#darkiplier and the da

[gaymingintrovert]

I love it when you have a 100+ year old character who froze physically at age 30 that specifically flirts with/dates other 100+ year old 30s looking characters. Even better if they’re all Eldrich horrors

[alcordraws]

Every day I remember when Mr mark I plier rewired every neuron in my brain when he dropped Who Killed Markiplier in the year of our lord 2k17.

He said here's my little bundle of ocs, they're all kinda morally gray, this one is an actor and a terrible person and also a self insert. His brains been gooped by the malevolent entity that is his mansion and now he and everyone in this world is not allowed to die. Trust me he's tried. Many times. Also here are the backstories to two well loved characters who both started off as jokes. They're both insanely tragic and explaining their deal requires a Charlie Kelly manic corkboard worth of information. Do you like time loops? Time loops are very important going forward. Also this one piano piece is gonna haunt you forever now.

And it was for FREE

[emittthehuman]

Couldn’t find the motivation to finish the last bit but thought you guys might enjoy it anyways :]

Music is Talia from cyclone the musical!!

[otterlyinluv]

Only Mortals Catch the Sniffles

Summary: You decided to go shopping while it was raining. But you forgot your umbrella. So of course you end up getting sick (you have a really poor immune system, don’t you?). What’s unexpected is who exactly decides to take care of you and what discoveries it leads to.

Pairing: Darkiplier x DA!Reader

Tags: sfw, the flu, argument and misunderstanding (gets resolved), proximity, tension

A/N: I have almost no time to write. (Who would’ve said I’d be reading lots in a linguistic course—) But hopefully you’ll enjoy this little thing I’ve been cooking up for quite a while now ^^

Word Count: 4.5k

——

You rummaged through the cupboard to find some of your favorite snacks but were met with empty space instead. You sighed and shook your head. Your secret stash of snacks has been disappearing at a suspiciously fast pace, so it was safe to assume someone was eating it. But eating all of it without notice? You’d have to have a stern word when you found the culprit. If at all.

This shortage has happened multiple times already. At first, you let it slide, but it was really beginning to get on your nerves. Scratch the beginning. You were mad. You were going to get your snack. Now.

Breathing slowly to clear your head a little, you decided to go for a late-night shopping run while you were at it. After all, there were some other things you wanted to buy, along with the snack. And then you’d catch whoever had been stealing them.

You walked down the corridor and noticed the time on the grandfather clock. You winced. If you wanted to go shopping you needed to get ready and fast.

You grabbed everything without thinking too much about the details. Your phone, purse, and a shopping bag and bolted for the door. You managed to faintly hear something Google was trying to say, but you had no time to listen. Off to the shop it was.

—

By the time you returned, it was pouring. And you hadn't brought an umbrella.

The door opened with a creak, and you stepped in, clothes dripping with water all over the carpet.

Out of the corner of your vision, Google raised an eyebrow before coughing silently: “I did attempt to tell you the forecast was saying it would rain.”

You pushed your wet hair out of your face. “Yeah. I don’t think that'll help now.”

“Well, if you had given me admin privileges, I would have been able to contact you even while you were away—“

You walked away irritated, not bothering to hear his ‘Giving me admin privileges is the solution to all your problems’ speech.

While sprinting to your room, you almost crashed into someone, but you were able to steady yourself and not make his suit wet. Suit. Only one man would wear a suit well into the evening.

Darkiplier eyed your very much drenched form from head to toe. Before you could say anything, he spoke, no visible emotion on his face. “Your clothes are wet.” It sounded as if he was merely making an observation.

A scoff escaped your lips. “Haven’t noticed.”

“Did Google not tell you about the weather?”

He who stayed mostly cooped up in his office most of the time had the audacity to lecture you for going out when it was raining?!

“Well, obviously I didn’t have the time to get an umbrella!” You threw your hands around, irritated, and stormed off into your room.

—

You woke up still tired. Your throat felt dry. You swallowed. Sharp stabbing pain. You groaned and turned around to check the time. You slept for 10 hours?!

The sun was already high in the sky, an unusual sight for an early bird like you. Weird, but you supposed it was better to get started for the day, you said to yourself, trying to sit up. Emphasis on trying.

You clutched the side of your head to dull the throbbing pain that emerged from your movement and flopped back onto your pillow. Well, this was a problem. Everyone would start wondering where you were sooner or later since you routinely woke up first.

The pain was almost enough for you to consider just staying in bed. And yet you couldn’t do that.

You’ve never allowed yourself to rest even while tired or under the weather. The work helped you focus on other things. Without it, your mind started to wander into territories it shouldn’t. Like those recurring dreams of a strange mansion or a poker game with people you didn't recognize… and it was doing it again. Which is exactly why you needed to get back to work.

You weren’t able to attempt to get out of bed again when your door handle swung open violently, almost slamming into the wall. There was almost no time to register the urgent steps stop as Wilford put his hands on your shoulders and began shaking you.

“Oh, my word, we thought you died!”

Wilford was a mess. Eyes shot wide, clothes untucked, hair unkempt, like he was running around and forgot to fix himself up.

“Wilford…” you said lethargically, Wilford’s shaking making your hoarse voice sound even quieter.

“Illinois said he hadn’t seen you at breakfast, so I thought you must have eaten already, but when I went to check, you weren't at your office and you’re always at your office, so we all thought you got kidnapped…” he continued ranting, almost like he was stuck in panic mode with no regards to the fact that you were actually safe and sound in your bed.

“Wilford, I’m fine!” you yelled as loudly as you could muster, which was not much but it seemed to break the loop he was in. He stopped shaking you. “I’m just not feeling well, that’s all…”

“Oh…” he said softly, slowly pulling his arms away.

His eyebrows scrunched up in almost a comical fashion. “You’re sick,” he stated, as if for some sort of confirmation.

“I’m not that sick—”

“But you never get sick.” He shook his head, looking positively baffled.

“Again, I’m not that sick. Just woke up a little later than usual, nothing to be worried about…”

“You are ill?” you heard his voice before you saw him appear. Darkiplier was standing in your doorway. Who knows for how long. His face looked neutral, except for the smallest furrow of his eyebrows.

You sighed, exasperated. This was too much to deal with in your current state. Which was not that bad, mind you. Besides, how and why was Darkiplier even in your room? Wilford, you could understand. You were acquaintances—friends even, but it was different with Darkiplier.

Sure, you had mutual respect, but your relationship had always been on the more formal side, seeing as you were one of the few people he could rely on to complete the tasks you agreed on. But he would have never struck you as a person to be worried about someone’s physical state.

“I am fine. It’s just a cold. Nothing I can’t handle—“

He interrupted you before you could finish your sentence.

“A cold? A cold that leaves you unable to get out of your room until noon? Is just a cold the reason you are left bedridden and shivering despite being underneath a duvet?” He walked until he was near your bed. There was a cold sort of fury hidden behind his eyes.

That irked you. Of course he never cared about your well-being. He only cared about how the search for Mark continued. And no matter who helped him along the way, as long as he got his revenge, nothing else mattered.

You weren’t able to yell, but your gruff voice was teeming with anger. “Well, I’m sorry I had the gall to fall ill. But not all of us have the ability to work for days on end. Some of us are human!”

You hadn’t meant to say that last sentence. Pain flashed in his eyes. You’ve always had a suspicion that he used to be human. At least at some point in time. You got your confirmation now. You would’ve regretted saying it any other time, but not now. Not now when you finally found out the thing he cared about most was your productivity.

“I think you should leave,” you said coldly.

You’ve honestly forgotten Wilford was also in the room as he hasn’t butted into your conversation like he usually did. Darkiplier’s face was stunned, maybe even regretful, but he did nothing, as Wilford took him by the shoulder and led him away from your room.

As they left, you turned to the wall and closed your eyes. Tired from the emotional exchange and your current sickness, slumber soon overtook you.

—

You woke up still tired, your mouth dry as if you hadn’t drank water in forever. Which, you hadn’t. Your stomach ached, but you highly doubted you could muster up enough strength to make yourself something. Another grumble of your stomach convinced you otherwise.

You looked around for a bathrobe to put on over your pajamas when your eyes got caught on your bedside table. There, lay a tray with a plate full of chicken noodle soup along with a spoon.

Did someone…. make you food? You have eaten along with some of them, such as breakfasts with Illinois or Yancy, and sometimes Wilford liked to join you for lunch. Then there were the late dinners in Darkiplier's office. But this? You weren't used to that. You leaned over and put the tray on your lap, careful not to spill anything.

You wondered who would do such a thoughtful thing for you. It looked homemade, so that ruled Yancy out. He approached you a few weeks ago if you could re-teach him some simple recipes since he's been in prison for so long that he's forgotten how to cook.

You were familiar with Illinois’ cooking skills, but you doubted he would find the time to make you soup. He’s always joked that he can’t give anyone special treatment or else they’d fall in love with him.

And Darkiplier… you threw that thought away before you could even start thinking about it properly. As if he’d be all nice to you after treating you no less than an expendable employee.

Wilford, you couldn’t be sure about. You’ve seen him cook occasionally, not soup, but he seemed to have both skill and like you enough to be so considerate.

Satisfied with your thought process, you set to eating the surprisingly still warm soup that you deduced Wilford had made for you.

After about twenty minutes, you already having finished your soup and cuddled up facing the wall to sleep the cold off some more, a quiet click of the door handle filled the silence of your room. Soft tentative steps tapped on the floor, seemingly so as not to wake you up.

You turned around.

“Hey Wil, thanks for the soup…” You trailed off when you realized the one who entered your room was, in fact, not Wilford but a rather startled Darkiplier. You have never seen him with that much exposed emotion. He was frozen reaching for the empty plate, his eyes slightly wide, as if he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. It, however, didn’t last long. He promptly straightened his back, wiping imaginary dust from his jacket, his expression back to being deadpan as usual.

“Why are you taking that plate?” You eyed him warily. Was he here to chastise you for not working? Or perhaps—

“Because I made the soup. I figured you’d have finished it by now.” He moved to pick the tray up.

“You made the soup? You made me soup?” you blurted out before you could really think about what you were saying.

“You’ve seen me cook,” he said in the most matter-of-fact voice.

“Well, yes, but…” You sat up and tried to gather your thoughts. It all lead down to just one thing. “Why?”

“You are ill. You need rest and warm food. So I made you soup. Is that enough of a reason for you?” There was a hint of humor in his voice, his expression mostly unchanged, except for the faintest sparkle in his eyes.

You were absolutely baffled. He gets angry at you for getting sick and not working and then makes you soup?

He seemed to notice your irritation increasing and opened his mouth to speak. You crossed your arms and leaned on the pillow.

“Listen. I know a plate of soup isn’t enough to make up for what I had said. And I didn’t just make the soup to make amends. I want you to get better. I know what’s done is done but you need to know the truth.” He looked away momentarily as if he had to find strength to continue. “I wasn’t angry with you for not being able to work. I was angry… with myself.”

“What?”

He sighed, looking away.

“What I had said and the way that I had said it was harsh. There is no excuse for it. I was just…” He took a deep breath and shook his head absentmindedly. “I was worried. When you didn't show up in the morning. I thought something had happened. That maybe you had left or perhaps needed some time off. You work too hard all the time. And I did not want to intrude even if I was worried. A part of me was glad you finally decided to take some time for yourself. But when I was passing by and heard Wil say you were ill…” He looked off to the side for a moment.

“I have never seen you ill. Ever. So I said things without thinking them over. And for what it's worth, I am sorry.”

Your eyebrows only scrunched up more. Many emotions of increasingly more confusing variations started bubbling up in your brain. You didn’t say a thing. Just kept looking at him as if that would help you comprehend what exactly he had just said.

He sighed.

“Do with that what you will. But believe me when I say, I am being completely sincere that I truly hope you do get better.” With that, he grabbed the tray with the plate and left your room.

A part of you wanted to say something. To tell him to come back. But you couldn’t will your tongue to move. And not because you were sick.

With a closing of the door, you were left alone once again. This time, with many more things to think about.

—

Evening rolled around faster than you expected it to. You spent most of the time sleeping. You even felt good enough to make some light dinner for yourself. It seemed none of the residents were up to their usual antics of annoying you today. Lovingly, of course, but you had thought when they came to know you weren’t dying, they’d come to visit you. But that didn’t seem to be the case as no-one has been in your room since your… exchange with Darkiplier.

But as all sickness goes, it gets worse in the evening. And so you were lying in your bed, as lethargic as ever, unable to even sleep.

Your door creaked, the sound so quiet you wouldn’t have been able to hear it if you hadn’t been lying in dead silence.

Darkiplier opened the door and looked over into the room. Your eyes met. And even through your hazy state, it felt like you locked eyes just a second too long. Not like any other time.

“I... came to check up on you.” He looked away, cutting the silence.

“That's awfully nice of you.” You weren’t really thinking about what you were saying. It seemed to a side effect of your illness. Or maybe you weren’t so guarded with him anymore.

His eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. It looked oddly adorable.

“Are you feeling alright?”

You didn't know if he meant healthwise or your current state of mind, and you didn’t care.

“Absolutely.”

He walked over closer, right up to your bed. You watched him curiously, a bit more attentive even despite your heavy mood.

“No fever or anything of the sorts?”

You scoffed lightly. “No, nothing of the sort. Really, I’m fine. Never been better. See?”

You moved to sit up when he gently grabbed your shoulders and pushed you back onto the pillow.

Breathing became a foreign concept. Even your sickness existed only in the back of your mind. Your body was faintly pressed against the plush of your pillow, yet everything paled in comparison to all but one sensation.

Him.

So close.

And yet not close enough.

His hands on your shoulders were secure and just a bit insistent. But not necessarily painful.

“Don’t get up, you need to rest,” he said firmly but softly just the same.

Your eyebrows raised. He leaned closer. And closer. You closed your eyes.

The touch of his lips on your forehead was feather light.

After seconds which seemed like hours, he pulled away just a little, deep in thought. “Your forehead isn’t warm so it seems like you really don't have a fever…”

It sounded like an inner monologue or a passing thought, but your brain froze from the moment he kissed your forehead. It was so soft you weren’t sure you weren’t actually having a fever dream. Your eyes moved on their own accord, studying his face. His eyes caught yours. You have never seen him from this close. Your mouth was slightly open as a shallow shaky breath escaped it. It was as if the Earth itself stopped spinning and all you could feel were his eyes. Staring. Pensive. As if he himself was also frozen.

“You… you shouldn’t be so close to me,” you said quietly, almost indiscernibly. Your mouth was dry. A few seconds passed. Silence. Just him and you. And his eyes. Oh, those dark eyes. They went deeper than you thought. Like they were their own little galaxies. Did he even hear what you said? Did he—.

“Why?” His voice was quiet, similarly to yours, with a slight purr that you’d never heard from him. You could feel his chest rise and fall, dangerously close to your own. Your heart was beating so quickly that you wondered if he could feel it. A shiver ran up your spine. Your brain desperately searched for an excuse. But did you really want him to stop?

“I’ll get you sick,” you tried. Oddly enough, you weren’t feeling all that unwell at the moment. You were, however, feeling something else you couldn’t describe. And his closeness only heightened the tingling in your stomach.

“I’m not human. I can’t get sick,” he said without missing a beat, almost matter-of-factly.

Curses, he’s always been good at quick responses. But— Hang on. How would you know such a thing about him? You’ve spent some time together, yes but… Not enough to know an obscure detail like that.

“But you were.” The words left your lips almost by themselves. And yet, something in you knows that it’s the truth. Somehow, someway you feel he used to be something else before this.

His face darkened, his expression shifting to the all too familiar one you knew from working together late into the night.

“I… used to,” he admitted. You had to keep your mouth from falling open. This was the clearest confirmation of their past you’ve gotten out of any of the residents of this mansion. And to get it from Darkiplier first… If anybody told you a few days ago that such a thing would happen, you would’ve laughed straight into their face. But now… Him sharing something vulnerable with you felt strangely familiar. Like it happened before.

“I can see that brilliant mind of yours working. But whatever questions you want to ask, save them. There is time and place for such conversation and this is not it.” This was his way of saying no to talking about this topic. Rather tactfully from how you’ve seen him snap at Google when he is genuinely angry for a sensible reason. There was, however, something in the sentence that you could use to gauge him. You could consider yourself fairly well-versed in a few things in life but for Darkiplier to call you brilliant? And with such casualty. Like he has already said it before. But he hasn’t. There had to be something more behind it.

“’Brilliant mind’?” you repeated his words inquisitively.

His eyebrows furrowed apprehensively and you knew then you struck gold. He pulled back from leaning over you but you followed suit, sitting up on your bed.

“Forget it,” he said, his voice clipped.

“No.” You surprised yourself by how fast you replied. And it seemed to have the same effect on Darkiplier since he didn’t move from the spot. Encouraged by this, you continued: “… No. Why did you say that?”

“I…” There it was—he hesitated. You waited with bated breath for him to reveal whatever it was he kept trying to hide. You knew it was something that weighed heavy on his soul.

“It is none of your concern,” he said after a few tense seconds of your waiting. Ever the diplomat. Was he a politician in his past life or what?

“Considering the fact that you said something about me, I think it very much concerns me.”

“Look, you are ill and there are things that are beyond your understanding—”

“Then tell me something I can know.” That was it. Your last ditch effort to get to know something more. More about this man who went from only a colleague to someone who has actually, and much to your surprise, proved to care for you. As much as a man with seemingly so little external emotion such as Darkiplier was. But only seemingly. You have seen him smile before this even if it was scarce. But now you could finally admit — it did suit him.

Darkiplier looked at you, brows furrowed, seeming almost perplexed. “You truly wish to know more about me?” he asked, to which you nodded quickly before he could change his mind and decide to leave right then and there.

He sighed.

Then begrudgingly sat back down on your bed.

Bingo.

You made yourself more comfortable, propping your back on the wall behind you. It felt like a child getting ready to hear a bedtime story. Darkiplier raised an eyebrow and let out a soft breath through his nose, the corner of his mouth raising almost imperceptibly.

He looked to the side thoughtfully for a few moments before turning back to you.

“I don’t have to breathe.”

Well, that was unexpected. You thought he would talk about his life experiences or the people that he met. Then again, you should have known better than to think he would actually tell you anything about his past or elaborate on the whole “brilliant mind” comment. Nonetheless, this new information was quite intriguing.

“What do you mean you don't have to breathe?”

”It’s… more of a habit than anything physiologically needed.”

“But— your chest raises and falls so regularly...” you said, more musing out loud than actually meaning to share any information.

“Do you watch me?” he asked. If you didn’t know him well, you’d think he’s irritated, his tone slightly accusatory. But when you looked at him, there was that familiar tug of the corner of his lips. He was playing. He didn’t sport that look often but he pulled it off quite well.

Apparently, you had drifted off again because his lopsided smirk had only gotten wider and he was closer than before.

“Do I have the privilege of your presence now?”

He was close. Really close. Like when he kissed your forehead to check for a fever kind of close. Your heartbeat picked up, and you could only hope he couldn't hear it. Heartbeat... does he have one? You must have spoken out loud because a thoughtful look spread across his features.

“I’m not too sure myself. Want to check?”

Did he really mean to say that? You blinked. His expression hasn’t changed. So he did.

You placed your hand on his chest matter-of-factly. That’s all it was. A checkup. You weren’t doing anything weird. It’s not like you felt his dichromatic aura bristle slightly at your touch before returning to a faint buzz, albeit a bit louder than a few moments ago. With him wearing only a dress shirt, you could feel his skin and the lack of a heartbeat.

“You know I’m only letting you feel me up like this because you’re ill.”

“Stop being cheeky.” You clicked your tongue in irritation when he disrupted your concentration. There was a faint huff of laughter before you refocused on what lay beneath your palm.

“There’s nothing,” you said quietly.

“You won’t be able to feel it like this.” And with that, you found your hand pressed even closer to his ribcage, covered by his. You felt his chest rise and fall more deeply, almost like you’d feel a regular person breathe. That’s when you felt it. A faint heartbeat right under your fingertips.

Badump badump

Even with his palm on top of yours being extremely distracting, it was clearly discernible. Orderly. A sign of life where there really wasn’t one.

His hand lifted from yours but you kept it there, utterly entranced by the sensation of his heartbeat. He didn’t comment on it and spoke up, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard him be.

“There has to be oxygen for it to beat strongly. And that happens when I breathe more. Not that I need to per se, it’s more of a habit.”

“How is that even possible? How can you function without air?”

“There are no... rules for the amalgamation that I have become.”

That was one genuine bit of emotion you’ve seen him express. Frustration maybe? You’d have thought Darkiplier had come to terms with what he had turned into but it seems time can’t heal all wounds.

“I have been... this way for a very very long time. And yet I don’t know the constraints of myself.”

You hummed in understanding, mind racing with thoughts of what exactly he can and can’t do, absent-mindedly tracing the buttons of his shirt.

You felt his heart speed up, his chest jerking in as air hit your fingers. Your eyes flicked back up to his face.

Burning heat. Molten lava and blistering cold of his aura. His eyes searched yours for something. You weren’t sure what. Maybe he—The cracking of a mirror...

The intensity of his gaze made your hand twitch back, your whole body freezing up.

After a few seconds, he exhaled and smiled softly, bittersweet yet understanding, tender even — have you ever seen him smiling like that? — and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Rest. You need it.” He stood up and headed towards the door. Just when he was about to reach the door handle, you called out:

“Dark?”

He turned around, a look akin to hope in his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Will you… make me soup again?”

The tender smile was there again, devoid of all previous bittersweetness.

“Of course. Anytime, darling.”

It was only when he left that you realized, you called him ‘Dark’ instead of Darkiplier. And that Dark apparently resorts to pet names.

——

Fun fact I wanted to write it but could not manage to insert anywhere: Dark was the one who told the others not to disturb the reader :)) Oh and either Wilford or Yancy is stealing your snacks. Which one do you think it is?

Also, if anyone wants to be part of a taglist for future fics, let me know :)

[theknightmarket]

Knight, knight, knight- a somewhat wholesome idea popped into my mind. The da is stuck inside the mirror right? What if they gained powers that allows them to travel through dreams? In a sense they have their adventures depends on the host person/enity and they just go along with.

and okay what if dark knew what the upsidedown world is capable? And its what drives dark to never fall asleep (aside not needing one) and also why is he so hellbent chasing and taking revenge on mark so when its all over, he'll take his rest, be with the da for eternity

"Good morning, sunshine."

In which Dark and the DA interact through unconventional means. Tw: death mention Pages: 17 - Words: 6,500

[Requests: OPEN]

The first time, you weren’t sure what had happened. You weren’t sure if it was good or bad. You weren’t sure whether it was because of something you had done, or it was just a random event, some miracle that had gotten you out of that mirror. Hell, you weren’t sure what was actually happening. How you got to some kind of bank or museum was pushed to the back of your mind, but so too were the events occurring right in front of you. It was embarrassing that this was the happiest you had been in decades, even if it was understandable.

To hear the distant whirring of inefficient streetlights, to see something other than a boundless sky of complete blackness that wrapped around you, under, above, disappearing into the floor and reappearing from the ceiling – it was enough to push you close to tears.

But confusion overruled that, instead, making you wonder why that was all you were given, why you couldn’t smell, or feel, or even taste.

And then horror rattled your senses as you watched a body step out from where you were standing.

Your initial idea was inaccurate.

Because you did not exist here.

Because you were not standing at the edge of a row of bushes, shaded by the night and staring into the doors of a building.

Because you were not out of the mirror.

Never mind being close to tears, you felt a few stray drops link up at the base of your jawline. You were scared to wipe them away for fear of finding yourself without hands.

So, what was this? If you hadn’t suddenly escaped from the mirror without your knowledge, why could you see a pair of criminals decked out in all black somewhere that was distinctly not a similar shade of void?

You asked yourself this, knowing fully well that you couldn’t give yourself an answer, and you wouldn’t get an answer for the foreseeable future. There were, however, some things that you managed to deduce over the course of the next hour or so – an indistinguishable period only because time seemed to be ever-so-slightly off.

That was the first of your clues; over the course of the adventure that you watched play out in front of you, each move from room to room took only the flick of a wrist, while the people you were following stared at each other for minutes at a time in complete silence. It was anyone’s guess as to when the clock would leap forward or jam its own mechanisms.

The second clue required no experimentation. It was simply that they didn’t acknowledge you at all. They didn’t make any indication that they could see or hear you. You were lost to them, worse than lost, they didn’t know you were there in the first place. They just sneaked around the museum, completely unaware of the person staring them dead in the eyes.

Had this experience happened any earlier, you might have felt more than a distant sting, but, as it was, it didn’t bother you too much. You were used to being ignored, cast away, forgotten. At least this was by people that you didn’t already know, people that you hadn’t survived the worst with, people that you didn’t trust with your very life, people that you once cared about and who you once thought cared about you.

Maybe it did bother you, just a little.

The third clue came a lot later than the others, but it spearheaded the theory that you were constructing in the back of your mind. Or, rather, the theory that you had constructed because the thing that gave it away?

It was when it all ended, and you were dumped unceremoniously back in the darkness, alone and uncertain of everything. That was one of the worst parts. Having occupied that space for nearly a century, you had been so sure in your knowledge of the place. You were in a mirror – there was nothing else there but you – you were stuck there. The most comfort you could find in the situation was that it wasn’t going to change.

But then it did, and you were pushed back to square one, taking tiny steps around the void, constantly worrying that a single foot in the wrong position would send you crashing through the ground. It was torturous to have your safety ripped away from you again, but what were you supposed to expect? Fate wasn’t kind, and it treated you like its personal plaything, only the game had morphed into something a little crueler.

Your theory, as unstable and undeveloped as it was, was that it was just a dream. In your state between life and death, your oh-so-generous master Fate had designed little shows for you. Entertainment was rare in the void, so what was kinder than giving you some? Never mind the fact that it drove you insane, you should have been grateful to get a glimpse of a life you could have lived had you not gone to that forsaken party. No need for you to lament your cruel undeath. The dreams were a kindness.

You didn’t know how it happened, how you had magically appeared somewhere else, so you didn’t know how to get there again. The outside, if that was what it was, quickly became a distant memory. It was fleeting, a whisp of smoke that intertwined itself between your fingers and then disappeared. It faded, just as the adrenaline and hope did as the seconds ticked by on a clock you couldn’t see.

And then it happened again.

By the end, you were on the edge of a breakdown. The shambles of your mind repulsed each shard of itself, trying to escape from the impossibility you were trapped in. You felt each crack that spiderwebbed across the surface. You felt each tap-tap-tap of tiny splinters falling. You felt it fighting the scenarios you were forced into.

This dream had the same people, but they acted completely different. They traded out their heist gear for formalwear, but their date didn’t last long. It devolved, like the other situation had, into weirder and weirder ends. Body doubles, a proposal, a prison much like you had seen before. Neither of them seemed to notice the similarity, though, and they went along through their routes without a care in the world. It might have been cute had it not made you sick to your stomach.

Regardless, though, you were distracted in the very final moments.

You had to admit, you were interested in how this one would end. It was a 50/50 with one of the original pair holding the gun, between two men who looked the same, both promising they were the one to be trusted. You weren’t paying attention, not initially. You had been tagging along behind the two for the better part of the entire day, and, at some point, you got bored enough to find more entertainment in the scenery than in the dilemma they were facing.

You missed nature more than you missed manslaughter cases.

You didn’t know who they shot in the end, but one of the men was laying on the ground when you snapped back to the ‘present’. You supposed you were meant to feel some kind of sympathy for him, the way that he crumpled to the ground, but it was difficult to find any emotion here. Instead, you leaned against the building that the two who were left ended up at. It was another of those jumps in time, not that any time could be wasted in a dream.

Was it bad that you were apathetic to all this? You knew it wouldn’t have consequences; you would return to the void again when this was all over, alone, and easily forgetting the events of the dream – but it still felt wrong to be so nonchalant about it. If you were any other sort of person, the kind who hadn’t been left alone for a century, being dragged into another scenario might have borne excitement. Seeing people, whether or not they saw you, might have given you hope.

But you weren’t that kind of person, and you weren’t excited or hopeful. You were a ghost, sent adrift in a house too new for you, ignored by the living who now inhabited it, and why shouldn’t you have been? They had no reason to care about you, they didn’t have to acknowledge you, they weren’t—

A spark of electricity like a bullet shot through you when you noticed the man sitting at the table. Not only had he not left yet, like the person you had been following, but he was staring straight at you.

The rising of your stomach made you think you were going to throw up. The quickening of your breath made you think you were going to pass out. The widening of his eyes made you think he felt the same. Neither of you acted, not for the first moments that it took for you to assess the situation, assess him.

Dark suit, dark hair, dark eyes. The only color about him were the rings of red and blue that waved off him like watercolor paints added to a canvas. They resisted one another but equally drew closer to the man’s edges. Regardless of the fight between them, he sat perfectly still. If there hadn’t been a certain look in his eyes – the glaze of someone who was both relieved and terrified – you might have mistaken him for being calm, however, there was that glaze, and it was a combination you were knocked breathless by because it was him. You recognized him.

And a similar sense of fear and comfort fired off in the chambers of your heart, hitting the walls as though they were a batting cage.

You took the first step, physically, and metaphorically. You didn’t think you would remain upright if you didn’t latch onto the empty chair for support as you muttered, “Dark?”

Your voice was rough in your throat. It felt more like you’d spat up a coat of oil than a real word. Years of disuse, the silence of the void that bid you follow suit, years of misuse, screaming into the pitch blackness for just a chance of an echo.

Hearing your own name sent back at you had you stumbling. Suddenly encased by your lost reality, you didn’t notice Dark jolt forward in his seat, hand barely outstretched and mouth semi-parted. Neither of you knew what he intended to do, but you acted first, dropping into the chair.

“How,” came his next words, slow, quiet, gentle like he was soothing an animal or someone he found dying on the road, “how are you here?”

Only his first question, and you couldn’t answer it. Not perfectly accurately, anyway, so your rough estimates would have to do. “I don’t know, I-I followed… I followed someone here.”

His fist clenching on the table caught your eye, but you were stopped from asking about it when he tried to clarify for you, “Mark.”

A myriad of other curiosities appeared – a frigid tone, bitter but unsurprised, and the warbling of the blue and red lines around him, among others – and yet they dissipated just as fast when he met your eyes. The search for something apparently proved fruitless; he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and cocked his head to one side. A silent question. 

Why weren’t you angry?

Because you were completely fine upon hearing that name. In Dark’s mind, he considered it impossible that you should stay draped in the chair after the man that caused your demise was mentioned. No malice surfaced, no anger, no sadness, just a blink that was nothing more than an instinct. 

Maybe it had something to do with the years you had spent alone, or maybe you never held it against him in the first place. The actor had been unstable for months leading up to your reunion. The events weren’t expected, of course, and in no way would you have chosen to go through that if you had the ability to go back – but they were what happened. Resignation softened your body language and your mind, prompting you to pay more attention to the present than the past.

Right now, Dark’s comment only served to add to your theory.

“Why does it have to be Mark?” you asked, knocking the man across from you out of his stupor. “Why can’t I have followed the other person?”

His brow furrowed, and it made you wonder how much he knew about the situation, the thought that followed being how much he would tell you.

“Because they—” Dark drew into himself as soon as the words escaped his mouth, “—are not the one dreaming.”

It was your turn to look curious. You were a person of fact by nature. Magic and demons and expansive, blank voids, they were fairytales used to scare children back into their beds at night. Simply put, they weren’t real. And the power of dreams? What stock were you supposed to put in that?

So, without another option, you said, simply, “Explain.”

And explain Dark did.

Having one third of your form come from the void had its perks, especially in describing its powers, the influence it had, what it could do. And, as you proceeded to hear, it could do a lot – more than you had ever imagined it capable of, given the absolute nothingness of it – but the thing that interested you the most was the accessibility of it.

Things like the entities, the ones that made up Dark and took over Celine’s body, were able to use the void like a hub. It allowed them to jump from place to place within seconds. Without a physical form, it would have otherwise been difficult to move around. Hell, it was difficult to move around, because getting out of the void was much harder than getting in. It required one very specific ability.

One that you did not possess.

“And you put me in there.”

“I did.” 

He said this with no emotion. It wasn’t an apology, nor was it a threat; it was a simple statement of fact, an admission without the guilt. You didn’t know if he had the ability to feel it. As far as your knowledge went, the inhumane entity within Dark took away the chance of it, leaving only the reality behind, as unbelievable as it sounded.

“Did you know I wouldn’t be able to get out?” was the only thing you asked.

This time, there was a short pause before he answered. The memory unwound in his mind while he processed the question. You had asked if he knew, and he asked himself the same thing. Objectively, yes. There was no way that a human – flesh, bones, blood – would be able to leave the void, and Dark understood that. He had never believed otherwise.

And yet, there had been something else behind his actions, because it wasn’t his intention to keep you locked up inside the mirror.

Slowly, tasting the words in his mouth, he repeated, “I did.” The response felt right, he wasn’t lying, but…

You watched as Dark leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the table and head resting on his clasped hands. Everything was deliberate. His suit jacket didn’t crease if he didn’t want it to, and his tie stayed flush against his shirt where it was meant to be, but the look in his eye made you think he was anything but conscious of the present. This seemed to be affecting him more than you, and you were the one with the vitamin D deficiency. 

The confirmation that yes, he knew kept repeating like a broken record in Dark’s mind. However, it wasn’t because that puzzled him. Really, it was the only thing that made sense. What actually threw him through a loop was the simple fact that it hadn’t mattered. Trapping you in the void, keeping you away from the real world, was not the logical option. If he had been looking for the best way to carry out his pledge of revenge on Mark, getting rid of Damien would have been the best option. He had the obligations of the mayor of a city, he had an awkward relationship with the actor – both too distant and not far enough – and he was so, so painfully emotional. Painfully human.

Celine hated Mark so much that she thrived on the plan’s progress. The thought of revenge nourished her and made Dark stronger. She had the determination he needed to go through with it all. She was the obvious choice to keep in that amalgamation of souls. The entity was staying, and that was that, no deliberation required. 

That left just you and Damien. 

Dark had seen you work, or, rather, Damien had the memories of you in the court room. To surmise, you were good, very good, and you were able to separate your emotions from the case. While the witness on the stand was hurling profanities, you made eye contact and stood your ground. If the prosecutor started floundering, you pounced on the opportunity to tear about their words. You were exact, efficient, and a force to be reckoned with. 

But poor, sweet Damien? He was always at the back of Dark’s mind, his best excuse for a conscience that constantly reminded him what the moral choice was, regardless of whether he had taken the last one, or the one before that, or the one before that. He was persistent. He was a liability. It wasn’t a shock that he turned out to be the only thing stopping him from latching on to Mark in one of his dreams and killing him when he woke up.

So, the question was: why did Dark push you out and keep Damien?

As if sensing the answer was in arm’s reach, something – and he said something, but he knew what, who, it was – forced him to look up and at you.

Well, that explained it.

Dark’s inner monologue took no more than thirty seconds, even with the strange tick-tock of the clock in a dream, and you watched him and nothing but him in that time. You were still looking at him when he snapped back to the present. As though someone had snapped their fingers, you saw the calculating cold, the pressing tension, the rampant search for an answer melt away in layers to reveal the truth behind it all. As he leaned back into his seat and laid his arms out on the sides, the creases at his eyes softened and a faint smile pulled at his lips.

“The mirror was not meant to be a prison,” Dark started to explain before he was overcome with the pointless need to take a deep breath. Your expression of pure curiosity pulled at his unmoving heart, squeezing it in a grip that he didn’t describe as uncomfortable. Gently and unable to look away, he continued, “And I’m sorry that it was one. I intended it to be a sanctuary, of sorts.”

A flash of confusion darted through your eyes, and Dark rushed to continue before it could turn into suspicion. “I wanted to keep you away from Mark, away from the consequences of everything.”

It was at the end of that sentence, with perfect timing, that his neck was snapped to the side. The bones popped and the nerves twisted. He tried to play it off, but you clearly noticed. Your concern made his heart clench just as painfully as his neck, so he brought a hand up to show that he was fine.

You didn’t believe him, and he didn’t make it any more convincing when he said, “You would have died.”

You knew that; your body was dead on impact, but that wasn’t what he was talking about. Instead, because of him, your soul was alive, even if it only existed in the confines of a metaphysical world. 

A question about the integrity of your survival died on your tongue as you registered the strange frown on Dark’s face. It twitched at the sides, threatening to pull further down, but he kept it as straight as he could. The same couldn’t be said about the few tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. He almost succeeded at containing his emotion until one betrayed him and slid to his jawline with a mutter of, “I had to save you.”

“Thank you.”

His breath caught in his throat at your response. For all his monologues and explanations, he hadn’t expected you to be grateful. You, of all people, thanked him, and it wasn’t a joke. He had never seen as genuine a smile on anyone’s face, him not having met more than four people notwithstanding, to the point that it almost lit up the gray of his skin to a normal tone.

And you did mean it. The man in front of you – the one currently tearing up at the mere possibility of losing you – wasn’t malicious. Being the district attorney had given you the almost magical ability to tell when someone was lying. It had served you well in court, and it served you well here. The conclusion you came to took no longer than a few seconds. Personal history did have its benefits, after all, and you had learned long ago how to not be impeded by a pretty face. From all the evidence in front of you, Dark was trustworthy.

You trusted him.

“Of course,” he replied as his hand darted to the lapel of his jacket to sturdy himself. The attention was almost too much, and he found his mouth moving before he understood what he wanted to say. “You said you followed Mark here?”

You nodded, disregarding the fact that Dark had told you that you had followed Mark, for his sake. You also didn’t mention his shaky attempt to compose himself and waited for his next words. You weren’t in any rush to speed things along; for all you knew, talking to Dark was the only thing keeping you in this dream. It surprised you that you hadn’t been dropped back into the void yet, but you didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, it had its other advantages.

You hadn’t seen Dark since the first time on that fateful night, and it took everything out of you to not see him, or anyone else, again. When you were in the pitch black, you imagined that you would get attached to the first person you saw, and it was a shock to you when that wasn’t the case. The nature drew you in before Mark or his partner in crime could, but you had still tried to talk to them. During your experimentation, you had whispered in their ears, yelled at them, said all manner of things to get their attention, but none had worked, so you quickly moved on. Nothing kept you around them.

But there was something with Dark. The space around you shifted, as if the dream itself recognized the moment and gave it a wide berth. Out of respect or fear or nothing, you didn’t know, yet it was undeniable that it happened, and you were glad it did. You wanted to preserve the bubble of safety that had molded around you. There was a part of you that bargained with the dream, as inane as that sounded, to get more time with Dark. The clock worked differently here, so why couldn’t it grant you a slower pace?

Unaware of your mental bartering, Dark pushed on with his questioning. It came as a surprise to you, having not been focusing at all on the present. 

“How?”

You had to take a second to remember what you were talking about, but, when it came to you, you realized you weren’t able to give him much.

“I don’t know. I’m normally stuck in the void, but lately it’s been tossing me around. I went somewhere else before, a heist of some kind. It was much more complicated than this, though.”

You hadn’t paid much attention to the paths this time. There was much less to explore, and the hope of having escaped had worn off. You were fairly certain they were the same people, too, so any contact was old news. You weren’t interested in the heist dream either, not after the sixth time you ended up outside that museum with the pair of thieves.

Despite that, Dark appeared to make up for your lack of enthusiasm; he practically lunged, one hand steadying his body on the back of the chair as he leaned forward, so much so that he was half bent over the table between you.

In a breathless voice, he asked, “Where?” It was more of a demand, really, colored so from the unfamiliar want. It took a moment for him to realize himself, and he then sat back down in the seat. One hand went to card through his hair, throwing it about haphazardly as he amended, “Where were you? I… I was there, but, evidently, we didn’t see each other.”

As you thought through your response, Dark took the time to reprimand part of his mind for his outbursts. He couldn’t afford to break down right now, there were far more important things at stake that made getting distracted too risky, no matter how much the voice in the back of his mind begged to be let loose.

Before you opened your mouth, he managed to similarly berate his general self for thinking it a semi-appealing idea.

“I was distracted,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It all felt so real.”

When you stared down at your hands, the outlines of your fingers shimmered, and the veins on the undersides of your wrists pulsed with white light. How were you to know you weren’t alive? Were you a fool for thinking you had escaped, for being tricked, like an owner who had thrown a ball for a dog but just held it behind their back? You went off chasing it, of course, not noticing the stranger things around you. You were too obsessed with the mundane and the possibility that you had a body when you should have known that you didn’t.

Hearing that Dark had been in the same place, maybe, at one point, right under your nose, a deep sense of regret unfurled in your stomach. You had lamented not being able to talk to anyone, but you had ignored the one chance you had at it. If you had just paid more attention, your heart wouldn’t be trying to destroy itself.

As if sensing your spiraling discomfort, the red and blue lines around Dark flared and spasmed. They whipped out at places and curled in at others, mimicking radio waves with their peaks and troughs. It brought your attention to the current moment, and you were glad it did because you became acutely aware of the expression on the face of the man opposite you.

In the midst of the cold, calculating cover he tried to pull, there was a hint of desperation peeking through the weak spots. His eyes, ever the window to the soul, were still glossy with unshed tears, and his mouth, no matter how much focus he put towards smirking, dipped for seconds at a time. You wanted nothing more than to lean forward and comfort him, but the dream was an unkind thing; your legs didn’t cooperate, you were unable to move an inch to brush the drops away.

You offered him the most you could, saying gently, “This feels different.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I think so.”

Any reason you had in mind was wiped away when a tingling sensation danced at the tips of your fingers. It was something like a limb falling asleep, but it was spreading fast. Your heart rate sped up to a dangerous speed as it got faster and faster, turning into a wildfire that stopped you feeling anything, and it only got worse when you looked down.

Your hands had completely disappeared, the space empty where they had been before. Looking to the ground, you saw nothing but a neon white, which likewise surrounded you when you glanced around you. This hadn’t happened before, and it was terrifying you.

“It’s okay,” Dark said. Thankfully, he didn’t sound panicked – you didn’t think you could handle it if he wasn’t as calm as he was – and he even went so far as to start explaining. You had always liked knowing things. A smile snuck onto Dark’s face as he remembered the singular time that you had been forced to explore negative capability in university, which ended with you throwing the textbook out of the window. In any other situation, he might have teased you for it, but you didn’t have the time.

“The dream is ending,” he started, trying to sound confident despite the fear of not seeing you again nestling itself in his heart. “I suppose you’ve never strayed this far from the start before.”

You shook you head; at the end of the heist, before you were dumped back into the void, you had been standing just where you began, in front of the museum. Now, you didn’t know where you were, but you calmed yourself with Dark’s clarification. Well, his clarification and the pressure of his hand against your upper arm. The contact was inches away from empty air, and you feared for a moment of irrational indulgence that it would speed up and you would lose the feeling. 

Your attention snapped back to Dark as he continued talking, “It works outwards. Everything will disappear eventually, but we’re on the edge. We have time.”

He refrained from telling you exactly how much time you had left here, all too aware that it would make you flounder. He had watched the environment disappear before. It wasn’t comforting and it wasn’t pretty, so he preferred staying in the darkness, where it wasn’t as obvious that everything was gradually fading away. Finding you in the daylight was a stoke of luck, a miracle. The only reason why he was out there in the first place was because…

“Mark is around here, too.”

You nodded, a simple confirmation or more complicated agreement, he wasn’t sure, but he stood from his seat, nevertheless. Your torso was gone, now, nothing but a shimmering outline that was gradually disappearing itself. You were close to completely returning to the void, and there was a part of Dark that was unimaginably frightened it would be for the last time.

Another part reminded him of what he was supposed to do, told him it would help you if he adapted to this, convinced him that it was the right thing to do. It surprised him when the resistance that normally came with that simply didn’t.

His legs moved on their own towards the parking lot, where he knew Mark still was, but your voice stopped him before he passed you.

“Come back safe, alright?”

How was he supposed to say no to you? When you were looking at him with such trust and belief, it was impossible.

He leaned down to press his lips against your forehead. Your skin was surprisingly warm, considering your situation, but that might have come from his natural coolness. Still, it was nice. A good contrast that had the back of his mind focused entirely on the feeling. 

“Of course.”

The shimmering was gone, and you along with it. 

Dark stepped back, registered a strange satisfaction in his heart, and took a deep breath.

The actor was dead within the hour.

It didn’t take much, surprisingly. In fact, it was quite easy. As Dark stood above Mark’s finally vacant body – returned once and for all to the state it should have been in – he found no burst of adrenaline. No anger, no sadness, no passion. Nothing but the dull hum of satisfaction, just the same as the one from when you had disappeared. It was done, and that was that.

Mark was dead. Damien and Celine were appeased. 

His job was complete.

He dropped the bloody axe to the floor, the clatter and thud not reaching his ears. Someone else would bury the body. Another would open an investigation into his death. A deep cut, like one from felling a tree, wasn’t going to be described as natural. It didn’t matter, though; arresting someone who should have already been dead was as difficult as murdering one. Dark had nothing to fear.

He also had nothing to do. There were no more plans to be made, no more vengeance to be enacted, and you had told him to come back safe, right? Maybe taking a rest wasn’t such a bad idea.

The manor, Dark’s base of operations that he loathed to call his base of operations, was quiet when he arrived back. It didn’t bother him, he had never appreciated the bustle and boom of all the parties once hosted there. It had prompted one part of him to find a safe space in a spare bedroom at one end of the house, and that was exactly what he needed – somewhere to be that didn’t come with the strings of tracking down Mark.

The door creaked as he pushed it open and groaned as he closed it again. Despite the confines of a tailored suit, he didn’t stop himself from falling onto the untouched sheets of the bed. It had been so long since he had laid down; for the past century, he had either been ramrod straight or sitting in his chair, and laying sideways across a desk hadn’t done him any good.

This position was much better. Was this the kind of ‘different’ you had spoken about? He hoped so, with the relaxation that ran through him. It was enough to coax him to close his eyes and let it all go, like a siren at the edge of a boat on stormy seas.

And then came the voice of one, too.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Slowly, Dark opened his eyes again, with the distinct feeling of trust firm in his heart. A new voice in the manor would normally be cause for concern, but he knew the voice. He knew you.

The only thing he didn’t know was what was happening.

When he knocked himself out of his sentimentality, Dark was greeted by the sight of you against the backdrop of the moonlight. He was still in that room, resting on the bed, but everything seemed altered in some way. You were the most obvious difference, and he was half sure that you were behind the softness of the scene, as if, in the time he was out, you had painted over the furniture, the walls, the light itself.

You dropped down on the edge of the bed as Dark pulled himself into a sitting position.

“I’m not,” he started, but he was forced to trail off. He didn’t know how to verbalize a single thought, and yet that wasn’t as frightening as he thought it would be. With you, he didn’t think it possible to be scared. Still, he tried again, “You’re…”

You shook your head and reached to place your hand over his. This was the first time you had made contact with him, and he quickly found he never wanted it to end.

“No, I’m not alive,” you answered his silent question, “and neither are you, by the looks of things.”

“I don’t understand.”

You didn’t expect him to. When he had sat across from you, he radiated a certain poise and manner that only came with certainty. You had seen it in witnesses, prosecutors, clients. They all acted the exact same when they were on their home turf, and when they were moved away from it.

Luckily, Dark was taking it better than they did – there was less yelling and cursing and threatening – but there was still the undercurrent of concern.

It was your turn to explain as you said, “You killed Mark. You did what you needed to do.”

“Exactly, he’s gone.”

He said it with a small smile, but his downturned eyebrows and deeper breaths betrayed the confusion.

You brought your other hand over his unattended one and collected the two into a grip. “Oh, my dear, he’s not the only one who can dream.”

Taking advantage of his lapse in troubled thoughts, you dipped your head to lightly kiss the exposed skin of his knuckles. They were weathered by time, a statue left outside too long, and you hoped to sooth some of the damage the elements had done.

“You look tired,” you muttered.

“I am.”

“Go on, then.” 

You tried not to return your hands to his when you saw the flash of fear on his face as you took them away to gesture vaguely at the headrest. A trio of fresh, fluffed pillows lay there, and, although you wondered just how comfortable his suit could be, you wanted him to relax some. This wasn’t the waking world, after all.

While Dark shifted to remove his jacket, you drifted towards the fireplace along the wall opposite. The burst of flame calmed down quickly, blending into small embers behind the grate. 

“From what I’ve been able to figure out, it’s a replica of the manor from its better days. I think it’s empty but sometimes I hear…”

In a case of excellent timing, the distant squeal of childish laughter came from down the hallway. It was followed by footsteps, quickening, and then sliding into another room. You never saw who exactly was out there, but based on the man staring at the door, you were safe to assume the possibilities.

“Better days,” he repeated, nodding to himself, and then looked back at you. You always were so smart.

You returned to Dark’s side after securing more logs in the hearth, though you hesitated, standing awkwardly with a hand to your chest.

No words were needed for him to realize your thought process, so he offered a hand of his own, which you took without further deliberation. It took another soft tug for you to relax against him, at which point he curled an arm around your shoulders and brought you as close as possible, but it was solely your decision to reach up and undo his tie, draping it over a post once it was fully removed.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

You were content to leave it at that. Hell, you had been content to stay standing beside him while he slept, but this was much better.

Dark, however, pressed a kiss to the back of your head, sighed, and mumbled, “How do I know I won’t wake up?”

You twisted in his hold to look at him. For all the love and trust his eyes held, it wasn’t enough to completely mask a genuine desperation.

“Do you want to wake up?” you asked, simply and plainly.

He responded in the same fashion. “No.”

“Then you won’t. It’s your dream, after all, and I think you deserve to rest.”

That was all it took for the fear to melt away. Dark’s eyes fell shut, and he knocked his head against yours for a moment, just to savor the feeling, before he fully leaned forward and connected your lips.

It was a tired, late-night kiss that you shared. You wouldn’t lie, you had imagined you would have one after a rough day at the office, pressing cases and pressing clients that got on your nerves, instead of finally relaxing with a man you had never thought you’d see again – but it still served the same purpose. It made your heartbeat slow and your shoulders drop. The slow dance between the two of you brought smiles to your faces, tender and loving. It was a silent agreement that this was the ending you had hoped for.

What a dream this was. 

[Thank you so much for requesting, and I'm sorry for the delay! I thought that I’d be able to get more done over these past weeks, but college projects have taken up a lot of my time, unfortunately. On the other hand, if anyone wants to take about British witchcraft in the 1600s or mental health post-World War 2, hit me up, because I’m about to knock my teeth out over this :D! On a lighter note, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed <3]

[districtattorney404]

death swap?

[house-of-leave]

{{Pointless headcannon of the day: Since taking over Damiens body, Actor Mark has inherited the back and joint issues once carried by the former mayor.

This has lead to Actor needing to use a cane to support himself while walking.

Dark finds this fact to be both well deserved, and hilarious, pointing it out whenever they cross paths.}}

[trashbag-usa]

it feels like a lot of people have given up on fully connecting ISWM/Engie Mark to the wider lore (aka WKM) since IRL Mark straight up told us he wasn't Actor.

but not only am i a stubborn son of a bitch, but yknow what Mark also said?

"Engineer Mark isn't Actor Mark, but Actor Mark just might be Engineer Mark."

so hear me out, y'all.

preamble; if you saw this in a yt comment section, no you didn't. (that was also me i didnt steal this i prommy-)

i have this entirely insane theory about iswm that Engineer Mark is actually Damien, but only sometimes.

the most obvious places i can spot him is in the abandoned ship with the candles ("captain needs their sleep" and whatnot), as Old Mark (specifically in the empty diner), and most definitely as the "Mark" we see as part of the finale, the one who realizes he was wrong.

Actor is allergic to admitting fault so I Don't Believe That's Him.

this explains the thematic focus on sleep and rest in these scenes, things told to Damien and told to US by DARK several times.

("Don't remember" anyone?)

speaking of Dark, it explains why he isn't there. we DO however see the suspiciously Darkiplier-esqe Ms. Whitacre, which it isn't controversial to say atp is CLEARLY Celine.

that is, until the universe does its final kablooey and Dark as we know him, Damien attributes and all, comes to take the warp-crystal.

and besides, think about it.

given Actor's whole goal in all this, as laid out in the Damien Project, do you REALLY think he would write a story in which all problems arise from HIS OWN NEGLIGENCE? NO!

that would make him a villain, and all he ever wants is to be portrayed as the hero, literally for eternity!

but you know what i think he would do? set up a farce for the most troublesome of his "co-stars".

you, the viewer, want genuine choices? you want to have some real control over the story? some responsibility? FINE.

everyone looks to you, but under your leadership everything goes wrong, no matter what. you don't know why, but you're actively villinized and the harder you try to go back and fix things, achieve an "ending" on your own, the more people HATE you. the more the thought that maybe there IS something wrong with you specifically will stick in your mind as a possibility.

all these options, but none of them "right", creating MORE suffering instead of fixing it just to find that ever elusive end.

damien wants control of the narrative? he wants his old friend, you, the District Attorney to be released from his eternal story and given back to him? FINE.

here's his role back in earnest, given the possibility to engage and choose instead of intrude and twist like usual.

(yes, i do think Damien/Engineer is genuinely going down his own hopeless path while we find our own. in one of the descriptions leading to the final "Hold On/Let Go" confrontation, it says "you're not the only one making choices. you're not alone, you never were".)

he is allowed to fight for the safety of others, side by side with his closest companion, just as they did when they were alive.

BUT, the twist is Damien becomes a genuine villain. in his quest to do the altruistic thing and help at all cost, he is personally responsible for the death of LITERALLY EVERYONE EVER.

this is a personal hell for someone like Damien, as seen from WKM, all he ever seemed to want was help others and guide them towards peace.

for his actions/leadership to fail so unthinkably catastrophically, seems like the exact hell a bitter Actor would want to subject his "old friend" to for meddling. :/

Actor sets the stage for a theatrical punishment game. Mayor and Attorney, together again, taking an impossibly long stay in a personally crafted hell for the horrendous crime of ever even thinking they'd be worthy of ✨️staring roles✨️.

Actor turns you two against each other, and once Damien is brough down to the depths of despair and you have finally learned that true responsibility can lead to catastrophic, painful results, we're brought back to our proper places.

you go to a proper ending, with the Engineer role now being played by Actor once and for all, and Damien once again becomes part of Darkiplier, pocketing the warp-crystal to plant on the box in Heist.

Engineer isn't Actor, it's a role he plays when it suits him and his goals, to make his enemies suffer. he's willing to be Damien's understudy, if only for this purpose.

but at the end of the journey, Actor becomes Engineer to take in the fruits of his labor. ..and maybe invite you to a Heist while he's at it.

BUT HEY, THAT'S JUST A

very long winded """theory""" that is pretty much only insane fanfiction-

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

insert good caption

[0crooked-arcade0]

When you bring the "Dark is at least 1/3rd Actors ex-wife' fact into account.

The ship of Y/N and Dark gets infinitely funner in retrospect.

I don't care how dormant Celine is in the supernatural sorta system that makes up Dark. Imagine you're Actor, and this guy who got inadvertently WASTED by your half cooked revenge plan comes back to life, and at some point in your attempt to woo this person to your side, they end up breaking off and hooking up with the demon that houses the soul of the woman whos infidelity supposedly started this mess.

ACTOR JUST KEEPS TAKING FUCKING L'S AT THIS POINT AND GOD REFUSES TO LET HIM KNOW PEACE.

[tiredeldritchhorror]

A Pro Gamer Move indeed

Time lapse down under, bit of eye strain in it cause I fuck with colors

[autisticskeleton-s]

your ivy grows chapter 5 out now!!!

FIND THE FIC HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60653539

do you like darkiplier? do you like shipping yourself (as the district attorney) with darkiplier? do you like the tropes featured in most darkiplier x reader fanfics but wish they were explored more in depth? do you wish CELINE WAS ACTUALLY FEATURED AS A CHARACTER FOR ONCE?

then boy howdy do i have the fic for you. i write slow so there's no schedule, but i do have a wonderful beta reader (Zairileon on ao3), motivation from wonderful people on tumblr and my friends alike, and the whole plot mapped out so!!!! expect more from me soon :)

beloved taglist <3

@fizzybugpop

@captain-solemn-titty

@thebowieconstricker

@musiclover2732

[aqua-tear]

I made a little crossover of a world where Captain Darkiplier meets my version of the DA and he is being haunted by her haha.

“Hahaha, I love karma. It seems you are stuck as one of my alternative versions. Good luck, Captain.”-The DA

Sorry, Dark ended looking a bit silly in the drawing. Captain Darkiplier is from the Darkhenge AU, that belongs to @captaindarkiplier. Check out their AU and art, it’s pretty cool!

The background is from In Space with Markiplier.

[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

[subtleshenanigans]

Wow I really do have a fixation with characters who struggle with being half-human/not quite human/were human but not anymore exactly. (Instead of human you can apply a base species as well. Basically someone who is othered or has to come to terms with not being what they once thought they were??? Dunno how to explain it)

[theknightmarket]

It’s times like this when I regret not committing to animation, because…

a) ‘Get Lost’ from Moana 2 has been rattling around in my brain, with the DA (still trapped in the mirror) singing to the Captain

(Look, don’t you know how good you have it? - You’re all that’s stopping you - For me I’m stuck like static - Can you imagine a life this tragic in the gloom - You’ve got a chance so take it - I know you’re scared but life’s unfair - It’s full of choices big and small - But trust the fall and you can have it all!)

and b) so has the new Ithaca Saga from Epic the Musical, specifically 'Would You Fall in Love with Me Again', between Dark and the DA (very much in line with what I said about Twisted)

(I am not the man you fell in love with - I am not the man you once adored - I am not your kind and gentle husband - And I am not the love you knew before - Would you fall in love with me again - If you knew all I've done - The things I cannot change - Would you love me all the same - I know that you've been waiting, waiting, for love) ... (I will fall in love with over and over again - I don't care how, where, or when - No matter how long it's been, you're mine - Don't tell me you're not the same person - You're always my husband, and I've been waiting, waiting - waiting, waiting - waiting, waiting, waiting - all for you)

In fact, I have so many thoughts about them that I am going to need a lobotomy.