#wkm fic

[fgfluidity]

mirror | manor (chapter 11)

Summary: After the events of Mirror | Void, a newly-christened Dark has two goals: take revenge on Mark, and, hopefully…

Find the DA.

Pairings: Damien/Dark x DA; Actor x DA (Implied, could be read as gen)

Warnings: none

Tagged: @opprose @volbeast @statictay @otterlyinluv @buc-eebarnes @flerpdederp @mirrorslament @hapikiou (if anyone else would like to be tagged hmu!)

i'm sorry this took almost three years to come out-

find it on ao3 | donate to my kofi

Dark knows the game.

Of course he does— he read the script.

He just expected them to see through it.

Then again... they haven’t seen through anything Mark’s done. They just don’t remember.

He can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a curse.

He sticks to the shadows as they approach, entirely too darling in what amounts to a burglar’s costume, as they wriggle their way inside.

Mark is his own brand of buffoon, and the ‘guards’ he hired match it to the letter, not a drop serious or truly threatening.

(“Sorry I didn’t message you first,” he says, brushing out bits of glass from his hair. “I tried to jam the cell signal and, um… it’s just broken.”)

Imbecile.

Even the dog is there, playing a role. How droll.

Even if she is a very good girl.

All throughout this, he watches for the guard’s radios, for a television screen, for— for anything that he might use to sway the DA, catch their attention without Mark noticing.

If he can just separate them—

The thing is, though, Mark is either ridiculously prepared for his planning, or is completely thoughtless about small, realistic details; throughout the entire museum, no guard has a radio, no wall has a screen.

Not ones that work, anyway— not a connection to anything remotely electromagnetic. Props at best. It’s the least technologically-advanced modern building Dark has been in since…

Well, since he left that manor, but that hardly counts.

The point stands that he’s unable to do much of anything but watch as the DA rolls their eyes and smiles at Mark’s antics, creeps quietly along while the man makes a fool of himself, face set and focused.

He’s seen that look. Pre-trial look. All business.

And they called him too serious all that time ago.

So fondly…

At any rate, their supposed treasure is both easy to get to and utterly unremarkable. A wooden case, carved but hardly special wood, the gem plastic even from his vantage point. A prop, like everything else.

And yet…

Mark lifts the box, and—

This is the end of the script. A successful heist, hightailing it out before they get caught, a seemingly-sincere thanks for help.

But there’s something. Like a little nudge, something like how he feels using the void, how the Earth seems to shift when the Host speaks creation.

The alarm trips.

Mark gives them a choice. Sneak out, or face the guards.

Perhaps... perhaps he overlooked. Perhaps he was given a working script, not the final draft.

Perhaps it’s another of Mark’s machinations.

There was no choice. Why is there a choice?

Why do they get a choice?

It doesn’t matter, really, because the DA picks exactly as he expected they would.

“We have to sneak out, it’s too dangerous, otherwise,” they say, just barely audible over the blaring alarm.

Mark’s face crumbles into a pout. “You’re no fun,” he whines— like a toddler; Dark half expects him to start stomping his feet— but he dutifully uncovers the sewer entrance, grumbling all the way.

The DA just watches, arms crossed. Petty.

They didn’t used to be so petty, but Mark deserves it, if anyone.

Dark very well understands that the entire thing is engineered, a massive staged undertaking to fool the DA and entertain an audience, unseen to his eyes but present all the same.

It doesn’t stop the trip through the sewers any less harrowing, doesn’t prevent him from using his unique position to draw attention away from the DA if ever they come a hair too close to getting caught.

It might be fake, but…

He doesn’t put it past Mark to introduce some very real danger. He’s a method actor, and he’d want his players to follow accordingly for maximum effect.

Dramatic ass.

They follow dutifully behind the entire way through the dark, though— and he notes it with a point of pride, one he chalks up to just how put out Mark seems— with a good amount of non-verbal sass. They cross their arms, roll their eyes, and stubbornly march right along behind Mark.

Not that Mark doesn’t try to get rid of them— oh, he tries to shake them like gum stuck to his shoe, and it’s a thrill to see him huff and grumble when they simply shake their head. He pouts— at several points! So very childish.

Then—

Hm. Unsurprising that the creator of this convoluted mess would whip up some way to surely remove them; if there’s one possible thing they’d listen to above anything else, it’s a worksite safety sign.

Not for lack of effort, though. “I… I really don’t know if we should split up, Mark,” they say, casting an uneasy glance back at the tunnel they just left. “I know it says only one, but if something happens—“

“Nothing’s going to happen! Nothing bad has happened even once!” His bright grin only gets a— astoundingly dry— look in return. It’s nearly impressive that he barrels on, anyway. “It’s for safety, buddy! You’re all about safety— and! We’re synchronized! In five minutes you just follow me over. Or I follow you, whichever.”

Mark gives them a once over, all while grinning, and if Dark wasn’t looking— wasn’t incensed at the familiarity— he wouldn’t have noticed, wouldn’t have cared. Alas.

It’s too… possessive. Too pleased.

He doesn’t need Damien in his head to stoke his rage, it seems, not anymore. The only thing that stops him is what Mark says next.

“You have a choice, sunflower.”

A choice. There it is again, more choices, as if giving them the power to change any of this. Giving them a say.

So they don’t feel trapped.

Aren’t they, though? If Mark wrote everything, created everything, what kind of choice is it?

However…

They glance back at the shadowy tunnel again, frowning, worrying at the sleeves of their top in a too-familiar pattern. If they turn back, they’ll be away from him. How far apart can they both get in five minutes?

How far apart do they need to be for him to intervene?

This is his chance. It may well be the only one he’ll get, and the margin of error is far too slim for his liking— he must get this right. He must say the right thing— and pray they don’t hate or fear him.

Thankfully, time goes a little off-kilter in the Void, or else he’d have to make a very quick plan.

He’ll have to ease them in. See what they could possibly remember from that night, prod what needs prodding. It’s an easy enough parlor trick to conjure up a memory these days.

After that… what could he say?

Damien— he— was never short for words in his past life. As mayor— as councilman, as law student, as debate captain, as his father’s son— he simply had to be good with them, and he was.

Not quite so smoothly charismatic as Mark, not as bombastic and warm as Wil, but— well, he didn’t make mayor through his familial connections, whatever certain parts of his constituency may have believed. He delivered his speeches, his debates, with calm strength, something personable but solid.

Hell, he—

He used to write them for fun. The person— people, really— standing right outside this pocket of Void once teased him.

How are you writing a paper now? Finals are over! Come on, live a little!

Even I don’t want to spend all summer in a library. Won’t you come with me? There are new flowers in the arboretum!

The memory comes unbidden, and throws him off-balance; thankfully, he doesn’t fall out of his incorporeal state or ruin any of his planning.

Such a memory… but how? That’s more of Damien’s—

He hasn’t heard him. Not since that agonizing split when he entered their dream.

Mayhaps they didn’t split.

Mayhaps—

“Well… if you’re sure, Mark,” they sigh, hardly thrilled at the idea. “But it has to be five minutes. If you disappear on me—“

“Relax! It’ll be okay, you’ll see me. Sheesh, you’re so serious.” Mark huffs— then straightens himself. Smiles, even as they turn away, towards Dark. “Yes, alright! You go down that tunnel, I’ll go down this tunnel. If you see anything, and I mean anything, you just turn that sweet little tuchus around and—“

He’s had about enough of that. With hardly more than a thought, he whisks Mark away elsewhere, wherever elsewhere may be, and rolls out his Hall of Memories.

And prays.

They used to pride themself on being unflappable, before, and he can see shades of it, now: their face remains the same, alert but not startled as they take in the paintings, the dust swirling in the beam of their flashlight.

He knew the truth of that, though, and it, too, remains; you need not look at their face for their feelings, but their hands.

Though one holds the flashlight, all ten fingers are in motion— tapping the length of the flashlight, curling and uncurling in their sleeve, the belt loop, the zippers and buttons of their bag. Moving for comfort, perhaps— certainly no expression of joy, as the rest of them is ramrod-straight, stiff with each step.

He longs— longs, what is happening to him— to say something to ease the anxiety, raise the darkness, but he can’t. This is no matter he can explain with soft, comforting words and a pot of tea. His powers aren’t of light at all.

They can, though, reach an electromagnetic signal, and now that they’re alone, he pushes through his thoughts.

Finally, you’re away from him. Aren’t you tired of it?

What?

He’s running you ragged. Don’t you feel like you’re running in circles?

That’s not what he said— not quite, anyway.

They won’t tell you anything. No one seems to question it.

Why can’t he change it?

I know you’re in there. But I thought you’d see through it.

The final painting, of the monster himself, grinning like a fool. It begins to crumble before them both— they step back, fingers tight around both phone and flashlight— and Dark gets a split second of pure dread before—

Before—

My villain. I wrote everything. Even you.

It’s not painful. It’s not— it’s not even close to the searing split of the dreamworld, nothing to the pain in his stolen body, nuts compared to his shattered leg almost a century ago. It doesn’t hurt at all.

He almost wishes it did.

“Same snake, different skin,” he muses, and something inside him quails at the sight of fear— truly, rare fear— in their eyes when they turn to take him in. “Always spinning his yarns, his webs, his lies.”

He means to say it. He means to say he’s nothing but a monster in human skin, that they’re being dragged one way or another at his whims— he doesn’t mean to sound so… angry. So—

Villainous.

He screams, though it doesn’t come out— not of this body. Instead, there’s the discomfort of a fragment, juddering, lashing void in every direction. He only keeps enough sense to keep it away from them.

Without him— without him!— his body paces, a smile too similar to Mark’s on his face. “Perhaps we’ve met a hundred times already, and you simply don’t remember it. Perhaps you’re tired of me repeating myself over and over and over and over again!”

He’s seen them a hundred times, but have they met? Has he said anything to them, his desperate wish for them to remember and leave simply that, a wish?

No. This is Mark’s doing, but he’s far from the only one with power. Dark pushes past the discomfort, past the fragments that shatter out of him, and tries to touch it. Tries to see what, exactly, controls him.

It’s a web.

Not unlike a spider’s, really, glimmering threads of words in several different directions, coalescing into bright points of light wherever they meet.

Ah, the choices. Planned for, then— prolonging the make-believe.

He sees an island man. He sees a brilliant scientist. He sees a pirate, an adventurer, a prisoner. He sees their end a dozen times, more, always coming back to the start.

He sees himself— but his point, his thread, is loose.

Not so in control now, are you, Mark?

They must know. They have to know.

With what little wriggle room he has, he reaches out— and changes a couple letters. One at each point. Nothing shifts, nothing breaks, but something is different— hopefully, different enough for his clever attorney to find.

They’re the sharpest he’s ever known. If anyone could, it’s them.

He settles back into his body, still speaking without him— without him!— and pacing before a desk. It doesn’t feel so wrong with his newfound confidence… in fact—

“You want answers.” He smiles to himself, happy to have control again, and for the hell of it, picks up the glass of wine— seemingly, so kindly provided for by the writer. “Well, games were always his forte.”

He’s not sure of the vintage, or even sure of the varietal, given the monochrome nature of his Void, but he takes a sip, anyway.

He tries hard not to gag, but can’t hide his wince. For all his budget, Mark hardly splurged on something decent, it seems.

Suppose that’s the loss of his wine cellar at work.

“But allow me this one moment of self indulgence.”

He sets the wine down. Neither of them will be partaking of it.

“Excuse me—“ 

He stops, holding the box— the conduit in this little foray into pretend— and looks at them from atop the desk. They’re— smiling a little. Not big, but it’s theirs, and if his heart still beat— “Yes?”

“Why’d you pick that wine if you didn’t like it?”

He wants to laugh. Oh, he wants to laugh at that, because in the face of— quite frankly— something frightening and beyond their control, they’re teasing it. He loves them.

He loves them.

“I didn’t,” he admits, truthfully. There’s something so warm in his chest, something he can’t prevent from showing on his face, so fond. “Sometimes we take what we’re given, for better or for worse. This game, for instance. This box.

“So much trouble, all for something so small.” He looks to them curiously, smile fading. “Do you want to know what’s inside this box?

“I didn’t imagine we’d have to be in sewers to get it,” they add dryly. “After all this, I definitely want to know, and it has to be something worth it, or else.”

He’d laugh at the thought, them tearing into Mark for dragging them over hill and dale, but he’s seen what lies ahead. They’ll have time to do it, and the nudging at his body indicates he’s rather short of time himself. “Well, I know how much you like a good game, so throughout your… adventures, I’ve hidden codes. Several codes. Find them all, and you’ll get your truth.”

They don’t look especially pleased at that, but the light comes into their eyes despite the slump of their shoulders— the light that kept them up all night with an encyclopedia or three, classes next morning be damned. “More games. Why am I not surprised?”

They eye him for a few long seconds, brow furrowed, even as the Void rumbles and sparks around them both. It’s too familiar, as if they’re reading him down to his core. “You aren’t Mark, are you? Not some character. But… you’re so familiar. Who… who are you?”

He could give them his name. It might spark something for them, kickstart whatever process they need to regain their memory of what happened. He wouldn’t even care if they screamed at him for all he put them through.

The Void, though, shakes and cracks, and he shakes his head with a slight frown and a mountain of regret. He has a modicum of control, still, but not fully. Not right now. “That’s all I’m going to give you.”

They open their mouth, but the Void winks them away, gone to their next run.

All he can do is sit and watch from here.

[buc-eebarnes]

truth is only hearsay

Start with misdemeanors and we'll make a business out of them.

pairing: mayorattorney

tags: pre-wkm, moral dilemmas, implied extortion, corruption, tension

rated G || 991 words

“I—I don’t know what you want me to say, Damien,” you feigned a laugh. Your palms were sweating. Your mind felt like cotton. “Are you—are you yanking my chain right now?” He shook his head. His voice was gravelly. “No. No, I'm not.” After a beat, “What would be the charges?”

read on ao3!

[projectwkm]

HUMMINGBIRD; an iswm fic

Mark lives and dies infinitely in the twitch of a hummingbird’s wing.

(In which the Captain sees one thousand iterations of their Head Engineer, but he only ever sees of them… including the one life they never talk about.)

(Or, the Head Engineer isn’t the Actor, but his Captain sure is the District Attorney.)

chapters: 1/1 (2.5k words), oneshot character study !! ^_^

[d-ama-ien]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Damien | The Mayor/Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?) Characters: Damien | The Mayor (Who Killed Markiplier?), Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), references to other WKM characters Additional Tags: Mentions of drugs and alcohol, Making Out, Marking, Cunnilingus, Rimming, (depending on how you picture things), Missionary Position, (it's a classic for a reason y'all the intimacy of it can be hot if you do it right), let's do it like we've been married ten years and all that, Dry Humping, Oral Sex, Sex, Drunk Sex

Summary: The colored lights of Mark’s party disguise the flush that burns up on my cheeks, and the loud music drowns out my surprised gasp. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve, well- gotten acquainted, so to speak. But it would be the first time outside of a discretely booked hotel, staggering our entrances and exits so that no one could see us together or suspect something.

 And it was, well, it was Mark’s house, with his and Damien’s childhood friends and some odd strangers. What if they saw, or heard, or-

 “Just let me know- I’ll be in the other room,”

[ouat-in-spare-oom-of-rivendell]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), Markiplier TV (Web Series), A Heist With Markiplier (Web Series), Markiplier Cinematic Universe, In Space With Markiplier (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), You, Reader, Darkiplier (Markiplier TV), Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel Additional Tags: Ego Manor, Darkiplier Cares (Markiplier TV), Mark Fischbach Egos, Post-Who Killed Markiplier?, Mentioned Damien | The Mayor (Who Killed Markiplier?), Mentioned Celine | The Seer (Who Killed Markiplier?) Summary:

When all was said and done, there was one body left in the manor - just one. There was just one problem: That body was stuck in the Void. But as it just so happened...

So was the District Attorney.

 aka, you find your own way out of the mirror after being trapped there for over a hundred years by the entity who stole your body.

[not-mary-sue]

All Mark ever wanted was love. He would give anything to get it. His parents hardly ever gave him attention, far too busy with keeping up appearances in a rich social network to pay much mind to a child, so he found support in his friends. He found ways to keep them entertained and got a rush everytime he made them laugh. Still, it was never enough.

Soon, his friends are grown, and disappearing into lofty careers. No time for Mark's antic. So, he dedicated his life to acting it. It's not a profession his parents would ever approve of, but that doesn't matter anymore.

"Give up trying to please your parents," the casting agents say "and audiences will love you for the rest of your career."

And Mark believed them.

The admiration of adoring audiences is all very well, but it didn't fill the hole for long. Those strangers loved his characters. They would never care for him. Then, an old friend wandered back into his life. Celine. Beautiful, clever, witty. Her smile outshone that of a thousand theater goers. It didn't take long before she became his world.

"Give up acting and marry me," She said "and I will love you till death do us part."

And Mark believed her.

But the sweet honeymoon period quickly faded. Light hearted jabs turned to deep cutting insults, discussions turned to heated arguments. Soon, he was alone in a house too big and too full of memories for one person.

Well...almost alone.

Because there was something else with him. Something that had to always been with him. Watching, waiting. On long dark nights, he would wander aimlessly talking to himself, and sometimes he would find something talking back.

"Give up everything," It said "and I will love you until the end of time."

And Mark believed it.

[franklyshipping]

Seeing Past His Act ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

WOOP WOOP NEXT FIC HERE WE GO! This one comes from a fabulous anon prompt featuring our favourite butler boi... and it's time Actor Mark got to be on the receiving end for once! LET'S DO THIS!

Actor was a man of faults, and everyone said so. He was coercive, arrogant, egocentric, uncaring about things that did not affect him, and sometimes he was simply downright rude. Technically though, none of these attributes were his fault – they were simply the elements of his design. And, to be fair, they weren’t his only elements. However these more secret traits were rarely seen, and certainly never acknowledged. There was one, however, who did get to see these softer, finer pieces. That one was Benjamin, the most loyal butler to have ever walked the earth. Why was he loyal? He was no idiot, he wasn’t the sort to put up with ill-treatment or discomforting conditions. He stayed with Actor because Actor, despite his general personality, had always treated him right. Over time that respect had turned to companionship, rife with teasing, kindness, and insight for them both into each other.

There was much Benjamin had grown to love about Actor. His sense of humour, his style, his flamboyance, his adoration of drama, his beauty… his laughter. No matter the tiredness Benjamin might feel, hearing Actor’s laugh would cast away any hint of darkness. It was loud, room-filling, and lit up his entire face to make him look even more stunning. Benjamin smiled to himself, and started humming a little tune as he finished preparing everything for Actor’s breakfast, which he always took in bed. This morning on the tray sat a cup of coffee fresh from the cafetiere, a glass of orange juice (no pulp) along with a plate of hot, syrup covered waffles, plus some fancy French pastries. Benjamin took the tray upstairs and knocked on the door.

‘Come in!’

Benjamin entered Actor’s utterly lavish chambers (yes, chambers, he really was that guy) and smiled when he saw Actor sat up in bed. Benjamin remained awed over how Actor somehow looked perfect even when he’d just woken up, hair tousled in a naturally elegant way, eyes bright and ready for whatever came at him. He brought the breakfast tray over and Actor took it with a happy sigh, resting it on his lap. He inhaled deeply, then grinned at Benjamin.

‘Mm, looking delicious. The breakfast looks lovely too.’

He winked, bringing a smile to the butler’s face – yep, still always the insatiable flirt. Benjamin drew open the huge curtains, letting the golden light of late morning into the room as Actor happily ate.

‘What’s on my agenda?’

‘Ah, there’s nothing in your diary for today.’

‘Oh good, I’ve been well overdue a lazy day.’

Actor let out a pleased hum as the sun streamed in, allowing him to see Benjamin all the better, and it was a sight he very much enjoyed. He admired how Benjamin always looked so pristine, with a finer finish than the smoothest statue or sleekest painting. He carried himself with such elegance, such effortlessness, and the way he smiled was just so easy. He was a naturally happy soul, and being around him always served to soothed the weight that sometimes tugged at Actor. Benjamin was a sweet balm, the most loyal companion… and Actor valued him more than anything else.

‘Come, sit, I insist that you try one of these.’

Actor grinned, patting a spot beside him on the bed. Benjamin sat by him, and a little pinkness appeared on his cheeks when Actor picked up one of the pastries, and moved to feed it to him.

‘Open wide.’

Benjamin smiled and took a tentative bite… and it was divine. An almond croissant with icing sugar and swirls of raspberry jam on top – Benjamin thought he was in heaven! His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he let out a little hum… but then his eyes flew open when he felt something touch his bottom lip. He opened his eyes and saw Actor, swiping some icing sugar from his bottom lip, and licking it off his finger like it was the most casual thing in the world!

‘You like?’

Actor said, taking his own bite of the pastry and grinning when Benjamin nodded shyly.

‘Good. With the amount I ordered I’ll definitely need your help eating them.’

Benjamin laughed softly – another trait that few knew of Actor. He insisted Benjamin have the loveliest food, rest, and all the fine things he could ever want. Benjamin never asked for such things, but he always felt amazing when Actor insisted on sharing it all with him. As the morning continued Actor took time over his breakfast, giving Benjamin many more mouthfuls – he liked to see Benjamin eating well, it always brought him joy. When it was cleared away Actor ambled to his robe wardrobe and started browsing, humming musingly as his fingers drifted over practically every hue of silk dressing gown known to humanity.

‘Hmm, I think today is a crimson day.’

Benjamin tried not to stare, he really did… but the way Actor’s toned midriff tensed and stretched as he slipped on the robe was too beautiful not to admire! Benjamin acted as if he was polishing the mahogany headboard of the king-sized bed, all the while glancing in his peripheral at Actor… who had suddenly huffed.

‘God damnit…’

Benjamin was confused for moment, but soon had to bite back a laugh when he saw that Actor had been putting on his robe inside out. Actor chuckled and rolled his eyes, flashing Benjamin a grin as he tried to free his arms from the sleeves.

‘I might need a second coffee.’

Benjamin giggled softly, but the urge to keep giggling was hard to repress when he watched, and realised Actor couldn’t get his arms free! Actor grunted as he tried to ease his biceps out of the sleeves, but the silk wouldn’t budge and he certainly wasn’t going to be rough and risk ripping it! Actor grunted, wriggling from every angle, trying to ease his fingers under the fabric to loosen it… but nothing worked. After a few moments Benjamin smiled, a fond glimmer in his eyes.

‘Would you like some assistance, sir?’

Actor was clearly embarrassed, but he nevertheless nodded and sat at the end of his bed. Benjamin sat by him once more and went about trying to loosen the material around his arms without damaging it – it seemed to be clinging tight to his muscles, which Benjamin couldn’t help but look at with barely hidden admiration. An admiration that Actor noticed, and found very enjoyable.

‘See something you like?’

He said with a smirk, and his words made Benjamin go beet red as he suddenly stuttered.

‘Wha– no, I– well I mean… um–’

‘Relax. You can look as much as you like, I don’t mind.’

Actor laughed, making Benjamin blink with endearing confusion.

‘Really?’

‘Of course! I find it very flattering.’

He winked, coaxing yet another shy grin from the butler. Actor’s confidence never ceased to amaze and impress him, and for a moment all Benjamin could do was gaze at him… which meant he lost his concentration, just for a moment. So his fingers, which had been trying to ease the sleeves off Actor’s arms, slipped down and brushed into Actor’s armpits. Actor let out a poorly muffled gasp, and he flinched. Benjamin noticed and his eyes went wide, immediately worried he was in some kind of discomfort.

‘Sir, are you alright?’

‘Yes fine.’

“Are you sure, did I hurt you?’

‘No I’m fine.’

‘But… you flinched–’

‘I just got a little chill.’

Actor insisted, clearing his throat a little as he painted on a charming smile… and yet Benjamin could see that underneath, there was something nervous brewing on his face. Benjamin glanced down to where his fingertips had nudged, where they still hovered in fact, and a very curious thought entered his head. Could he be? No… but… what if he was? Benjamin knew he shouldn’t dare. He knew he’d likely receive the king of all punishments… but he just had to try it. With a little smile on his face, he fluttered his fingers in Actor’s hollows, and the man flinched away with a surprised giggle.

‘Hey!’

‘Oh my… you’re… you’re ticklish!’

Benjamin was beyond delighted, whilst Actor was beyond mortified. Now Benjamin had started, he just couldn’t help himself. He kept his fingers fluttering in Actor’s hollows, which he couldn’t protect thanks to his damn gown trapping his arms! He yelped, immediately trying to wriggle away as he spluttered.

‘Heyheyhey nohoho gehehet ahahaway!’

Amidst his escape attempt he lost his balance, ending up on his back on the bed – Benjamin eagerly took advantage, kneeling over him from above as he continued to stroke and tease his armpits, giggling.

‘I must say this is very adora–’

‘Ihihif you fihinish thahat wohord I’ll throhow yohou in aha feheather pit!’

Benjamin blushed a little, but at this point he’d really just throw caution to the wind. He upgraded his flutters to scratches now as he grinned.

‘Adorable.’

Actor let out a little shriek at the feeling of Benjamin’s blunt nails swirling in his hollows, sending little ticklish shocks all the way down his spine and bringing out a stream of cackles from him. All he could do was kick his legs fruitlessly as his arms remained stuck in the stubborn silk, despite Actor’s struggles.

‘IHIHI’LL GEHET YOHOU FOHOR THIHIHIS!’

Actor could feel the heat building in his cheeks, a sign of embarrassment which was an incredibly rare look on the man. Benjamin felt his tummy flutter at the sight, and he giggled cheekily.

‘I didn’t know you already put on rouge this morning… or is that natural?’

Actor felt his face getting even hotter – he didn’t know what was more flustering, the words themselves or the fact that it was Benjamin saying them. He was so used to the man being meek and sweet and shy and so easy to tease… he hadn’t fathomed that Benjamin had this kind of side to him. And, honestly… he didn’t dislike it. Actor attempted to growl, but his giggles drowned out any hope of intimidation as Benjamin just tickled on and on and on.

‘YOHOHOU’RE A LIHIHITTLE SHIHIT!’

‘Sir, that’s not very nice!’

Benjamin retorted with a faux gasp. The butler had never really had a natural inclination for drama or sarcasm, but being with Actor for so long had meant some of that attitude had rubbed off on him over the years. Benjamin dragged his fingers down Actor’s midriff until he reached his soft sides, scratching playfully – a tickle which, much to his delight, made Actor snort.

‘AH­–nononohoho nahahat thehehere!’

‘Aww you’re so soft here, does that tickle?’

‘Whahat the hehehell doho yohohou thihihink?!’

Benjamin giggled at the retort, and playfully pinched at the man’s sides as he beamed down at him.

‘Well now, someone got out of the sassy side of the bed this morning!’

Actor snorted even more as he wriggled about, still unable to free himself from his own clothing as he tried to muster a glare – it was half-hearted at best.

‘Juhuhust yohohou WAHAIT uhuntil Ihi gehet my hahands ohohon yohou!’

Benjamin felt butterflies surge in his tummy at that comment, his head going to a rather flustering place – to his relief though, Actor was too distracted by the tickling to notice. Benjain used his thumbs to massage the dips of Actor’s sides now, making the man jolt and yelp amidst his giggles as Benjamin replied with a grin.

‘You need to get your hands free first.’

‘Shuhuhuhut uhuhuhup!’

Actor retorted, getting more and more embarrassed that he felt like he was going to combust at any moment! Sure he’d been tickled before but never by Benjamin… and let’s just say that it was hitting a little bit differently. Seeing his playful smile, hearing his teases, feeling his tickly touch – it all made Actor’s heart race with more than just embarrassment. There was joy. There was… love. Now, Benjamin’s fingers snuck down to tease against Actor’s prominent hips, all while the butler beamed playfully.

‘Dear oh dear, do I need to teach you some manners?’

Benjamin’s heart was full of love too. Seeing Actor like this was something he never could have fathomed, and yet here he was. Somehow looking even more handsome and bright and vibrant than he ever thought possible. Benjamin relished in the squeal that scratching at Actor’s hips brought out, and the butler just couldn’t stop giggling at the whole thing.

‘BEHENJAMIN IHI SWEHEAR TO GAHAHAD!’

‘What? Is there something wrong?’

‘IHIHI WIHILL EHEHEND YOHOHOU!’

‘Well if you do that you won’t have a butler, then where will you be?’

Benjamin retorted, his tongue poking out through his teeth as he grinned and used his thumbs to rub circles against his hipbones. The motion made Actor wriggle and cackle in what sounded like every pitch known to man! Actor’s cheeks were starting to ache from all his smiling as he continued trying to roll about to escape.

‘AHAT LEHEAST IHI WOHON’T BE BEHEING TOHORTURED!’

Benjamin grinned fondly, as always loving how the man could make everything dramatic. But then Benjamin’s eyes went wide… as he saw a mass of red silk shoot across the bedroom. Thanks to Actor struggling just enough at just the right angle, he’d freed his arms from the garment. Benjamin’s breath hitched as he watched Actor realise he was free… and grin wolfishly. Benjamin squealed when Actor pounced on him, pinning him onto the messy bed effortlessly as Benjamin started babbling.

‘Wait wait sir I’m sorry I–’

‘Hush.’

Actor’s tone was playfully stern, which made Benjamin gulp. His wrists were now pinned above his hand, and with his free hand Actor stroked Benjamin’s cheek… which swiftly went very, very red.  Actor’s grin widened when he saw it, and when he spoke his tone was soft, and a tad breathless.

‘There are very few I would allow to get away with what you’ve just done…’

Benjamin shivered shyly, and then felt his heart flutter at what Actor said next.

‘Lucky for you I like you… I always have.’

The whisper sent even more butterflies through Benjamin’s system, almost making him speechless. Almost.

‘I’ve always liked you too.’

Actor’s heart, in a moment of rareness, actually fluttered in his chest, and his grin softened into a genuine smile. Another rarity. Actor leaned in slowly, and pressed a gentle kiss to Benjamin’s forehead, before murmuring tenderly.

‘My dear Benjamin…’

Benjamin felt like he was melting from the affection as he looked up at Actor, feeling like the dreams he’d had for so long were finally real. Then his heart raced when he saw Actor’s smirk return with full mischief.

‘Now… I think it’s only fair I reacquaint myself with your tickle spots, wouldn’t you agree?’

Benjamin had burst into giggles before Actor even touched him, and when he did it sparked more joy in Benjamin than he even thought was possible to feel all at once. The same joy shone in Actor to as he, like Benjamin, relished in the warmth, the laughter, the joy… and the love.

WOOOO HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID WOOO LUV YOUS!!

[whitesuitdarkiplier]

Dark prompt here for you:

Like AHWM, dark finds out how to get to the reader in ISWM, and tries to convince them that mark is no good. Maybe its a jump through a wormhole that turns black and white and has the blue and red hues? Idk lol

I was so emotional writing this gah 😩 but I love it. I hope you enjoy it!

With a sucking whoosh the Captain finds themselves once again inside the paradoxical power of the wormhole, plunging towards another universe, another story, another chance to choose their fate and the fate of the Invincible II. One can only imagine the wild wacky worlds that await them on the other—

The Narrator’s voice ceases, and you can’t help but be grateful. You were getting tired of having another voice in your head. You are hurling towards two portals, both impossible choices. How could you possibly know which one was correct? It was all left to random chance! It was unfair, it was rigged!

But before you can make this choice, the two portals converge before your eyes. You don’t have enough time to react as you are involuntarily pulled in. The normal electric blue and white spirals of the wormhole change. Swirls of red and cerulean mingle all around you, time itself glitches, and a loud ringing surrounds you, piercing your ears. What was happening? This was unlike anything you’d experienced yet in this never ending nightmare, which as both terrifying and relieving.

You crash into a void, black as space and just as cold, but you’re not spinning to your death as you had in other timelines. You could stand and breathe, looking around you for any sign of life.

“I couldn’t give you a choice this time.”

A form glitches into existence. A man in a white suit. Mark? He looks so much like him, but there’s something deadly in his eyes. He’s poised like a predator ready to strike.

And yet…he’s familiar. A spark of recognition alights old, dusty memories. You can’t piece them together yet, but you know, somehow, you and this man have met before.

“I almost didn’t break through,” he said, “He has constructed quite the story this time and put you through the ringer. Right, Captain?”

His words were strange and confusing, not mixing well with the remaining vertigo. He must have noticed this because you see his mouth tighten and jaw set.

“How many times have I repeated myself?” He says, taking a step closer. You backpedal, but you know there’s no where for you to go.

“How many times have we met,” his anger grew, the glitching around him increasing, the ringing behind his words pierced your ears. Your vision was blurry. There were several of him surrounding you voices coalescing, and then they vanished. It was as if his barely maintained shell was cracking.

“How many times have I ripped this facade apart for you?!”

A red flashing after image of him screaming, his hands curled like talons, eyes black appeared next to him. The next moment he’s right in front of you, shaking with rage.

“And yet every time you are as clueless as before about this game he’s playing!”

As suddenly as it happened, the violent glitching and ringing disappeared. He’s standing where he was again, straightening his tie, his wrath stuffed back into his shell. Your fear wakes you up.

Dark. You’re friend, your enemy. The villain of the story.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’ve simply given in. If your lost memory is a choice you make to keep living this lie.”

Emotions stir inside you. Joy and confusion and anger mixing and intoxicating you. You tremble, fists clenched at your sides. It all hits you at once like an unforgiving tidal wave. Words explode from you, tears stinging your eyes.

“You left me!”

He stares at you, his face solemn.

“I thought it best for your protection.”

“Bullshit!” You scream, “You said we were in this together. You promised!”

“I didn’t know how much control he had! I thought I could leave you safe in the mirror, safe from him until I could end him myself,” he glitches again, “I was coming back for you! Don’t you see how he’s using you?!”

“At least he’s been with me all these years!” You cry, “All these endless cycles…and all you could manage was interrupting the plot before he dragged me back!”

Dark scowls, closing his eyes and turning his head from you. Tears freely roll down your cheeks. You wanted to hate him. You wanted to be angrier. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t. You loved him. And he loved you. He had to, or he wouldn’t have tried reaching you over and over again.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” he says softly.

You want to run to him. You forgive him. You’d forgive him a thousand times over.

“We played into his hands,” you say, defeated, “He got a sidekick and a villain.” You walk closer to him, staring sadly into his eyes, “I know you’re not Damien anymore. And I know you never will be again.”

His face twists, whether in anger or pain you don’t know.

“But you are still my friend. And I don’t care whether that’s wise or not.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, but there’s a hint of emotion. Something of your best friend still lingering. You almost reach out to touch him, but you hear the unmistakable forming of a new wormhole behind you, feeling it’s irresistible pull. Time is up. Dark glares at the wormhole, a sign that Mark is calling you back to him, calling you back to the adventure at hand.

You manage a soft but sad smile as you and Dark are pulled farther and farther apart. And just before the wormhole closes, and you can still see him, you say:

“I’ll see you later, old friend.”

[fgfluidity]

pincera (part 3)

Summary: pincera- Latin, ‘cup-bearer, one who mixes drinks’ || The private and intimate life of the house.

Pairings: Damien/DA, Celine/Mark, Celine/Will

Tags: Alcohol, Bootlegging, Adultery, WWI, Fights, implied Overserving, Abusive Parents, Autistic!Seer!DA

Parts: 1 | 2

find it on ao3 | donate to my kofi

@opprose @statictay @volbeast @otterlyinluv @flerpdederp @hapikiou (and if anyone else wants to be tagged lmk!

Of course, we know now that not all twins are strictly identical, veritable clones of one another and of the same sex. They don’t have to be the same sort of person in temperament, interests, style, or whatever else; a pair of twins can be as opposite as the poles of a magnet, with only the circumstances of their birth enough to tell you otherwise.

This is the case with Damien and Celine, but even then… many would be hard-pressed to believe them on it.

They don’t look much as all alike. Celine is shorter, small enough of frame to be considered slight, and a good deal paler than her twin, despite the same lineage. For his part, Damien rests at the shorter side of average, but maintains a broader, stronger figure than that of at least one of his friends-- he could never match up to Wil, even if he wished it, but Mark’s no challenge.

Her father’s coloring with her mother’s features, and his, the exact opposite.

She dresses in flowing, deep color, and his favor rests with the straight lines of a nicely-tailored suit.

She holds a taste for the macabre, the mysterious, and he busies himself with the mundane and realistic.

She’s the braver, the bolder, the more outspoken of them both, and Damien…

Found it much more of a struggle.

The air is tense. It rests heavy in the ornate dining room, the singular sound of cutlery sawing through meat and vegetables bouncing off the cavernous walls, coming back to him.

Celine, across from him, almost seems bored, methodically cutting apart her meal as if, a scant thirty minutes ago, she and her father hadn’t been nearly at blows. Still, she resolutely isn’t looking at any of them-- it has to be affecting her somehow, he just knows it.

His mother, at the foot of the table, says nothing. It’s regrettably her default state, these days, but with the energy radiating from her partner at the opposite end, feet interspersed with various dishes, he must wonder if it’s self-preservation or fury that stills her tongue.

He can’t make himself look down towards his father. Celine can rage and act aloof all she likes, but he can’t bring himself to lie-- he’s very frightened of the man. He’s held the power for years on end, over both this city and his own family, and if Damien’s ever going to get out from under his thumb-- unlikely-- it’s certainly not by rocking the boat, as it were.

His supper is an alright place to look, though, and he pays far too much attention to his fork and knife. Saw the meat, back and forth, but he can’t go too quickly; if he scrapes the plate, that jagged and earsplitting sound will equally split the tension in the air, and the aftermath won’t be pretty. Stay calm, stay polite, stay out of the way, and you just might make it through-- he’s learned that tactic quite well.

The dish of peas scoots towards him, and the tablecloth bunches. He doesn’t pay it too much mind-- he still has his own scoop sitting there, untouched, on his plate-- until it scoots again and several tiny peas spill over, stark green against white, one rolling to the edge of his plate.

He blinks at it a moment, the spell broken, and then looks up.

His mother places a bite delicately in her mouth in lieu of saying a word, but her eyes flick from his plate to him-- once, twice.

It may be difficult, out in the world, but his mother’s non-verbal communication has never escaped him-- likely through necessity. The bite he’d been sawing away at has come free, sitting on his fork; likely, any futher action would bring about that awful shriek he’s trying to avoid. Thankful for her help, he brings it to his own mouth.

Salty, savory, well-cooked-- it’s enough to stir his appetite all over again.

“Tomorrow, I’ll be making a call to that school.”

At once, his father’s voice turns the flavorful food to ash and dust in his mouth, and he struggles to swallow around the sudden dryness of his throat.

To her credit, Celine doesn’t start at that, retaining her disinterested expression as she expertly slices up more of her meal. “You’re free to do so, but I won’t be going. Like I said.”

“You will.” His voice comes as a roll of thunder down the table, a warning, and the hair standing up on the back of Damien’s neck could just as easily be from the lightning as it is from fear. “I’m trying to make something of the two of you, and you’ve been resistant at every turn. It ends now, Celine.”

“No, it won’t.” She looks up at him, finally, her eyes cool. “I want nothing to do with politics or any such thing. I have my own passions worth following, thank you.”

Damien keeps his eyes firmly on Celine, but he can’t stop from flinching as his father’s chair scrapes back from the table; he doesn’t need to look to know he’s looming over the end, dark and terrible.

“I’ve had enough of this,” he seethes. “You have to, because at the very least I can make something of you, unlike your brother--”

In an instant, the thunder ceases, the crackling electricity falling out of the air, as everyone in the room simply stares.

Celine, face twisted in barely-restrained, icy fury, sets down her newly-emptied water glass so hard that it cracks from the crystalline base. “I don’t have to do anything,” she hisses. “I’m leaving, and good riddance. Clean yourself up-- you have a meeting tomorrow, Father, and you really don’t want to miss this one.”

She whirls away, frosty air and an unsettling silence left in her wake, her shoes echoing down the polished hall until, finally, the slam of a door silences them.

Damien swallows hard and chances a look at his father.

He doesn’t make to move, but a tendon in his jaw twitches, eyes hard as flint, even as drops of water roll down his nose and off his chin. The thundercloud has stalled in place, headed off by the cold, but that can only last so long. It’ll come for him, eventually, like it always does.

But if she can just go, can just stand in the face of the thing that tore him down for years...

Before he can stop himself, he rises from his own chair, hardly worrying about the shriek against the tile. “I ought to go and follow her, see if I can… talk to her,” he explains, too full of nervous energy to quail before the look his father gives him. He swallows again, letting it course through him. “Water might ruin that tie. I would take her advice.”

The brief courage fails him, then, and he hurries off for the door, but not before he catches sight of his mother.

His mother, braving that storm every single day, even before they did. Who remained quiet and calm, because any push back might transfer more onto her children.

His mother, who gives him a smile just like his sister’s, because it was hers first: all-knowing, satisfied, proud.

He turns, and runs after his sister.

It’s easy enough to catch up with her; he has longer legs, and she hasn’t gotten very far. In fact, as he slows his jog under a gas lamp, she’s already turned to face him.

“I’m not coming back,” she says, matter of fact, eyeing him as if she expects him to try and change her mind.

The eyebrow she raises when he shakes his head makes him grin. It’s always fun to surprise Celine-- she always seems a few steps ahead of everyone else, though whether that’s through her machinations or some mystical ability, he can’t say. “I know you aren’t. I just wanted to talk to you, before…”

At that, she gives him the smallest smile, stance relaxing as she steps up beside him. “Sure. Come with me, little brother-- I need a drink.”

These days, it’s only proper to escort a woman after dark, but from the moment they step into the smoky bar, it’s very clear he’s the one being escorted; Celine strides in with a ripple of her lacy cape, paying no mind to the gentleman who raised their eyes to their intrusion.

They go back to whatever they were doing, but it leaves Damien a bit on edge as he picks out his barstool beside Celine.

He waits until she’s through ordering to speak up, the weight of her words truly settling in. “You’re leaving. For… good, this time, yes?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t look at him, keen eyes watching as the barkeep tosses the ingredients into a metal cup. “I thought you didn’t think I was coming back.”

“No, I do, and it’ll be good for you, it’s just…” The words remain lodged behind a knot in his chest, grappling with the idea that his sister will be gone. It isn’t until the drink-- some pale green thing in a frosty glass-- is in her hand that it loosens enough for him to speak. “I’ll miss you. I don’t know what I’ll do without you around to be the brave one.”

She eyes him behind the glass, savoring the drink for a few long moments. It feels like she’s reading deep into him, like no matter what, she’ll know everything about him. “You came after me.”

Damien frowns, confused. “Yes?”

“Against our father. You were scared to death all night, but you still came after me.” Finally, she smiles, something real and rare. “You’ll be the brave one, too-- you are.”

He doesn’t feel very brave, his stomach twisting in his middle at the thought of the strangers here, his angry father at home, university starting soon. Then again… “Well, I did say he’d ruin his tie if he waited any longer to change,” he starts, smiling himself as she chuckles. “By the way, about his meeting… does that have something to do with you?”

Celine snorts. “It takes no precognition to tell his awful manner was coming back to bite him, someday. I’ve heard people talking. It just seemed now was the time they might finally take the chance.”

“So, you aren’t actually magic?” He teases.

She smiles, her self-satisfied smile. “I didn’t say that. College will be very good to you. Here,” she continues, holding out her drink. “Try it. It’s better than the champagne.”

He does, because he knows university is rife with the stuff, and his sister won’t steer him wrong. It’s sharp, cold enough to sting, but under the zest is something sweet.

He raises the glass in salute to her, and she leaves it raised when she takes it back. She’s not going away forever, not completely, but in the meantime, he’ll take on the world. Just like she would.

--------

Gin Gimlet

--

50ml/2oz gin

25ml/1oz lime cordial

or 25ml/0.5oz each lime juice and simple syrup

Add ingredients to shaker with ice. Shake sharply and return to frosted martini glass.

Deceptive in its seeming simplicity, a sharp and tart drink, best served ice cold. Not the sweetest around, but strong enough to put you under-- if you aren’t careful.

[buc-eebarnes]

at the bottom of a bottle

Day 1 of Whumptober 2023. For the prompt "How many fingers am I holding up?"

pairing: damien & the colonel (gen)

tags: pre-wkm, whump, drunkenness, minor injuries, light angst

rated T || 1162 words

“Y’nag like Celine, y’know,” William mumbled. “Nag, nag, nag, but y’care. Must be a twin thing.” Damien’s brows furrowed. “I guess so.”

read on ao3!

[weirdlyhornyforegos]

Kinktober Day 7 - Sensory deprivation & temperature play

MINORS DNI!!!! Day 7 of Kinktober is: sensory deprivation//temperature play - Actor X gn!reader. This was a very interesting and fun one I must say :3 Also posted on AO3 Kinktober masterlist is here

Wordcount: 1k+

Tags/warnings: bondage, temperature play, sensory deprivation

Arms and legs bound, there is nothing you can do while you lay on the satin sheets. You can’t even look or listen, the soft blindfold and the noise canceling headphones makes sure of that.

All you can do is wait.

Wait for Actor to do something, whatever that might be. You should perhaps feel vulnerable strung out on display like this, but you don’t. You trust the man too much.

The only thing you’re feeling is expectant, perhaps mixed with a little bit of impatience.

You shift your hips the little you can while being tied down, and suddenly there is a light touch to your hips, fingers urging you to still. So you do, once more waiting for something to be done.

You don’t have to wait long, the ice cube that lands on your stomach making you let out a little gasp and shiver. You can’t hear it, but you can imagine Actor chuckling as the ice cube is picked up, gone for a few seconds before it starts making a path over your skin.

It’s cold, almost stings against your own heated skin at first, but quickly changes to a soothing feeling as it trails all over your skin, Actor’s deft fingers steering its path.

It leaves a nice trail of water behind, making an easy path for Actor’s tongue to follow as the ice cube is used up. His warm tongue is such a nice contrast to the cold that was just there, and you try to move up against him, but a hand pressing down on your abdomen keeps you in place.

Pleasure pools in the abdomen, the different sensations making it heavy and needy. Your arousal must be obvious to Actor, but for now it seems like he pays it no mind. His tongue leaves you, but you’re not left alone for long, as another ice cube appears, but now in the middle of your chest.

It draws another shaky breath from your chest with its coldness, and you can only lay there and feel as it makes its way over your skin in a similar pattern as before. When it makes contact with one nipple, you can’t help but shiver as Actor circles the ice cube around it a few times.

He moves the ice cube over to your other nipple, making sure he trails it against your skin all the way there instead of simply lifting it over.

As the second nipple gets circled by the ice cube, your first gets enveloped with the heat of his mouth. Once more you try to move up against him, the contrast of the two temperatures is so good that you can’t help yourself, but once more you’re held down, even though you can only move so much in the first place.

You moan as he sucks the sensitive nub into his mouth, and you can feel him grin as you moan loudly. At least you think it’s loud, it's hard to judge your own volume with the headphones on.

The ice cube is removed fully in favor of him moving his mouth to your second nipple, this time giving a few broad licks as he gets it into his mouth.

Everywhere he touches you have turned into the most sensitive of spots, so when his hand brushes against your arousal, you almost scream with pleasure. Biting your bottom lips is the only thing that stops you from doing so, but after a few seconds light fingers gently tug it out from between your teeth.

You might not be able to hear Actor, but the message is clear.

So you let your mouth fall open, letting every noise fall out as his hands and mouth work over you in your personal darkness.

With how sensitive you feel, and how you can only lay there and take what attention he decides to give you, it doesn’t take much to get you close. Your arousal has steadily been building through all of this, the word slipping out of your mouth now being the first spoken ones (as far as you know) filling the room in a while.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum, fuck, I’m cumming, fuck, fuck!” You gasp as you tumble over the edge of your orgasm, Actor working you through it. You moan and shake, cumming the hardest you have in a while, and for a split second you’re glad no one else than Actor can hear how loud you are sure you are being.

As you shake through the last few moments of your orgasm, Actor’s mouth and hands leave you. You almost whimper again, but then the headphones are removed from your head, and a kiss is placed against your cheek.

“So perfect for me, my dear.” The rope around your wrists goes away next, allowing you to move your arms in front of you, giving yourself a good stretch as Actor works on removing the ropes from around your ankles.

“Would you like to remove the blindfold yourself or do you want me to do it?” You lick your lips, going for another stretch.

“You can do it.” Careful hands brush against your head, and you lift it up a bit so Actor can remove the blindfold with ease. You blink a few times against the low light of your bedroom, before focusing on Actor’s smiling face above you.

“Hi.” You say, and he moves a hand to brush against your cheek.

“Hi.” He offers in return. Your senses and feelings are begging to come back in full now, so you sit up as you speak.

“Here, let me- Oh.” You were about to offer something to get Actor of as well, but you’re met with the sight of his stomach covered in cum. He of course notices where your gaze goes, and smirks.

“What, you thought I wasn’t going to touch myself when my dearest were sounding and looking like that?” You huff as his smirk goes a little softer at the edges.

“I don’t even know what I sounded like....” He leans in, cupping your cheek.

“Divine dear, utterly divine.”

[d-ama-ien]

Header and icon updates for October! I like to celebrate Heist's birthday with the header representing all the egos. In the past I've generally gone with spooky Damien icons but I decided to do a Host edit for this year!

(This is the first time in the history of this blog that Damien has not been either my header or icon, and that I've used an ego other than Damien or Dark for the icon)

[haunt-the-house]

so I have a specific mayorattourny fic in mind but its very much based on my interpretation of the DA so I'm just wondering if I should use my DA's name or should I leave it vague so people can enjoy it as a x reader fic? (should add that it would be a he/him DA regardless, just because this specific fic calls for that)

(another note: the DA character I have is not a self insert!)

[celastapasta]

Quiet When I'm Coming Home and I'm on My Own

Whumptober 2023, Day 3

Prompts: Solitary Confinement | Words: 678

Summary: No. No, no, nonononononono. They can’t have- I can’t be-

The district attorney floundered forward, full-body slamming into the glass barrier between them and - Me, Damien, Celine, my body - their mind swirled, struggling to put a name to who was walking away from the mirror.

Check it out on ao3 or read on below!

No. No, no, nonononononono. They can’t have- I can’t be-

The district attorney floundered forward, full-body slamming into the glass barrier between them and - Me, Damien, Celine, my body - their mind swirled, struggling to put a name to who was walking away from the mirror. The cracked surface made it difficult to see properly out into the foyer of the manor, and they found as they desperately pressed against the cool surface the edges pricked and sliced their palms and cheek. William’s distressed voice echoed oddly from the other side.

“I’m here! I’m in here Will, I- Please!” The district attorney called out, their voice cracking. The shadows around them ebbed and melted and ate at the corners of the room and furniture, and they could feel them creeping up their back. They were tangible, perhaps even sentient, and it made them panic even more, banging their fist against the glass.

“Damien! Celine! Please don’t leave me in here! Come back!” They don’t know how long they stayed like that, screaming for the twins and the colonel, even Mark, but their cries became few and far between when their throat became hoarse and near swollen.

“I trusted you,” they sobbed, the finality of it finally getting to them. The district attorney slid down to the floor and curled around themself - hands bloody and throat aching - as the fact that they were completely and utterly alone seized them. The shadows took advantage of their defeat, crawling up over their feet and twining up their legs. The sensation was freezing, everywhere the shadows touched chilling them down to the bone. It made it difficult to move, but they found they didn’t want to. Better just to rot.

The grandfather clock on this side of the mirror didn’t work, the hands forever stuck at the time the twins abandoned them. The only source of light in the dark reflection of the manor was from the mirror above their head as if it were a window. The attorney took to measuring the time they were trapped by the way the square of light faded and grew each day at their feet. They gave up counting after the first four months. What was the point? No one was going to come for them.

And yet they still held out hope. Their ears strained for the strange, watery echoes of voices on the other side. They prayed that someday they would see the shadow of someone peering into the mirror. But nobody came. They were a fool for hoping, of course. Mark, Damien, Celine - they all used them, and why would William or the employees of the manor ever want to come back to this hellhole?

The DA’s mind frayed - eaten apart by shadows and loneliness. Sometimes they were certain they heard voices and they would shoot to their feet, nails scraping against the glass as they tried to catch a glimpse of whoever it was. They’d shout their voice raw all over again. But they’d never see anyone, and no one answered their calls.

The reflection of the manor decayed with the house over the decades - the windows to the outside broken but opening out into a void, furniture becoming waterlogged and covered in cobwebs - but it was impossible for the district attorney to change anything. They couldn’t move the shadowy tables or benches an inch. They couldn’t break anything in their anger as their heart squeezed and shattered. Even their prison acted like they weren’t there.

They don’t know how long it had been since that fateful party. Months, a couple years, decades. After a while the deep, smothering sadness twisted and turned into something malevolent. Something hateful. They needed to get out and make the twins pay by any means necessary. It was only fair, and they’ve given them a lifetime to prepare.

And then the perfect opportunity came in a voice full of pity and smugness that pierced through the dense shadows of the mirror.

“Oh, my dear friend, what have they done to you? It’s not fair, is it?”

[effloradox]

everyone i know (goes away in the end)

wilford warfstache x da!reader, darkiplier x da!reader, set post-WKM

Sometimes it's hard to be around Wilford. Everyone who lives in the Manor is of the same opinion in that respect, it's actually one of the few things that everyone can agree on. The moustachioed man has good days, and sometimes great days, but he's also occasionally privy to very, very bad days (as are all of the egos though). It comes as no surprise given everything he's been through, but his habit of disappearing for extended periods of time without warning or explanation worries everyone, including Dark even if he'd very rarely admit it.

It's only happened a few times since you started your residency at Markiplier Manor several years ago, but every time it happens it sends you into a nervous spiral. Logically you know that nothing too bad could happen to Wilford without Dark or The Host knowing, and there's no way it would be kept a secret if something did happen, but it still keeps you up at night sometimes when he's been gone longer than you all consider normal for one of his usual disappearances.

Everyone in the Manor knows your history with the pink-haired reporter, and the two of you's shared history with Dark (or as you initially knew him, Damien and Celine), so you understand why, when Wilford appears back in the grounds of the Manor in a frantic state after being gone for almost a month, it's you that's called for to check up on him and welcome him back home so to speak.

It's not the first time he's been greeted back to the Manor by an old friend (and it definitely won't be the last) but you wish it looked like he remembered any of the last times this had occurred, or indeed that he remembered you. You also wish he wasn't frantically waving a gun around at anything that moved, but as you started to move closer to him, you were honestly more concerned of him accidentally shooting himself than you.

"Wilford?" It's hard to approach slowly enough to not worsen his panic whilst fighting your own growing anxiety that if you don't get close enough to him then something bad is very likely to happen to one of you. You have no doubt that back inside the Manor, the other egos have been gathered together, with The Host no doubt live-narrating what's going on so that if something does happen, everyone is more than ready to intervene.

That knowledge is doing little to comfort you though as Wilford's focus seems to snap to you once you softly utter his name. He starts to shake his head upon seeing you, and his actions suddenly get that bit more frantic.

"No, no. You're not real. You're dead. I-" A strangled sob seems to halt his line of thinking for a moment, and you feel like you don't have the words to explain how heartbreaking it is to see him like this. "I killed you."

"Wil, I'm right here, I'm okay." You put your hands up to show you're not a threat and slowly try to walk towards him, but stop when he backs away from you and points the gun at your approaching form.

"Stay back! You're just another trick! You're all gone, you all left me behind! You, Celine, Damien; you all left me behind!" It's an uncomfortable situation to find yourself in. The memories of what happened at that fateful party all those years ago still haunts you, it still haunts everyone who was present. Your death was traumatic to say the least, but you've always felt more sorry for Wilford regarding that night than yourself. Maybe that's why you think about walking towards him consequences be damned, if Abe can survive a bullet to the heart then what's to say you can't too? Maybe he didn't fully load the gun before teleporting back to the Manor so he wou-

"Wilford." Dark's voice comes from behind you, and it's no surprise that you jump at his sudden appearance. You're thankful for it nonetheless. Maybe The Host sensed that you'd not improve Wil's condition if your mind continued down that spiral and thought a tougher intervention was required. At any other time you'd turn to face your de facto leader, mainly in relief that you're no longer dealing with this nightmare of a situation by yourself, but right now it feels impossible to tear your eyes away from Wilford in case he acts.

"Damien?" You can't help but notice the flicker in Dark's aura at his old name, but aside from that, he gives no indication that anything is out of the ordinary. Seeing Dark seems to settle Wilford if only slightly and when the gun is no longer being pointed in your direction, you deem it appropriate to step forward once more, remembering what you were sent out here to do.

"See Wil? We're fine. Come inside with us."

"But I saw you die. Both of you died! When will you stop haunting me?" It's only when you see Dark's calm facade start to crack that it occurs to you that you've never seen Wilford this bad before and from his reaction you're assuming he's thinking the same thing. He's had bad days, but he's never outright denied you and Dark still being alive. It makes you think that Actor had something to do with this event, that the man has somehow twisted Wilford into believing his delusions. Wilford’s connection to the present is…fragile at the best of times, it has been since the poker night but this is uncharted waters for all of you.

“Old friend, that was a long time ago. We're all safe now. Just come inside Wil, we can discuss this further in my office." The lack of distortion when Dark speaks feels strange; he sounds…human, more human than he has in years (maybe even decades). It surprises you, and it must have a similar reaction for Wilford because the manic look that's been in his eyes since he showed up slowly starts to fade away and the frantic energy that's clung to him dissipates almost instantly.

Wilford slowly looks more aware of his surroundings and the gentle nod of his head to Dark's proposition is the only sign you need to walk up to him and pull him into a hug. His arms wrap around you instantly and the shudders that start to come from his body as he begins to cry into your shoulder break your heart. It takes everything in you to not start crying too as you start combing your fingers through his hair and tighten your other arm around his waist.

It's the second pair of arms surrounding the two of you that jolts you out of your thoughts, and the brief eye contact you make with Dark when you look away from Wilford that makes you understand the implications of tonight's events. The Actor's planning something for sure, and at some point in the future you'll have to confront Wilford about where he disappeared to for the last month. But for now, the three of you remain outside in a tight embrace, the only sound to be heard is Wilford's crying and constant repetition of the fact he's sorry he forgot the two of you.