, if he were right.

But even though you doubted your love for Damien would ever fade, that wasn’t the only problem that faced you.

A knock sounded at your office door, cracking the bubble you had created.

Instantly, you shot up from your seat, while Damien pushed back his seat to follow suit in a much more sensible manner, grasping the top of his cane in the process. You willed the color in your face to disappear as you wrapped your hand around the handle and pulled.

Behind it was one of the other prosecutors in the office, and, behind them, was the DA talking to a secretary. Everyone else had vacated the area, likely to the meeting room where you were supposed to be.

They opened their mouth to tell you just that but stopped short at the sight of Damien standing in front of your desk.

“Mr. Mayor!” came their gasp, and you watched as their spine straightened like a soldier called to attention.

“Good morning, prosecutor.” Ever the humble gentleman, Damien nodded at the newcomer and stepped forward to shake your hand. A single movement up and down was all that was allowed before he was striding out of your office and towards the meeting room.

You counted yourself lucky that the persecutor hadn’t questioned you as to why the Mayor of Los Angeles was in your office before his appointment, but you also didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so you snatched your keys from your pocket, ushered them out the way, and locked the door behind you.

You and the persecutor walked in rhythm next to each other, as if on parade, down to your shared destination. You were a few seconds behind Damien, but at every corner he took, you saw the heel of his shoe raise in a step and then disappear behind the wall. This was the precedent set all the way to the room, until you were outside the door that he had just entered.

“Are you not coming in?” the prosecutor asked, looking at you with curiosity but no suspicion.

You shook your head. It was your turn to wait outside, so that time could give you a better divide than distance could – give you a better chance of staying secret. These precautions were less necessary now, but neither you nor Damien were willing to take that risk.

With a light shrug, they pushed open the door and went in, letting it drift closed behind them. You just barely caught sight of Damien through the steadily waning crack.

One second. Two seconds. Three. Four. You counted each breathe in and out. Thirty seemed enough. With the final burst of air caught in your throat, you stepped through the veil.

There was no punishment for showing up slightly later now. You weren’t students sneaking around behind their college’s backs anymore, liable to be yelled at if something held them up in the corridor or prevented them from arriving at nine on the dot. You were adults. But, again, there was the matter of adult responsibilities and expectations of the public for the both of you.

Over the course of the meeting – which was on some business that the Mayor’s re-election campaign had with the legal branch of Los Angeles – you sent many a glance towards Damien. Anytime that he wasn’t speaking, he was sat up in his chair, listening attentively and even jotting down a few notes for his personal use. You were situated at one of the corners, and he was at the head opposite you, meaning that you had one hell of a time trying to be subtle. Luckily, you had done this many, many, many times before. When he was speaking, it was easy because – as much as you liked to tease him – manners weren’t unheard of to you. When someone else took the lead, however, you only managed to catch glimpses before you were forced to redirect your attention. You were working. You needed to pay attention.

As soon as the meeting started to slow, matters set aside for the follow-up session next week, you scribbled down the rest of the notes, frantically trying to create shorthand in the moment so that you could finish quicker. You felt every second drip by like a broken faucet, the unhurried march of time seeming to choose to make your life harder. Your fingers tapping on the table matched its pace.

“Very good, Mr. Mayor,” the DA said, rising from his seat to shake Damien’s hand.

You punctuated the end of your written word.

“Thank you for attending this meeting.”

You capped your fountain pen.

“We look forward to working with you in the future.”

The moment that the DA’s hand disconnected from Damien’s, you shot up from your chair alongside the rest of the prosecutors. You knew you had to wait to talk to him, but being the only one sitting would have been unprofessional. Waiting there awkwardly was just the same, so you busied yourself with sorting through your paper, tearing the most important piece out, until the room had mostly been vacated after shaking Damien’s hand.

When you were the last two people remaining, everyone having filed out, you stepped in front of him. In your behavior, there was nothing unusual. The two of you were what everyone saw: a prosecutor and the mayor. While one title held more status, your being in the same room alone was nothing to gawk at.

Much like when you had left your office, you clasped Damien’s hand with all the formal respect you could muster and shook it. He played along with an almost mechanical lift, his cane planted on the ground keeping him perfectly balanced and still. A silent goodbye and an exit to follow.

But before you let go, both of you took the too brief moment you had been gifted and made eye contact. In his, you saw the waves of affection stirring beneath the surface of the color, that shade that glinted like syrup in the light of the office window and was shaded by the feeling of twilight itself. In yours, he saw a crackle of flame that threatened to consume the whites but was kept at bay by the sheen of calm spread from one corner to the other. In both, you each saw love and devotion neither would ever part with.

He took a step back, and your hand returned to your side.

“Good day, Mr. Mayor.”

With a nod and a smile, you made sure that you had everything with you and then returned to your office. Although Damien had returned the actions, he was only able to keep the latter up for however long it took for the door to close. Meetings were tiring, but you made the longer ones worth it. He only wished he were able to get more time with you during them, sit just a chair closer, joke about the comments made afterward. Like how you did back in university post-lecture, whether that was from the professor or the Dean.

That period obviously wasn’t all smooth sailing. The secrecy he could have done without, but you were together, and that was enough. Now?

He turned to look at the door and sighed. Trying to revive the past was a fool’s errand, he knew that, but it didn’t stop him instinctively moving to worry the stick of his cane between his hands.

His eyebrows furrowed and the corner of his mouth dropped as he stopped himself short. Instead, he opened his hand, the one you had shaken before your departure, and looked curiously at the little piece of paper that you had left behind.

“Oh, my little monster,” he muttered to himself, trailing off only as his attention was stolen by the note.

You had folded it up into a neat square – sometimes he marveled at how disjointed your organization skills were – but the message was short anyway. ‘My house. Seven. Dinner.’

If someone, a prosecutor, a secretary, the DA himself, were to notice Damien leaving the meeting room with a grin stretched from one side of his face to the other, none of them would have raised an eyebrow, nor would they have connected it to you leaving at five o’clock on the dot with a smile much similar to his seemingly inseparable from your lips.

The knock at your front door startled you from staring straight at the stove. You had been waiting for it to explode, for flames to lick at the edges of the metal door, but nothing of the sort had happened so far. No, luckily, you had managed to make it to Damien’s arrival, right as the clock ticked to seven o’clock. Knowing him, even after years of being in a relationship, he had been waiting outside for fifteen minutes. Too many decades of training to be a gentleman prevented him for breaking decorum for the smallest things, and daring to timidly announce his presence a brazen minute early was one of them.

You took your attention off the stove for long enough to rush to the front door, swing it open, and practically drag Damien inside. The leaping of his eyebrows to his hairline was entertainment enough, but you were quickly distracted by the mental image of your stove melting. It pushed you to drop him into a dining chair and jump back to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I haven’t set the table yet,” you called back through the doorway. You weren’t going to expand on why, not because it was out of laziness, but because you really didn’t want him to know about your half-hour battle with your sink.

As you searched for your gloves, you heard him respond, “It’s not a problem.” A moment passed in which you found and slipped them on before you barely picked up him muttering, “In fact, if I remember correctly…”

It was out of the corner of your eye that you saw Damien emerge from the dining room and head straight to the cutlery drawer. He held two placemats and coasters to his side, cane grasped in his hand, and pulled the drawer open to retrieve the knives and forks.

“You don’t need to do that,” came your protests, but they fell on deaf ears. He took them regardless and marched back to the table to set it up. You, being preoccupied with the hot tray you had pulled out of the oven, were powerless to stop him or the affectionate tut that escaped you. The most you were able to do was push the food onto a rack and say, “I thought you were supposed to be the guest.”

“And I thought you just cooked a whole meal—” He ducked back into the kitchen, “—so I should be helping you prepare.”

He wouldn’t admit the real reason why he was so eager to do something; he loved you and wanted to make things easier on you in any way that he could, but there was also a part of him that was so pitifully nervous at the prospect of having dinner together that he had to keep moving. This was not a common occurrence. In fact, he was certain you had sat through more meetings than meals together, and it was a sad inevitability that your letters drifted towards more pressing matters, even in private correspondence.

His heart pounded against his chest like a trapped bird, and the audible thump was its song that he hoped only he could hear. Stopped at the table to make sure everything was in place, he tried to put out the fire growing beneath his skin by shedding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. There were few times he wore anything different to his suit or made alterations to it.

On your part, there were also few times that you saw these alterations, and the sight of Damien’s exposed forearms through the dining room doorway made you grip the two plates of food just ever so slightly tighter.

Still, you managed to keep your nerves intact long enough for the both of you to settle down at the table, sitting across from each other with the meal you had somehow made without burning the house down. Really, you were quite proud of yourself, but it wasn’t the thing that held most of your attention.

“Thank you for inviting me tonight,” Damien said, looking straight at you.

“Thank you for agreeing to it. I—” You took a deep breath in, “— I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” His shoulders dropped with the admittance, and your own accentuated grin dropped into a much more comfortable smile. “I can’t tell you how giddy I was when you slipped me that note.”

“How else was I supposed to ask you? I don’t trust your secretary.”

That last bit was, technically, untrue, so far as to say you didn’t trust her any less than anyone else when it came to your relationship with Damien. Regardless, it didn’t stop him from fiddling with his cuffs as he averted his eyes from yours.

Quietly, almost as though his words were the biggest secret in the room, he muttered, “We could always arrange some meetings.”

“What, so we can go over the best way to style your hair that doesn’t differentiate you from the working class?”

You followed it up with a chuckle, but Damien didn’t follow. Instead, he burned a hole into one of the paintings on the wall, a completely unassuming one that had been there for the past few years. If that hadn’t raised questions in you, the tops of his ears turning red would have done it.

“Not as such.”

You thought for a moment and then let out a faux-affronted gasp. “Mr. Mayor, you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”

The very concept of fake meetings coming from a man as honest as Damien made you want to explode with laughter. Mayor Damien Whitacre? The man who put a little tree on his desk because he didn’t leave his office even during the holidays? That Damien Whitacre was thinking of boldly betraying the integrity of his job?

“While I do try to stay humble,” he began with a roll of his eyes, “I must admit I thought I’d be given more leeway once I became the mayor.”

“But you know why you haven’t.”

He paused.

Your suspicions grew.

“Do I?”

“Yes. We both do.”

His eyes snapped back to yours. “What if we changed that?”

While you tried to prevent your frown, you weren’t able to recover from your shock before it was bending the edges of your lips. “I never took you for the ignorance is bliss kind of man.”

“It wouldn’t be ignorance, per say, just…” Damien’s eyes drifted off to the side, glancing out the window into the pitch black of the night. “What if we pretended it didn’t matter. It does, of course, God knows it does or else we would be much further along by now.”

With a quirk of an eyebrow, you silently asked what that meant, and in a tilt of his head, he silently answered dates, a proposal, marriage, a family. His gaze never wavered from yours.

“And what happens if it goes wrong? If someone makes us acknowledge that it does matter?”

“There is nothing wrong with us loving each other.”

You hated arguing like this because you didn’t know what you were actually arguing about, but you also didn’t know if clarifying would be any better. The pressure of your teeth grinding against each other only served to make you more unsure. You had so many problems acting against you, you couldn’t afford to become one of them.

“We can’t lose our jobs,” you said, “I have aspirations, and I know damn well that you love being the mayor too much to let it go.”

“I love you more.”

Slowly, painfully slowly, you brought your hands together under your chin, as if to give you time to prepare for your own words. “You can’t.”

“Alright.” A moment of silence. You hoped it wasn’t mourning. “I understand.”

Maybe if you were talking to another man, someone else who hadn’t gone through what you had together, you would have been right. He might have been getting up to gather whatever miscellaneous trinkets he had left scattered around your house throughout the years. He might have been searching for his key to your office. He might have walked straight out the door.

But Damien was not ‘another man’. He was him, and the only reason he was getting up was to round the table to kneel in front of you.

“But what if we make it so they can’t get rid of us?”

You could have made a joke – something about that being a dictatorship and how you didn’t know if that could apply to a city – but you held your tongue because there was a spark of hope in Damien’s voice, a little optimism that made your eyes widen, which you would be damned if you washed away. “What do you mean?”

“I know that we can’t do anything right now. I’m up for re-election, and you’re not the district attorney yet, we don’t have a leg to stand on. But if we were able to get such approval from our colleagues and the public that they can’t remove us from our stations, we could relax.”

You both knew what he meant by ‘relax’, the dates, the proposal, the marriage, the family, but you also both knew that it would be difficult – and even that was an understatement, it would be a nightmare to balance opinions of people while making tough choices. Your future wasn’t destinated to be easy for you – if it were, you wouldn’t be sitting in the house where you lived alone – but, then again, neither was your past. To expect it all handed to you on a silver platter would be a rejection of what made you you. The struggle, the strife, the sleepless nights stressing over every little detail your mind could supply you with.

When you were at university, you had made a promise that you would stick by Damien, and you weren’t about to give up now. Not when you had come this far, not when the man himself was looking at you as if all the joy in the world had been presented to him wrapped with a bow, not when you loved him and he loved you.

“We’ll try.”

“We’ll try?”

You nodded.

“We’ll try.”

You didn’t have enough time to move even if you wanted to before Damien launched himself forward and collected you in his embrace. From this position, his hand on your jaw guided you down into a kiss that was laced with the excitement of a brand-new start. An agreement to try. You’d try. And you’d do it. As he leaned in closer and you brought your fingers through the hair near the nape of his neck, you thought that this might just work. He made relaxing sound easy, and, while you knew that was optimistic, the passion shared between the two of you had you thinking it wasn’t as outlandish as you once believed.

No more waiting.

[Thank you so much for this request! Since you mentioned another poster, I went and tracked them down so, @marinecanary, this is the one that I messaged about! Could I have technically just zoomed in on them as the DA and mayor? Probably. Should I have? Probably. Did I? Nope :D! Again, thanks for requesting, and I hope you've enjoyed reading this!

...also I didn't want to go into anything mature since nothing was requested specifically but uhhhhh. I do love Damien]

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fgfluidity · 1 year ago

Text

pincera (part 1)

Summary: pincera- Latin, 'cup-bearer, one who mixes drinks' || Damien and the lessons he learns from his friends, with the catalyst of alcohol.

Pairings: Damien/DA, Celine/Mark, Celine/Will

Tags: Alcohol, Bootlegging, Adultery, WWI, Fights, implied Overserving, Abusive Parents, Autistic!Seer!DA

thank you all for your patience- this will have several parts and then a sequel that is planned, so thank you for your Continued patience kdfshdjk

find it on ao3 | donate to my kofi

@opprose @statictay @volbeast @otterlyinluv @flerpdederp (and if anyone else wants to be tagged lmk!)

Alcohol had been in Damien’s life since his childhood-- in his family, for generations.

It could be an alarming thought, but it’s a lot more innocent than it may seem at first glance; he didn’t start drinking until his university days, and not really in excess. At least, not to excess outside of a party.

His father was the mayor for some time. First, he was a councilman-- a path Damien finds uncomfortably similar to his own, years later-- but a politician all the same. Politicians and alcohol go together since time immemorial, and in a much more tolerable way than any of their other vices, to an extent; after all, a bit of social lubricant helps to turn over potential voters as much as a winning smile and the perfectly crafted sentence.

Damien had a skill for it-- part practice, part innate ability, and part grueling training from his father on social graces and charisma-- but his father was good. Sickeningly so.

His father’s charisma only extended so far, of course, and his parties were awash with the stuff, even before Damien became aware of much more than the noise downstairs. It helped to keep people merry, and keeping him in office through their votes and donations kept them rather pleased, in turn. A strange symbiosis, yes, but effective.

Even once he knew that these weren’t simple get togethers, he and his sister sat cloistered in their rooms under the close watch of their nanny, listening close as the band played on, the dull roar of a bunch of adults talking politics. It tapered off eventually, but he couldn’t deny he was curious about the goings-on.

(He was never brave enough to venture down on his own, not with the risk of his father’s wrath looming like a dark cloud. If anyone found them out, a pair of eight-year-olds slipping through the crowd to cause who knew what kind of mischief…

Celine held no such fear, it seemed, as she marched right to him one night, eyes hard as flint and determined. “Nanny’s asleep,” she’d said, reaching out for his arm. “We’re going to go steal some snacks.”

The fear kept him from enjoying the first snack, some piece off a crudite tray that carved the vegetables so to render them unrecognizable; after a few more pieces, and no Father waiting for him when he glanced back over his shoulder, the knots in his shoulders began to loosen.

The food was good, but the champagne they managed to swipe from an inattentive waiter dried his tongue more than a day in the sun. Celine wasn’t so expressive in her distaste, but she’s the one who dumped the rest of the glass into the ficus in the corner.)

He wasn’t sure he would ever be quite so brave as to sneak alcohol again, but university changed things. He was on his own, no father or even mother to watch his every move, the freedom of adulthood calling him just as much as the chance to properly socialize. After all, he’d need to make some good connections if he wanted to follow his dreams, and what better than a college party to do just that?

It seemed like a good idea, at least, until he woke to his alarm clock drilling into his head, the sun itself seemingly on a mission to burn his eyes out of their sockets. His mouth tasted like rot, and sitting up made the room swoop dangerously.

What a day to try and sit and write his midterms. If his friends noticed at all, they had to have chalked it up to late study sessions, because word never got back to his parents about his drinking. If anyone had said anything to his family…

Thankfully, there were few questions, and those that remained were explained away easily enough. A few dropped points were just… the new difficulty getting to him.

He didn’t stop drinking after that, but at the very least he got smarter about it-- never before a planned test, never before returning home, and always chased with plenty of cool water. It spared him the worst of the pains-- eventually, most if not all of the pains-- and kept his grades high enough to be above suspicion.

His friend, the lightweight, was never so lucky, but he was happy to stick around and tend them while they were miserable.

The relationship matured as he did, through his underclass graduation and his graduate’s. Drinking didn’t vanish entirely, no, but he was too busy to drink quite so much at these social gatherings, and the interest was shifting from getting as drunk as possible to relax, and more towards alcohol as a concept.

No, it wasn’t an obsession, but it was a fascination. These elixirs held such power, taking commerce and politics by storm, capable of enrapturing scores of people before they realized, taking their higher function and suppressing it. A simple potion-- really a poison-- taken so regularly, all in the name of purported social grace and amusement.

Incredible.

He studied composition, creation, and set up small stations in his basement to experiment.

A station for beers, both hoppy and malted, provided lightly bubbly and yeasty drinks-- not the most to his taste, but rather easy, comparatively.

Next came meads, wines-- fermented juices, fruit under the right conditions creating something much more complex. They were a little better, whether from experience or more to his taste. His friend favored these tiny bottles, sweet and flavorful.

It’s ironic, in some way, that the day he bottled his first attempt at a vodka was the day that ‘U.S. Is Voted Dry’ graced the front page of the paper lying on his front porch.

Obviously, he hadn’t been in agreement. Excess gave way to trouble, sure, but the mere existence of the stuff wasn’t a sin in his eyes; besides, he had full notebooks of notes, ideas, further experiments. Why should he give up his mostly-harmless hobby for a bunch of people he hardly agreed with at the best of times?

He kept his work in the cellar, where it always was; literal underground work wasn’t likely to bring him under any suspicion, and his status as a newly-minted councilman with sights on mayorship didn’t hurt his efforts to remain secret. With his reputation-- and to his chagrin, his pedigree-- no one would imagine him breaking the law, of all people.

He kept his head down, working on his pet project now and then as his duties drew him a bit further every day-- not enough to quit the endeavor all together, but cutting down on his output. Even then, anything he didn’t keep to test, or have a tiny glass of after a rough night, went straight down the drain.

Then, one day, Mark came to him.

“They stopped supplying my parties,” he said, blowing in like an errant wind, the door nearly slamming into the wall behind it from the force of his entrance. “Can you make brandy?”

Damien looked over the back of his chair, eyes wide. He had an open-door policy for Mark, among a few others, but… he couldn’t have really been asking what he imagined he’d heard. “Excuse me?”

Mark huffed, sweeping further into his home and only stopping a spare moment to tug off his shoes. “Your floors will be fine,” he grumbled, finally coming around to him in the living room. “Can you make brandy? Or vodka? Gin? Rum? Hell, I’d even take a bottle of your mead, if you haven’t already given it to--”

“Mark, what makes you think I make any alcohol, let alone keep it any longer?” He set down his book, resigned to the fact that he may not finish it this evening as he’d planned. “Didn’t you read the papers? Prohibition’s been in effect for a few weeks.”

“Damien.” Mark gave him his ‘suitably unimpressed’ stare. “You can fool everyone you like about your hobbies-- everyone except your nearest and dearest.”

“You are my nearest and dearest?”

The look shifted from unimpressed to withering. “I know you brew it. You never stopped, and you’re still brewing it. Will you give me some of it? I’ll pay you.”

That was the thing about Mark-- he never gave up, not once he caught the scent. A bit like a bloodhound, really, or a shark; talented as he may have been, he got every last bit of his prestige through that determination.

A bit of guile and ruthlessness didn’t hurt him much, either.

Damien sighed, reaching up a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. It only just lessened the throbbing pain. “You’ll get it out of me one way or another. I have a mead I was experimenting with… would that happen to suffice?”

Mark grinned.

His order was small, really, hardly more than a favor: that single bottle of mead, as quickly as he could make it taste nice. It didn’t need to be especially fancy, nor specially flavored during his aging process. It just needed to be enough alcohol to supply a toast among fellow actors, celebrating a job well done and a brutal schedule finally coming to an end. As Damien had done much the same after long debates, he let it go. “It’s a gift,” he said, as an excited Mark reached into his pockets. “Congratulations on your film, and all. Besides-- it’s just one bottle.”

That’s all it seemed to be for a short while-- a one-off deal to help celebrate his friend’s blooming career. Then, scant weeks before the mead would be aged to his liking…

Well, he really needed this one done, Damien. A few bottles, for some producers; if he was ever to get his new script off the ground, he must have some friends willing to hand over capital. A brown spirit would be best, something really fine and old and expensive-- he was willing to pay.

Never mind that those brown spirits need years of aging, and never mind that he wasn’t trying to either get arrested or blow the roof off of his own home due to the buildup of fumes in the basement. Especially never mind that Mark, himself, is independently wealthy from his fame, with his sprawling home as proof.

“I can do you an orange brandy,” he’d said, instead. “It’s not going to be aged at all, but they’ll like it for after dinner. Just give me your oranges.”

Eau de vie doesn’t take years, thankfully, and with the amount of orange trees covering Mark’s estate… he had his bottles just in time to impress.

Of course, Damien kept his distillers going, because once is a favor, but twice, and so soon, is the start of a pattern. Mark found a source, and Damien knew better than to expect he’d let go so soon.

By the time Mark showed up with an invitation to poker and a burning question on his lips, he’d already bottled up some more brandy, a bottle of gin, some vodka. “You were going to ask,” he said, world-weary as Mark looked over the bottles with delight. “I thought I’d be prepared.”

All this being said, he didn’t really mind bringing along alcohol to those poker nights. He could enjoy the fruits of his labor and good company besides, let loose after the still-worthwhile grind of council busywork; even after he stopped-- which was a police matter and the single stain on his pristine reputation, and not something he liked recounting-- he still provided the drink in some way, whether sourcing out others in the same underground industry or serving the drinks, themselves.

Learning the balance of spirits wasn’t easy, but it came along with something unexpectedly: learning that they told a story, the story of whomever drank them. Certain people gravitated towards flavors, styles, presentations, all as particular and distinct as their fashion choices, their other preferences.

If he wanted to learn about his friends, about anyone, all he had to do was watch them drink.

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