#actor mark/reader

[moonlight-ee]

That’s America’s ass!

[districtattorney404]

why do I have to see this...

[theknightmarket]

"What do you get out of this?"

In which Dark finally reunites with his victim in the mirror. Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - AO3 TW: cursing Pages: 27 - Words: 11,500

[Requests: OPEN]

As it often was, the manor was silent. The staircases lost their breath long ago, the floorboards coped with the expected and constant weight, and the doors fell into disuse to the point that they faded into the walls. Altogether, even the rats were too spooked to enter those abandoned hallways, for fear of exciting ghosts or ghouls from the mist. Nothing went in, nothing went out. 

And that was just how Dark liked it. Society had moved too fast for him, leaving him in the dust as some poetic punishment. Some part of him had always been alone, another part abandoned, and the last part dictated by it. He didn’t want any part in a thing that would only work against him, so he was content to stay in the confines of the manor, not that leaving it was ever an option. If he could, he would have by now; he would have escaped and found some quiet shelter where the memories of his actions couldn’t haunt him. 

From time to time, he would be reminded of the events all those years ago by three simple things. Or, rather, people. The first of which was anything but simple – Wilford ‘Motherloving’ Warfstache had not visited the manor in quite a while, instead, roaming both space and time, looking for his next interviewee. Dark had heard about a robot he constructed, or stole, that he used to get his next, for lack of a better term, victims. He knew of one person that had already perished from the faulty wiring, and he was not planning to be his next, the fact that he couldn’t die notwithstanding.

The second was someone less dramatic. In fact, despite him definitely being around, Dark never saw hide nor hair of him. Benjamin was an elusive creature, skulking around the corridors and making noise in the kitchen at the most random of times. When he had first arrived, he went about making meals and snacks for the ‘new masters’, but what with Wilford never being there and Dark not needing to eat, his habits were just that: habits. The faint smell of baking cookies was ever-present though, which made a venture by the kitchen a pleasant treat on a hard day. 

And, as he passed that room, it was indeed needed.

Because, for the third and final reminder, not only memories lurked around the corners, but consequences, too. Cruel, despairing consequences that almost had Dark turning tail and rushing back to his office. His still heart was in his throat as he moved through a hallway, unnecessary breath quickened when he glided under an arch, and, when he stepped foot into the foyer, he felt as though he would pass out then and there. 

At the side of the entrance, as it always had been, was a mirror, one that he had never touched or looked at in the last hundred years. Just the thought of it made the room seem colder, if it were possible, because one thing was undeniable; this one was his fault. He had trapped a dear friend in perpetual darkness for nearly a century, acted as though he had no knowledge they still existed, and went about his business. 

He wondered if you could ever forgive him. 

Although he would never know if he didn’t do the one thing that struck fear into his heart like lightning igniting the ground. He would have to talk to you. That was, if you even wanted to talk to him, because – despite Dark’s lacking social skills – he knew that conversations had to be a two-way street, and he wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to cross that line. 

But first things first.

Heaving a dramatic breath was harder than the 12 labors of Hercules, but Dark managed it anyway, if only to get over the first hurdle, and carefully brought his fist to the corner of the mirror. If this went well, he could finally get that nagging part of him to quieten down. 

One knock was easy. Simple. Almost instinctual. The second was much less so. The brief pause between sounds was empty of condemnation or acceptance, but the quietness that followed his next knock was damn-near painful. Was he doing something wrong? Had he already messed everything up? 

He supposed he did that when he locked you in the mirror in the first place. 

“Hello?” he spoke numbly. Some part of him wanted you to come right out and yell at him, curse him, do whatever just to show that you were open to confronting him. Another part perished the thought. It couldn’t bare you emerging from the darkness with unquenchable wrath towards him, a thirst for vengeance that he couldn’t manipulate his way out of – so give him the calm you, the one that would listen to him when he apologized, probably scold him some, and then let your relationship build back up again. Notably, that was the part of him that reminded him of what had happened every time he crossed the foyer. And then there was the smallest section of his heart, nestled at the very bottom and buried beneath years of guilt and denial… that didn’t want you to appear at all.

But that would negate his reason for being there in the first place, and fleeing with his tail between his legs was not Dark’s forté. So, crossing his arms over his chest and digging his heels into the floorboards, he stood his ground. 

“Hello?” he repeated, confidence creeping steadily into his tone. “We need to talk.” 

Technically, that was a lie. You didn’t need to talk, nothing bad would happen to you if you didn’t show up, but there had been a steadily creeping feeling of distress for Dark that urged him to take some action. Obviously, you wouldn’t be doing much initiating from behind the glass, so that left him standing before you. Hopeful, hesitant, alone. 

“I have matters to discuss with you.” He reasoned to himself that he could communicate, if not as a friend, then as a business partner. The cold logistics were his strong suit, after all, and it negated the risk of developing an emotional attachment. It did mean ignoring a large part of him – the part of him that wanted to make that connection – but it was better than the alternative. 

However, as he waited, it became apparent that he didn’t have to worry about that struggle. You weren’t going to appear, it seemed, the seconds ticking by on the grandfather clock behind him. The damned thing taunted him, and he was sick of it as soon as he noticed. If you didn’t want to talk in that moment, fine, but you wouldn’t be getting away with the silent treatment that easy. 

Besides, it wasn’t as though he had gone into this interaction with any kind of plan, and that was what he was good at, planning. So, the only reason why this hadn’t worked first try was because he hadn’t thought it out well enough. Tomorrow, then, you would talk, he would make sure of it. He couldn’t fail twice in a row?

He failed twice in a row. The next day, after Dark had knocked again at the wooden edge of the mirror, watched the glass in the frame shiver ever so slightly, you didn’t appear. You denied giving him even the slightest hint of recognition. 

“We need to talk,” he insisted, acutely aware that he was repeating words from before, but what else could he say? He wasn’t one for patience, and you would find him dead thrice over before he begged. No, you would have to take what he gave you, accept that he wasn’t going to throw himself before you in desperation. 

It didn’t make this any easier on him, though. The seconds that shuffled past him felt like wading through mud. They grated on his nerves, pulled at his skin, his hand leapt to his jacket to fiddle with the edges. Normally, it was enough to ground him and keep him from acting out, but, as before, Dark was not one for patience. 

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this,” he started, relatively soft in comparison to what he could be, “but we don’t have time for it. I don’t have time for it.” 

He understood that creating false urgency was somewhat backhanded, but he really did have to speak with you. Perhaps overexaggerating the situation, if it was needed, was something he was prepared to do. 

He pressed on, “I came here to talk to you and that is exactly what I’ll be doing. You’re not going to get me to stop just because you’re acting like a child—” nothing, “—because you are! You are a child, and, right now, you are not helping anyone by staying silent.” Still nothing. 

The air around him flexed and popped as Dark grew more and more agitated. Red and blue bent around each other like oil in water, droplets and sparks and smoke that curled over his shadows. He was racked with indecision, the three parts of him threatening to tear him apart, drawn and quartered, just to have their own way. He hated not being able to make up his mind, because that left him not entirely focused on the thing in front of him. In such an important moment, he had to be, lest he say some undesirable things. 

“What are you doing?” As such, it was unfortunate that he was indeed undecided, “Are- are you throwing a tantrum in there, are you sulking? I don’t understand why you won’t talk to me!” A crack spiderwebbed itself in Dark’s little bubble. The sound of a sharp fracture echoed through the manor’s halls. Despite Dark straightening his back, dropping his shoulders, adjusting his grip on his suit jacket, the crack remained. “Okay,” he huffed, “I accept that I’ve made mistakes, but they weren’t horrible. This was for the best, and, frankly, I believe you’re being selfish. Three lives are more important than one, and, yes, I admit that our method was… backhanded, but that doesn’t give you the right to ignore me for it.” 

He gave it ten seconds before squinting his eyes. Goading hadn’t worked, pseudo-apologies be damned, what else was he supposed to do? He refused to stoop so low as to concede his wrongdoings, far more there were in your opinion, leaving him with nothing. He stared at himself through the glass, clear as day, practically crystal. 

“Fine. Act like that,” Dark muttered, “You’re the one who’s trapped, not me.”

A beat passed. The glass didn’t change. Just plain indifference.

“Oh, be quiet.” With that spat towards the mirror, he turned on his heel and marched back to his office. 

Four times. Four times. When the clock struck nine for the past four nights, Dark would make his way towards the mirror in the foyer, disregard anyone and anything in his path, and knock on the wood, never to receive an answer. Four times over. 

And it wasn’t as though it was getting any easier to wait; self-restraint was being exercised more than patience, because it was all he could do to keep himself from shattering the glass even more than it already was. The other mirrors were not as safe. Those in the bathrooms, library, and two of the bedrooms fell victim to Dark’s frustration, leaving messes of shards and splinters where they used to hang. They were disposable, your mirror was not, nor the one that met his eyes across his office. It was cleaner, less fancy that the one in the foyer, and he found it the only one that he could handle being in the presence of, and the only one that could handle being in his presence.

Although, one living being did manage to hold his own in the same room. 

“Oh, Dark! I’ve been looking for you.”

Wilford had been flitting in and out of the manor recently, more rapidly than before but just as unreliable. Dark didn’t know what he wanted, but he wasn’t going to waste time asking him outright. The man could straddle a fence all he liked, he had more important things – not that they were working out any better. 

But now that Wilford was confronting him directly, he didn’t have a choice in talking to him. If only you saw it the same way…

“I’m where I’ve been for the past century, Wilford,” Dark responded, eyes not moving from the documents in front of him. 

“Hmm—” he pulled himself onto the desk, “—Is that so?”

He didn’t bother to hide his sigh as he dragged his glare up to his friend’s face. The look on his face spoke more words than he could be bothered to say. Confusion, annoyance, a general ‘get on with it before I kick you out’ sort of tone. 

Wilford was unaffected. “Well,” he drawled with that unpinpointable accent, “I’m just saying that there’s been a few times I’ve popped in when you haven’t been here.” His hands darted for the pen stand on the desk. “Though, the mirror was definitely a surprise.” 

Damn it. If there was one thing that Wilford and Dark had in common, it was a certain omniscience for things in the manor. Whether he had actively seen his attempts to talk to you didn’t matter, he would know either way, like a nosy child. He was quickly growing tired of childish antics, but that could have just been the permanent mood for the week. 

The weariness not only had Dark pushing his chair away from the desk to swing one leg over another, but it also halted his reaction time, if only for a millisecond – unfortunately for him, that was all the time Wil needed to notice. 

“What were you doing, anyway? You haven’t spoken to our friend in the entire time we’ve been here, and you weren’t there to worry about your appearance.”

His permanent sugar-coated smile turned sour, the edges pulling taught and his teeth sharpening. The knowledge of everything and everyone in the building doubled into annoyance at not knowing a secret. Wilford liked to be in on the joke.

Dark wouldn’t let him in that easy, not when his attempts had gone wrong every time. “We were only,” he paused, “talking.”

“You certainly were!” Wil’s chortle came out boisterous, clashing with the shadows of the room. “I can’t say the same about them, now, can I?”

Dark never liked giving in to his more dramatic urges, but rolling his eyes at his friend’s antics was the very furthest he would go. Always turning things into a joke, stripping them of severity and seriousness. Sometimes, on the very oddest of occasions, he could understand it. He’d seen his mental break when he stole your body, and he had accepted his denial for the next month or so, but there was a point when things had to matter. Getting you to talk to him mattered. 

Wilford looked over his shoulder at the mirror. His smile barely softened as he raised one hand to send you a wave. You hadn’t fully appeared, you never did in Dark’s office, but there was the faint outline of some shape that hinted you were at the very least listening in. Of course, you didn’t say anything back. Wil thought you were both similar in some respects - for instance, you were both as stubborn as a mule. You’d decided to look into the office, so you were interested in what was going on, and Dark’s last week of trying to talk to you proved his persistence. Another thing you shared was a hatred for Mark – and, no, he wasn’t going to censor that man’s name in his own train of thought, he was a big boy – so if you both agreed to work together, Dark might actually make some headway in his search for the criminal. You could finally put that combined pig-headedness to good use. 

“I’m trying to get them to respond, but they steadfastly refuse to.” Dark’s fluid complaint had Wil swinging his head back to him. 

“I can’t say I blame them.”

Alarm shot over one’s face while the other looked pleasantly calm. Siding with someone you refused to even look at him was a surprise, but it shouldn’t have been so shocking; the manic time-traveler was the definition of a wildcard, he always had been.

As he spoke, Wil snatched a pile of papers from a semi-open drawer to rifle through. “From what I’ve heard,” he began, “you were being quite rude last time. Calling them a child, really, what did you expect?”

“I was expecting some kind of answer.”

“Ah, so you were goading a response out of them. Not at all releasing any pent-up aggression, eh?”

Dark didn’t like this. He didn’t like the sudden turn of the tables. Wilford had gone from the eaves-dropping child to the parent giving their own a scolding. He didn’t like the loss of control he had over the situation. But what he disliked the most was the idea that he was lying about his intentions. Too many people had been accusing him of that, neither straightforward, and it was becoming an unfavorable pattern to him. 

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating, Wilford.”

“Oh, but I’m not insinuating anything! I’m only suggesting that this was not the most effective way of getting them to talk. If you wanted them to play nice, you’d better do so yourself.”

“I am playing nice.”

The words came out with his namesake in mind, a volume walking the line between a growl and a yell. His ashen knuckles became as white as snow against the edge of the desk, Wil was surprised he couldn’t see inactive veins underneath his skin. Although he didn’t meet his eyes, they were sure to be glaring daggers at whatever he was looking at. None of this worried him. Noisy neighbors, stray dogs, the occasional estate agent who thought this looked an easy sell – they all were topics of Dark’s anger. This, though, was something a little different. 

The blue and red that echoed around him fought against itself in a desperate attempt to both stay close to Dark and throw distance between the colors. The dangerous aura of power surrounding him was getter less and less stable with each passing day, and he had some theories on what could be causing it – undoubtably, it was you, that much was obvious. However, he didn’t know whether it was him going near you or staying away that created this unpredictability. What he did know was that he would have to sort it out soon, or risk something happening that was out of his control. 

The least he could do for now was rein himself in, so, almost begrudgingly, Dark straightened out the lapels of his jacket and contained himself to his chair. Wilford watched him all the while, not scared, but with a knowing look on his face that made Dark want to kick him out of the manor entirely. 

“I’ll try again in the morning. Now, I have business to attend to, and I would appreciate no distractions.” The excuse was not subtle, but it worked in getting Wil to slide off the desk and ready himself to leave to whatever time period tickled his fancy. Dark, meanwhile, immediately dropped his gaze to the paper in front of him, not sparing him a second glance. 

Wil called as he began to strut out, cheery as if nothing had happened, “And don’t forget your manners, Dark!”

He merely huffed in response. Pale acknowledgment he was known to give even in times of calm, though, a thing he lacked now was attentiveness. He directed all of his focus to ignoring Wil, meaning he also ignored his next words sent towards the mirror. 

“The same goes for you, old friend. It’d be nice if we all got along,” he spoke. Both his tone and expression were imploring, something you had not seen for a good while. Hell, any emotion beyond crazed carelessness was a rarity, so it would be a lie to say you were going to disregard the change in behavior that easy. 

You don’t say anything when Wil passed by, nor when he lets the office door fall closed. Normally, you would leave the second he did; you weren’t a fan of being in the same room as Dark for longer than entertained you, and, without someone who knew you were there, it became boring. Why this day was any different, you didn’t know, but your subconscious urged you to stay behind. Watch. 

You nearly laughed at yourself, even though it would give your position away. You yourself were practically a subconscious, a physical body long gone thanks to the very person in front of you. You couldn’t interact with the world outside the mirrors, you couldn’t leave the manor, you couldn’t do anything, that was his fault. 

The very faint lines of a figure dispersed like a cigarette’s smoke as you left the room, a single thought that sent you fleeing. 

Why did it feel like you were trying to convince yourself?

Nine o’clock. Wilford had tried to get him to come earlier, but a routine had been established, and Dark, although he would never admit it, did find himself using the time to mentally prepare himself. That, and his space-faring friend had only appeared ten minutes before to see the interaction through. 

Speaking of which, that very man was standing a few feet away from him in the kitchen’s archway, an encouraging and pleading grin marring his face. He hadn’t asked why it was so important to him that you get along, his sudden interest seeming suspicious, but he wasn’t about to try and get an answer out of two stubborn mules. 

His fist met the wooden frame three times. His feet shifted on the floorboards. He waited with bated breath. 

“I would appreciate if we could have a civil conversation.” 

One, two, three. 

“I’m sorry, but my mommy told me not to talk to strangers.”

It had been such a long time since he had heard your voice that Dark flinched at the sound of it. It was bitter and hostile and mocking and a part of him damn near blushed. He quickly shut it down with a swallow and grab of his lapel, but, for a brief second, he couldn’t deny that he was happy. You showed up. Progress.

But the look on your face didn’t suggest there was going to be much more. It was his job to fix that, and, from Wilford clearing his throat somewhere behind him, he was going to have to do that without getting into an argument. 

Dark thought for a moment. Just like before, it was difficult not having his full attention on something. He couldn’t lose this opportunity to talk to you, but it would help to collect himself. The best he could do that was by talking slowly and clearly, and under no circumstances could he lose his temper.

“I apologize for calling you a child. I had planned to talk to you, and it,” he sighed, closing his eyes, “annoyed me that I couldn’t do that.”

Good news: you were still there when he opened them again. Bad news: you looked expectant at best, still pissed at worst. 

“And what else?”

Dark squinted, back tracking the lecture he had given you and your history together. “I apologize for calling you selfish.”

“And what else?”

The corners of his lips tugged downwards harshly into a frown, the most he could do while he resisted rolling his eyes, but he managed to choke out, “What else? I apologize for everything I said last time I spoke to you.”

He wouldn’t deny that he felt smug. It wasn’t a look he liked for himself, but it was a good feeling. Knowing that you had outsmarted someone was enjoyable, and that someone being a person you’d recently got into a disagreement with was even better. 

He did not feel smug when you repeated for the final time, “And what else?”

In fact, he spluttered, a fish pulled out of water. What else could there possibly be? He hadn’t spoken to you for nearly a century, he can’t have done anything to insult you without ever interacting with you, could he? Or were you trying to outsmart him back? That sounded like you, you were the district attorney, after all. You were probably hoping he would admit to something that you didn’t know he did. Well, he wouldn’t play your game. 

“What else is there?” Dark asked, staring you dead in the eyes. 

You stared back. 

There was something about the mirror that made it impossible to look at you. Every second, the image of you was switching out between your hazy form and his own face. Both equally ashen, both equally annoyed, both equally inhuman. In one hundred years, the pair of you had gone from friends sharing a cup of coffee, talking over that one unenviable case, to bulls waiting to see who would make the first move. Neither dared move, not for fear, but for displaying weakness. 

Your pupils were the first to shift. While the rest of you remained stock-still, they dragged up and down his body. From the face to the suit to the legs, it was almost as though you were cataloguing everything that he had changed from what you used to look like – until you brought your eyes back up to his. 

“Well, thank you for apologizing for that.” 

That sentence had his shoulders relaxing somewhat. You had taken his olive branch, it was the second step in constructing a partnership that would, hopefully, turn out to be mutually beneficial to you both. Dark could move in the manor, sure, but you had the void, a place where he spent a lot of his time. Maybe he left some clues, or even a body—

“I don’t forgive you.”

You snapped the olive branch between your cold hands. 

“What?” Dark hissed, practically outraged, “I’ve already apologized for everything I did, what else is there?”

A strange sort of enragement flashed over your eyes at his words. You kept your cool, but there was no doubt that, had you the option, you would have strangled him. Although he didn’t know what he’d done this time, the snarl beginning to curl over your mouth and the flexing of your hands gave more than a hint. When you moved them to gesture wildly around the void, Dark thought you were going to give it a try anyhow. 

It didn’t make him think any deeper about it though, him simply answering to your silent point, “I’ve covered that.”

You let your arms drop to your sides. “Yeah, and then you had to apologize for it, so you obviously didn’t do a good job.” 

What was meant to be a helpful little chat, maybe that would grow into something else, was rapidly collapsing in on itself. A snake eating its own tail to satiate its hunger. Except, this time, it satiated nothing, save for the want to have the last word in an argument. Both of you suffered from that fatal flaw. Stubbornness ran like a virus through inmoving veins, without mercy or pity. Maybe if it had been only one of you, you could have gotten along, but that was not the case.

“I’ll reiterate, then,” Dark began as he straightened himself out, “Mark stole Damien’s body and one entity of this house commandeered Celine’s. That left three spirits wandering the void: Damien, Celine, and the remaining entity. Are you keeping up with me?” He needed to slow down. “Good. Now, and I feel the need to emphasize this, it was coincidence that your body was left unoccupied when you were shot. We didn’t plan for that.” He really needed to slow down. “We didn’t plan for any of this, but it’s what happened, and we took it in stride. The next course of events is simple. We appeared to you, you agreed to let us occupy your body, and so we did.” Pump the brakes, pull the plug, slow the roll. “Don’t talk because I know what you’re going to say. Two spirits in one body is pushing it, three is dangerous, but four? It’d be a waste of a perfectly good host; it would self-destruct as soon as the brain caught up.” Stop talking! “So, I’ll ask again. What else is there?”

Had he been alive, Dark’s heart would have been beating so hard that you might have been able to see it through his suit. Of course, he wasn’t alive, and neither were you, so he wouldn’t have been able to see yours trying to force its way out of your ribcage, either. If there ever were a chance that you would feel sympathy for this man, he had wiped it out just like that. His little monologue might have felt nice at the time, but you promised that you would make him regret it. Talking to you like a child, who did he think he was? 

“For someone so high and mighty, you sure are dumb,” you spat back. Explaining it in a more courteous sense had crossed your mind, but it was stamped out. 

An annoyed “What?” was the only response you received. 

“Do you think that I’m mad at you for stealing my body?”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing, but yes, I do.”

You scoffed. All that preaching and he wasn’t even right on what you were pissed at. “I don’t care that you, fine, inhabited my body without me—” Even giving that little leeway was painful to you, but you struggled through it, “—I’m mad that you left me in here.”

That gave Dark pause, something that no one had been able to do for quite a while. Sure, they could get him to quiet down, mostly through annoyance in Wilford’s case, but it was an achievement to get him to stand and contemplate someone’s words, genuinely. He didn’t understand what you meant entirely. 

“I couldn’t do anything else,” he settled for saying. 

“Of course, you could.” Your voice had fallen quiet. Where that had been fire and fury and blinding stubbornness, you seemed to have slipped into a smaller volume. Simple. If he didn’t know you any better – and after such a time, there was a chance he didn’t know you at all, anymore –, he might have said there was a hint of pleading. 

“Like what, for example?”

“You could have spoken to me, you- you could have stopped to look at me, for once!” You were rearing up again, the collapse of the walls hadn’t lasted very long, making Dark wish he hadn’t asked for that example after all. But even though you were on the offensive again, once the dam had broken there was going to be no fixing it. Going without anyone to talk to for so long completely disregarded all of your social skills, and, apparently, keeping your emotions and real opinions to yourself were some of those skills. “It’s been terrifying being trapped in this mirror, alone, in the dark, without anything to do but think. The number of times I’ve had to recount the night we died or else I’d do insane is too high for me to count.”

If you lost track of the events, you might end up wrongly forgiving some people and wrongly villainizing others.

Despite you showing a bit of weakness in admitting you were scared, Dark was not an emotional man. Hell, the only person he’d spoken to was an insane murderer, so give him some slack if he didn’t pick up on every feeling you showed. Thinking back on it, he would have accepted some of the blame instead of shifting it to others with a snarky, “I’m not the only one here, I hope you know.”

You bit back, “Wilford and Benjamin, how could I forget? Except Wilford actually has gone insane from denial, and Benjamin has said one thing to me since I’ve been in here, and it was an insult to my clothes. Neither of them is around enough to talk to anyway.” The last bit you muttered quieter to yourself, but it didn’t slip past Dark. 

“How would I be any better?”

“Oh, cut the self-loathing. It’s not a good look on you, and it’s pissing me off.” He had half the mind to ask what didn’t piss you off at this point – decorative language that you’d picked up from real estate agents notwithstanding – but he held his tongue. “I thought we were in the same situation, victims of Mark, together. Apparently, we’re not.”

And, with a shift of your attention to the edge of the mirror, you followed it up with, “You’re less like me and more like Mark.” 

That set Dark’s red and blue waves alight like a rabid flame doused in gasoline. The crack from before splintered itself along his frame even more so, sending high-pitched squeals into the air. All parts of him were having different reactions, from outraged to regretful to accepting, leaving the final physical output a frigid glare. Your own eyes flitted around him, watching the energy strike out of control, and, for a brief moment, you wished you had stayed silent. 

It was an odd feeling to see someone you once considered a friend – whom you knew fully well wasn’t that same friend – respond in such a way. The visage that used to belong to Damien sent your subconscious wanting to comfort him, but, the logical part of your brain knew he wasn’t the same. Trying to be kind to him now would be fruitless, and an insult to your past together. 

You let yourself sigh the smallest breath that you could when he managed to corral himself. The waves of light returned to the surface of his skin. He blinked.

“I suppose a century is bound to do some damage—”

“A fucking century!?”

That was the last straw for you. 

“You’ve been avoiding me for a century!?” 

You knew that you couldn’t force your way out of the mirror, but this delightful news threw all reasoning out of the window. The glass barely flexed with your shoulder pressing against it, nor the fist you chucked, or even launching a foot into it. With no clue, no night-day cycle, no nothing, you had no way to tell how long you’d been abandoned for. Only your shattered view to the outside world helped, and even then, nothing in the manor would change for you to tell how much time had passed. A vague internal clock was no help either, leaving you to a guessing game. A month, a year, maybe a decade or so. 

Instead, a goddamn century had passed with barely a word from this man who stood in front of you, wearing your friend’s skin and using your bones. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Pitiful. An entity with so much power that some part of him could help bring someone back from the dead. 

“You’re a coward, Dark.”

He was starting to dislike how he looked – not for any insecurities, but because whenever he was looking at it, it only meant that you were not there. His reflection tried to goad some spat out of him, but the only thing there was an emptiness that was quickly spreading to consume all the anger and resentment that had been there before. The voice that had originally urged him to talk to you was silenced, sure, but he didn’t feel any better. He felt worse if that were possible. 

A whistle broke the silence behind him. 

“That was quite the fit you two had.” 

Wilford stepped beside Dark, both gazing at the mirror, and just the mirror gazed back. It felt wrong. 

“Do you understand what I said before?” He punctuated his question with a twist of his heel.

“Oh, but you got an answer out of them this time,” Wil slapped a hand onto his shoulder, “that’s progress, friend!” 

“Progress is arguing to the point of storming off, then?” 

Walking away from the mirror felt, to Dark, too much like giving up. Having indeed received some kind of response, regardless of whether it was positive or negative, just made it more of a failure to leave without succeeding. At least when you hadn’t appeared entirely, he could blame it on you not wanting to talk – this time, though, you were there, and you had spoken, and, because of something he did, you left. 

Approaching the staircase closest to his office, he fought back the thought. 

“Progress is getting a verbal response,” Wil called after him, rushing to catch up, “and you can make more if you so choose, which I highly implore you to do.” 

With a huff, Dark caught hold of the banister. “Why don’t you try? They might be more susceptible.” 

Wil practically chased him up to the landing, refusing to let him go and sulk in his office that easy. “I spoke to them within the first year. The only thing stopping them from coming out to play more often is you.”

Having just rounded the corner and with his hand hovering over the doorknob, Dark found himself wishing that he were ever-so-slightly quicker. Maybe if he had skipped the last step, not paused at the bottom, or simply sprinted for his door – maybe he wouldn’t have had to hear that. Wil’s tone may have been sugary and light, but he wasn’t dumb. Saying such a thing had him struggling to maintain a cool exterior. Was what he did really that much of a problem? He assumed that your outburst had come from him finally showing to you, but had you gone so long without any interaction?

He twisted the handle. 

“Does it matter that much to you?” 

“Of course! The manor could use a little activity, I’d say,” Wilford spoke as though he’d already won the battle, and, as Dark stepped over the threshold, he had. 

A brief pause, in which he looked around his bleak office – the desk, the bookshelf, the mirror – and then he answered, “Alright. I’ll try once more tomorrow.” 

Wil practically erupted into fireworks. He clapped his hands together, spun around on the heel of his shoe, and announced, “Splendid! It’s a date!” 

He was gone a second later, leaving Dark to himself. The minimal amount of light that had breached the room was dispelled with a closing of the door. He had a lot of work to do, but, for once, it had nothing to do with tracking down Mark or keeping the authorities away from the manor. No, because this time, it employed the quant, little library that Celine had made for herself when she lived in the place. With no one having gone in or out in the past century, there wasn’t even dust along the shelves, nor disrepair of the books. Everything would be pristine, just how she left it. And, matched with the knowledge of where everything was, Dark knew that this would be a piece of cake. His plan would go off without a hitch.

Although, that had been his belief when he had prepared to confront you, and look how that had turned out.

Surrounded by darkness, listening to darkness, seeing darkness, you had a lot of time to think. For most people, the ennui of an eternity might soften them up, or make them think differently. Not you. In fact, you were certain in any and all of the convictions you had at the very moment of your death. Resentment built up under the surface of your skin like rot, and, without the ability to leave the void, you were never given a chance to clear yourself of it. 

There were the odd opinions that barely hardened, but there was also a good amount of them that solidified into steel. Kings of them all were the reasons you were trapped in the mirror in the first place. Though, as said before, you didn’t begrudge Dark for keeping you there, only that he ignored you. 

Mark, on the other hand, you would gladly beat with a stick the second you saw him, or even your bare hands if you lacked anything else. The thought of touching him made you grimace, but you would struggle through it, if only to see that monster of a man dead at your feet as he should have been years ago. 

That was the worst thing about the void, beating out the loneliness and the silence, was the fact that – if you were to look at a very specific place, your head placed just so and tilted within a fraction of a degree, you could see the familiar and infuriating face of one man. He was still dressed in a satin robe, splayed on the ground, arms held out like a false idol. 

Mark’s body had long since gone cold, abandoned just as you were, to the place in the mirror. When he had taken Damien’s body, he’d left his behind, a literal shell of a man. You would see it sometimes when you moved your head quickly. A flash, a strike of lighting. It was still there to this day, but you’d never gotten the bravery to get any closer to it. It wasn’t as though you could trip over it, so why bother?

Between reliving the memories of your demise and thinking of how much you hated those two figures, you wondered if this was a punishment. The body was placed there to remind you of your loneliness, while the mirror taunted you with a glimpse of freedom that you would never reach. It gave you the only sense of direction in the void; a roughly 3 by 2-meter screen with decorated edges that just hung there. You had once tried to knock it down, but that just served to dent the corner. 

You had… mixed feelings about the window. On one hand, it let some light in. It let you see your hands, your torso, the body at the edge of your vision, your legs. You could appreciate that part. And, although not overly effectively, it gave you a sense of self. You existed, you were present in time and space, you hadn’t just disappeared, as much as you were otherwise convinced – which led you to the other hand; it mocked you. Constantly. You could see out, people could see in, but it was rare that you acknowledged one another. Wilford waved at you a few times, and Benjamin had insulted the outfit that you’d died in. The one to give you the most attention overall was Dark.

Your head snapped to the mirror.

Dark. 

He said he would try again tomorrow, didn’t he? Was it tomorrow yet? You weren’t good at keeping track of time, it seemed, but the draining and filling of the light outside that you, for once, stayed awake long enough to notice, gave you some indication. Shadows danced from the windows, the rise of a sun, and the fall of a moon. A day had passed, it had to. Timing always got finicky after six o’clock, when you couldn’t discern when it was getting brighter or if clouds were just passing through. Just to be sure, you decided to watch the screen for a bit longer. He normally appeared when it was darker – you sometimes laughed to yourself about that kind of thematic symbolism – but maybe today would be different. 

The next minutes were not different, which was to be expected, so you sat yourself down for a little longer. The next hours were not different, but you had waited a century, you could wait some more. The rest of that day was not different, though you could assume that he was just busy – stuck in that suit all day, talking of nothing but paperwork, he had to be busy. 

But the day after that was not different, either, nor was the next. Flittering between the few remaining mirrors didn’t help, because, for once, Dark was not in his office. He had to be somewhere that you couldn’t access, and, for a moment, you wondered if this was his plan. Questions about his real intentions stuck into your mind like darts on a board; had he meant to trick you, had he wanted you to get your hopes up? The idea that it was all for fun briefly topped your theories, but it couldn’t be right. You didn’t think that fun was a part of Dark’s vocabulary, regardless of the nature of it, so you knocked it down to the bottom of the possibilities. 

However, after yet another fall and rise of the sun, you stood before the screen of the void. A prisoner staring out at the world through their iron bars. Only one notion remained, a small, simple notion that you had harbored since the beginning. 

He was a liar. He was a coward and a liar, and he never cared about you, not one bit. Everything was fake, he wasn’t sorry about anything he said, and he didn’t care about you being alone. He threw people to the wayside the second they weren’t useful anymore, and whatever he needed you for had solved itself, so there you go! Brushed to the side like an inconvenient pile of trash, because he was Dark, and that was what Dark did. A selfish, lying coward, he was worse than Mark—!

You lifted your foot. Glass littered the ground. You didn’t hear the mirror smash, and yet, the evidence was there. A slice of the screen carved out hastily and let fall to the floor of the void. The space it had occupied before was now empty upon you putting your hand through it. 

“Huh,” you muttered to yourself. You still weren’t full comfortable with the sound of your own voice. Too scratchy from disuse. 

The couple of shards of glass that were somewhat intact on the floor reflected something back at you as you moved. Carefully, you crouched down to cradle one, and then promptly fell backwards.

You couldn’t remember what you looked like when you were alive. When you thought of yourself, all you could see in your mind’s eye was a blank slate of a face and a line downwards, like a stick-figure. Staring into the thing in your hand, you questioned again if this were a punishment. 

Smoke. Smoke in the vague shape of a person. That was all you could see, and, no matter how you tilted or twisted the glass, that was all it would show. The billows of gas threw themselves around over one another, cascading down along the side of a face and then shoulders, like waterfalls creating a path with no end. A misty hand brought to your face conflicted with the image. It felt like there was something solid there, your hands felt solid, as well. You didn’t know what to trust, but that was the same age-old story, wasn’t it?

The tears looked like smoke, too. 

Nine o’clock. The day had passed painfully quickly. Normally, that would be a godsend, but it only reminded you of the hiatus when things actually happened. Not anymore. It changed very quickly back to what it had been before, like your mind was trained to accept abandonment. 

You weren’t mad anymore. At least, you didn’t think you were. The office had gone uninhabited for the past four days, so you didn’t have anything to direct your anger towards. It was more as though you were frozen, back to spectating the manor through a sheen of frosted glass with your legs crossed. You’d give anything to feel the snow again, or any change in temperature at all. The void was completely neutral – maybe 15 degrees if you paid close attention. It didn’t matter to you anymore.

You were drifting. Your train of thought kept straying from the subject, and reliving the memories gave you no satisfaction, no sadness, no fear. Frozen. To the point that you barely registered that someone was standing in front of the mirror. 

You wouldn’t admit that you clambered to your feet, nor that you jogged closer to the mirror to strengthen your image. Did you look like smoke to him, too? You shook your head, that didn’t matter. Attention roving his body, you inspected Dark for any sign of what had taken his time up so much. You got your answer quickly when your gaze landed on two books, one in each of his hands, though only the right was open. The other’s cover, meanwhile, was exposed to you. ‘The Lady in the Lake’ it read, in a striking, slightly yellowed font. On a positive note, you felt some sort of coherent emotion stirring within you. The bad news on that front was that it was anger that was returning. Had Dark ignored you, again, for a fiction book?

“Hello to you, too?” you risked speaking. No reaction to you; instead, he began muttering something that you couldn’t make out, not for lack of trying. You suddenly found a blockage between the words he was saying and your brain, as though he were speaking complete gibberish with English intonation. You struggled to rationalize anything until a mass of gray and red and blue flocked to the fiction book. A smoky substance danced around the cover, under and over Dark’s hand, like a swarm of flies. It wasn’t long before they drifted to the ceiling, leaving an empty space behind. 

And then something in the void changed. For once, something new was added, and it was right at your feet. You weren’t going to question what his book did – you were trapped inside a mirror, after all, less explainable things had happened. You damn-near cried again when your hand brushed the paperback while your heart went while in your chest. Had you been able to, you would have lunged at Dark to hug him, but you couldn’t – for one, the mirror, obviously, but you were still somewhat annoyed with him. You schooled your expression as best you could from awed to simply appreciative.

Dark, meanwhile, didn’t bother trying to hide his smugness. 

Tentatively, you drag your attention away from the gift and ask, “What is this?” 

“A book.”

Your chest instinctively cramped with a bark of laughter. Short, solid, and, to someone on the other side of the mirror, sweet. A grin spread over your lips with such a reaction that you hadn’t felt in years. That someone preferred this look to your spiteful sarcasm. 

You looked down again, finger spreading across the indented title, and then your eyebrows furrowed. You didn’t want to break this already brief moment, but you just had to know…

“What do you get out of this?”

Dark’s shoulders set straighter. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t sound defensive, just confused, which helped to settle your concerns, but it wasn’t enough. So, you prodded, “What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything.”

The conversation may have been over, but the interaction was not. Dark stood there with his hands now clasped behind him and his book resting on the side table. A subtle smirk played on his mouth, though it didn’t exude the sadism you’d come to expect from it. This time, it just looked natural. He stayed unmoving as you looked him up and down, once, twice, before you let your own shoulders sag. Your posture bent and your eyebrows flattened. 

This was all reversed when Dark whirled on his heel and started to walk. 

“Where are you going?” Keeping your voice stable took all the energy in the world from you. 

“I’ll be back in a moment,” was the answer you received, alongside his disappearing steps as he took himself away from the foyer. 

You didn’t like that. It left a foul taste in your mouth – not for him leaving, but for the way that you felt about it. It stirred something in your gut and squeezed your heart with a vengeful vice grip. The next few minutes that Dark was away you spent arguing with yourself.

One side of you reminded you of how things had been for the past hundred years; you hated that man because he left you alone, he trapped you in this mirror, he stole your body. Without him, you would be dead and buried, allowed to rest, finally. And, with him, you were here. An endless void, eternally missing and ignored by the world. You should hate him. 

But the other side of you pointed out that you should hate him. But you didn’t. Dark had apologized, he’d given you a book, he was trying to atone for the pain he had caused you. Why go to all the trouble of ignoring him when he could be your only viable interaction? You were here to stay, so it would be a waste to disregard him that easily. Besides, you had another person to be mad at, one that was more deserving than someone who was also a victim of his actions. 

Weighing the options, you asked yourself if this was what Dark went through every time that he tried to make a decision. If it were true, well, you should have been grateful that he’d agreed on talking to you. It was difficult, and your conclusion definitely upset some part of your brain, but that didn’t stop you from making it concrete in your mind. 

That you would give Dark some time. 

Your body jolted in alarm at the knock that broke you free from your thoughts, but the shock was quickly remedied when you focused on the return of Dark at the front of your mirror. Likewise, he was brought to the front of your mind, and the choice to trust him was left to settle. 

“You’re back,” you stated. 

“No need to look so surprised.” 

Your eyes searched him efficiently as he situated himself. Though, it didn’t take long for you to see what was different. The most glaring thing was that he had retrieved both a chair and a new book from who knows where. He laid the seat surprisingly gently on the planked floor but did not actually sit just yet. Instead, he stayed standing, almost awkwardly, as if waiting for permission. 

A curious look you sent him bid him explain. “I thought we could read.” He cleared his throat, barely met your eyes. “Spend some time together. I think it would go better than talking, given our record.” 

Huh. You hadn’t expected that. You appreciated the book, you really did, but offering to read withyou? Briefly, you wondered if Dark had been replaced in the time he’d been away, it would explain all the weird personality shifts, but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

As you flopped to the ground, one leg crossed over the other, you hissed at the part of your mind that whispered that you should. It took you all of one minute to get it to quiet down, and, from that second on, you were engrossed in the book that you and Dark now shared. 

Nothing amazing happened during that first session. You read, he read, he asked what you thought, you told him it was good, and then you both parted ways. Such a pace was set for the next few nights. Nine o’clock became a very cherished time, not that either of you entirely noticed it. On your part, you didn’t even notice any of the times of day. Dawn, noon, evening – those were what you measured the passing of time by; now that you had a reason to do it down to the day, you paid more attention. Dark, meanwhile, had made it a habit to leave his office at 8:50, make it down in five minutes, and always be slightly early for the meeting. Maybe it was residual mannerisms from the 1920s, or maybe you were both still warming up to each other, but you didn’t start before nine. 

It was the fifth night that a little thing changed. A subtle volta in a poem that you would only understand if you looked hard enough, and, by now, it was definite that Dark was. He’d read this book before, he knew what was before, what was happening, and what was to come. He enjoyed rereading things in his free time for just that reason, but this was a new experience that added something else to the matter; you. Being aware of the plot meant that he could spare some of his attention to send your way. That attention was used to watch the corners of your mouth crease at a part you enjoyed, to watch the flickering light in your eyes flare when there was a twist, to watch your nose scrunch if you took in new information. Pride coursed through his abandoned veins whenever you expressed any kind of emotion, but it was what you said after finishing the most recent chapter that made him react differently. 

“I don’t like Eddie.”

Dark paused, a thumb brushing against the corner of a page. “Me neither.”

And that was it. That was all that was said before you drifted back into a white noise of flipping paper and shuffling. You continued to read, but Dark was caught at the start of the next chapter. His hand hovered over the edge of the pages, he willed it to move, but it steadfastly remained there. He tried to at least skim the ink printed words, nothing stuck, and his pupils ran in circles around the irises. 

You had agreed on something – together. Feelings about one person were the same. You matched. 

For the first time in a hundred years, Dark was hopeful.

It took a month for something substantial to happen again, not that Dark was complaining. He rather enjoyed having someone to talk to that wasn’t insane or his employee. He rather enjoyed talking to you, whether it was about the book or something interesting that had happened outside the mirror. It gave him a grim joy to see those sparks fly in your eyes when he mentioned how an aspiring real estate agent had tried to evaluate the place. You liked hearing about people the most, but they were few and far between. Most of the time, you settled for listening to him about the family of raccoons that lived in the wine cellar that Dark refused to touch. It got you laughing, and that was good enough for him. 

You had just wrapped up the third to last chapter of ‘The Lady in the Lake’, the theories you muttered under your breath as Dark marked down the page number had him chuckling to himself as he drew his chair back to the wall. It was originally from the library, but there wasn’t much point in dragging it up and down the stairs whenever the clock struck nine. 

After placing the book on the arm of the chair – thankfully wide enough that it wouldn’t topple off the side – he reeled back the eternal business at the back of his mind to the forefront. Something had gone wrong with his latest research, meaning he had to start again from photo-evidence. He didn’t like doing it, but he took it upon himself as a duty to the manor, to himself, to… you. If he knew where he was, he could protect the things he cared about. It didn’t help when he had to do it all over, but it was undoubtably better than giving up. He had made it this far, after all. 

However, the second that he was angled away from the mirror, your voice punctured the finality of the moment. 

“Hey, Dark?” 

He turned again with a curious hum. 

You were standing, as you always were after you finished for the night, but your hands were held cautiously together in front of you. Your pupils flitted about in your eyes, avoiding him, his now-concerned stare. You took in a breath and then made two, simple statements. “I just wanted to thank you, for the book and for spending time with me—” you briefly looked him in the face, as if to gauge his reaction, “—and I’m, uh, well, I’m sorry, for being so cold to you when you first spoke to me.”

His concern melted into understanding. “You had your reasons.”

“And so did you,” you rushed to continue, “and, and I ignored them because I was angry. A hundred years passed for both of us, I can’t think that it didn’t have some of the same effects on you as it did me. I assumed that you were just being petty when you didn’t come and see me, but… you weren’t, and I’m sorry for treating you like you were.” 

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone.”

The apologetic intent hung in the air between you for the next few seconds. Your eyes met, Dark willed the sincerity to cross between the glass, and it seemed like it did when you risked a tentative smile. He gladly returned it. 

You offered half-joking and half-genuine, “A truce?”

“If this last month hasn’t been a truce, I’m eager to see how you act when there is one.”

“Oh, be quiet.” 

Another agreement, even lighter than before. Dark couldn’t help but feel giddy, a jolt of adrenaline running through him. If his veins weren’t so vacant, a blush might have revealed more than he wanted to in such a peaceful time. Luckily for him, the fear of that escaped him, but, unluckily, it was because he wondered something else. 

This sounded an awful lot like a goodbye. 

“Is everything alright?”

Despite the grin that had grown on your lips, you cocked your head to the side in confusion. “Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

Another pause. 

“No reason.” Dark shifted an inch forward, like it would help him see past a disguise. It didn’t do anything, save give you a chance to poke fun at him. 

“Well, go on, then,” you gestured behind him, “go commit tax fraud or whatever it is you do in your study.”

Ah, much better. The feeling lifted from him as fast as it had come. 

“I’ll have you know that my paperwork is entirely sound and legal.”

“Hmm, keep telling the IRS that, you might just get away with it.” Your amused laugh faded into the void with your body, leaving the clean reflection of Dark himself behind. He was still smiling as he pushed a curl of his hair away from his eyes, an image he hadn’t seen in a good while. When you weren’t present, the mirror looked just that. A mirror. Nothing special about it, just a slab of glass in a frame. Not that it wasn’t, and he hated to say it, a very pretty mirror. Ornate, he would say. The glass, not as much, but the wooden border was. Nonsensical designs carved into the flesh of an oak tree, swirls and sparks and curves reaching around it like a snake. Whoever had been commissioned this had put in enough effort that it looked impossible to recreate. 

Dark brought a finger up to trail one of the indentations. A gorgeous cage for a gorgeous bird. 

Oh.

Oh.

He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever run in the halls of the manor, but he had already broken three norms, what was one more?

The manor hadn’t heard the rapid click of shoes for quite some time; leisurely walks or a slightly rushed jog, sure, but downright running through those halls was near impossible. Dark had done so on his way up to the library, and he was now doing it again to go back to the mirror. It had taken him fourteen hours, two glasses of wine, and reluctantly recruiting Wilford to find what he was looking for, but they were sacrifices he was willing to make. Even if it didn’t work, it was a step in the right direction. 

Maybe he was acting irrationally, and maybe he should have spent some more time making sure this had a sliver of a chance of working, however, he didn’t care. Cautiousness be damned, this could help you, and he was willing to do whatever it took to do that – he made sure that he sped up his pace so that he wouldn’t have to ponder the implications behind that. Rounding the banister, hope overtook him and propelled him forward away from certain important conclusions. 

“Darling, I have great news!” Skipping past that one, too. “Now, I know we’re not scheduled to meet until this evening, but this is more important.” He was too busy dodging the archway to the foyer to think about that, either.

He practically skidded to a stop in front of the mirror, only able to stabilise himself with one hand against it. The other was occupied by a book, but not one of fiction this time. No, Celine had left this one on a different bookshelf, the top section, at the edge of it. It seemed to thrum with energy in his hand, power growing underneath the leather binding the closer that he brought it to your prison. 

When he had properly calmed himself down – or, as calm as he could get when excitement lived in his heart – he knocked once, and then twice, and a third time when he couldn’t resist another. Nothing happened at first, but that was to be expected. It was barely midday, and an enthusiastic Dark was not a common sight. You were right to give showing yourself to him a little thought. 

“Darl—” he caught his word before it could throw itself out of his mouth. Clearing his throat, he fixed his slip-up. “Old friend?”

An unabashed grin spilled across his lips when he saw the faint sign of smoke rising from the void. It was sometimes hard to make it out against the background, he thought that he was getting better, anyhow. Though, it would do him some good to practice if he couldn’t make you out after a few seconds. 

He stepped forward to look closer. If he’d taken his glasses down, it might have been easier, but it wasn’t supposed to be this much of a struggle to see you. The smoke had all evaporated now and yet he couldn’t see anything. 

All it took was another inch forward, the smallest step, for him to see what had happened; all it took was a second for him to get angry. 

You hadn’t appeared, but something else had. ‘The Lady in the Lake’ was laid out on the ground of the void, the title almost blazing with light on the inside cover of the book. A sombre idea that you were trying to give it back without confronting him crossed his mind, though it didn’t stick with the knowledge that you wouldn’t be so cowardly. Instead, it was pure rage that took its place at the sight of the next page over. Where it had used to be blank, slightly stained with the effects of time, it now had a hideous, taunting, crimson name besmirching it. 

Mark’s signature. 

Anyone else might have acted poorly, impulsively, and dangerously. Dark was not anyone. He didn’t act poorly as he inspected the view of the mirror for any more clues of what had happened, he didn’t act impulsively as he stalked from the foyer to his office – but, oh, did he plan to act dangerously. 

The wooden handle of a desk drawer splintered with his white-knuckled grip. He drew it open with trained coolness. Slowly, painfully slowly, he retrieved the map and rolled it out on the surface. The edge that he pulled his hand from was marked by a slit.

He was going to be dangerous, but he wasn’t going to be stupid. Not again. He had thought it a mistake. The hotel a few streets away from the manor wasn’t the place Mark would associate himself with. It barely passed the mantle of motel, let alone the fancy, ivy tower places he frequented. Knowing he wouldn’t be caught dead in such a place had him brushing the destination off as a fault in his research. Dark was a fool to believe he knew the man that made façades and disguises his life’s work. 

But that didn’t matter anymore. Whether he truly understood him or not, it didn’t matter to him, because he did know one thing. 

One hundred years was far too long, and he was going to make it up to you, even if he had to slit Mark’s throat himself.

[Being peer pressured into writing a multi-chapter shot is for the weak. And I, am very weak]

[mothgodofchaos]

Pottery

You cannot convince me that Actor isn't a prissy bitch who hates getting his hands dirty. So I'm making him get them covered in clay.

Actor Mark x GN!Reader, TW: snake imagery Words: 780

“But darling! I don’t want to get my hands dirty!”

Mark whines at you as you lead him into the pottery studio, pouting and dragging his feet. You simply roll your eyes, used to his shenanigans and half-hearted tantrums as part of his diva nature. At least you convinced him to wear something he doesn’t mind getting dirty, although that was an ordeal in and of itself. It’s a bit obvious he doesn’t feel entirely himself without all of the sparkles and furs, but he’ll live for a few hours. At least you didn’t tell him he can’t go full glam with his makeup. He’s head to toe in custom dyed red coveralls, with sparse bejeweling detailing on the legs and back pockets. It was yesterday’s crafting project in preparation for this, paired with a bandana keeping his curled hair protected.

“Oh hush, you’re fine. You are not too delicate to touch some fucking wet clay.”

“But my manicure!”

“You can wash your hands! Washing your hands is not illegal!”

He juts out his bottom lip at you, protesting by pulling you into a hug. It’s only now you realize he’s wearing heels, because of course he is. You turn around, letting him hold you to his chest as you listen to the instructor, who gives Mark a particular look. Perhaps not expecting to see such a famous face in her studio. She doesn’t draw attention to it, and brings you all over to a wheel for a demo. You’re shown several kinds of pottery making: slabs, coils, thrown, and you deliberate over which one you may try. Mark relaxes a bit, and you can tell he’s starting to get intrigued when he leans more over your shoulder. You pat his cheek, which he returns with a small kiss to your cheek. It takes a moment to realize that you most certainly have a lipstick print on you now, but you choose not to draw attention to it. 

When you’re all released to various stations with your wedges of clay, you try and get one next to Mark. You remove your ring, adding it to your necklace so it doesn’t get clay on it.

“Darling, could you take mine as well?”

He holds out his ring to you, a golden ring with scaly detailing. You take it, kissing it before adding it on the chain. He can’t help but look as it rests around your neck next to yours, and he melts a little bit. You remind him of the piece of clay in front of him, and his focus shifts back to creating. 

You decide you’re going to make a couple espresso mugs for the two of you to drink out of in the morning, making them with the slab method demonstrated. To get handle specifics, you take Mark’s hand when he’s not paying much attention, holding his fingers up to the strip of clay to make sure it’s big enough for him to hold comfortably. He freezes, a bit baffled as to what you’re doing.

When you look over at his project, you see several ropes rolled out, covered in score marks.

“What are you making, sweetheart?”

“I’m not sure yet, I got stuck in the loop of making snakes…”

“What about, a jewelry tray? Maybe one that we can put our rings into in the bathroom for bath time?”

“Oh, I like that idea. Do I have to get rid of the snakes?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe make them all squiggly together so it looks like a bunch of snakes. It’ll look cool once it’s glazed.”

Mark nods, squeezing your hand before taking it back, starting to curl the coils together to create his tray. Once your espresso mugs are to your desired measurements, you place them on the shelves to dry out to leather hard. After washing your hands, you go back to your shared bench and watch Mark, leaning into his space with dramatized intrigue.

“How’s the tray coming along?”

“I like it! And I made a spot where our rings should rest, like they’re the eggs being protected.”

Your heart warms at his sweetness, looking at the detailing he’s put into it. You help him get it over to the shelves, and slip his ring back on his finger when his hands are washed again. 

“Trying to marry me again, mi amor?”

“Maybe. We’ll have to come back tomorrow so I can do it again.”

The two of you walk out to his car, happily putting the top down for the ride back.

“So was pottery class the hell you thought it’d be?”

“No, but tomorrow I’m bringing moisturizer.”

Of course he is.

[adalwolfgang]

??? 𝘅 𝗴𝗻!𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄𝗲𝗿

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗔𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁𝘆-𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝗦𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀, 𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗯𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝘂𝗽.

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗗𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗗𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗳𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿, 𝗖𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗳𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗗𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆.

𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗼 @randomwriter28 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗮 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀.

Early this morning

When you knocked upon my door

He stopped walking, his hands falling to his sides.

“No?” He repeats the word. A word so simply but holds greater meaning.

Everything felt different. Something changed. You didn’t know what it was but you could feel that something was different, and yet familiar all the same.

Early this morning

When you knocked upon my door

“You heard me. I want answers but not the ones you think, Damien.” You crossed your arms over your chest, staring at him with a frown on your face. His eyes locked onto yours when you said his name. Or at least….his old one. The one he wished to never hear again. He let out a huff in annoyance, fixing his suit jacket before holding up both his hands.

“Fine, educate me then. Ask me whatever comes to your mind.”

Truth be told you didn't know what to ask him. You didn’t need to ask him anything. What was the point? You were stuck in this loophole for good. You swallowed what saliva was building up in the back of your throat to try and calm your nerves. Short glimpses of the manor, the dark events that took place, disappear just as quickly as they had appeared.

And I said hello Satan, ah

I believe it is time to go

“Why?” It was his turn to look confused. He squinted his eyes at you, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“You’ll have to elaborate, darling.”

You rolled your eyes and clenched your hands.

Me and the devil walkin' side by side

Me and the devil walking side by side

“Why did you leave me!? You said you’d come back and get me! You said we could fix this together! I waited for so long….but you never came back…You never did.” Your voice trailed off and quieted while you watched his reaction. He didn’t respond immediately but after a long while of silence, he looked towards the ground that you both stood on.

“I was. The day he took you, I was just coming back to you.” He raised his head and looked at you, the table and glass of wine disappearing as he appeared closer, standing in front of you. You frowned more, looking at him and feeling the familiarity of Damien in him.

And I'm gonna see my man

Until I get satisfied

"I can assure you that I was going to keep my promise but...I was selfish and too caught up in getting revenge that I didnt see to rescuing you sooner," As he spoke, his hand slowly raised, and ghosted over your cheek as if worried a single touch would shatter you like porcelain.

"Just give me a chance to explain everything," he hesitated for a moment, trying to choose his next words wisely.

"and maybe you will understand my side of things and join me."

You may bury my body

Down by the highway side

~Time Skip~

After Dark had explained all that has happened and who was the cause of it, you felt as if all your emotions were about to bust. You wanted to scream into the void of darkness that you were all too familiar with when being trapped in the mirror. Dark placed a hand on the small of your back before a new voice cutoff the almost intimate moment.

“They belong to me now, old friend.”

You both turned and looked as Mark stepped into view and grinned sadistically. You felt trapped between the pair.

“They belong to no one, you piece of shi-” Dark growled before being cutoff by your hand touching his chest. He gave you a look before glaring at the man on the other side of you.

“Oh, they haven't told you yet? Go on, Tell him!” a grim chuckle came from Mark. He was getting a kick out of this interaction. That was until he noticed neither you or Dark were giving him the reaction he was hoping for. Instead you both just stared daggers at him. Now it was his turn to be confused.

See, see, you don't see why

And you would dog me 'round

“Well?! Go on then! Tell him!” The ringing in your ears grew louder as Dark looked at Mark and growled, an animalistic sound you had never heard from him before. It quickly disappeared as Dark dropped the act, a toothy grin appearing, what seemed to be for the first time, on his face. Mark watched as Dark pulled you closer to him, you allowing it, before realization struck his face.

See, don't see why

People dog me around

“Why you little-” You watched as Dark didnt let Mark finish his sentence, quickly grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up slightly from the ground, cutting off his airways. Mark simply laughed while glaring at the both of you before his whole being disappeared.

It must be that old evil spirit

So deep down in your ground

Dark turned back around to face you, his hands laying limp against his sides. You walk up to him and pull on his tie, which takes him by surprise, before pressing a soft kiss to his surprisingly warm lips. He slowly starts to kiss you back, not long after resting his hands on your hips and pulling you closer. The kiss gets more passionate while his tongue teased your lips.

So my old evil spirit

Can Greyhound bus that ride

"Does this mean you'll join me?"

So my old evil spirit

Can Greyhound bus that ride

[mbgcreates]

Until We Are Parted

You are nervously waiting for Damien to emerge from the "seance room" with his sister. Surely this day can't get any worse.

A/N: I've had this one in the wings for a little over a year and a half, and I'm glad I could finally finish it! Set during the final chapter of Who Killed Markiplier.

Word count: 914 (I really thought this was longer!) Damien x reader (kinda). Reader is referred to as his wife, but otherwise there's no gendered language used. Reblogs are much much appreciated!

~~~~~~

It's been far too long since they went in that room, too long since the self-proclaimed Seer brought her twin with her to try her occult magicks once again. It was bad enough when she got the DA involved, but with your husband now the one with her, it makes that unease in your gut grow. Back and forth you had paced, anxiousness quickening your steps, but now your feet take you back down the hall, towards where you saw Damien and his sister last. You hadn’t meant to walk so far away, but whatever Celine was doing, you didn’t want to be anywhere near, despite not wanting to leave your husband behind.

There is a figure in the hall when you approach again, although you don’t notice at first, too caught up in the thoughts in your head. It takes you another moment, but that’s Damien, only just now exiting the room. You perk up, although your unease doesn’t leave you. You open your mouth to call his name, but stop in your tracks.

There is something…wrong with your husband.

You're just being silly, you think at first; the stress of Mark's death and both you and Damien being accused, followed by Celine's sudden arrival, must all be getting to your head. But, even down the hall, when he turns and looks at you…

…there isn't a drop of warmth in those honey brown eyes.

"Darling," he says, half a second too late and stilted, a belated smile forming that isn't your husband's. "What's the matter?"

The words tumble from you before you can think. "What the hell have you done with my husband?" you hiss.

"What do you mean?" He chuckles. The hairs raise on the back of your neck at the sound, both familiar but somehow entirely foreign. "It's me. It's Damien."

"The hell it is!" Your voice gets louder by the end, a slight wobble attached that you were hoping wouldn't reveal itself. "I— I don't know what happened, but you aren't Damien."

The smile on the body's face threatens to drop, but all he does is open his arms and take a step forward. "Don't be silly. I'm as much Damien as you are my wife."

The slight hesitation before calling you his wife, the way he holds himself, the other small things about him that you can't explain but all are setting off alarm bells— Whatever is happening, your husband isn't there anymore. But before you can let that sink in, another thought occurs to you. "Wh…where's Celine?"

There's no mistaking the way his expression twists, a particular ugliness to it that has no place on Damien's face. He mutters something belligerent under his breath. You take a step back, a sudden fear dropping your stomach. His head whips up, and you freeze when you make eye contact. It's almost absurd how fast that smile is plastered back on.

"She's…busy." That ire you saw on his face slips into his voice. Something tugs at the back of your mind.

"Tell me who the hell you are," you say, soft but hopefully threatening, "or I'll scream."

His face twitches. "And who will hear you?" He takes a step forward. You match it back. "The others are too busy pointing fingers to investigate."

Has it really devolved that badly? "Fine," you say. "Fine. I won’t scream, then. But, you are not my husband, and I am not your wife.”

He stops, then barks a laugh. "You really are as astute as I remember. Maybe that's one of the reasons the two of you got along. I always said you could have gone into a career alongside Damien."

Your brow furrows, a memory of a long-ago summer day resurfacing. You can so easily hear the conversation, the pleasant laughs all around. It couldn't be. "A lot of people have said that," you reply cautiously.

"Have they? Few knew the two of you as well as I did, so I highly doubt that." He huffs. “And here I just gave you credit for your smarts once again.”

Your lips suddenly feel dry. “It’s impossible, though.”

“Friend, the impossible is at my fingertips. And if you test me further, you might see firsthand."

You’re not sure what that means, but the hardness in his eyes leaves no room for guessing. There’s a horrid feeling in the pit of your stomach. “Mark…what did you do to them?”

“Just what they deserve,” he spits, not bothering to disguise his disdain any longer. “Every last one of them will get what they deserve.”

Your limbs feel like they're buzzing. Your breathing quickens, and there are pinpricks behind your eyes. Are you even in your body right now? “What did you do to my husband?”

“Look in front of your damn eyes.”

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY HUSBAND?!”

Your desperate screaming is barely audible over the sharpness of a gunshot. You turn towards the sound, shocked out of your despair, when something taps against the back of your neck. The muscles in your legs give out, and you collapse to the ground, eyes rolling up into your head. Your vision paradoxically goes bright white, but not before spotting a strange shape, like a tendril of ivy, in the air where you once were. Your mind retreats, as if it's being pulled from your body, and the last sensation you have is your gut plummeting like a rock. You don’t even feel the tears slip down your cheeks.

[creat0r-cat]

Iplier Egos Head Cannon - What Song in "Encanto" Did They Get Emotional During?

Darkiplier

Surface Pressure

Deep down he really does care about his “brothers”

He thinks he needs to keep up the tough guy act to make them think he isn’t afraid

He is

He REALLY is

He’s worried about the space/time continuum, keeping order, and making sure the ipliers’ existence stays a secret

He tries not to let the others see the tears that involuntarily start to fall as Louisa sings about her struggles as the strongest sister

Wilford

He probably heard all of the songs before watching the movie

He wouldn’t really cry for any of them in particular (feeling that he doesn’t necessarily relate to any of them)

However

He would look at certain egos to watch their reactions during different songs

He would notice the small things that happen and slowly learn more about his “brothers” based on the musical numbers and their lyrics

After the movie, he’d probably go and visit the egos that had the worst reactions (who got the most emotional or those who would straight up leave the room)

He did get a little bothered listening to “Dos Oruguitas” though

He didn’t get emotional per say

But watching Pedro die with the love song in the background kinda reminded him of when he lost Celine

Fortunately, he opted not to dwell on it too much

Actor

Waiting On A Miracle

This boy is INSECURE because of his breakup with Celine

Is he good enough?

Has he done enough?

Is he really worthy of anything?

He wants to be better

He wants his life to be better

But everything seems to slip through his fingers, coming back to resent him later on

He just wants someone to open their eyes and see that he’s worth their time, even if that person is Dark

Mirabel dancing on screen, singing about how she wished to be noticed as part of the family, made Actor tear up, wiping them away before someone could see them

Eventually, it got to be too much (especially seeing how Mirabel was pushed away by her family after trying to help them) and he left the room, using the excuse of getting more snacks

As soon as he entered the kitchen, he had a silent breakdown

Googleplier

Surface Pressure

I can’t really hear Louisa sing “I’m pretty sure I’m worthless if I can’t be of service” without thinking about Google and his first objective

Yes, his secondary objective is relatively important, but the first one is.. Well it’s his PRIMARY objective

If he can’t do anything other than hurt people, then what is the point of him being there?

His optics widen and his mechanical heart speeds up

“How do you feel?” survey pops up and he clicks on one

“I’m in this picture and I don’t like it”

Bingiplier

What Else Can I Do?

He’s imperfect

That’s all I really need to say, but I’ll continue

He’s always compared to Google and he knows deep down that he’s worth more than his search bar abilities

He doesn’t want to be perfect like Google

He just wants to be himself, which is hard when everyone is always doting on him for every mistake he makes

Isabella creating spiky plants and beautiful flowers in front of him makes his optics widen and he slowly smiles, feeling an odd mixture of happiness and sadness as he watches her accept her imperfections in spite of her family’s expectations

Dr. Iplier

He doesn’t really get emotional during the songs

However

When it’s revealed that Bruno has been shunned by his family because of his gift, he smiled sadly

“How unfortunate,” he thought, “for someone to be abandoned because of something uncontrollable and never be spoken of again for fear of taboo”

He’s seen patients in the hospital who never have anyone visit them

He always feels sad when he finds out that someone has been abandoned

He secretly makes trips to animal shelters for that reason, to visit the abandoned animals and give them some love

He gets happy again when Bruno is reunited with his loved ones who welcome him back with open arms

Yandereplier 

Dos Oruguitas

He wouldn’t relate to any of the English songs enough to have a real reaction

He gets emotional during certain parts of the movie because he recognizes a lot of what’s going on in the Madrigal family (Toxic family roles and stuff like that)

He feels bad for the characters (especially Mirabel and Bruno)

But when “Dos Oruguitas” starts playing and we find out the heartbreaking truth behind Abuelo Pedro’s death

WHOOOO BOY the tears start FLOWING

He hates to imagine the pain Abuela went through, losing the love of her life

Yandere, being a very romantic man, can’t stand the thought of his own senpai leaving him

Like, she’s everything to him!

He’d become very protective of her after watching this movie, afraid of anyone taking her away from him

He’s fine with the movie though, loves the music for the most part

Yancy

Friggin ALL OF THE SONGS

He loves music and finds each of them so amazing

He also kinda relates to each of the English sung songs in their own way (except “We Don’t Talk About Bruno”)

WOAM: The want to be extraordinary and help others

SP: The need to be the tough one and look out for his fellow prisoners and weaker “brothers”

WECAD: The want to live life how he wants without being the picture perfect civilian that the world wants him to be

He thinks very highly of this movie and loves it to bits

He does eventually become frustrated with how often “We Don’t Talk About Bruno” gets sung by people both online and in real life

Like, he gets that it’s a catchy song, but still, give it a break

Illinois

Waiting On A Miracle

Yes, Illinois is a special adventurous and flirtatious boy 

But not everything is really as it seems with him

His whole “Everyone falls in love with me” act is a facade

He’s trying to convince himself that he’s loved / cared about by someone

He took up adventuring to be different

To be a conversation starter

To be interesting so that somebody

ANYBODY

Would look his way and want to be around him 

After all..

He wasn’t special or cool enough growing up to have many / any friends

He sees way too much of himself in Mirabel and ends up leaving the group for a few minutes to cry in the bathroom

Engineer Mark

Waiting On A Miracle

What else needs to be said?

If given pictures of Engineer and Mirabel everyone would say they were the same image

Insecure

Feels unwanted

Wants to be impressive and help those around him with his talents and ideas

Hides behind a false persona of happiness

THEY

ARE

THE

SAME

PERSON

He’s close to leaving the room but stays put, activating his space helmet which is also soundproof so no one can see / hear him start to cry

Poor man can’t hear “Waiting On A Miracle” without having a breakdown

[coff33notforme]

The Actor falling in love

A/n: Shorter break than expected, but I probably won't get back to posting regularly right away, I wanted to do some simple headcannons but this became a whole ass fic, so I'll probably do more headcannons with Actor soon. Enjoy!

Pairing: Actor and Gender neutral Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, being intoxicated, swearing, and a pinch of angst

Mark wouldn't realize he's in love, not for a long time, it might even take years for him to realize. But once he did it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Marks been your friend for seven years now. Frankly he's surprised you've stuck around for that long, but hes grateful, grateful you've decided to put so much effort into the greedy person that he is. Especially considering you didn't have the humblest beginnings.

Mark was a piece of shit, well he was to everyone, but it seemed he had a specific hatred for you, he detested you more than anyone else. As though your mere presence brought him complete and utter anguish.

So why would you choose to stay with him? Why did you beckon him closer, despite his protest.

Yet, no matter how much he pushed you away from him, you always seemed to come back. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of letting someone in, letting someone see all of him not just the cocky, ignorant facade he put up. Yet you ignored the red flags, you broke down his walls without warning. And begrudgingly he let you in.

And soon he felt every time you had to leave he only longed for you closer, he wanted to pull you back into him and never let you go. As selfish as it sounded, you completed him, you made him feel loved for who he was, not who he was supposed to be.

Whenever he was with you he felt complete, not like the half of a whole he felt when he sat by himself, not a shell of a man, that he was when he was lost in thought.

And the more time he spent with you the more his admiration for you grew, when you entered a room his heartbeat quickened, when you flashed him a smile his cheeks grew red, and when your hand brushed his he felt his head became dizzy.

He had grown to care for you more than he had cared for anybody, he felt like a better person when he was with you, you didn't make him feel like a bad person, you forced him to accept the bad parts of himself with the good. And at first it was horrifying, but you made it seem worth it. And thats when it hit him.

Fuck, he was in love with you

At first he tried to fight these feelings whenever you were near, he couldn't stop the hammering of his heart in his chest. He contemplated running, running from it, from you. But he couldn't. He needed you more than he realized.

And he couldn't bring himself to just disappear from your life, he didn't want to hurt you like that. But he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t in love with you, so he had two choices, he had to leave or he had to confess. 

Mark felt a sensation of dread well up in his stomach, for days he contemplated every possible outcome, each scenario growing darker than the last. He had to tell you how he felt, even if it was selfish to hope that someone like you loved him, it was a risk he was willing to take, for his love for you was far greater than his fear of rejection.

He needed it to be casual, though his dramatic fantasy of kissing you on the beach the sun setting behind the two of you, the blend of orange, red, and pink creating the perfect backdrop. No, he couldn't get ahead of himself only to get his heart shattered.

He had invited you to dinner at his house, a simple meal shared between friends, everything was going well you’d spent the evening chatting, just enjoying each others company out on the balcony. That was until Mark had poured you two some wine, he just couldn't help himself.

It wasn't long till Mark felt like his head was lighter than air while his body felt heavier, as though he was glued to the chair.

While you talked you held your gaze among the stars above you twinkling brightly in the dark pool of blue. Mark couldn't help but zone out, enraptured in your beauty as you babbled on Mark didn’t even know what you were saying at this point.

But then you turned to meet his gaze, maybe it was the wine but he could have cared less that you caught him staring 

You tilted your head at him your eyebrows furrowing in confusion

“Mark, are you okay?” you asked, his head bobbled drunkenly.

“You're so pretty, my love.”  he slurred, his fears washed away by the wine in his hand. The man wore a lopsided smile, that tugged from one corner of his face to the other. Your eyes widened, before a sweet smile spread across your face as you chuckled lightly

"Okay, well I think you're drunk enough, time for bed." you whispered gently, taking hold of the wine in his hand and placing it on the table set up on the balcony.

You swung his arm around your neck hoisting him up as you dragged him off the balcony, though it took time and effort you managed to drag him into the kitchen, you propped him up against a chair, his body slumped over lazily while Mark let out a deep groan. You walked into the silent kitchen, opening a wooden cabinet to fetch Mark a glass of water that would, hopefully, sober him up.

You flicked the cold water on, watching the cup fill up as you glanced at the man slumped over on the dinning table. As the cup filled you switched the water off, walking to Mark you placed the cup down, taking a seat next to him as you pushed the water towards him.

Mark grumbled in response, lifting his head from the table to peer out at what had been shoved towards him, he frowned at the cup placed in front of him, sending you a fretful pout.

"What is this for?" he asked, his words jumbled together as he spoke.

"I need you to drink this Mark, or you're going to feel awful in the morning." you spoke in a hushed tone, like a mother cooing to her child. Mark frowned putting his head back down ignoring your concern. You sighed as you scooted closer to the stubborn man.

You lifted him up with a grunt, his body sat against the chair like he was a rag doll that had just been tossed across the room, in any other circumstance you would have found this amusing, maybe even cute. But right now Mark was being a pain in your ass.

"Mark, open your mouth please." without question the man opened his jaw, you grabbed the cup and placed it to his lips gently, pouring the liquid into his mouth.

"Swallow, all of it." you stated firmly. Again, Mark obeyed your instructions. Leaning back in his chair he threw his head back closing his eyes.

"If you want to sleep we have to go up the staircase." you said, earning another groan from the man. You deadpanned, feeling you, yourself groan at the man's antics.

Swinging his arm over your shoulder again.

Shit, This was going to be a lot harder

You thought to yourself as you gazed upon Mark's imperial staircase. Begrudgingly you began to drag the man up the stairs heaving, with each step, you looked up, you weren't even close to the top.

"Why are you so good to me?"

The question caught you off guard, it was uncharacteristically gentle, it felt sincere, which was a rare thing from the cocky man.

You looked down to Mark.

"What do you mean?"

There was a moment of silence, before the man spoke again.

"You're still here, my arrogant, selfish nature drives everyone away, they all leave. But not you, why?" his voice held a genuine sound of confusion.

"Well, I care about you, and I don't think any of those things about you. Sure you can be ignorant and sometimes even stubborn. But I still care a lot about you." and to this Marks head shot up a hopeful look dancing in his chocolate eyes.

"Do you love me?"

Your eyes widened, what could you say? You wanted to tell him the truth. Taking a deep breath, you turned your gaze to the top of the stairs now nearing closer than before.

"I do, I love you Mark." you mentally cursed at how your voice wavered. Mark let out a dramatic sigh, catching your attention.

"Oh love, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear those words from you."

And with that you had reached the top, looming down the dark hallway you hobbled into Marks room. Flicking the lights on, you dragged him to his bed laying him down on his velvety sheets. He looked so peaceful, his dark eyes resting, his face softening as his chest rose softly. You smiled, turning to leave the actor to rest.

You stopped as you felt a hand wrapped around your wrist. You turned to see Mark peering at you behind heavy eyes.

“Where are you going?” 

"Downstairs to sleep."

Marks face fell, a pleading look in his eyes.

"You're not going to leave? Leave me?" he asked, his grip tightening.

You sighed, turning and crouching in front of the man.

"Of course not."

"Then would you please stay? Just for a little longer." he paused "I can't let you go."

You smiled, yawning feeling a bit tired yourself.

"Of course." you replied, standing up, and crawling over Mark as you laid beside him, resting your eyes, as you allowed yourself to fade into the darkness. It wasn't long until you felt arms wrap around you as, Mark's heart beat lulled you to sleep.

BRO THIS TOOK FOREVER, if you enjoyed please consider reblogging because that does more for me than just likes and I also like to read your comments in the tags <;33

[districtattorney404]

little sketch I guess?

[theknightmarket]

"Deal."

In which three disagreeable deities are forced to agree. TW: cursing Pages: 28 - Words: 11,500

[Requests: OPEN]

You were a cultist. You weren’t about to hide that aspect of your life because it was no mere aspect, not anymore; you devoted your entire being to tracking down the pantheon that would mark the end of all humanity. It wasn’t out of spite or service. You had no cosmic motive behind your catastrophic actions. But it wasn’t a test either. Belief rested in your heart and calm in your mind as you traded away the lives of your friends, your family, strangers who would never know what was coming, and your own, for one little thing.

A kiss.

Everyone thought you were joking. Nobody, not even the dredges of society, would risk it all for a little physical contact. They snorted when you told them your plan, and raised an eyebrow when they thought you were carrying on the bit for too long. Oh, there went the ‘town crazy’, traipsing down to the antique shop to pick up the latest prop for their little jape. We laughed at them, for they carried the weight of the jester for our amusement.

Oh, you’d show them. If they lived long enough to recognize what was happening. If they didn’t, you’d still be better off than them.

You proudly owned up to your title of the local lunatic, although it was first given as a joke. One step into your apartment, and they might’ve realized that you weren’t joking. All the ritual memorabilia scattered along the walls, all the unholy ingredients stored in the cupboards, all the little things that contributed to the utter collapse of humanity. Well, as long as the person working the antique store wasn’t a liar.

And, chances were, he was.

But it didn’t hurt to try. And try. And try. And try. One of these days it would work. Eventually, you’d hit the nail on the head and get exactly what you wanted. 

The slam of the book on the wooden alter reverberated around the apartment, swallowed by the artifacts you’d collected. You didn’t know when that day would come, if it would ever come, but you were definitely trying. A manic grin split your face in two as you flipped through the yellowed pages. Awful corruption for a god, but you were going to use it anyway. You could always rewrite it if all you needed was the instructions. They were deities, after all, they deserved better than some dusty, half-broken tome.

You hummed to yourself while you worked. Normally, your speakers would be up and running during the hours you studied old texts, blasting the playlist you’d accumulated over the years. Sorting things was never your forté, so they were all in one place. A bit jarring, but you got used to it, and you didn’t have the time to rearrange anything right now. There was work to be done.

The circle you’d engraved in your wooden flooring – which you notably did not tell your landlord about – was surrounded by candles to make the points of a star. Classic. Reliable. Any source of light was diminished, including the overhead lights that you never turned on and the curtains that you never opened. There wasn’t anything to see anyway, and you preferred your side lamp, though you also switched that off when you had everything in place.

Finally, you rushed to the book and read through the specific instructions for the one you were going to summon first. Try to, at least. The preparations before were all commonplace, every ritual used them, but this was where it changed. You might have been drawing a different symbol or equipping a unique relic. In this case, you were to light the candles pink and inscribe all manner of curls and swirls on the floor with a similar shade of ink.

The packet of lithium was in your hand before you knew what you were doing, but you didn’t resist sprinkling it into the wax divots near the wicks. Your high school chemistry lessons finally paid off, as long as you ignored that your first thought was food dye; working with a pantheon of deities outside of your understanding of the world was undoubtably taking a toll on your mental state.

But that didn’t matter right now. The only thing that was important was the paintbrush in your hand that pooled thick lines of neon pink in the exact shape of the symbol in the book. It had to be exact. Perfect. They deserved it.

You connected the last line to the rest of the shape and sat back on your knees to marvel at your work for the brief moment of life you had left. You wouldn’t get the chance once the end of times was ushered in. It didn’t matter to you if it was a sin to be proud of the product of your years of labor. It was probably more of a sin to cause the deaths of eight billion people. What was one more drop in the bucket?

Wiping your paint-splattered face with your sleeve, you rose from the ground and hastily stumbled towards the alter again. The only thing left to do was chant.

Adrenaline rushed you as though you were being judged, chased, stalked. And you likely were. You felt the stares of a hundred gods and monsters on you, from all directions, right into your eyes. They were eager to witness the introduction of apocalypse. They followed where your pupils went. Holding sparks of anticipation, they flitted across the page to work out the pronunciations, wild birds in their cages pleading to be free from the confines of flesh. Your grip on the alter tightened, knuckles paling as all blood rushed away. Any tighter, and you’d rip splinters from it.

You knew you opened your mouth, and you knew you spoke. The chant flowed like thick oil from your throat and poured itself over the paper. You felt it – gods, did you feel the words cling to the life you gave them – but you didn’t hear it. But it was working. It was working, so you didn’t care. You didn’t matter. The ritual did.

So, it didn’t worry you when a flash of pink light, brighter than an atomic bomb, sprung from the centre of the circle at the dip of one of the paint’s arcs and blinded you. Sight and hearing gone, you relied on touch to ground you, and even that was fleeting. The alter was knocked to the floor and you followed it, landing roughly on your palms in accidental prayer. You assumed you were still looking in the vague direction of the flash. The pink had turned to white in the space of your fall. Whatever was with you now, you had no choice but to worship it. The host of the apocalypse, the bringer of the end of times, the catalyst for the collapse of humanity.

The thing that smelled sweet and clasped your hands gently. You still couldn’t see. Did you do it right? Did you summon the right one? Did you knock over a candle and accidentally burn the apartment down and this was heaven? How did you get into heaven?

Your vision was clearing up while you spiraled. Gradually, the spots of light were pulled apart by a softer tone. It wasn’t the shadow you would have expected after removing all sources of light save the candles, but it wasn’t the flashbang from before, and you would take it. You’d hate for your efforts to be for something but unable to experience it to its fullest.

Shakily, you breathed out, exhaling something akin to dust from the lining of your lungs. A few particles remained in your mouth. Sweetness, again. As though you had dipped your tongue in sugar.

“My- my God?” you mumbled. You could hear your voice this time. Words you knew and recognized. Familiar. Safe. 

Yet you still felt safe with the hands of a stranger wrapped around yours. They were warm and soft, and, blinking with the sensation of stepping into the sun for the first time, normal looking. Slowly, you turned them over, so the palms were facing up to you. They were human.

But the thing kneeling mere inches away from you was not.

“Please,” they spoke, with a smile you swore you once saw carved into marble, “call me Wilford.”

He looked kind. When the last vestiges of bright light faded, you were greeted by the pleasant sight of a handsome, if not confusing, man. Really, the pink moustache and hair, the same color as the paint and candles, was the only sign of him not being the average person on the street, besides the fact that he appeared in your ritual circle like the second coming.

When your eyes met, his grin widened. You couldn’t guess what was going through his head, you wouldn’t dare, but you had questions as to why he was guiding you to stand so tenderly. “Now, whatever did you summon me here for?”

“I-I... well, I meant to- uh, dammit, I—”

Your poor excuse for a sentence was cut off before you could make more of a fool of yourself by hushing. Of course, you quieted down, thankful for the excuse to focus on breathing instead of talking. A haze of some unknown emotion clouded your mind and heart, but whatever you were experiencing must have been obvious to the deity you stood before. He took you by the crook of your arm and coaxed you towards the couch a few steps away. Doing this ritual thing in the middle of the living room was a blessing and a curse, though the latter would only come into play if it failed. You hated rearranging furniture.

He laid you down onto the plush pillows, cooing at you softly. Was this the relationship between gods and humans? Pets to play with as they saw fit. It made sense, as much sense as infinite immortals could make. There was no argument to be on an equal playing field, but you had imagined it to be more…

Violent, maybe subservient. You didn’t expect to be pampered with a hand patting your hair and assurances muttered until you were able to function again.

“I summoned you,” you shakily spoke. It was a statement, but you couldn’t stop the uncertainty seeping into your words.

“I should hope so—” Wilford’s laugh was the same as his voice, incredibly sweet and lighthearted, despite having enough power to stop your heart with just a glance, “—I am here, after all.”

Hesitantly, you nodded. Alright. He was actually there. You had summoned him. It actually worked this time.

“Do you remember why you summoned me?” came his own question.

You definitely did, and your subconscious seized your mouth again to avoid having to say it aloud. To the people in your town, the ones you entertained with your plots and stories, it was easy to tell what your end goal was. With the actual deity face to face, it was much harder. You should have planned for this. Maybe you could buy some time to get your confidence back.

You latched onto the odd choice of words that confused you in the first place. “Do… do I remember?”

“Sometimes I forget myself, and if an eldritch god does, I’m sure humans do, too.”

Your own breathing filled the silence left behind at the admission. Wilford’s chest didn’t rise or fall, why would it, and he seemed preoccupied with carding a hand over your head anyway. His moustache twitched every time that he brushed against your actual skin, and his smile grew an unnoticeable millimeter wider. It left you frozen and staring at him, which he didn’t appear to mind.

You could do this. There was no going back now.

“Well, Wilford,” you began, barely managing to escape his touch long enough to sit up straight, “I do remember.”

“Good! How can I satiate your heart’s deepest, darkest desire?”

“I want to kiss you.”

The reaction you received was not one you expected from a god, of any shape or form. He hummed pleasantly. Nothing else, he just hummed, the sound reverberating in the small room but never seeming to fade. It died out in a flash, instead, as he placed an elbow onto the couch cushion and balanced his head in the hand of it. In the fifteen seconds that you were both completely immobile afterwards, he didn’t blink, and his smile stayed plastered where it was.

“You want to kiss me,” he repeated, tone as peppy as before you revealed yourself.

No matter how hard your heart beating against your ribcage, you didn’t dare back down. You were in it now, whether you liked it or not. So, slowly, you nodded, becoming more and more sure of yourself in the process.

Wilford stayed perfectly quiet and perfectly still for another moment. You wondered if you’d done something wrong, something so taboo that you’d broken a god – but a kiss was much easier on the mind than the murder of billions of innocents; you should have been the one to freeze, and yet there you were, waiting with bated breath for him to say anything else. But he didn’t.

Not before he lunged forward, springing to lean over you in an inclined plank and barricade his arms around you. Even without the cover of blinking, his eyes seemed to mimic the stars – flashes of planets and sparks of supernovas jumped around in his pupils and radiated light to the whites. You could barely move your head enough to make eye contact with how close his face was, pressed almost directly underneath your chin, enough that you felt his mustache ticked at the skin as his grin grew impossibly wider.

“Oh-ho, now that’s an unusual request!” he commented, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before.”

The position you were trapped in gave you no leeway. When you spoke, your breath shifted the curls of his hair. “You haven’t?”

There was silence in which Wilford tried to remember, but he came up empty; so many years and requests and people, anyone would have trouble keeping track of them all. His own established issues didn’t help him any, but that didn’t matter. After all, that was the past, or the future, or a different present that he needn’t care about. You were the one in front of him, looking awfully scared for such a simple want, and you were the one he was tending to. The strange human who just wanted a simple smooch in return for possibly giving him the entire world. It was almost unfair.

“But it is intriguing.” His head cocked to the side. “The average summoner would ask for something bigger. Riches, power, time—” Then a thought occurred to him that made his smile collapse into a sharp grimace, broken only by him spitting out, “—fame.”

You supposed it had crossed your mind once or twice that you should do something more substantial with your boundless wish, but nothing else seemed worth it, to you at least. Why would you care about being a billionaire when you wouldn’t live long enough to use the money? Power was a moot point because you didn’t care enough about any entity to want to control it, and time?

“Isn’t the world going to end anyway?”

A few stray chuckles floated up from Wilford’s mouth. “Oh, no, of course not!”

Any fear that remained from his bout of silence was traded out for doubt, surprise, and a great deal of confusion. When he brought his head back to eye level with you, there was no sign of a lie, just dim amusement as your misconception. You might have been offended had you not been preoccupied by the questions that ran through your head.

He peeled back far enough that there were a few inches between you. “What point would there be in destroying the very thing that gives you power? The cults of eldritch gods support them, in every place and time at once, and to willingly minimize your area of effect would be plain silly. We can’t just destroy dimensions willy-nilly; we have to be selective. So,” he practically purred, closing up that gap slowly, “you’ll be completely safe. The people around you, however…”

Although he trailed off, you didn’t need any more explanation. A world-ending catastrophe wasn’t your aim, anyway, what was currently happening was. The space between you was getting smaller and smaller at a leisurely pace. You couldn’t complain, physically or figuratively. Puffs of air danced across your lips, like fog rolling in from the sea, and the couch dipped as Wilford’s knee came to stabilize him at the edge. You risked prematurely closing the gap entirely when you whispered, “That’s fine.”

“Good,” his whisper came out as the final bat of a wave against the shore, “you don’t exactly have a choice anymore.”

Not that you would protest as his lips skimmed yours so lightly that you weren’t certain it was happening at all. If you were to lean less than a centimeter forward, you would connect, and the deal would be done. Internally, you were a blank canvas, mind in a haze of expectation and adrenaline. Whether this was just you or the effect an eldritch god had on you, you didn’t know, and you didn’t care. You had devoted years of your life to this pursuit, you couldn’t waste the golden opportunity on minor worries.

But it wasn’t your fault that you were interrupted.

Another flashbang blinded you with white light. Ringing in your ears that stopped you from hearing anything except the high pitch, even when you felt your mouth open. This time, instead of the complete blankness of your senses, you were overwhelmed with pain, as if you had been dunked in the river Styx. Not just the brightness of an atomic bomb, but the agony of one, too. A migraine flexed and stilled in your mind, focusing all the thoughts on the damage it must have been causing you. What this was or why it was happening were secondary to silent prayers for it all to stop.

And then, just like that, your prayers were answered. In the flap of a butterfly’s wings, you were left reeling on the couch, pushed back into the cushions and fighting against your swimming vision. It was hard to distinguish direction for a moment, even the memories of the apartment you’d lived in for years struggled to help you, but it soon cleared up. In front of you, from the couch to the wall, was the same as it always had been, and you had to wonder whether Wilford had just made a dramatic exit before anything could actually happen.

Voices from behind you made you realise not only did Wilford not leave, but someone new was in the room with you, and it wasn’t a friendly neighbor checking in about the noise.

“The least you could have done was wait until I was finished.” That one was the voice you recognised, but the tone was much more acidic than the softness you were already used to.

And then, came the one you weren’t familiar with. “What would be the point of showing up after you’d sealed the deal?”

Against the bell chime of Wilford’s voice, this one was sleeker, as if it had been artificially smoothed down to slide from the throat to the mouth and out into the air. It lacked a sweetness but made up for it in baritone words like the soft pounding of a heart in your ears. It matched your own that had dropped into your stomach as your thoughts clouded with the newcomer.

“From what I remember, you’re not one to act with much sense,” Wilford replied, a spite overtaking any of the enthusiasm he had shown you. Whoever this was, he didn’t like them.

The stranger’s sarcastic laugh punctured the air of your apartment. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“And anyways, I was here first, and, unlike you, I was actually summoned.” 

“Wilford?” You were surprised by the shake of your voice – you weren’t a meek person by nature, but you supposed being in the presence of two gods would do that to anyone. You understood that you should have been groveling at their feet, thanking them and begging for forgiveness, and yet you simply rose from the couch to finally catch a glimpse of the deity he was on the cusp of arguing with.

“Yes, darling?”

His response was thrown to the wayside as your eyes met with the unfamiliar face in your living room. Your first thought was to wonder how the second god you’d ever seen was just as gorgeous as the first. The second was that your eyes blew so wide with fear with that you were sure they were going to fall out. They were draped head to toe in a crimson that burned in the candlelight, which, now that you actually looked, was no longer the pink you had lit it to be. It was much darker, eerily the same color as the blood that flowed through your veins, but it caressed the edges of their body and face like a lover’s hand.

You swallowed before you asked, “What- what’s happening?”

Your question flipped a switch in the two’s minds. On one hand, Wilford broke out into a snarl unbecoming of the man you’d seen him to be as he groaned, “We’ve been party-crashed.”

On the other hand, the one in red started to step – glide – toward you, the robe swaying across the floorboards and creating patterns in the still wet paint that they strode across. A smirk pulled at the corner of their mouth when you were within arm’s reach.

“What Wil here failed to explain is that I am the King in Red, Heir to Carcosa.” Neither of those titles you recognised but you felt your heart drop regardless, especially as he stopped barely a few inches away from you. The sliver of Wilford that you could see did not look pleased, but he stayed where he was anyway.

“Another eldritch god,” you clarified.

His touch on your hand felt like someone had lit a flame in your palm, the veins used as routes for a wildfire to grow. Your impulse to snatch your hand back was overtaken by the need to close around the warmth. The decision was made for you as he brought your hand towards himself. “Guilty as charged.”

The kiss was better, worse, different to the flame of his contact. It was so hot that it fully circled temperature and fell into a blazing coldness against the back of your hand. You were half sure he had melted away your skin, despite the strange lack of pain, and taken your breath along with it. You didn’t speak, couldn’t find it in you to, when Mark came out of his bow and stood straight enough to meet your eyes again.

“Considering Wilford here told you his, my name is Mark.”

You didn’t know how to feel; all the awe and terror and confusion and fatigue was catching up to you, convincing you with a gentle hand to lie down and forget that there were two gods in your living room, who you now knew the names of, that you were going to play host to. Everything was crumbling around you.

Putting up your scraps of confidence, you asked desperately, “Why are you here? I didn’t, I mean, I already—”

But mortals’ crises were nothing but spilled milk to eldritch deities. Flippantly, Mark waved his hand, the sleeve of his robe peeling back, before he spoke, “Yes, yes, I know I’m not technically the one you summoned, but I couldn’t help but overhear what you were trading for the lives of your friends and family.”

“Something that doesn’t involve you, that’s for sure.” Whether you were grateful for Wilford’s intrusion or appalled by the obvious disrespect didn’t matter. Mark’s smirk sharpened, expelling all the smooth charisma.

“If you’re going to make snarky comments,” he snapped, “I suggest you find another of your cultists and make some other exchange. I know you have hundreds.” Wilford gasped indignantly, not that you knew which suggestion he took the most offence to. 

“And leave you alone with one of my followers?” His scoff cut into a growl. 

In your preparation for summoning a god, you hadn’t done much research into who you’d actually be summoning. The specifics of the character weren’t anything you cared for, considering you would use whatever you could get your hands on – pink paint and lithium were the easiest combination of materials, and some of the other rituals asked for either very difficult or very uncomfortable things to get your hands on. As such, the relationships between those deities were unknown to you. Whatever this was, an ancient rivalry or a mere spat, you hadn’t prepared for it.

Nor were you prepared to be the person they were fighting to convince.

“Darling,” Wilford started moving closer, intentionally giving Mark a wide berth, “I know I said you’re safe, and you still are, but being around him for a long period of time has proven to be deadly.”

Sarcasm bubbled up within you. You hadn’t expected it to be a safe endeavor, after all. Still, you kept your mouth shut, more out of respect than the fear.

Mark had no such qualms about backtalking, however.

“Because becoming a ditzy canvas with no memories at all is so much better than what I can offer?”

Wait, what?

“Quite frankly, yes! A lot of people would take it over becoming a husk for you to puppet on stage.”

What?

One second, you were damning the world to apocalypse. The next, you weren’t, and everybody could live their happy endings. And then the next, you were sacrificing the people in the town but saving your own skin. And then the next, you were either losing your memories and your mind or you were renting out your body as an actor.

You really wanted someone to give you the story straight, without all the fluffy words and fighting. But the fear must have showed on your face, because Mark was gesturing in your direction with a manicured hand.

“Come now, you’re scaring the poor thing. I think we can come to a better agreement, don’t you?”

You didn’t like the tone of his voice in the last half. You didn’t like it one bit. He was suddenly less like a sneaky door-to-door salesman and more like the snake in the garden of Eden.

“I mean—” Your words sounded choked out, even to yourself, “—I don’t really think I want anything else.”

“There’s no need to pretend with me, dearest, that’s my job. You must have a larger goal – and with me, you won’t be sacrificing the people around you. They get to live, and you get what you want. Isn’t that better?”

You saw what the problem was. You supposed that after so many years of humanity milling about, there’d be conflicting impressions of them, especially for gods who didn’t see things on the same level as you. The world wars and the protests and the charities muddied the waters of what humans were really like.

Mark was making the – albeit completely understandable – mistake of assuming that both you and the townsfolk were good people.

“I think you overestimate how much I care about the people in this town.”

You couldn’t help the swell of pride in your chest when you noticed the shock on his face. Hell, his back straightened, and he blinked as if he just weren’t seeing you right.

“But your family. Surely, you don’t want to be the cause of their deaths?”

And he was assuming that your family was still alive.

“No, I- uh, don’t have a family.”

His face dropped as if you’d spoiled the ending of a show. Unimpressed, bored, and vaguely disappointed. Maybe he wasn’t used to this kind of resistance, maybe he wasn’t used to getting it wrong. Presumably, that wasn’t a habit the gods made, but it happened regardless. It was happening, and Mark was having a hard time getting back onto his feet.

After a moment’s hesitation, he stilled and frowned. “You’re making this a lot harder than it has to be,” he complained, and yet he spoke with such confidence, as if the outcome couldn’t be anything but him getting what he wanted, that you almost believed it, too.

Wilford stepped around Mark, very obviously and probably meant to tease him, in order to pull you back down to the couch cushions with him. You flopped against the back of it, only secured by his arms around you, cradled like a toy that a parent threatened to take away from their child. Just as stubbornly, he spat, “It was all going smoothly before you showed up.”

“And if everyone played along, we’d be done by now.” You could hear Wilford rolling his eyes better than you could see it in response to Mark’s groaning. You weren’t doing it on purpose, or, at least, you didn’t think you were. Why would you? The man beside you definitely was, trying to get under his skin and poking and prodding, but you were just answering the questions. Were you supposed to play alongor were you supposed to tell the truth?

Wilford interrupted before you could come to a conclusion, “In this day and age, I don’t understand why you’re here.”

Mark looked you up and down. Judging. He smiled, not unpleasantly but vastly less wholesome than Wilford’s grins. It reminded you of a rose, not just the petals but the thorns as well. He wasn’t lying about the danger he brought, he just wasn’t mentioning it, in the same way that you might not recognize a rose for the pain it would cause but for the beauty it was known for. Nobody talked about the spikes, just the satiny crimson of the prettier parts. Distantly, you wondered whether that smile meant you passed inspection or something different.

“I’m just interested.”

“Go be interested in someone else.” He waved his hand, a shooing motion that lit a flame in Mark’s face, his cheeks becoming just as red as his robe. You didn’t particularly want two gods getting into a petty fight in the middle of your apartment – hell, you hadn’t planned for there to be two gods in the first place – but you still wound up the mediator.

At least, you tried. “Can’t I make a deal with both of you?”

But your proposition was shot down immediately, a combined, “No!” bouncing off the walls and down the hallway. It sounded like the thunder and the rain of a storm, like it was down the street and right next to your ear simultaneously. Their yell, their one agreement so far, could have shaken the earth in the way you had expected their arrival to, instead of the flashbang you had been met with.

You shrunk back into the embrace of the couch, pressed into it in the way that got pennies and wallets and keys lost. You couldn’t tell whether it was out of fear, worry, or the want to get disappear like those common trinkets. The feeling of regret flexed in you, growing and shrinking and growing and shrinking. This whole ordeal was more than you had bargained for. You’d expected a one-and-done kind of thing. Now, you had childish rivals tossing insults.

Speaking of.

Mark bent down to take your hand into his again, but he didn’t lean to kiss it. Instead, he drew his other hand over it, fingers dancing along the skin and prompting sparks around your knuckles. “Dearest,” his teeth were gritted together so that the words struggled out from behind the bars, “I would rather die than share a follower with him. We both know how well it worked out last time.”

A tut from your side before it merged into a laugh. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“What reason do you have?” came the venomous response, disbelieving and mocking.

“I just don’t like you.” Wilford’s smile was bright even as he insulted Mark to his face. If you were to reach out, you were half sure your hand would catch on the tension between them, and you were surprised when you were able to get up from the couch and drag yourself through the air without being stopped.

When you were a few steps away from the pair, out of the blast radius, you sighed, “It’s obvious that this isn’t working. Is there a way to end the whole summoning thing?” You weren’t keen to have to redo all your hard work, but you were even less interested in losing your apartment to a minefield. As the saying went, there were plenty of fish in the sea, and finding another god couldn’t be that difficult. You hoped.

Your eyes latched onto the sudden fear in Wilford’s eyes. It was small, but it was there. Despite that, his grin never faltered, and his voice was steady as he answered, “No—”

“Yes, there is!” Mark announced with more excitement than you had heard in your entire experience with him, and, possibly, it was the most genuine, too. His head whirled to frantically search around the room until his gaze landed on the alter.

Wilford jumped to his feet. “It’s extremely complicated and you probably don’t have the materials and it takes time—”

“They have the book, don’t they?”

What ensued was by far the most insane part about this situation; you stood next to the wall, watching with concern, while Mark dashed for the summoning book. He was barely a few inches away from grabbing it before his face met the floor, snuffing out the candles that he landed on and knocking several others onto the floor. Wilford grunted in the new position as Mark’s elbow connected with his stomach – he recovered surprisingly quickly from the tackle to the ground – and he tossed the other god onto his back. A bundle of flames licked up at them on your wooden boards, but the threat was diminished with their combined rolling away.

Before you met them, you would’ve been scared out of your wits by the thought of two eldritch beings grappling in the middle of your apartment, especially because you would have made certain assumptions – that they had demonic powers, that they could kill you accidentally with the snap of their fingers, and maybe they still could. It was only now that you realized they not much more than schoolboys fighting in the field at lunch break. You couldn’t be intimidated by that.

So, walking forward to stamp out the fire that had been growing into a few smoldering patches of ash, you grabbed the book that they had seemingly forgotten about and proceeded towards your front door. Not schoolboys. Toddlers. Thinking of them like that gave you only one course of action; wait for their tantrums to end and then pick up the pieces.

They didn’t react to the creak of the door, Wilford too preoccupied by bending Mark’s arm back and Mark too preoccupied by not getting his arm bent back, so you slipped out into the night with ease. Immediately, you felt the change in the air. There was no tension out there, covered by the coolness of late hours. They offered a comfort you would never be able to match. Never had you been so glad to be human. Sure, other people were a nightmare and getting out of that town was a dream you aspired to, but you enjoyed this little bit of the world. You wondered if ants felt the same when they looked down off a hill. In the presence of ‘dangerous’ deities, it was nice to sit back and appreciate what you did understand. At that time, you would normally have been able to see the stars twinkling distantly against the black void of the sky, but they must have been hidden by the clouds because you couldn’t see them.

Or the railing.

Or the balcony hallway itself, or, as you whirled around to run back inside, the wall of your apartment. The door stood out like an unfinished painting, bordered by the same darkness that was all around you. You felt caged. It was closing in and spreading apart at the same time, and you could only think to return to the living room. At least you knew what was in there. Out here? Glares burned into your skin from all directions and the shiver of a frigid gust of wind was more physical than your own body. You lunged for the handle to escape it and threw yourself in.

More darkness greeted you.

“Wilford?” you called out, “Mark? Is anyone there?”

You had spoken to the void, but you didn’t expect the void to speak back.

“So, you’re the one causing all of this trouble?”

Those eyes seemed to narrow. The only thing you were certain of was the rapid thud of your heart in your chest, and even then, it was inconsistent. A scream clawed at your throat, but you choked on the sound.

You managed to struggle past the blockage to ask, “Hello?”

The words reverberated around wherever you were, but it wasn’t your voice. Some of the echoes were deeper, some higher, some altogether unintelligible, as if spoken in another language. It hurt when they came back to you.

“Darling, dearest—” Something writhed in the pitch, “I’d ask how they got so attached so fast, but we both know who we’re talking about.”

“And who am I talking to?”

“You’ve been messing around with that book; I should hope you know.”

You almost jumped to your own defense before you remembered what position you were in. On one hand, you had only meant to summon Wilford, not Mark, but, on the other, it probably didn’t matter in the eyes of whoever – whatever – you were talking to.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” you started as you searched for the confidence you had started the day with, “but which one are you?”

“I have man names, many faces… you won’t be around much longer, so you may refer to me as Dark.”

Well, it was certainly fitting. As if to confirm your thoughts, a patch of the void appeared to constrict and tear through itself. Each particle fought for space, sparking with red and blue light, and collected into smaller masses. You were stuck to where you were standing while the voice continued in the background.

“Those two are tenacious.” More flecks of light joined the fray. “Neither will stop until they get what they want.” They warped the area around them in the vague shape of a person. “That just so happens to put you in a tight spot.” The color seeped out of the portrait, but it was still distinguishable from the void. “Wilford will slowly erase your memories, even though he doesn’t mean to nor is he aware of it.” A body began to coalesce where you assumed the floor of the void to be. “And Mark will take your physical form as soon as you pledge yourself to him to use in one of his plays.” It travelled up from dress shoes to black pants to the edges of a white shirt. “And you were about to choose both.” A neck appeared above the collar and those particles caressed the line of a jaw. “That…”

A face emerged.

“That is fascinating.”

Before you stood the fully formed god you now knew as Dark, and you had mixed feelings about that. For one, you had actually watched him appear. He didn’t arrive in a blaze of light, he did quite the opposite. That in and of itself dug a pit in your stomach, and his earlier comment that you wouldn’t be around much longer wasn’t helping your nerves. You felt like you were on the edge of spiraling out of control, but you also felt strangely calm, like there was a voice whispering in your ear that there was no need to get worried. Your breathing stayed steady while you looked at him. A formal black suit and ashen skin were the only notable features he sported. There was no taste in your mouth, no pain in your body, just confusion and a hint of fear.

He opened his mouth to speak, and you braced for impact, but his voice sounded normal. “What’s so important to you that you’d give up your mind and body?”

The answer was coaxed out of your mouth before you could think to say it. “A kiss.”

You had managed to shock not one, not two, but three eldritch deities. You were three for three, and you were damn proud of yourself! When you were back in your room later that night, you were going to celebrate. With what, you didn’t know yet, but you were already stewing in the feeling. It didn’t take long for Dark to recuperate, though, and you were brought back to the present by his gravelly laugh.

“Mortals,” he tutted. “You can never seem to decide whether you’re so significant that you’re the centre of the universe, or you’re so irrelevant that nothing you do matters. You’d give up yourself and the people around you for a show of affection, no doubt ingenuine?”

“Is it so hard to understand that I don’t care about the people here?”

“And your own soul?”

“I went into this thinking the entire world was going to end, so this is a preferrable outcome.”

He thought for a moment, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. You felt like you were being inspected, and maybe you were, but you must’ve passed his scrutiny because a grin crept across his face. Not sugary like Wilford’s, or sly like Mark’s, but understanding, as if you’d given him the last piece of the puzzle that he had also known from the beginning. You confirmed something in him, and he was going to use it to his full advantage.

“That settles it,” he said, bringing a hand up to snap his fingers. That sound reverberated, not unlike your original words, but without the pain. Instead of granting to a headache, it swept away the darkness like a curtain to reveal your apartment. You were standing exactly where you would have been after coming back inside, a few steps away from the centre of the ritual circle, only Dark was situated opposite you. Just to the side were Wilford and Mark, still tousling as though you had never left.

As Wilford reared back a fist to sock Mark in the jaw, he finally noticed your return, to which he shot a smile at you. A stark bruise had found a place above his eye, but that didn’t stop him from winking at you while he drew his fist further away from his target.

And then he paused, hummed, and jumped up from the floor to greet Dark with a hug and a call of his name.

Mark, meanwhile, stumbled to his feet. He didn’t look worse than Wilford, but he certainly wasn’t better; a cut dripped blood around his mouth, which he wiped away with his thumb. His expression didn’t brighten when he saw Dark, and, instead, he took the grace period to trot over to you and swing an arm around your waist.

“Couldn’t handle me on your own?” he boasted when you were well situated, “You had to call in backup.”

At the insinuation, Wilford whirled on his heel and spat back, “I’ll have you know I am perfectly capable of—”

“Can we be civil?”

Whatever relationship the three of them had, Dark seemed to be the most – if not liked – respected. The two men stopped talking immediately and looked towards the one who had spoken, whose voice somehow sounded like it brought the walls of the room closer even if the volume didn’t change. He was powerful, that much was certain, and he proved it more than Wilford or Mark had, so far.

Another demonstration was when he reached into a slightly shaded corner of your apartment and retrieved something from the inky black. For a moment, it was nothing more than vapor, like dry ice, but then he pulled it further towards him.

Even though it now had a physical form, it helped you none with what it actually was. All you saw was a piece of yellow, tarnished paper that made Dark grimace, before he shook it and the color seeped out of it. You could have assumed it was a trick of the light had that not also healed the rips and tears.

“I’m sure the little cultist didn’t summon anyone here to see a petty squabble,” he said as he reached back into the shadow to get something that made more sense to you, a pen. Not that you knew what to do with it when he stepped closer and held both items out to you.

You looked him up and down in confusion.

Dark didn’t look offended while he explained, “If you agree to these terms, you can proceed with your original plan.”

Wilford popped up over his shoulder to take a peek at the writing. His lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed but he only stated, “Dark loves a good contract.” Mark, meanwhile, tightened his grip.

Now that you were able to see the front of the paper, you could understand the words and be surprised it was in English.

To sum it up, after your eyes had skimmed over the terms, you would get what you wanted. You were ready to stop then and there, but common sense told you to keep going. Something about survival instincts or whatever boring thing your mind felt the need to involve.

The extra lines told you what would happen for the deities beside you. Wilford would get to take the memories of the entire town over the course of a couple days at a time – a similar situation to what you’d heard happened in Insmouth – but would use your apartment as a home base of sorts instead of an eroded group of rocks. You’d be there for the upkeep and taxes and, strangely, companionship. For two days after that, you would go with Mark to actively participate in his plays. At your side, he seemed to brighten when he read it. You guessed that unconscious husks weren’t the most entertaining when it came to improv. The final line stated that you would return to your apartment, alone, for the weekend, which worked for you.

But you weren’t the one it would be difficult to convince, and, what surprised you, nor was it Mark.

“Unfortunately, we have been over why a custody agreement won’t work,” Wilford piped up, leaning an arm over Dark’s shoulder. “Someone holds a very old and very useless grudge and is also the last person I would ever want to associate myself with.”

The impulse to point out that he had spent the last hour or so associating with Mark reared its head. You subtly patted it down, only noting that your confidence was coming back after the whole eldritch gods acting like petty toddler situation.

Dark spoke as though he were used to this, though, “You won’t have to make contact with the King in Red if you don’t want to. A day’s interim for handover has already been specified.”

Wilford couldn’t help but groan back, “You’re taking the fun out of this whole thing. They’re not a time-share, or a car being traded between dealers.” He went to cross his arms but was interrupted by his own gesture to the man who still had a grip on you. “And besides, Mark would never agree to it.”

“Oh, I’m fine with this arrangement.”

You blinked. Maybe you had preemptively gone insane because that void sounded like it was Mark’s but, even from your limited experience with him, he wouldn’t give up that easy. It unnerved you how casual he sounded, as it did the other two; Wilford’s eyebrows shot up, to be expected, but Dark also slightly reared back, like he had the chance of seeing the truth if he looked from another angle.

“Really?” you asked, turning your head to make eye contact.

“I’m given two days, and it’ll only take one to convert you fully to my side.” His hand left your waist and moved to pull your jaw towards him. “Contracts can be amended, can’t they?”

Damn. He was smooth. You tried to ignore the blush that flourished on your cheeks, and how your thoughts reminded you how little space there was between you and him. An inch, maybe less. It wouldn’t need much energy to move closer – in fact, it made more sense to just remove the gap altogether, right?

Until Wilford slapped his hand from your chin and stood steadfastly between you, the ideas falling out of your mind like a bucket with a hole punctured in the bottom. You hadn’t seen him move in the first place, but nobody looked shocked.

“We haven’t started yet,” he spat, and you were almost distracted by his pout.

They made faces at each other while you reread the contract. It all seemed very cut and dry. There was no point in a fine print if you were selling your soul for some kisses, because there was nothing to hide. No devils in the details for you.

Well, except…

“What’s the weekend for?” you asked. Dark didn’t seem the type to give you ‘time off’ just like that.

And you were right, in both aspects. He didn’t try to cover it up before he started explaining, “If I’m going to notarize this contract, I’m going to get something out of it.”

That got the other’s attention. Their heads snapped to look at Dark, both as confused as you were.

“Your follower here planned to trade reality as they know it for a single kiss, not even the three that we’re offering.” What? “Just imagine what else they could give for trifles like that.” What?

It took you a second to process what he said. He wasn’t looking for a one-up on another god, or entertainment, or companionship. He was looking for a gateway into the human world, and he found that gateway in you. What else you could give him. Access. Apparently, ancient beings who were witnesses to the dawn of time were also subjects to legalities. They couldn’t go invading the world whenever they wanted, they were like vampires, they had to be let in.

As Dark said, you would be the one to let him in, so that he could wreak whatever havoc that you could, or couldn’t, imagine.

That might have put other people off from making the deal. But, then again, you weren’t other people. You were you, and you had no qualms about breaking that dam and letting the flood destroy the town. You’d get what you wanted, that was all you really cared about, and it was the first line of the contract.

“Alright.” All three of the men around you looked towards you. “Deal.”

You took the pen that Dark was holding out to you, ignored the smirk that pulled at his lips, and signed your name on the dotted line.

The paper disappeared in the same puff of smoke it had appeared in. Dark’s hand was left empty, and so was yours as the pen took its own exit, but he quickly crossed his arms behind his back and took a step away from you. More than one, in fact, until he turned and started to walk towards the front door. He didn’t have to see your confused expression to understand.

“Privacy,” was all he offered before snapping his fingers and pointing at Mark.

It must have been insulting to be beckoned like a dog; he frowned and groaned and sighed and stomped all the way to where Dark stood, and then, with an upturned nose, he passed him and stalked into the exposed hallway. It only took a shared nod between Wilford and Dark for him to leave as well, following into the darkness that still stained the world outside your apartment.

You and Wilford were left alone. Right back to the start.

“Well,” he started, taking both of your hands into his, “I’m sorry about that, darling!”

“That normally doesn’t happen, right?” The warnings you’d found scratched into the first pages of books, the cryptic words from sellers, all of them foreshadowed the danger of summoning an eldritch god. None of them told you how ending up with three would turn out, so either it was a rare event, or nobody had lived to give their own advice on it.

Wilford simply nodded and answered, “Quite right.” His eyes drifted to the door that only just clicked closed. “Though, it was the actor and I last time, too, so maybe we’re exceptions to the rule.”

“Rule?”

“In theory, the followers who choose us have such different aims that we never cross paths. I have the mind, he has the body,” a laugh jumped out of his throat, “nobody’s going to Mark to forget their wife’s death. But nothing ever goes how it does on paper. We get muddled up, and then we both make deals, and then our follower’s caught between a rock and a hard place, and then—well, you’ve seen what happens.” He gestured dramatically to the apartment, that now seemed so much smaller than it did before. “You are what happens.”

But you were alive. You survived. No matter what happened from that point on, you had gotten through such an ordeal that would surely make anything else pale in comparison. You could do it.

“This is the first time Dark’s taken part,” Wilford offhandedly commented, before his spine straightened as though he was struck by lightning. You swore you could feel the leftover sparks when his hand returned to yours. “Oh, but no more about them. Party-crashers, really, are the worst of the lot. Just criminal. And not even the fun kind of criminal.” His eyes finally met yours again. “But we got there in the end.”

It was in that moment that his voice dipped from those jovial, sugar-coated words into something deeper. Not that his tone had particularly changed, there was just another layer to it, like a tree stripped back to the core of it. It befitted the god you imagined prior to summoning him. Now that you had met him, it made your heart flutter in your chest and your breathing pick up to match it. Much like how it was what seemed like years ago, except there was going to be no one popping in with a flash of light to interrupt you.

“Now, where were we?”

Standing up straight was an odd choice, but you were in an odd situation and by far more distracted by Wilford pushing forward through the thin air between you and connecting his lips with yours. The second that you were fully touching, you tasted the sugar that seemed a permanent coat for every part of him. It was incredibly soft, gentle, like he thought you’d shatter if he applied any pressure, and he did. Humans were such fragile creatures, bound by the laws you’d created for yourselves, both physically and socially. A pinprick, a papercut, a prod to the wrong part of you, and you could die, just like that. Wilford was determined that you wouldn’t go that way, but it made him far lighter than he would have liked to be.

But if this was him holding back, you couldn’t help but wonder what full force would be, because you couldn’t tell whether it was the sweetness or the man himself that was making you want for more. You forgot to breath as you focused entirely on the movement of his lips against yours. Your mind swam with thoughts, all centered on him, to the point that the last hour wiped out of your mind, and you returned to the beginning. It was addicting, to sum it up, and Wilford had to guide you apart when you started to go far too limp in his hold.

You must have looked some kind of way, maybe a certain dazed fog in your eyes, because he laughed – a sound that was so much lighter than before, if you could remember what it was like before – and tapped your nose with one of his fingers. Your barely caught Wilford’s wink in the hazy mind field you tried to pick your way through.

And then the pressure was gone, just like that, as if he’d never existed in the first place. For a moment, the impulse to agree with that flitted across your mind – it all seemed ludicrous, anyway, that was undeniable – but then the door behind you crashed against your wall, bounced back, and was eventually shut when a pair of shoes were fully inside.

You didn’t turn around, because you neither had the reason nor the time to do so. It was obvious whose hands were on your waist in a matter of milliseconds, each finger pressing into your clothes in time with the corresponding one on the other side.

“Finally,” Mark mumbled as his head came to rest in the crook of your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his fluffy hair bat against your skin, one stray lock managing to knock against your earlobe. “I thought he’d never leave. He never knows when the party’s over. Never remembers.”

If you hadn’t seen the outcome of their little sparing match or the squabble, you could have been easily convinced he was in love with the other god, going off how much he talked about him. Many of your fellow students in high school pretended to hate who they were secretly attracted to, though they didn’t have the power to smite you if you were to suggest it to them. The man currently wrapped around you proved to be a deadlier risk.

“But that doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone and we can finally make good on our deal.” 

You were shocked out of your joking assumptions by the graze of Mark’s teeth where his head was planted. A nip, and you were wondering if you were starting already, but he stopped long enough to mutter some more muffled words.

“Oh, I have so many ideas.” You barely registered one of his hands coming up to guide your jaw into looking towards him. “If we’re doing it differently,” his whispers danced across your skin before drifting up as he gently pecked up your neck, “I can’t have you doing the same old King in Red script. 

From what you’d heard, that was the pseudo-ritual to take your soul, and, as per your contract, you were supposed to be fully conscious when you were performing. You were glad he’d picked up on that, it would be annoying to go through all that hassle just to be exorcised from your own body at the last hurdle. You were sure that you would have completed it had he not brought it up, thankful that at least one of you wasn’t distracted by the current events. 

“I would offer Othello,” he continued, and you shivered at the new puff of breath, “but the bard seems too tame for your first experience. Musicals are especially rough on the vocal cords if you’re not used to it.”

Damn, Mark was a tease. Your oh-so-dutiful-cult-follower exterior was cracking the longer he dragged this on. He wasn’t doing this on purpose, he was too excited about the prospect of plays to be disingenuous about the subject, but you had half a mind to jumpstart this thing.

“Your heist movies have always interested me—” Maybe two thirds a mind, “—what’re your thoughts on space?”

In fact, a whole mind.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

That felt sacrilegious, and your immediate thought was that you were indeed going to die for your transgressions.

The next thought was how good Mark’s lips felt against yours. The sugar-coated texture was wiped off and replaced by a satin ribbon. Fear of your blasphemy was thrown out the window as you cherished the push and pull, barely noticing the ache of your neck until it disappeared with a switch of position; you were twirled around by the hand that remained on your waist and the other shifted to the back of your neck. You appreciated the stability but found you couldn’t voice it as Mark dove deeper, gripped tighter, sighed against your mouth. The kiss on the back of your hand was nothing in comparison to this. Anywhere Mark touched was completely numb. No fire, no chill, just a blanketed safety from pain when he settled into a gentle caress of your skin. And then it started to tingle. Pins and needles danced on the surface. Capsaicin.

You shivered.

“It’s unfair,” he separated far enough to whisper, “that we don’t have more time.”

Everything moved at a different pace for deities. Decades could go by in the blink of an eye, entire empires rising and falling with less effort than the waves. Most of the time, they were forced to take a back seat, if only because it all would move too fast for them to have any sort of effect. Eldritch gods found their homes in the stars, where things went more at their speed, where things felt more welcoming than the place that valued every second of the minute more than life itself.

But that begged the question; why were you, a human, so comfortable? Why did it feel right to have you in his arms? You aged and you changed, but you made the weight of time so much lighter. Somehow. In a way that such a powerful being couldn’t understand.

You might have nodded at his words. You weren’t actually aware of your actions, but you vaguely felt your head bob up and down, even if it was slight. Your eyes were still closed – you weren’t sure when you closed them – but you felt Mark bow his head to slot between your neck and shoulder again. That was where it felt like flames licking at your skin, but you didn’t back away. Why would you?

You felt him speak before you heard his words, “But have no fear. It won’t take long for the day to roll around, dearest.”

Your heart stilled in your chest.

“We just have to be patient.”

The flames were doused and feeling returned to your lips in the space of a few milliseconds. Fog lifted from your mind, and you blinked slowly to regain your sense of self.

And then there were two. 

Dark didn’t enter with a show of dramaticism like Mark had, nor did he go to find some physical contact like Wilford. Instead, he simply opened and shut the front door and let you adjust to an actual room with him alone. There was an inkling of fear in the back of your mind, the ancient part from the years of hunting buffalo and being scared of the night that yelled at you to run. You pushed down the fight or flight reflex that begged to be triggered. It hushed without challenge, leaving you strangely calm in the face of the most powerful being you had ever met.

You found that you liked his smile. It was surprisingly pleasant, and presumably rare, considering the most you had gotten out of him since Mark and Wilford were involved was a smirk when you signed the contract. This was less sly, and, instead, had the corners of your mouth perking up, too. It only felt right.

What was weirder, though, was the fact that you felt equal to him. You, a mortal with zero self-preservation skills and 206 definitely breakable bones, felt equal to a god who could snap his fingers and kill you. There were no more witnesses, and there was only so much the police could do to track down a being of myth and legend. And yet, your mind assured itself there was no need to fear because you were on an equal playing field. You were both part of that contract, neither offering more or less than they could handle.

Dark, somehow, managed to voice your thoughts before you could. “So, you state your terms, I’ll state mine, and then we’ll have a deal,” he stated.

“What kind of terms are we talking about?”

He stepped forward once, and then twice, until he was close enough to take one of your hands and pull you towards him. Middle ground.

“Let’s start with this one, alright, dove?”

Your stomach flipping, you were the one to cross no-man’s land. Being so confident in the presence of a deity was unnatural, but, then again, everything about this was – except the feeling of lips against yours was beginning to become more and more familiar. The pressure, the texture, the—

The kiss ended as quick as it began. Dark drew back an inch with an exhale of cold breath while you stayed frozen. Your eyes didn’t have the time to close in the first place, so you easily noticed the plain shock on his face. Eyes wide and shoulders down, you could only imagine that you had done something wrong.

You were sorely mistaken.

You registered being dipped when Dark’s hands came to rest at the small of your back and your neck, and then your lips connecting so harshly that you thought they might have bruised. They were definitely already swollen from the combined efforts of the last two experiences, but now? You forgot the ability to breathe and simply submitted to the tug of his teeth against your skin.

Apart from the lapse at the beginning, you had no way of knowing this was Dark’s first encounter with anyone, let alone a human. For all his suaveness and elegance, social skills weren’t something he practiced often. That left them lacking, outside of business deals, to the point that every conversation with someone turned into a trade. Information, ideas, physical assets, it didn’t matter – but this scenario, with such a nice warmth contrasting his coldness, he forgot that this was an official exchange. It almost had him wanting to disregard the terms altogether and figure something out for just the two of you.

But Dark was nothing if not formal. No matter how much he felt the impulse to go further, he had to calm himself down, and that meant he had to take a step back.

He only managed a gap worth a sheet of paper at first.

“Mortals.”

You drew back the rest of the distance, so that both of you could speak comfortably and without temptation.

“You really are fascinating creatures.”

With those closing remarks, Dark trailed the hand from your neck to your jaw to your chin. A finger pushed at your bottom lip.

“I look forward to finding out more.”

He disappeared as quiet as Wilford and Mark, while you struggled to stay upright with your knees as firm as jelly and your heart threatening to give out. 

So much had happened in the space of those two hours, at most, in your apartment. For one, this was no longer your apartment, really. You shared it with three eldritch gods, only one of which you had signed up to interact with, and even that was something you originally thought would end in the massacre of your species. Complete extinction. But there you stood, alive and well, in the middle of the living room. Nobody was dead yet, and nobody who you cared about would die.

You didn’t fight the laugh that bubbled up in your chest – it spilled out like an overflowing bathtub, you felt like you were drowning, you were drowning, but you were alive. You were alive! You’d done it! You got that kiss you wanted, and two more on top of that. A hand, probably yours, jumped to your mouth to cover the cackles that escaped you, but it did no good. It was all just so hilarious.

The laughter only died down when you bit into the palm of your hand. With your teeth lodged into flesh, you had physically tied your mouth shut like a bear trap. This way, you could think.

First, you had to find something pink to wear. Second, you had to brush up on your improvisation. And third? Well, you didn’t exactly know what Dark was going to do, but by all the eldritch gods in that book on your alter, you were excited to find out.

[Yep, I definitely went insane. My mind crumbled and this was in the rubble. I normally struggle with the kiss at the end of these kinds of things, so I kinda shot myself in the foot by giving myself three in one, but it's done now, so enjoy while I sit here and collect the pieces of my brain <3]

[human-gutz]

# title ; he'll let your world burn [ chapter one ]

# pairings ; actor mark / reader

# word count ; 3,541

# trigger warnings ; guns, vomit, actor mark being an asshole

# notes ; zombie apocalypse au! i meant to post this sooner, decided to get some of chapter two done first but it's here now. requests are open. will hopefully get a oneshot posted soon + i have plans for another chapter book.

Diinnngg.

Glancing up at the top of the door, taking notice of the bell chime. Holding it open for Mark to walk through. Not really wanting the chime to go off a second time. Letting go of the door as soon as Mark stepped past you, watching it close for a moment before turning and scanning over the gas station.

The place looked mostly untouched other than obvious signs of quick evacuation. Normally this would be a bit of a shock, but this gas station was practically in the middle of no where.

Walking behind the counter, grabbing one paper bag. Heading back out to the main area, opening up the bag and grabbing a few snacks and small candies from the shelf. Shoving them inside of it. Setting sack down near the entrance.

Glancing back over to the counter at the sound of another bag being opened. Mark was grabbing cigarette cartons and putting them in a bag. After a moment, he took notice of your staring, a frown fitting his face.

"What?" he sounded annoyed, "I have no clue when the next time we'll come across a store, much less one that isn't ransacked."

You just rolled your eyes, not bothering to give him a response as he went back to grabbing cartons. Instead heading towards what you assumed was storage.

Pushing open the door, taking a peak inside you spotted boxes stacked up everywhere. Along with exactly what you were searching for.

Walking inside, leaving the door propped open with a random box. Picking up one of the cases of water bottles you found, walking back out of the storage area and setting it near the bag of snacks, and now Mark's cigarettes as well.

Seeing as you hadn't heard the door open, you assumed he was filling up his own bag of snacks.

After all, he was right. Neither of you had a clue when the next time you'd find a place to get food would be. Most of the places you two had stopped at were abandoned houses. With most of the food either rotted or animals had gotten into it. Most of them were a good way to get gas at least.

Siphoning wasn't too hard, that being said Mark absolutely refused to do it. Something about him being a 'man of class' or whatever. You never really paid much attention to him most of the time.

Snapping out of your thoughts as another bag was placed next to the two already there. Turning your head to look at Mark, his face still just showed annoyance to you. It always felt like that now.

Setting the bags on top of the water case, picking them up and pushing the door open with your foot. Standing by the passenger door, watching Mark open it up. Pulling foreword the seat, you leaned in to place the waters in the back. Moving the bags off top of the waters and instead setting them in the seat next to it.

Pushing the seat back into place and climbing inside, shutting the passenger door. Mark had already gotten in and was starting up the car by the time you got yourself situated.

As he pulled out of the station, you debated asking the question that had been festering in your head ever since this roadtrip began. The way there was easy, you had the map and directions all written out, but in a rush to leave the city. You had none of it left.

"Are you sure we've actually been going in the right direction?" There was almost a bit of nervousness in your voice, glancing in his direction as you asked.

Mark didn't take his eyes off the road, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. His frown deepened at the question, or you assumed that was the reason.

A sigh came before he spoke, "Pass me a pack of cigarettes." He completely ignored your question. Part of you wondered if you were right and he just didn't want to admit it.

Staying still for a few more seconds, watching him glance over at you for a moment with a glare which quickly got you moving.

Unclicking your seatbelt, twist around to reach through the gap in the seats. Prying your fingers under the cardboard, flipping them to the side and wedging your fingers in. Pulling out a pack, turning back to Mark. Setting them down in the center.

Without looking away from the road, he moved a hand down to grab the pack. Tearing the thing plastic away, just tossing it to the floor. Opening the lid and pulling out a cigarette, setting the box back in the center.

"Light it."

The cigarette was held out towards you, tilting his head towards the lighter that also laid in the center for a moment.

Part of you wanted to be shocked by the other commanding you around but it was Mark. It would be a surprise if he didn't do it to someone.

Picking up the lighter, flicking it open and rolling the flint wheel. Seeing the flame spark to life. Placing the flame under the cigarette, the edges began to crisp up and burn, pulling it away after a moment. Closing the lighter and setting it back in place. Quickly moving to roll down your window, spinning the crank.

Hotboxing the car wasn't exactly an experience you would like to have.

Staring out the window, feeling the breeze run over you. It was.. pleasant. Probably one of the few nice moments you had on this entire trip.

God.

This entire trip was a disaster.

You hadn't even been the one meant to go. Damien was, but he had an important business meeting he couldn't miss so y—.

"It shouldn't be more than a day or two left."

Mark snapped you out of your thoughts.

Turning back to look at him, he still had his eyes glued on the road but his grip on the steering wheel had relaxed. It had been nearly two days without him being able to smoke, so seeing him relaxing now that he had one.. made some sense.

He took another drag of the cigarette, "I've driven this route plenty of times. If I wasn't fucking sure of myself I wouldn't of even tried," not looking still, but a fake smile took over his face. "If you'd like to question me anymore, I'd more than gladly pull this fucking car over and leave you for dead. Capisce?"

It felt like your stomach did a flip, turning from looking at Mark to the floor. You couldn't tell if it was a joke to scare you or the truth. When it came to him, it could be anything.

Just giving a small nod. Not even checking to see if Mark acknowledged, or even saw it.

---

It had been a few hours since you two had left the gas station, the car was silent other than Mark telling you to light a cigarette for him every now and again.

You were in a place you actually recognized finally, it was a small town about six or so hours from where Mark's manor is. There wasn't much here, just a grocery store, a few houses, a gas station, some other buildings, and the whole reason you were here. A motel.

Mark pulled into the lot, turning the car off and just sitting there.

You didn't bother waiting, quickly unbuckling yourself. Going to open the car door only for Mark to grabbing your wrist tightly, keeping you in place.

"Stay."

He opened his own door, stepping out of the car. Leaning down, pulling out what looked like a small handgun out before shutting the door. Watching him head towards the reception room, disappearing inside.

Understanding Mark was.. hard to say the least. He seemed to like playing the nice, friendly, friend most of the time. He would protect others from threats, the people closest to him knew he just liked playing the hero.

He was an actor, through and through.

After a few minutes, Mark emerged. What looked like a set of keys in his hand.

Motioning for you come follow him, you opened the car door and finally stepped out. Walking over towards the other, going a quick pace before slowing down as you reached his side. Keeping just a step behind him.

Stopping by a nearby door, you couldn't see what he was doing but seeing the door open a moment later, it was assumed he was unlocking it.

As soon as you spotted the singular queen bed, you glanced over at Mark. He didn't seem to care, not even acknowledging it. Instead walking over and untucking the comforter, shaking the dust off it.

You were confused, "What room am I staying in?" The two of you wouldn't be sharing a bed.. right?

"Here. There's probably extra blankets and pillows in the closet." His voice was matter of fact, no room for protest.

Not like that would stop you from doing so.

"I'm not sharing a bed with yo—" He cut you off with laughter.

Taking a moment to calm before turning to look at you, crossing his arms. Tilting his head, a wide grin on his face. "Fuck no, we aren't sharing a bed.. but with how things are, you aren't staying alone. It's not safe." Turning back to brush the dust off the pillows, "you can sleep on the floor. Probably would be more comfortable than sleeping at your desk like you normally do."

Just staring for a moment, on one hand you wanted to just tell him to go fuck himself and go get your own room.. on the other you knew Mark wouldn't hesitate to lock you in the bathroom or somewhere to keep you here.

Walking to the closet, you decided it was easier to just go along with it than fight with him on this.

Pulling out all the pillows and blankets from the closet, dragging them to the side of the bed closest to the door. Dropping them on the floor and kicking them around with your feet. When you were ready to sleep, you could fix it up later.

"You're not smoking in here then."

There was silence for a bit, he was probably thinking it over.

"Fine." That was the only thing he said in response, he sounded annoyed by it, but there was only much pushing he could do before you would stop cooperating with him.

Walking back out to the car, you opened up the passanger door. Pushing the seat down once more. Grabbing the two snack bags and a few waters. To make sure he really wouldn't smoke inside, you left his cigarettes and lighter in the car. Shutting the door behind you, heading back towards the room.

Setting them down on the desk, shutting the door to the room. Grabbing a random bag of chips from your bag and sitting down in one of the chairs. Opening it up and snacking on it.

It clicked with you how hungry you were once you did, the last time you ate was probably a day ago? That wasn't something you were trying to pay attention to until now. Practically tearing through the first bag, tossing it in the trash and grabbing another.

"Hungry?"

You glanced in Mark's direction, realizing how ravenous you were acting. Pausing, staring down at the bag then back up him. Just giving a small nod.

"Go get in the car, we can go down to the grocery story and see what is still… edible. There's plenty of stuff here we can use to start a fire or something if we need to."

His voice seemed gentle, almost caring. It was.. odd. You didn't want it to end though, so you just gave a nod. Setting the chip bag down and heading back to the car.

Mark followed after, the both of you getting in the car. It came to life with a rumble, he quickly pulled out of the lot and started towards the grocery store.

As you road around town, it was surprising to see the fact this place also seemed untouched. It was probably one of the towns that completely evacuated before things got bad. Made things easier for the two of you at least.

The car came to a hault just a few feet from the entrance, waiting a moment, seeing if Mark was going to stop you again. After seeing him step out without saying anything, you followed along.

Stepping inside, a horrid smell hit both of you instantly. At first you wondered if you were wrong, there really were people here.. or, whatever what was left of them.

It only took a few moments before realization set in, it was the smell of rotting meat. The electricity was down, nothing was keeping the food here was fresh. That didn't make it any better, the smell was still nauseating.

Before you could process it, everything you just ate was coming up. Quickly stepping back outside, spitting it up over the concrete. The smell still was invading you but it was getting easier.

Glancing back towards the store, you didn't see Mark. He probably went farther in to go grab stuff.

Walking back to the car, opening the door and reaching into the back. Grabbing one of the water bottles and opening it. Taking some water into your mouth and just swishing it around, spitting it out on the concrete. Doing it a few times until the bottle was empty, dropping it on ground.

Hesitantly walking back towards the store, slowly pushing the door open and trying to breath through your mouth instead. Doing your best to ignore the smell.

"It's not that bad, there's no need to be all dramatic about it."

You heard Mark speak from somewhere in the store, a scowl running across your face. It looks like he was going right back to being an asshole.

Peaking down the aisle he was standing in, taking note of the fact he was smoking. Walking towards him, he seemed to be looking over all the canned food.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." It was the only response you could be bothered to give.

He glanced over at you for a moment, a more neutral look on his face. Looking back at the soups, he grabbed two off the shelf. Handing you them both. "Go wait in the car. I don't want you puking again."

There was slight hesitation before you stepped back and turned, walking back out to the car. Setting the cans on the floorboard, just watching the door to the store. Waiting for Mark to emerge.

It didn't take too long, he came out carrying a full grocery bag. Opening up your door, setting it in your lap before shutting it.

Glancing down, you peered inside. Looking over everything as Mark got in and started up the car. You saw some more cans, a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and a few bars of chocolate.

A small smile crept up on your face, looking over at Mark. He still held a impassive look, glancing towards you for a moment then back on the road.

"If we're gonna have a fire might as well have something nice."

It didn't take long before the two of you made it back to the motel, Mark grabbed the bag from your lap and stepped out of the car. It was only then you noticed him grab another bag from the floorboard.

Picking up the two cans from the beginning, shutting the car door and following after him. Setting them down on the concrete next to where he set everything else. Not bothering to follow Mark into the room, knowing he'd come back out.

Seeing him come out with one of the chairs and two rolls of toilet paper, setting the rolls next to you. Dragging the chair a bit farther down.

Taking a small step towards him, "Wha—."

CRACK.

He had grabbed the top of chair and slammed it into one of the support beams. One of the legs came completely off, two more cracked while the last was still undamaged. He slammed it over and over until all four legs were on the ground.

You just stared at him, a bit of fear hit you. It just reminded you of how strong Mark really was, motel chairs weren't very light and he picked it up with ease and slung it around.

He picked up four broken chair legs, walking back over to you. Crouching down and arranging them in a square. Placing the two toilet rolls in the middle of the square. Pulling the lighter from his pocket and setting one of them on fire, then placing the sitting piece of the chair on top of it.

Sitting down on the opposite side of him, listening to the flames crackle as the fire began to spread to the chair. Mark grabbed from the bag he had at his feet, pulling out a small metal pot then grabbing the two cans he gave you earlier.

Turning your head away from Mark, letting him do the cooking. If you said anything, he'd probably make you take it over.

This was tiring. No one could ever expected something like this. No one probably did.

You weren't even sure who'd still be around when the two of you finally got home.. who'd even be alive.

People tried escaping towards the cities but that only seemed to cause mass chaos, they were absolutely horrid when the two of you finally made it out. You remember having to practically beg Mark not to leave you behind. He said if you could make it to his car, he'd bring you.

It was pure luck you even made it.

Turning back to face Mark, it was hard to see him as the person he was now. He was always so kind back in college. Supporting both you and Damien with your careers. He was madly in love with Celine, doing practically anything for her.

Then something changed.

You weren't sure when, maybe it had always been a facade. Maybe Mark really was just.. a good actor.. it was hard to tell.

Turning towards the soup, he was stirring it with a plastic spoon. It was boiling now, he pulled it off the flames. Pouring it out into two paper bowls. Sticking a plastic spoon in yours before handing it to you.

You honestly could care less about how hot it was, you dug in. Hissing slightly at the burn, pushing past it and continuing to eat.

Glancing up, noticing Mark was just staring at you. He had set his food off to the side, probably giving it time to cool first. Setting your empty bowl into the fire, watching it burn up.

"Want me to make some more?"

You shook your head no at the question, just watching the fire. Moving to grab the marshmallows instead before realizing, you had no way to even cook them. You could probably go and find a stick, but with how dark it already was.. it probably wouldn't be the best idea.

Pushing yourself off the ground, you stared at the fire for a bit longer before stepping inside of the motel. Sitting down on the makeshift 'bed' of pillows and blankets.

A few candles had been lit around the room, probably by Mark. It was a nice source of light. He'd probably put them out before he went to bed.

Kicking your shoes off, setting them off to the side. It wasn't the most comfortable, but you planned on leaving the rest of your clothes on. Just in case.

A few minutes later, you could hear the sizzling of water being poured on the fire. Moving to your knees, peaking out the window.

Mark was dumping a few water bottles onto the fire, using the top of the chair which the flames never reach to spread the ashes out. He just seemed to be staring and waiting, so you moved back to sitting.

Laying back and closing your eyes, trying to get comfortable enough to get some rest.

.

.

.

"Here."

Opening your eyes back, seeing Mark standing in front of you with another paper bowl and spoon.

Pushing yourself back into a sitting position. Grabbing the bowl and spoon, looking over it. It was a s'more.. kinda? From what it looked like, he crumbled up the graham crackers, put down some chocolate and marshmallows, then another layer of graham crackers.

Glancing back up at Mark, he had already walked off. Locking up the room and taking his own shoes off. Getting himself ready for bed.

Digging your spoon into the dessert, taking a bite of it. It tasted just like a s'more, so there were no complaints from you. Finishing it up quickly, you set the bowl and spoon on the bedside table beside you.

Laying back down, pulling one of the blankets over you. Exhaustion was hitting you like a truck now. Closing your eyes once again, the candles being blown out and Mark moving the sheets around were the last thing you heard before sleep took over.

[mothgodofchaos]

Morning

Actor Mark x GN!Reader, TW: none Words: 245

A little short, but I saw a specific line be used and I immediately thought of Actor.

You start getting concerned once the clock hits 3:00PM, and Mark is still not downstairs. You know he had a long night at a banquet last night, but sleeping in this late does raise some alarms. Benjamin has assured you that he’s still alive, just asleep upstairs in your shared bedroom. You’d check yourself if you weren’t afraid of waking him.

A few minutes later, you hear the stairs creak under soft footsteps. Looking up from your book, you see Mark, sleepy as can be, holding onto the railing as he nearly stumbles down the stairs. Benjamin walks up to greet him, and probably also to make sure he doesn’t actually fall.

“Good morning, to all who recognize and celebrate…”

“Darling, it is nearly evening. You slept through breakfast and lunch, and dinner is in two hours.”

“Technicalities.”

Mark meanders over to you, sitting next to you on the couch and laying his head on your shoulder. He hugs your arm, pulling you close.

“Cuddly?”

“You’re comfy, hush.”

“Long night?”

“I’m surprised I’m not hungover. Had to keep drinking champagne in order to tolerate most of the conversations I was dragged into.”

“Awww… poor baby…”

Mark sticks his tongue out at you, before settling back in for cuddles. You start reading your book to him, trying to keep him awake so that way he doesn’t sleep through another meal. Unfortunately he falls back asleep regardless, but he looks happier with you in his arms.

[seaofghouls]

Iplier Falls

Authors Note: 

Hello hello and welcome back! ( Or if you’re here for the first time, I’m glad you chose to check this fic out! Welcome! ) Never thought you’d see a rewrite of Gravity Falls x Iplier Inc in 2024, huh? The ALTRVerse comic has given me the motivation to get back into Markiplier Lore and hence I’m here!

This is the prologue and hence it's just a test to see how people react to it. If people react well, I'll put the story up on AO3 and make more chapters!

Some things to note about this fic: 

It’s an X Reader and the reader is indeed the District Attorney from Who Killed Markiplier! ( So, obviously, WKM spoilers ahead! ) 

This is a Dark x Reader specifically. 

This fic is in the second person and the reader is gender neutral! 

Genderfluid Dark is canon in this fic, so I’ll be using He/She/They for Dark. 

In Space With Markiplier will also be incorporated, so spoilers for that as well. 

This story will follow the Gravity Falls story, but there’ll be added story for episodes revolving around the Pines family specifically. 

This story contains things like profanity, blood, near death experiences, talk of mortality/death, and angst! 

Tag List: @a-frozen-bag-of-corn @crazy-obsessed-enby @lunariasilver ( Not sure if any of you remember this series, but I figured I’d keep up the tag list! ) 

Without further adieu, I hope you enjoy it! 

—-------------------------------------------------------

“What has he done to you?” 

They looked so familiar. Like a far away dream. 

“Captain, you can’t possibly listen to this monster! You can’t trust him!” Mark yelled.

“My little monster, I beg of you. Open your eyes. He takes away all that you love.” She begged. 

That name.. It was like a puzzle piece. Everything snapped back into place in an instant. You weren’t a captain! You went to school for law, not to be the captain of a spaceship. 

“.. Damien?” You whispered. 

“Ugh, you’re just impossible!” Mark snapped, “How am I supposed to make the perfect story if all you do is mess it up!” 

You couldn’t help but tense up at the sudden change in tone. That was right, this wasn’t your trusted second in command. This was a man long gone, a man permanently warped by the manor. 

He twirled his cane in a clean and swift motion, aiming it towards you. 

“I’ll just have to make sure you don’t remember any of this.” He threatened. 

Dark intercepted Mark’s attempt with his sword, pushing Mark back a few feet. 

“Not on my watch. Never again.” 

Mark simply laughed, “The hero always wins. It’s the only way the story can go.” 

Dark simply grit their teeth in response, slashing the sword against Mark’s chest. Although it barely grazed, it was enough to catch him off guard. 

You watched as the two went head to head, being able to do nothing to stop either side. Even if you were willing to get in the way of the two, you had no weapon or no powers to do anything. 

Actor sputtered as Dark tore open a gash across his chest. His blood was red, but not the usual type of red. Bright red, instead of crimson. Actor was caught off guard for just a second until he scrambled back, unsheathing his cane. 

You’re sorry. Unsheathing his cane? That was insane! What was even more insane was the fact that the bottom of the cane was a dark red double sided axe. Dark seemed just as caught off guard as you were, as Mark obtained a window to slash her in the chest.

“Dark!” You called out. 

He only spared a moment to look your way, with a look in their eyes signaling that they were alright before attacking Mark once again. SImilar to Mark, her blood was an inky black. Something inspired Dark to go full force, you weren’t sure if it was you or the entire revenge pledge. 

He pierced Mark in the heart with their sword as Mark sputtered, that sickly red spilling out of his chest. He didn’t say anything after that, only heavy and labored breathing being heard from the previously lively body. 

“We best be going. The Snake never stays dead for long.” Dark said. 

You didn’t say anything as she opened a portal similar to the ones you’d seen as the captain of The Invincible. Except, it looked a bit like the Noir universe. A combination of black, white, and grey. You simply followed him inside the portal. What other choice did you have? Stay in this void until Mark’s body inevitably rose from the dead? The old Homo Necrosis didn’t sound like a fun route to go down. 

Which led you to where you are now. A sleepy town named Gravity Falls. Dark had said that the laws of the town would cover up the tracks of you two, making it harder for Mark to find you again. You still had quite a few strong words for Dark, considering he trapped you in a mirror for decades, but that was the thing. It had been decades. You didn’t know what else to do other than follow them. Mark was obviously a no-go. 

“Please, call me Dark.” He had said, “Damien and Celine are both.. Long dead. I have an apartment set up in the town, we can stay there until we know how to deal with The Snake properly.” 

“Okay.” You said, “In that case, call me Captain. The person I used to be died in that house.”

She simply nodded, “As you wish.” 

The two of you had been wandering around the town when you spotted a hiring sign for a tourist attraction. 

“We could work here.” You said, “We need some way of paying rent, right?” 

Dark hummed in thought, “It couldn’t hurt, I suppose.” 

You strolled into the attraction with Dark following close behind. You spotted an older man shuffling money while standing at the cash register. He was probably the owner, right?

“Excuse me, are you the owner?” You asked. 

He nodded, “What’s it to ya? You’re not the government, are you?” 

“No, no, nothing like that.” You said. A little like that, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

“My friend and I heard you were hiring.” 

“Great! You’re hired. Call me Mr. Pines.” He said, “You start tomorrow.”

“We’ll be there!” You smiled, as you walked back outside to talk to Dark in semi private. 

“Have you learned nothing from your district attorney days?” He teased, “Truly, though, that man was a bit too eager.” 

“Hey, it’s a job, isn’t it?” You shrugged, “Times have changed.”

“That they have.” She nodded, “Would you like to get some champagne? As a little celebration.”

“Really? Just like we used to? Even after everything that’s happened?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“Especially after everything that’s happened.” Dark said. 

You simply smiled in response as the two of you walked down the road to a nearby bar. You weren’t sure if he had said anything else to you, you were too consumed in your own thoughts. This seemed too easy, after everything that had happened. 

You were a district attorney. One that got shot at a party held by Mark himself. You didn’t blame William. Mark set everything up. A bitter man who fell victim to insanity. You had considered resenting Dark for what they did, but at the same time.. 

You knew deep down that this was a best scenario, as shitty as it was. You wouldn’t have survived. Of course Damien would pick his sister over you, even if you were close. You would’ve done the same. You did die, after all. Your time was up. 

Mark just couldn’t let you stay dead, could he? Pulling you into his games, forcing you to be his partner, his love interest. That was the thing. Dark had tried to reach you so many times, but you never remembered. Until now. What was different? Was the space adventure a finale of sorts? Was Mark’s grasp on you finally slipping? You didn’t know. 

“... Captain..”

“Captain.”

“Captain!”

You snapped back into reality, as Dark held you by the shoulders, attempting to ground you.

“Are you alright?” She asked, eyebrows knitted together.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I’m okay.” You sighed, “Just.. thinking.”

“Yeah? About what?” They raised an eyebrow. 

“He.. He really did take away everything from us. What’s the point of it all?” You asked.

He didn’t respond at first, hugging you tightly. 

“Making sure that bastard stays dead.”

[am-i-late-to-this08]

BROKEN GLASS

DA X DARKIPLIER

My first da x darkiplier fanfiction so be nice 👍

Pt. 1?

Warning: swearing, panic attack, blood

"COME BACK YOU BITCH!" You punch the mirror out of anger, to no avail. "GET ME OUT OF HERE YOU FUCK! GET ME OUT OF HERE! NOW!" Your voice ricochets off the Walls of the mirror. "GET, Get me out." The blood in your ears defining you. "Please, please," You said as your voice faded into a whisper, your legs gave out underneath you and fell to the ground. "Fuck all of you." Tears cascaded down your face onto the tiles beneath. The entry was silent, only the echoes of your voice and damen-celine-mark things footsteps. That godforsaken bitch put you in here, whatever it is now, out there in your body you think? You don't know what happened, or where you are. You don't even know what you are anymore, only that you're stuck in a mirror. Stuck in this entry until someone has use of you.

No sense of time makes everything better. You think. The only thing keeping you sane is the ever increasing sense that one day you'll be useful to someone and get out. Your only purpose now is to watch as the years or centuries pass and wait. You've had a long time to think about what happened, and consider your life choices. All of this makes zero sense, but you know every letter of the books that were kept in the entrance room. The small bookshelf is slim pickings, a Bible, encyclopedia, a thesaurus, Shakespeare's greatest plays, molby Dick, smoke and mirror's (the irony),grimms fairytale and a book in Latin. You pick up molby dick off the coffee table and flip to the bookmarked page, somewhere in the middle. A sound of glass shattering catches your attention, maybe a raccoon or something like that. Instead you see yet another shard fall from the ever disappearing mirror. You fear once the remaining shards fall yet another confusion series of events may occur. "How do I know what I look like?" You ask yourself. After however long you have been in here, you lost any capacity to keep thoughts inside. Not like anyone will hear you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yet another scuffle draws your attention to the outside. "Look how far you've fallen." A smooth voice coos. "I can't believe you're still here. Good God." Damien's tone calls. "You..." I glare at the man before me. His gray skin contrasts with his white tuxedo, lines of blue and red etch him. "... You bitch." He looks you up and down disinterestedly. Dark circles line his eyes, or is it eyeliner? "That's gay." You whisper. His brow furrows. "Pardon?" You laugh. "You're wearing eyeliner. That's gay as hell. Or did Celine do that?" You ask. He simply shakes his head. Red copy's glitch around him as his eyes flash black. "Celine says hello." Your face goes blank. "So, what do you need from me? Wanna steal whatever is left of my soul? I can't think of anything else you can get from me." You grumble. "You always saw through me. I mean us." The last word emphasized by a distortion in his voice. "I need your help." He paused as his face softened. "You're the only person I can trust." Rage contorted your's. "Seriously?" You snort. "After how long? You ask me for help? Why don't you use my body for something useful, like digging a hole and dying in it?" You snap. Before he can respond you turn away as glass cracks underneath your feet. He sighs. "It been ninety four years. I thought you might wanna know." Ninety four years? Shit that's a long time,you think. "How's the colonial? Is he dead?" You ask. " No, he's alright. As alright as he can be, watching you die changed him. Now-now he's fucking insane. Worse than you, and your bad." He adds, avoiding your glare." Thanks." You mutter. "Nothing is going to get better if you stop being so goddamn stubborn all the time." The blue etchings glitch around him, Damien? "Go. Fuck. Yourself." You hiss, he recoils like he's been struck. "Alright." His tone shift's to calm. "Stay in here for the rest of eternity and rot more than you already have. I won't come back, not for a long time." His gaze finally meets yours, no emotion in his eyes. "If you want I can bring you something to pass the time. Or, I can get you out and you can help me. This is your choice." He adjust's his jacket, fidgeting around. " Go. Fuck. Yourself." You hiss again. He shakes his head and breaks contact." I'll come back tomorrow in case you change your mind." He looks you over one last time before walking away.

"Fine, I'll do it. Only if I don't ever come back here." You cracked,the thought of eternity in this place was worse than whatever he had planned you decided. "And this time, I won't be your pawn. I won't be killed ether. Last time it didn't end well." He nods. First thing in the morning he came back, all your rage yesterday disappeared and turned to grief." Do we have a deal? "He purrs, something shift's in his eyes. "Yes. But-how exactly does this work? Will I be possessing anyone?" You asked. Dark shook his head and laughed." No, it's hard to explain but you'll get your old body back. So, don't worry." He explained calmly." Okay, get on with it." You chime. He reached out his hand, his fingers dipping into the inky black in-between of the mirror. You follow his motion. His cold hands contrast with your hot and clamy ones, with a firm tug your hand is pulled through the black. All of a sudden every heartbeat sends waves of needle-like pricks and and pain through your body. You clench your jaw and hiss through the pain, his grip tightens. You feet come off the floor and kneecaps scrape against the remaining shards of glass. Just like it started the pain fades replaced pounding in your head and the stinging in your legs. You opened my eyes which you unknowingly closed. With your eyes glued to the floor you notice the diamond tiles are backward and the way your blood drips on the dusty tile. Once your breathing began to steady you lift your head, dark stood a few inches away with his hand reached out comfortingly. "Thank-thanks." You croaked, his smile brightened. The blood seeped out of the wound on your knees, bits of glass still stuck in your flesh. You looked down at your blood stained white dress pants, the outfit you 'died' in. "You're bleeding." Dark said, hand still in yours. He follows your eyes and pulls back his hand leaving yours cold. "Shit." He swears." What?" You ask, blood still dripping." Let's get you cleaned up, we need to go." He says huridley. " Okay, I doubt there's any clothes or a first aid kit here." You grumble." Right." A tingle goes across your kneecaps and the monotonous dripping stops. You look to see the open wounds close and the bits of glass fall into the puddle of blood. "Since when can you do that?" You blurt. He lifts his head and meets your eyes. "Practice." You scoff at his response.

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

your hands have always held their own

Heist!Mark x reader | Words: 1,063 | read on AO3

Heist!Mark finally asks his partner in crime out on that date.

It was early evening and you and your heist partner sat nearly shoulder to shoulder in your shared living room. The sun hung low, just barely brushing its rays against the clouds, tinging their edges amber and yellow.

Recently, there had been a lot more of these calm afternoons where you would sit together, discussing everything and nothing, perhaps watching TV or whatever videos took both your fancy; sometimes you simply watched the sky until you felt sleepy. Occasionally one of his hands might come up to play idly with your hair (a more affectionate gesture than either of you had ever previously initiated, but you didn't really mind, and neither of you mentioned it).

'This next heist…’ he started, ‘it's supposed to set us up, pretty much for life. And it got me thinking—'

'That's dangerous,' you interrupted.

'Yeah, maybe for you,' he quipped back, eyebrows raised mockingly, but there was no malice in his voice.

'Anyway,' he continued, voice softening. 'I was thinking about the future and stuff. Like, what do we do after this? And as nice as it would be to be able to relax and just enjoy the rest of our lives without worrying about the next spot to rob, I think I would kind of miss doing these jobs with you.'

That got your full attention. He wasn't quite meeting your eyes — instead, a loose strand on his clothes was apparently very interesting — but something about his words and the gentle sincerity with which he'd spoken them took you a little off-guard.

‘...I hadn't really thought much about it. About what happens after.’ And it was true, you hadn't; nothing past the first few wild, exciting dreams that sprung to mind when reading the amount of money the pair of you were being offered for this particular artefact. No real, solid plans.

‘I think I'd miss it too,’ you continued quietly. ‘But I mean, who's to say we can't do a couple more every once in a while, just for the fun of it, y'know? We don't even have to go after anything that valuable. More like just… for old times’ sake.’ You caught his gaze and he smiled, a little fond and a little hopeful, dark eyes twinkling.

‘Yeah, cool… So, uhm,’ he averted his gaze again and you couldn't help but find his uncharacteristic hesitance and bashfulness adorable, wondering what was on his mind that was making him act this awkward.

‘So I was wondering, once this heist is over, if you'd maybe wanna go out sometime?’

‘Sure, is that it?’ you question, oblivious. (Or maybe not wanting to get ahead of yourself. Surely there's no way he meant it like that.)

Your crime partner’s head perked up, eyes wide and looking directly into yours, as if searching for something.

‘Really?’

‘Umm, yeah?’ you say, incredulous. ‘What's got you so nervous? And… surprised? We go out together all the time.’

‘No, buddy, you don't get it…’ he said, sat looking a little like a kicked puppy. The look of disappointment that crossed his face broke your heart and instantly made you regret your words.

His hands returned to fidgeting and oh, you wanted to take those hands in yours and ease the nerves from his palms, thread his fingers through your own, press your lips to his knuckles.

Mark sighed. One of his hands came to rest on his knee while the other carded through his hair. You found yourself wanting to do the same.

‘Listen…’ he began again, eyes downcast while his hand came to rest in his lap. ‘We've been friends for what feels like ages now, working together for even longer. I know we butt heads at times, I can be an idiot and you can get on my nerves but-’ Finally his eyes met yours, and the affection in them made your breath catch in your throat.

The sun was setting by now, casting a gorgeous orange glow through the room and over his features. It made his eyes appear almost golden, and it suddenly occurred to you that no shiny trinket you could steal could ever possibly be worth more than the look those eyes were giving you in this moment. You internally cringed at the thought, but you couldn't deny it was true.

‘You're really important to me,’ he said earnestly. ‘I don't always agree with you but I always trust your judgement. I probably trust you more than anyone else, to be honest. You're my best friend, and maybe I'm wrong, but I think there could be something else here? And I wanna try being more? If that's okay with you.’

‘You mean-’

‘Yeah.’ He took your hand, said your name, foregoing any of his nicknames for you. ‘I love you — I always have, as a friend, but I think I have feelings for you. So, if you reciprocate even a little, let me take you out. On a real date. And if things don't work out,’ (you didn't miss the small flicker of something sad as he added that part) ‘well, we can still work together. And we'll still be friends, right?’ he asked hopefully.

You could feel your heart thrumming wildly, from his words, the intensity of his gaze and the warmth radiating from his hand to yours.

You took his other hand, the one still atop his knee, and replied softly: ‘I'd really love that, actually. To go on a date with you, I mean.’

The smile he gave you was genuine, unlike the typical cocky. It was wide and crinkled the skin beneath his eyes. You briefly wondered whether he could feel your racing pulse through your intertwined hands.

‘Then it's agreed. After the heist.’

‘After the heist,’ you promised.

Inevitably, you would run into problems and possibly danger in your next heist, as you usually did, but you trusted Mark, and you knew you could count on him when push came to shove. You knew that you would follow him anywhere, and the two of you had a better chance of conquering any obstacles you faced if you were together, as you always had.

The sun dipped beneath the clouds, the room was warm, and things felt comfortably the same and yet like this was a turning point for the pair of you.

You were sure this heist would be one to remember.

[simpofmanymen]

Would you guys be interested in markiplier ego lore amv/lore edits? Like videos with music that also have the story/lore explained

Eg.

Just a random one might not be exactly what there like but a nice idea ya know

Ps. Does anyone got any tag tips? I’m not sure how to tag on tumbler I’m expecting it’s like TikTok and instagram