mrs-hyperfixed-writes

[mrs-hyperfixed-writes]

If you're still taking requests, what about a reader that has loved Actor Mark since childhood but knew he loved Celine. Years later at one of their classic mansion parties y/n drunkenly confesses to Mark(seeing him as Damien) and going on about a daydream of the two of them cuddling under the stars on the balcony. Like real soft shit.

Mark, to his surprise, feelings the warm and fuzzies? If this is a lot or something feel free to ignore this ^_^' Thanks for considering and I hope you have a swell day/evening/night!

Wow, I really just didn't get to this for like over half a year huh? Sorry 😅.

This was not a good night. You weren’t fond of crowds on the best of days, and you weren’t fond of Celine any day. When you had accepted Mark’s invitation to another party at the manor you had been looking forward to it. You cherished these moments with friends. When it was just your close knit group together drinking and laughing. You also enjoyed absolutely wiping the floor with them whenever the group sat down to play poker. Mark was always so sure that the next round would be the round he beat you, and every time you fleeced him for all he had. You smiled at the memory of a game of strip poker.

But tonight, it seemed as though the Actor had a different kind of party in mind. Several other big name actors had been invited, along with countless movie director’s, producers and script writers. Not to mention all the millionaires that Mark had invited. Whenever a party like this went down, it was usually an excuse to flaunt wealth and sweet talk people into handing out job opportunities. Why he had felt the need to invite you to a party like this, you didn’t know. Maybe he just liked having you there. After all, you couldn’t be too mad at him when his own brand of charm laced with arrogance had slipped from his face when he saw you walk through the door, instead being replaced with a look bordering on soft.

You had to admit though, Mark did look like he was in his element here. His charm practically oozed off of him, and the dazzling smile he gave those around him was like a reel that pulled in crowds. That smile always had your insides twisting in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Well, it wasn’t unpleasant until you took note of Celine hanging off of his arm.

Celine. Your best friend’s twin sister and the love of your life’s wife. She wore a smile of her own, though it seemed forced. You wondered if anyone else noticed that she would rather be anywhere else. Initially you had thought that maybe she hated crowds too, but you saw the way her eyes drifted over the sea of heads. As if she was looking for someone.

You downed your champagne, signalling for Benjamin to bring you another.

You didn’t care for Celine. But you loved Mark. Good god did you love him so intensely and for so long that at times it was unbearable. How could you not love him when all of your most pleasant memories had been of playing childhood games where he had come to save you from the dastardly villains, of whispered confessions under blankets at sleepovers, of embarrassed faces and fits of giggles after quick first kisses under a big oak tree after Damien had dared you. You doubted he remembered any of that.

But you did.

Damien had confessed once, and you had let him kiss you. But there was nothing. Not even when you closed your eyes and imagined Mark in his stead. He had been good-natured about it and hadn’t let any of his unreciprocated feelings come between your close friendship at the very least. You were very glad of it, you didn’t think you could bear the loss of him as a friend.

You had wanted Mark so badly. But Mark had wanted Celine. And initially it had seemed as though she had wanted him too. So you put aside your feelings, smiled and congratulated them at the wedding even when it felt as though your heart was being ripped out of your chest. Damien had noticed, because of course he had. But you couldn’t tell him that you were in love with his sisters husband, so you had blamed it on the drink and excused yourself from the festivities, opting to go home and curl under the covers with your cat. You knew he hadn’t believed you, but he had left it at that.

You had tried distractions. Tried drunken rough nights with strangers at bars and sober gentle evenings with people that had asked you to dinner. But the relief was temporary. And then after a while there was none at all.

You had gone through three more glasses of champagne while you remembered. Looking at the way Mark smiled at Celine had you grabbing for a fourth.

The night marched on, the drinks piled up, and eventually you had lost track of where everyone was. You spied Damien across the room talking to a group of people before excusing himself. You followed him, leaning one hand against the wall so that you didn’t fall on your ass in front of all these pretentious rich pricks. You were the District Attorney for god sake! Surely you could handle a bit of sadness induced drinking.

Where had Damien gone?

You heard the back door slam. You moved towards the garden.

You flung the door open hard enough that you feared that it may shatter as it smacked against the wall. Damien flinched, dropping a lit cigarette. Which you found quite strange, since Damien didn’t smoke.

“Damien!” you slurred, moving away from the door frame to reach out for him.

Your legs got tangled up amongst one another instead, and you went careening forward with your arms outstretched. You didn’t hit the ground though. Instead your face collided with something warm, strong arms encircling you to keep you upright. Damien had caught you. He smelled different tonight. It was nice. You snuggled your face even deeper into his chest, your own arms coming up to wrap around him.

“(Y/n), what-” he started, his voice laced with amusement and a hint of confusion.

That sounds like it would be a good drink. Amusement with a hint of confusion. You got the impression it would taste like lemon.

“I don’t like it there. There’s too many people. And I don’t like looking at them.”

“Who?” he asked as he untangled you, instead leading you towards an outdoor bench to sit down.

You leaned against him heavily as soon as you were both seated, wrapping both of your arms tightly around the one you were leaning against, making escape for him all but impossible. He tensed up slightly before relaxing fully. Damien should have been used to this sort of clingy treatment, considering he was the one who always took care of you when things went too far.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you, my friend.”

“(Y/n) maybe-”

You shushed him with a finger that was aimed for his lips and instead landed somewhere on his cheek. You poked it gently before the rest of the limb went back down to grip onto his arm like a snake.

“Mark was my first kiss you know. It was cute. I still think about it a lot.” You took another deep breath. “I wish things could have stayed like that between us, you know? I wish I could kiss him all the time. And seeing him with Celine hurts.”

You felt Damien’s arm go rigid in your hold. Understandable really, considering you had just confessed that you were in love with his sister's husband.

You gripped on tighter as your eyelids began to feel heavy. “He’s kind of an asshole I’ll admit. But he cares about us. And you know, when you peel back all that arrogance, he’s kind. And his ideas are always fun. I don’t think there’s ever been a time with him that I haven’t had the best time of my life. Well, except for tonight.”

You looked up to the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, and the stars twinkled like cosmic Christmas lights, albeit a bit blurry at this point. It was a beautiful night. The kind of night where you could sit and stare forever.

You pointed at one of the constellations, the name eluding you in the foggy haze that was your mind.

“He’s always in my thoughts. And you know what I want more than anything? A night like this. Warm, lying on a blanket on the balcony with some snacks laid out, where we can gaze at the stars together all night.

Damien took a deep breath, finally leaning into the embrace. He rest his head on yours, letting all the tension melt away.

“Why?”

“Hm?”

“Why do you want a night like that?”

You thought about it for a moment. Part of you didn’t want to say. You didn’t want him to laugh. But the other part of you wanted to let it out. Because truth be told, if you didn’t tell someone about your feelings then they were going to continue to stew and you would just get worse and worse until something tipped you over the edge.

“I love the stars. I look at them and wonder what it would be like to float among them. No cares. No worries. No responsibilities. And. . . I love Mark. And when I think about swimming in the space between stars, I imagine that he’s there with me too. And I think that nothing could be more perfect than that.” You took a deep breath. “But we can’t do that. So I want to lie with him, safe and warm and happy, and stare at how pretty they are.”

Sleep finally sunk its talons in, so you just clung onto Damien even tighter as you went under. *** You were practically dead to the world when Mark laid you down in one of the guest bedrooms. The party was still in full swing downstairs, and as he carried you up he had lost sight of his wife. The Colonel also seemed to be missing, an observation that made his heart bleed as daggers of betrayal pierced it.

He turned off the light as you snuggled under the covers, your socks and shoes removed and left haphazardly at the end of the bed.

You had confessed. And for once, the Actor had been rendered speechless. And Mark felt. . . warm? He remembered this feeling, a feeling that he had experienced when he had fallen in love with Celine and when he was so sure that she loved him back in her own special way. That fuzzy feeling in his chest that had made him feel like he was on cloud nine.

He hadn’t felt like that in a long time. Long before he had discovered that his wife was finding comfort and pleasure in the arms of his old friend. Long before he had realised that Celine and William took him for a fool and enjoyed humiliating him. He wondered if the affair was common knowledge. If everyone took him for a fool. If Damien took him for a fool.

He looked at the gold band on his finger before looking back to your sleeping body.

The ring had the name of him and his wife engraved on it, the year they were married alongside them. He slipped it off his finger. You’d made him feel more special in one evening than Celine had in years of marriage. So perhaps it was time to move on.

He looked down at you again and smiled.

#markiplier #who killed markiplier #actor mark #district attorney #actor mark x y/n #drinking #Parties #Drunk confessions #real soft shit guys #Actor mark/Y/n

[mrs-hyperfixed-writes]

Are You Single - 2

Tag List: @becomeunsolved @ambiguous-g @favorite-slytherin-weirdo @a-weirdperson @artist-bby

The reader makes their way through Castle Dimitrescu, encountering the Lady and her daughters. Heisenberg might just have to re-evaluate his opinion of you when you're the unexpected victor of the battles with them.

You had ran through the glorified saw trap, avoiding Lycans and giants alike as you listened to Heisenberg’s taunting. Evidently he was an asshole, but that didn’t seem to be stopping the butterflies in your stomach going mad at the way he spoke to you. Fear had briefly crawled up your spine when he had dropped the spinning log of spikes, blocking your exit and apparently sealing your fate. Thankfully there had been a crevice in the wall, big enough to drop your backpack down by your side and protect yourself. The only thing that took damage was the handcuffs. It had briefly occurred to you that it seemed a very convenient hiding space in an otherwise foolproof killing room.

You ended up back at the gate that you had been captured at, looking over your shoulder this time as you pulled the lever up. Not that you could do anything if Heisenberg or his overgrown sister decided to double check. It seemed unlikely that either of them would treat you to a meal, but you could hope. If you were being honest with yourself though, Heisenberg hardly screamed refined dining.

No, he seemed more like a man who would order a McDonalds or a Burgerking after he’d been working tirelessly all day on a machine in a tank top. All sweaty. . . you smacked yourself in the face, snapping yourself out of your fantasy. You needed to get a grip. Preferably around his throat or his-

You slapped yourself again.

You left through the gate, coming out to an unpleasant looking vineyard. Of course, Dimitrescu was far too high and mighty to get her hands dirty doing manual labour, and any staff that she may of had to maintain the vineyard were probably dead. You shuddered at the thought of so many deaths. You didn’t know any of those people, didn’t know anyone in this godforsaken village that had been put in the middle of nowhere except for the few that had just survived long enough to be brutally killed in front of you. No one would remember any of the dead. It was as if they never existed. And if you died here - which you likely would - you would likely not be remembered. Not with fondness anyway.

You were brought out of your dark thoughts by the sound of a man groaning and wood creaking. You looked up, and to your surprise found an old-fashioned wagon settled in front of the entrance to Castle Dimitrescu. The doors swung open, and someone all but rolled out. The man was massive, both in height and weight.

“I’ve been waiting for you, my friend,” he said with the attitude of someone who was excited to get down to business.

You stopped a couple of metres away, taking it all in. How was this man even alive? Then again, Dimitrescu was nine feet tall and she seemed like she was functioning better than most people. Especially given that the tallest man in history was nearly nine foot and died super young. You could come to terms with this mans existence in no time.

“Who are you? How do you know me?” You let the uncertainty show in your voice.

“Me? I am but a humble merchant,” he said as he rubbed his hands together. “And you’ve been the talk of the town recently! An unknown human outsider making their way through hordes of creatures with nothing but an axe and some second hand guns? Remarkable.”

You hated yourself for the light blush that crept up your neck at the compliment. You never blushed.

“What can I call you?”

“Ah, forgive my manners. You can call me the Duke. Your name please?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I already know it, but some people prefer to tell others their name rather than have the introduction stolen from them.”

You chuckled, deciding to bridge the few metres of distance. “(Y/n).”

“Pleasure. Now, would you like to purchase anything for the journey ahead? Medicine? Ammunition?”

“Can you tell me what’s happened here?”

“Ah, information. All I can tell you now is that Mother Miranda has seemingly abandoned the village she has spent a century ruling. Slaughtered the villagers.” He took a long drag of a cigar he had lit before releasing the smoke into the air. “It seems she’s done it for her daughter.”

“Her daughter? Dimitrescu? Or the woman in the veil?”

“Ah, Lady Donna. But no, neither of those are her real daughters. It’s doubtful she even considers them such. The same for her sons.”

Your thoughts drifted back to Heisenberg. Did he hate her for that? For not considering him her child? Questions for later.

“Then who?”

The Duke regarded you for a second. “Sell me those crystal skulls you’ve collected, make a purchase and find me in the castle, and perhaps I’ll know more.”

You blinked in surprise, briefly wondering how he knew that you had been collecting the crystallised remains of those Lycans. Truthfully you just thought they were pretty.

After selling the remains and buying yourself some extra ammo, as well as some of the strange medicine the Duke advertised that was supposed to encourage cell division, you nodded to him in thanks and turned to face the castle.

“Although I must say,” The Duke called out before you could make much progress, “why do you wish to go into that castle? You are a stranger. There is no stake in this for you.”

You took a deep breath. Why were you doing this? That beast under your skin wanted to answer. To find and tear them apart. For revenge for all the dead. To satisfy my own need for blood and pain.

Instead you said, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

You walked towards the doors.

***

The inside of the castle was. . . beautiful. Definitely a place a lady would live. Perhaps a place you would live in another life. It seemed as though everything was trimmed with gold, including the beautiful waist high vases decorated with beautiful women. The furniture was of the highest quality, the rugs and carpets plush enough to sleep comfortably on. They looked expensive enough to cost more money than you’d ever had in your entire life. You wiped your muddy boot on the rug you were standing on, leaving a dark smear.

The thing that drew your attention most of all was the portrait that dominated the opposite wall. Three women, admittedly indistinguishable from one another, sat in big dresses. The plaque identified them as the three daughters. Three daughters that loved entertaining foreigners.

A bad feeling overcame you, and you decided to tuck your handgun into your boot, regardless of the discomfort. You covered it with your jeans.

You pressed on until you came to a main chamber that had another set of double doors decorating the walls. A scream rang out, clear as day and stopping you in your tracks. The scream of a woman in terrible pain. Part of you thought that maybe you should try to find her, but something in you knew that it had been a death scream. The agonised scream of someone who wanted to live and was denied.

You swallowed, instead making your way to the double doors, wondering where they lead.

“Well, who’s this then?” an upbeat female voice asked.

You turned to look, and only found three swarms of flies buzzing closer. And right before your eyes, they materialised into three beautiful young women. The daughters. The first thought in your head was how the painting didn’t do any of them justice.

You didn’t even have time to take your gun out of your backpack before the woman on the left - a tall blonde with blood on her mouth - grabbed you by the throat and lifted you clean off the floor, slamming you against the door. She pressed her face closer to your shoulder and took a deep sniff. You shuddered against the feeling of her nose tickling your neck.

“Fresh blood,” she said, voice dripping with a desire that put you on edge.

“Mother says you have to share, sister,” said the redhead with a childish delight, the brunette nodding in agreement with a sadistic grin on her face.

That scream echoed through your head again. The blonde stared into your face, looking for the traces of fear that likely coated their usual victims. She was going to come up empty. You cleared your throat, looking down into beautiful but evil eyes that had probably been the last thing that so many had seen, and spit right in her face.

The grin on her face froze as the glob made contact with her cheek, and then dropped off altogether when her sisters roared in laughter, one of them doubling at the waist and clutching her stomach.

She threw you to the floor, tossing your backpack aside and growling at her sisters to silence them. You leaped towards it with the intention of pulling your shotgun out, deciding to keep the handgun a secret. But she grabbed a fistful of your hair, most of her materialising back into that swarm as she did so. She dragged you through the halls, her sisters flanking you. You clawed at her hand, but to no avail.

Another swarm got too close, a face materialising. The brunette. She ripped one of your arms off of where it was clawing at the hand that felt as if it was going to rip your scalp off. She held it up to her mouth and grinned. You didn’t even have the chance to scream as she sank her teeth into the side of your forearm, digging in deep. Then she pulled back, laughing. She hadn’t done it to feed, only to hurt you. The other sister came forward, her face materialising as well to lick up the blood that was leaking down your arm. She left little bites of her own up your arm. But these were more like love bites.

Suddenly they stopped, and the oldest released the grip on your hair, using her momentum to throw you into a wall.

“Mother,” she started, “I bring you fresh prey.”

Oh no.

You turned, out of breath from the hurt your body had suffered.

“You are so kind to me, daughters.” She took a deep drink of wine and rose from her chair. “Now, let's take a look at them.”

You didn’t get up from the floor, not having the energy or the stupidity to make a scene right now. Not as she fully turned and looked down at you.

“Well, well. A nobody with no name worth knowing or manners to speak of makes their way to my castle do they? Well, you escaped my little brother's idiot games did you? Let’s see how special you are.”

She beckoned to the blonde and the redhead. They each grabbed an arm, forcefully hoisting you to your feet. You squirmed a little, but their grip was like iron as they held up the arm with the bleeding bite mark. Lady Dimitrescu raised a brow and looked back at the remaining daughter.

“Cassandra? What did I say about waiting?”

Cassandra looked down at her feet, almost seeming to be ashamed. “Apologies Mother.”

Dimitrescu gripped you by the wrist and lifted you off the ground. You gritted your teeth. She closed her mouth over the wound and sucked. If you were being honest with yourself most of your blood at this point had either transferred to your face or. . .

It wasn’t important. But apparently you needed therapy.

She dropped you suddenly, and you couldn’t help the shout that escaped your lips when your knees made impact with the floor.

“Just as I thought, nothing special.”

“May we devour their flesh now Mother-”

“But I am the one who captured them-”

“Now, now girls. First I must inform Mother Miranda of Heisenberg’s failure. But soon there will be enough for everyone.” She turned to the blonde daughter. “Bela, take them to the dungeons and shove them in a cell.”

Bela grinned at you, seizing your hair again as she dragged you along, leaving the laughter of her mother and her sisters behind.

***

Heisenberg was fuming. Not that you had escaped his trap. To be perfectly honest there were several design flaws that he wasn’t going to admit to and he really couldn’t have cared less if you had exploited them to get away. If you were running through the village, then something was bound to get you eventually. That was what he had figured anyway.

No, Heisenberg was angry because that overgrown, egocentric, glorified vampire bitch had ratted him out to Mother Miranda. He could just imagine the smug way she had said it over the phone. That grin she would have. He wished he could have buried his hammer into her face.

Miranda had expressed her disappointment in him, not that he gave a shit. But it would likely mean that she would watch him for a while, at least while she had time to spare. Preparing that stupid ceremony would take her a few days at the very least. And in that time she could do anything.

He slammed his fist down on the table. With you in Castle Dimitrescu he couldn’t even entertain himself watching you scramble around the village. Couldn’t taunt you. And he didn’t want to risk working on his army, just on the off chance that Miranda caught wind.

He hadn’t even seen you before that confrontation in front of the castle gate, and he just assumed it was blind luck you’d made it that far.

He’d probably never know how you got on in the Castle, because there was no way you were leaving that place alive.

He looked at the yellow jar on his desk, tempted to just throw it and it’s contents into a pit of molten metal. It would be kinder to the kid than whatever Miranda had planned.

***

You had been shoved in the most stereotypical dungeon in the world. It was something straight out of some Frankenstein-ish novel. Bela had left, promising that she would come back soon to retrieve you for dinner. You had given her your most hate filled look, your eyes promising nothing but violence.

That must have been ten minutes ago, and you were furiously searching the cell. You had found a gap in the wall, and in it a crumpled sheet of paper. You straightened it out, beginning to read.

To whomever is trying to escape this place,

I hope this note will be of some assistance. You don’t know me but you will have to trust me if you want to survive.

First, you need to get out of this cell. Look around for the way, get on your hands and knees if you must.

Then, search for the thing you’ll need to

escape. It will be hidden where they’ll

least suspect, soaked in blood.

The rest of the note was illegible, at some point being soaked with dry blood. You hoped that whoever had written it had gotten out.

You took the notes' advice, getting on your hands and knees. There! Under the wooden board attached to the wall there was a hole that you could crawl through. You got on your belly and went through, ending up in the next cell. You tried the door, and to your relief it opened.

You took your gun out of your boot, preparing to go into the dungeon deeper for your way out.

***

Monsters had patrolled the dungeon. Horrible emaciated monsters that held swords. The first one you had encountered held a sword, and you shot it with glee, picking the sword up. A perfect chance to conserve ammo. It was in good condition too. You sliced and hacked your way through, making it to the second part of the dungeon. You could see the stairwell at the end. Your heart soared. At least until you had to wave a fly out of your face.

“I can’t believe Cassandra caused all this mess.”

Bela. Part of you wanted to turn around and fight her, but you were sadistic not stupid. Bullets against a swarm would be pointless. Instead you ran for the stairs, shooting up them until you came to an entrance that was boarded up. Because of course it was. You attempted to hack at the boards with the sword, but it was already too late.

“Where are you going little one?”

“Oh for fucks-”

You turned to be confronted by Bela, her white teeth stark against the drying blood coating the lower half of her face. She picked you up by the neck again, throwing you through the wooden boards. You lost the sword to the far wall, instead bringing out your handgun as she mounted you, desperately trying to inflict some damage on her even when you knew the bullets would be useless. She just laughed at you.

“Bullets cannot harm-”

CRACK.

You both looked off to the side, just in time to see a window shatter and let in all the cold air. She jumped off and you skittered back, getting to your feet. She was. . . solidifying, only a few lone flies breaking away from her before the cold killed them.

And she was angry.

“You stupid-”

You shot her.

She reeled back in pain, screeching. You smiled, and shot her again.

She charged at you, raising her sickle over her head to slice at you. You ducked away from her and grabbed your sword, swinging it to block her next swing. You kicked her in the stomach, putting some distance between the two of you. Then you shot her again. And again. You could tell that she was almost done. One more bullet or swing of the sword and she’d probably shatter.

You put your gun down on a table, the sword following it.

She was doubled over in agony for the moment, but she still managed to look at you with eyes filled with hatred. The perfect mirror of the look you had given her when she had tossed you in a cell. You laughed at her again, the sound ringing right through the room. You didn’t care if it could even be heard throughout the castle. The daughters had a weakness, and if they wanted to fuck around and find out how you could exploit it then that was their problem.

“It’s funny how things just switch around isn’t it?” You asked her between manic bursts of laughter.

You charged at her suddenly, tackling her to the ground. She wasn’t nearly as strong as she had been. She clawed desperately at your thighs, screaming again as the force she was using caused them to begin to crumble. It was childish, but you got a grip on her hair and pulled as hard as you could, laughing at the screams she made as cracks spiderwebbed down from her hairline down to her eyes. Then you reeled your fist back, gave her one final smirk, and punched her in the face. Her head practically exploded into pieces. You felt yourself drop to the floor as most of her crumbled. Except for one thing. The upper half of her torso had crystallized into something beautiful. You picked it up, wondering if the Duke would buy it.

***

As it turned out, the Duke had his own special room in the castle, and he did buy the torso and the sword. You also managed to retrieve your backpack. It turned out that that medicine was bordering on magical, as the only thing left of the horrible bite Cassandra had left was a scar. Even Daniela’s hickeys were gone.

To your chagrin, if you wanted to open those double doors in the hall you were going to need four masks. The Duke provided the first one, The Mask of Sorrow. He had winked at you, telling you that this would avoid another encounter with the Lady. But when you had asked for his explanation about the events in the village, he simply told you he didn’t have it all yet, but he would at your next encounter. You thought that was bullshit. But you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

And now here you were, reaching for the animal's skull off the wall, hoping that maybe it would have the solution to opening that grate without having to replace the mask.

“I was worried my sisters had gotten to you first.”

Fuck. You froze. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She was by the door. You looked around the room, desperate to find a solution. You had only narrowly escaped her getting into the room. Trying to get past her while stuck in here would be impossible. Then you felt it. A draft. There was a gap in the wall being concealed by a bookshelf. You moved it, looking around for Cassandra. She was still by the door, taking her sweet time getting to you. You examined the gap. There was no way this was going to be enough to petrify Cassandra. Then you remembered the weight in your pocket. You had picked it up in the dungeon. A pipe bomb.

You felt the air shift, and had just enough time to duck as Cassandra swung at you. Taking cover on the other side of the room, you threw the bomb and covered your ears. Cassandra screamed at the bite of the cold air, somehow being louder than the initial boom the bomb had made.

“You’ve ruined the hunt!”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you said happily. “I’m having tons of fun.”

You pointed the shotgun at her as she charged, unloading it into her face. She stumbled back. And you did it again, not giving her time to recover. The shotgun was much more powerful than the pistol had been taking care of Bela, so it wasn’t long before Cassandra was at the same stage Bela had been before you had killed her.

“I take it back. That was kind of disappointing. I thought you’d have more in ya.”

And you don’t know if she just realised she was dying, or if she just wanted to kill you so bad that she threw common sense out of the window, but she charged at you with her weapon raised. You didn’t even move out of the way, just caught he raised wrist and squeezed. It crumbled beneath your hands. She tried to hit you with her other wrist only for you to do the same thing.

“Mother!” She cried out with all the emotion of a scared little girl. “Mother!”

You grabbed her by the front of her dress, letting her see into your eyes. Letting her see the toothy grin you were giving her that was more like a snarl. The irony of the situation struck you. Whereas it would have been her eyes brimming with cruelty and madness before, now it was yours. But you had never been afraid. Not for one second. But she was. And it made you grin even wider.

She called out for her mother again as you dragged her to the wall. You kissed her on the nose, giving her a smile that someone might give a lover, and used all your innate anger and cruelty to shove the bitch against the wall.

She shattered, leaving behind only that crystallised torso.

***

His sister had said she would call Miranda when the outsider had been killed. Well, her words were dealt with properly. Emphasis on the properly apparently. Miranda was supposed to let the rest of them know when the outsider had decided to stop being a nuisance and finally bit the dust.

But no call came. From either of them. Hell, Heisenberg hadn’t heard a goddamn thing from anyone. So. . . was the outsider still alive?

He had to admit, he didn’t expect that.

Maybe he needed to change up his expectations.

***

“So you finally came to see me?”

The final daughter. Daniela. You would have preferred not to deal with her right now, given that her mother had just surprised you and evading her through her music hall had been no small task. She had been angry and seething with bloodlust. You supposed she had learned about the deaths of her older daughters. The fact that she had sent Daniela up against you after you had proved that they were practically useless against you wasn’t scoring Dimitrescu any good mother points.

You shot at the window above. But it refused to break, and the swarms had blocked the doors. You looked around, noting that on the other side, on one of the pillars was a handle.

“Everyone always falls for me.”

You ran around her, gripping the handle and swinging it down with all your might. She screamed in agony, running to get out of the direct frozen wind. To your dismay the handle slowly turned up. Who designed this?

She was running through the bookshelves, trying to hide from you. So deranged, but slightly smarter than her sisters it seemed.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why am I- Why are you doing this?!” you retorted.

You pumped the handle down again before chasing her, shooting her in the back. She darted around a bookcase, circling around you and trying to get the jump on you. But you were ready, giving her another one. You were beginning to get bored of these sisters.

“You three don’t really put up much of a fight do you?”

“I thought you loved me,” she snarled.

“What the fuck has that got to do with anything I just said?”

You shot her again. Then once more for good measure. You got up close and used the butt of your shotgun wo hit her in the stomach, forcing her back.

“I don’t wanna die,” she cried out, almost begging you not to go any further with the tone she was using.

“Well you know, neither did anyone in this village or this castle but shit happens I guess.”

You threw the gun down and got a grip on her throat, dragging her to the handle where you pumped it down again. Her attempts to get away from you and out of the cold were desperate, but you maintained that grip on her neck. Slowly, your grip tightened, and you thought you could see the beginning of tears in her eyes as cracks started to multiply on her throat. You did it slowly, savouring the way her throat gave under your hand. The window was nearly shut now. You blew her a kiss, then you balled your fist, crushing her throat completely.

The window shut.

***

“The entire bloodline of House Dimitrescu is done in by the likes of you?”

You smiled at her, even as she stalked you with her claws out. She had caught you while you were figuring out which mask went where. Luckily, being so big meant she was slow.

“Damn right it is.”

“Have much blood and sweat do you think it took to raise those daughter?” She swiped. “You have incurred an impossible debt!”

The genuine sadness and pain in her voice was something that might have swayed someone else, but not you. Not after the Duke had explained what those monsters in the dungeon had really been. Not when you knew the secret ingredient of that wine. Not when that scream rattled around inside your skull.

“What? You want me to feel sorry for you? Want me to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness while you slice me apart? How many daughters have you murdered and turned to slaves?” You slotted the third mask in before darting just out of her reach. “You didn’t consider how many fathers and husbands you bled dry in your dungeons. Your daughters deserved to die! You deserve to die! None of you get a free pass just because I’d have sex with you!”

She made a noise of disgust and sliced downwards, narrowly missing you. You darted to the last statue, putting the mask in. The door opened and you bolted.

***

You pushed open the coffin, finding an old corpse clutching a beautiful knife. You picked it up, testing the weight. That is, before you were spun around and lifted by the neck again. Evidently this family had a choking kink.

“You ruined everything!” She screamed.

She got ready to plunge her claws deep into your stomach, but you were faster, instead driving the knife into her chest. She screamed, throwing you through the window behind you. You accidentally let go of the knife, and it tumbled off the side of the building.

You looked back at Dimitrescu. She was in pain, and obviously weakening. But large, fleshy wings sprouted out from her back, a tail soon following.

And then she was crashing through the wall, nothing but a female torso and head on the back of what looked like a dragon straight out of one of your nightmares.

“Flesh! Bones! I will devour all of you!”

“Bring it on, bitch!”

***

“Curse you.”

And those were her last words. It hadn’t been easy, but you had done it. And you smiled at her as you did so. Given that same demented smile you’d given her daughters. You still wore it.

You looked around, still half mad from the bloodlust. The only thing of note was a yellow flask, so you snatched it up, grinning even wider as the wall opened into the outside.

***

Dimitrescu was dead. Heisenberg grinned. Well, he certainly didn’t expect to watch you walk out of the castle through the camera he’d placed in the area. He hadn’t even expected you to have lasted five minutes, but evidently you were made of sterner stuff. He was impressed.

You were covered in the dust of her dead daughters, as well as Dimitrescu's own blood. It made your damaged clothes cling to your form, and as you got closer he could see the grin you were wearing, could see that deranged look in your eye. And then you looked up at him. Not just at his camera, but at him. As if you knew he was watching. Your grin turned into something else, and you brought your palm to your mouth, kissed it, and then blew the kiss at him.

He didn’t expect that to get his blood pumping. Didn’t expect watching you walk away coated in blood get it pumping even harder. What was this feeling? It wasn’t fear. It was almost like adrenaline. Almost like-

He looked down at his lap. “Fuck.”

He needed to talk to you. He would talk to you.

Hopefully he could lick the blood off of you after.

#resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #heisenberg x reader #lady dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #Mother Miranda #Reader has a crush #reader is unstable #cw: violence #Cw: some torture #cw: blood #cw: blood kink

[mrs-hyperfixed-writes]

Are You Single? - Part 1

Was originally gonna release it all at once but it was taking way too long and what I had so far was already kinda long. This sort of sets the scene.

Written for: @becomeunsolved

After getting lost in the woods and ending up in a mysterious isolated village, you get captured by Heisenberg and develop a crush, stopping at nothing to get to him.

You imagined that going through the village had been the closest to hell on earth you would ever get. It had been an honest mistake ending up here. Just a simple case of following the wrong fork in the trail. And then night had fallen, the light filtering through the canopy of leaves becoming scarcer and scarcer as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, abandoning you in a dark forest devoid of noise, the only company being the sound of the snow crunching underneath your hiking boots and the weight of your backpack. You had kept a level head, trying to backtrack but being unable to find the original path you had been set on, and at this point you were sure that you had accidentally brought yourself deeper into the forest. You had decided that the next time you wanted to get away from your shitty job, your shitty flat, and the shitty people you surrounded yourself with you were going to go to Disneyland or something, not go on a soul searching hiking trip in Romania in the middle of winter.

Things began to make noises in the woods, but you refused to stop. Refused to acknowledge them. You wouldn’t be able to see through the dense darkness between the trees with your measly flashlight anyway. And if you stopped, then whatever was prowling the forest might know you were aware of it and take the opportunity to jump at you. So you kept going, hoping that whatever was breaking twigs and making those quiet panting noises didn’t decide that you looked too delicious to ignore any longer. You weren’t afraid of them, not really. It was something else that spurred you on.

Then you had found the village, the enormous castle that overlooked it taking your breath away. For a moment, relief had flooded your system.

It didn’t last long.

***

You fell to your knees in front of the gate to Castle Dimitrescu, exhaustion cutting through to your very bones. In your left hand you held a woodcutter’s axe in a deathgrip. It had been the only thing you had to defend yourself with up until that old man had given you a handgun before he had been dragged away. His blood had spilled from the hole he had created, landing in your hair and drying into a crust. Luckily for you, you had found an old shotgun discarded on a kitchen table in your attempts to escape the horde that had threatened to overwhelm you. It sat in your backpack, the end of it sticking out. You thanked god for deep pockets on hiking trousers. Convenient ammo pouches.

Your jacket was long gone, the monsters that had prowled the village ripping it to shreds in their efforts to get to you. The rest of your clothes were saturated with black blood, your hoodie had become uncomfortably heavy with it, forcing you to take it off and shove it at the bottom of your backpack - which itself was sporting a broken strap. You cleared your throat, spitting a wad of your own blood onto the floor.

A monster had dragged you down below the house, had thrown you out through the wall. You had dropped your axe but had managed to maintain a grip on your gun, and when it had charged at you, you had unloaded four badly aimed shots into its chest and scrambled for your weapon. And when it had charged again you had swung, pouring all your frustration and rage into that swing. You had been through hell already, and for what? Was this punishment for getting lost? Was this punishment for trying to get some peace away from your shitty life? Was this a punishment for those desires that you had buried, that need to be violent and terrifying that you had repressed? You’d spent your entire life shoving that shit down and trying to be a good person. You valued human life, but sometimes you couldn’t help but think some people would look better if they were missing some teeth. Maybe an eye for good measure.

You had turned its head into a pulpy mess even when it had been long dead. Then you had told it to get fucked. And when another one had emerged from the hole you had left in the house, you had bared your teeth at it in a sort of feral smile and waited for it to come. It had circled around you, feeling you out. It looked like it was unused to the resistance. It was unused to a lack of fear.

You had prepared to swing your axe, and addressed it directly, “Dance with me then.”

It had lunged.

And then there had been Luiza’s house. That hadn’t gone very well, the screams of all the people inside still bouncing around your head as Elena’s father had changed. You had understood at that moment that the monsters roaming around had once been people. It had made your skin crawl, and had forced you to fight with even more ferocity when the knowledge that if they got too close to you then they could turn you into one of those horrible beasts with just a scratch. Your jacket had acted as an extra layer of protection, but now it was gone.

You took a deep breath from your position on your knees, hand tightening around the axe. Part of you was horrified with yourself. Horrified that you had given into that need for violence that you had shoved down for most of your life, that you could laugh and smile and indulge in the cruelty of cackling and cursing at the carnage you could wreak on something, even if the victim was a flesh eating werewolf. The rest of you just wanted to survive, knowing that that feral glee that you were trying to keep shoved deep down was probably keeping you alive.

You had no idea what was waiting for you in this castle, but everyone in the village was dead, you had witnessed the last surviving members go up in flames. You couldn’t go back into the forest either, not with all the monsters prowling about. And even if there weren’t any, you might just die of exposure anyway.

So you took a deep breath, reaching for the lever that would bring the gate up.

A steel rod shot in front of your face, embedding itself in the wall to your right. You curled your hand into a tight fist as you stared at that rod. Apparently there really was no rest for the wicked.

“Well, well, well. I didn’t think anyone was left.” A man’s voice.

“Oh for- just give me a break already,” you muttered under your breath.

You turned to look at him, part of you worried that he would be some sort of horrible monster, ready to claw at your skin and chew on your bones as he spoke to you in that accent that you couldn’t quite place. But as you set your eyes on him, your breath caught in your throat.

“Oh. Fuck me,” you whispered under your breath,not caring if he heard or not.

Apparently Red Dead Redemption had completely fucked you up, since now your type was middle aged cowboys that looked like they smelled of cigars and oil. Bits of scrap metal floated all around him. Six hours ago if someone had told you that a man dressed as a cowboy holding a giant hammer had a form of telekinesis that could apparently only affect metal you would have laughed at them and asked them if you could have some of whatever they were drinking. But you had seen plenty of strange things already, and the rod embedded in the wall behind you was giving you a warning that whatever the nature of his powers were, they were nothing to scoff at. They were dangerous. He was dangerous. The thought made something coil in your gut. But not in fear.

You wanted to smack yourself. Now was not the time for an infatuation.

But looking at him, you just couldn’t seem to help yourself. He was tall, and carried himself with a confidence that must have taken a lifetime to master. He carried a giant metal hammer on his shoulder that you knew weighed at least a ton. And the way he carried it so effortlessly made the coiled heat in your stomach spread out across your body.

Why couldn’t you have just been attracted to normal men? Why couldn’t you have been attracted to traits that wouldn’t have put you in an early grave?

You took your backpack off and shoved it blade down next to your shotgun, zipping the bag shut as far as it would go. If it came to a fight, there was no way a weapon with a metal blade would help you. You almost laughed aloud. If it came to a fight between the two of you, only god himself intervening would help you.

“Who the fuck are you?” You weren’t subtle in the way your eyes roved up and down his body.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh. You’re not local? Even better.”

He grinned, and flicked his hand.

The rod that he had thrown came out of the wall and wrapped itself around your neck. Your hands instinctively came up, trying to pry it off. He laughed at your attempts, and another flick of his hand had you being dragged down to the floor neck first before he sent the rest of the scrap metal that had been floating idly to cocoon you.

“Mother Miranda’s gonna love you.”

He laughed, and you cursed at yourself for finding that laugh so attractive as he towered over you. As that last sheet covered your face, you let yourself go, slipping into a deep sleep.

***

Your back hurt. Your wrists hurt. Your head hurt. Everything hurt. But the silver lining on the situation was that you weren’t trapped in a metal cocoon any longer. Instead you were lying on a stone floor, wrists handcuffed together. A discreet tug while you pretended to still be asleep revealed that they were attached to a short chain that was connected to a loop on the floor. Regardless of how strong you were, in your current condition there was no way you could even make an attempt to get yourself free. Even if there weren’t people in the room.

You could hear their voices in the background, and it was a struggle to sort your thoughts so that you could tune into their voices. It had to be about you, and you needed to know what they planned to do with you.

There was no fear, it would only make you panic. Instead there was just determination, a need to survive even if there wasn’t much in your life worth it. Spite maybe? You weren’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of dying alone in a village full of corpses.

“The mortal is of no real use to anyone else. And my daughters do so love. . . entertaining foreigners.”

Red flag. Hearing that in any other scenario would have been a pleasant thing, but given the context of the situation and everything you had been through so far, you were sure that whatever the woman meant by that could not be a good thing. And if those daughters were still alive when the rest of the village had been subjected to either vicious deaths or being slowly and painfully turned into a creature that you were very sure could be considered werewolves.

“Furthermore, I can assure you if you entrust the mortal to House Dimitrescu, my daughters and I shall deliver to you the finest cups of their slaughtered blood.”

Yup, entertaining those daughters was definitely not a good thing.

You pried your eyes open, almost wishing you hadn’t when you saw the creepiest doll in the world standing in front of you. She was about three feet tall and wearing a wedding dress that was admittedly well-crafted. You almost twisted to kick it out of reflex, especially as it started moving like it was alive. A hunchback came in from the side to crowd your personal space, and you gagged against the strong smell of fish. You had smelled actual dead fish that were not as fishy. What did this man do all day?

The doll roughly pushed him out of the way, complaining in a high pitched voice, “Out of the way ugly! I wanna see- oh!”

“You mean-” The man who had captured you started, being interrupted by the doll’s excited dancing and announcement that you had woken as well as the hunchback’s general groaning.

To your left you spied your backpack, just out of reach. “Y-you mean,” he tried again. “Both of you shut the fuck up!”

Well that did it. The doll went to sit in the lap of what could only be her puppeteer, a woman in funeral garb, the only skin exposed being her pale hands. The hunchback shambled off to the side, standing behind the pew where the only human passing man in the entire village sat.

“You mean you’ll screw around with them in private, and where’s the fun in that?”

You looked around, taking note of the woman who had been speaking. Dimitrescu. You could practically feel your nosebleed coming on. She was the tallest woman you had ever seen, and the most beautiful too. Her skin was so pale, her lips a deep red. She looked like a vampire, but given what you had seen so far and her talk of delivering your blood to the other woman in cups was making you think that maybe she didn’t just look like one.

Her name was ringing bells in your head. Dimitrescu. Where had you heard that before?

“Give them to me,“ the man started again, “and I’ll put on a show everyone can enjoy.”

Why me? This was definitely punishment for something.

“So gauche-”

“Hey I know you!” you interjected, addressing the tall woman and interrupting her as the realisation hit you.

They all stopped, turning to face you properly for the first time. Dimitrescu looked you up and down, seemingly regarding you as something beneath her. You quickly came to the conclusion that maybe interrupting her was a mistake, but you didn’t care. There was still no fear, even in the face of a giantess.

“Dimitrescu. That’s the name on that super rare wine in the really pretty bottle. They don’t distribute it anymore.”

She continued to look down at you, which admittedly was easy for her to do given height. “And how would the likes of you have tasted the Sanguinis Virginis?”

“Some rich guy I met at a bar gave it to me in exchange for. . . It doesn’t matter. But. . . it stands for Maiden’s Blood right?” You froze, the dots practically connecting themselves. “Oh my god. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

You leaned over to the side, ready to vomit. You knew there was something wrong with that wine. Your mood was not helped by the shrieking laughter that the doll was emitting at your expense. The man, to his credit, had the decency to wrinkle his nose in disgust at the prospect of blood filled wine. You had drank someones blood. Who had she been? Had they tortured her? Had she died in agony? You didn’t know. You didn’t really want to know.

You looked back up towards the altar. The woman standing at it had looked as familiar as Dimitrescu’s name had sounded. You had seen her portrait in many of the homes. And thinking back, it had definitely been her that had killed that villager when Luiza’s house had burned down. Your heart tugged painfully at the thought of Elena, at how you had come so close to saving her before the floor had collapsed under her and she had told you to escape this village and run.

This woman was Mother Miranda, and somehow she was the cause of all of this. Still no fear, but hatred bubbled up in your heart.

“I’ve heard all of your arguments. Some of you were less persuasive than others, but. . .” She looked at the man, who had now put his hammer on the ground, leaning forward as he waited for her answer, “Heisenberg, the mortal’s fate is in your hands.”

He tipped his hat towards her, grinning.

Dimitrescu got to her feet.

“Mother Miranda I must protest! Heisenberg is but a child, and his devotion to you is questionable.” She started walking towards you. “Give the mortal to me, and I will ensure that they are ready.”

Heisenberg angrily got to his feet, stalking towards her. You had to hand it to him, even with his telekinesis, he must have been fearless to confront Dimitrescu when he was half her size.

He held out his hand as he approached her, summoning the hammer to him. You were beginning to think that something was wrong with you, given that the action had your gut coiling again.

“Shut your damn hole and don’t be a sore loser! Go find your food somewhere else.”

“Quiet now child-”

“Well if it were up to me-” you started.

“It isn’t!” Both of them shouted down at you in unison, though Dimitrescu put significantly more venom into it.

“Well please spare me the family drama when I get enough of that at home.”

Heisenberg actually laughed at that, some of the tension leaving him. Dimitrescu however, looked incensed.

“How dare you! Do you have any idea-”

“If you’re going to ask me if I know who you are, we already established that I did. I just don’t care. And I’m not afraid of a single one of you!”

Heisenberg let out a full belly laugh at that. At which part of the statement he found to be hilarious, you weren’t sure. At least someone had found you funny, and you never wanted that laugh of his to stop. You could listen to it all day.

“SILENCE!” Mother Miranda shouted over them, intervening before someone - probably you - got hurt. “My decision is final, there will be no argument. Remember from whence you came!”

“A megabitch apparently,” you muttered under your breath.

One look at Heisenberg told you that he definitely heard that too. And as he smiled at the statement, you knew in your bones that Dimitrescu was right. His loyalty to Mother Miranda wasn’t just questionable, he hated her. You could feel it. Why though, was anyone’s guess. Though to be fair, she didn’t exactly scream motherly love.

Briefly, you wondered why someone with his abilities didn’t just finish her off and get it over with. But her words, reminding them to remember where they came from. . . she must have been very powerful if she could scold a nine foot tall vampire queen and a cowboy with the powers of Magneto into submission.

Dimitrescu moved back, but Heisenberg moved forward to take up all your attention. Those horrible monsters swarmed in as he did so, clinging to the walls, the scaffolding and leaning over the balconies, snarling and howling as he did so.

“Lycans and Gentleman, we thank you for waiting.”

I fucking knew they were werewolves.

“And now let the games begin!” He leaned down towards you, coming in at eye level. “Lets see what you’re really made of.”

You just smiled at him, deciding to let that beast under your skin that was making heat coil in your gut out to play. “I don’t suppose you’re single.”

His grin dropped off his face, and something like genuine surprise flitted across it. But instead of answering he raised his hammer above his head.

“Oh shit-”

He swung it down, cracking the loop that was keeping you chained to the floor. Lycans were beginning to crowd in. And Heisenberg, he was beginning to countdown from ten. You looked to your left again, spotting the hole in the floor just beyond your bag. You darted towards it, picking up your bag as you did so and turning to the lords one last time. You brought your hands to your face and kissed your palm, blowing it towards Heisenberg. He stuttered in his countdown, just enough to be barely noticeable. You wondered if it was in confusion or if it was because maybe, just maybe, you had flustered him ever so slightly. You vowed that you would make it out alive and find out.

Then you stuck up your two middle fingers, and jumped down the hole.

#resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #re8 heisenberg #heisenberg x you #heisenberg x reader #Reader has a dark streak #Reader is kind of scary #Reader has a crush

[mrs-hyperfixed-writes]

Ending 32

Could you do a one shot who is happening during a heist with Markiplier with y/n and Actor Mark? You could choose the end you want. For Nekotsuki314159.

This was a stupid idea. This was a terrible idea. This was a stupid, terrible, idiotic idea. A heist? Mark’s idea, of course. Breaking into a museum to steal a heavily guarded box and he wouldn’t even tell you what was in it. He said it was a surprise. Something that was going to knock your socks off. Well it was going to be a hell of surprise for him when you throttled him if this turned out to be a waste of time. He would probably moan, the bottom that he was. 

You had met up with him for the past month at base going over ideas. And by that you meant your living room. Mark had said that he wanted the full experience, so now the manors living room was the base. Drama queen. 

You had both spied on the guards movements, stolen blueprints that revealed all of the vents in the building, various other spy shit that you refused to admit to Mark was actually pretty fun, and then had formed a plan that should technically be foolproof. But when have things ever gone right for us? Never. 

So as you prepared to break into that museum in the dead of night to meet up with your lover you couldn’t help that gnawing feeling in your stomach that something was going to go wrong. Sure, the plan that you had both formulated had practically written itself, but past experiences had told you to be on your guard. 

You scaled the outside wall of the museum, and the Heist began.

***

Alarms blared. You knew it. You knew that things had to go wrong eventually. Things had been going far too smoothly. This experience was like riding a waterslide into a pool full of piranhas. Sure, it had been fun at first, but now you were going to suffer the consequences of getting on this slide in the first place. You blinked. That was the strangest metaphor you had come up with so far. 

Panic was written across Mark’s handsome face. But always the hero, he quickly came up with a solution or two. And ever the gentleman, he let you choose. And so the escape began.

***

You’d robbed a museum, run from crazy guards shooting you (why do museum guards need guns anyway?), stolen a jeep that had conveniently just so happened to be in a field in the middle of nowhere next to a helicopter (also, who just leaves their helicopter abandoned in a field?), and now the jeep was broken down and you were stuck in the middle of the woods, desperately trying to get back to the manor. And after all of this, Mark still refused to give you any sort of idea about what the hell had been worth the trouble. What could possibly be so important? To say your mood had turned sour was the understatement of the century. You were one pebble in the shoe away from having a nuclear meltdown. So you stopped and crossed your arms, waiting for Mark to notice you weren’t following him. 

He turned around, wondering why your footsteps had stopped. He faced you, beckoning for you to come closer so you could walk beside him. Stubbornly you stared him down, refusing to budge. He raised an eyebrow and walked closer.

“What’s wrong?” Concern laced his voice. 

Almost immediately you felt a little guilty, standing here about to demand an explanation from him when that concern for you was so genuine. You both only had each other, and he may be an egotistical jerk sometimes, but there was no doubt in your mind that he loved you with everything he had. He might just love you more than he loved himself. Sometimes you wondered if he knew that you would give up your soul for him. But you forced those thoughts down. Love wasn’t going to get in the way of you rightfully demanding an explanation for why you’d been dragged through the metaphorical thornbush from hell.

“What’s in the box Mark?”

Mark blanched, clearly not expecting you to have brought this up. He knew you’d been antsy about this whole thing, but apparently he’d been hoping you wouldn’t force his hand into revealing his “surprise”.

“Mark,” you took a deep breath, “It’s been a long night. I’m tired and cold. I want to know if it was all worth it.”

Mark took a few steps closer to you, clutching the box protectively to his chest. Was he really not going to tell you?

“We’ll be back at base-”

“I don’t care. Tell me now.” There was no room for argument in your demand. 

Mark’s brows slowly furrowed together and he glanced down. He seemed to be waging an internal battle with himself. You could almost hear the cogs turning in his head. He seemed exhausted too. If he wasn’t so tired then maybe he would put up a bit more of a fight. The arguments you two sometimes got into could last for hours. 

He sighed. “You’re just not going to let this go are you?”

“No.”

He bit his bottom lip anxiously, as if you had put him on the spot. Well, you had. But finally he sighed and walked over to you. When you reached out your hands for the box he stepped back again. You raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused.

“Turn around.”

Now it was your turn to look surprised. “What?”

“Turn around. Please?”

The Actor very rarely said please for anything, and especially not in that pleading tone. You sighed but relented. If this was what it took to get him to tell or show you what was inside then you would do it. You heard him rummaging around behind you, heard the sound of twigs snapping as his weight shifted. What was he doing?

“Okay. Turn back around.” You didn’t miss the note of hesitance in his voice.

“Mark what’s-” 

Your breath caught in your throat as soon as you took in the sight before you. It was Mark, down on one knee and holding a ring. An engagement ring. The thick silver band sported a large gem as the centerpiece. Your birthstone. And encrusted along the sides to compliment the stone were little rubies. The symbolism of it wasn’t lost on you. And here Mark was, anxiety written all over his face that he was very poorly hiding behind a dazzling white smile as he held out the piece of jewelry. His eyes were filled with hope. His expression was so. . . naked. He was an actor by trade, and had shown in the past how he was very good at keeping up ruses and hiding how he truly felt. Was this situation really so terrifying for him that he couldn’t keep on his mask? 

You and Mark had been together for a long time now, but the Actor had never even hinted at getting married. You had always just assumed he would never truly be over the failure of his first marriage. That he would never be over her. But now here he was with his heart on his sleeve and a ring that surely put the ring he had proposed to Celine with to shame.  

You were speechless, all these thoughts filling your head and making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. But the longer you stood there staring, the more anxious he seemed to get. And then he did something truly out of character. 

He began to ramble. Very quickly. “I mean- It’s just- Um. . . I knew the museum had this ring and it was perfect. So I uh. . . did some research! And it was like it was destiny ya know? Haha. . . And I love going on adventures with you! Obviously I had kinda hoped that things would go differently in terms of escaping! But um. . . I. . . Ugh. What I’m trying to say is- (Y/n)willyoumarryme?!” He didn’t take a breath that entire time.

You snapped back to reality, looking into his eyes. He looked like he was preparing for a blow. 

You grinned. A true, genuine grin that reached all the way up to your eyes. “You moron Mark.” You let out a chuckle. “Of course I’ll marry you!” 

Tears of joy began to prick the back of your eyes, all of your negative feelings you had now vanished in a puff of smoke. Mark’s own expression slid into something of such relief that you were worried he was going to pass out. 

He held up the ring, asking a silent question. In answer you presented your left hand to him. He slid the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit. He wasn’t wrong, this almost seemed like destiny. It was like you were supposed to have this ring. 

He grinned back up at you. A beautiful thing that had your heart beating at a million miles a minute. He made to get back up, but before he could, you launched yourself at him, tackling him to the ground. You lay on top of his chest, arms around his neck and capturing his lips in a breathless kiss. He smiled into your lips. 

He pulled back to ask you one thing though. “So, was it worth it?”

You just laughed and kissed him again. 

#markiplier #markiplier egos #actor Mark #actor mark x reader #actor mark x y/n #Fluff #Not my best work #But I liked the idea

[mrs-hyperfixed-writes]

Old Friends

Dark confronts (Y/n) about their decision to stay with Mark. (Y/n) loses their shit.

At first you thought you might be dreaming. But no, this felt too real. You had had horrific nightmares many times since leaving that mirror, but there had always been something, some little niggling thought, that told you that everything would be okay. That when you woke up you would be safe in your lover’s arms. But not this time. This time fear ensnared you like a serpent, its grip becoming tighter and tighter. 

Most of the space around you was nothing but darkness. But in front of you there was a desk, a plush chair on either side of it. Few items adorned that desk, one being a simple lamp, the only source of light in oppressive blackness. But it didn’t put you at ease, instead making you think of the deepest parts of the ocean where no sunlight can reach. And as if by magic, a small speck of light appears. And it’s the last thing you see before being swallowed whole and ripped apart. Two empty wine glasses and a metal pitcher sat in the centre, as if they were waiting. 

A voice rang through the darkness, “Take a seat.”

You knew that voice. Regardless of how long it had been, you would never be able to forget it. It was burned into your mind like a brand. A good chunk of you wanted so desperately to run from it. But there was nowhere to go. With a reluctance that was sure to be noticed, you sat down on one of the chairs and waited. And when you heard his footsteps you made the conscious effort not to look at him, to stare into space with nothing but aloofness written on your face. 

The footsteps stopped, but he didn’t sit. Instead he picked up the pitchers and filled them up to the brim. Then he sat, picking up the wine glass and taking a sip, miraculously not spilling a single drop as he did so. 

“It’s been a while, old friend.” He put the glass down as he said this, again not spilling any of the wine. 

You couldn’t resist. You brought your eyes up to stare at him. “Hello Damien.” 

That sounded wrong. You wondered if the thing sitting in front of you even was Damien anymore. It looked like him. He had changed your old body to look like he had when he. . .  was still him, much like Mark had done when he had stolen Damien’s own body. But somehow you knew that the scars remained, imprinted on that body in a way that was impossible to get rid of. His skin was grey, and he carried an aura of darkness with him wherever he went. Blue and red outlined his form, and a ringing followed him. A ringing that could signal his arrival to anyone, but by the time they heard it it would be too late to run from him. 

“How’s Celine?” You didn’t really care about her, but you needed to know if she was in there, listening to what you were saying and puppeting the body when it spoke to you.

“She’s sleeping.”

Good thing too if he was telling the truth, for you couldn’t promise that you wouldn’t launch yourself over the table to attack her if she was the one sitting in front of you. Anger and hatred for her outweighed fear and caution any day of the week. And as for Damien. . . You couldn’t tell where your feelings for him stood. Something in you was so happy to see his face and hear his voice, but that fear that had gripped you before he had sat down was still there.. And that was on top of no small storm of anger that was brewing in your gut. Part of you wanted to hurt him, trap him, isolate him.

You resented him. 

He had left you. 

You were glad you had accepted the seat now, all these emotions were making your head spin. You shut your eyes, taking a deep breath. You could sense that the oncoming conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant. And being situated on one side of a desk reminded you of when you were young and getting into trouble at school, with the headmaster towering over you on the other side while he scolded you. But the thought that he had the nerve to talk down to you only made that anger even worse. 

“How could you?”

Your eyes snapped open. Damien looked. . . sad. And angry. Good. You hoped that he was feeling as many conflicting emotions as you were. You wanted him to be as torn up as you were. 

You wanted to know if leaving you had hurt him. You hoped it had. You hoped that his mind would occasionally drift to you trapped in that mirror and the knife would twist. You hoped that sometimes he would idly trace that scar where you had been shot and think of you. 

“How could I?” you asked, raising your nails to your mouth to bite them.

It was a horrible habit you had picked up recently, but you couldn’t seem to stop. Mark had tried everything to get you to quit your nasty habit but to no avail.

Damien spoke again, seeming to sense how your thoughts drifted towards Mark, “Handling venomous snakes is dangerous. Eventually they turn on you. Eventually they’ll bite.”

Debatable.

He was referring to your relationship with Mark. Asking you how you could still be with him after everything he’d done. And though it was the wrong moment, you threw your head back and laughed. The sound all but drowned out the ringing, and you could feel Damien’s eyebrow raise as he looked at you unamused. But you couldn’t help it. The idea that he could cast judgement on Mark after what Damien and Celine had done was so hysterical that you couldn’t help but laugh. Your laughter eventually toned down into giggles.

“You’re not exactly blameless Damien,” you got out between the giggles that you were trying desperately to stifle.

He leaned forward. “He betrayed us. All of us.” In those words you could hear the cold anger that shone out through the cracks of his calm facade. 

The anger that spurred him on, that kept him alive in that dead broken body that had once been yours. If that anger for Mark disappeared, would Damien and Celine’s souls move on? You hoped that Celine would burn in hell. But Damien. . . though not blameless, you wanted his soul to be put at rest. But as of right now, there was no way to do that. The being in front of you had one purpose: destroy Mark. It would not rest until that purpose was fulfilled. 

You pointed an accusatory finger. “He betrayed you. And Celine. And William. He never betrayed me.”

You angrily picked up your glass, the dark red liquid sloshing over the sides and running down your fingers. You threw it back, draining every last drop of it. You slammed the glass down, and when you saw the look on his face you had to stop. There was so much disgust written on him that you wanted to shrink back. 

“So you’ll overlook everything he’s done?”

“That’s what it looks like.” You reached forward, pouring the wine to the halfway point of the glass. Your fingers were sticky and red where the wine had spilled, resembling how they had looked when William had shot you. “What is this Damien? A reunion between friends? A lecture? A warning before the torture begins? An attempt to get me on your side? Or maybe you’re trying to get me on my hands and knees to beg for forgiveness from you?”

That disgust on his face deepened. “I half expected you to get out of that mirror by yourself. You’ve always been stubborn.” He picked his own glass back up and took another drink, this one a long drag from the glass as opposed to the previous conservative sips. “I suppose I had let my expectations of you grow too high.”

Asshole.

“You were in that house. You uncovered his little plot. His betrayal. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that not only was that snake not alone anymore, but he had my good friend the District Attorney was warming his bed.”

“Well you can imagine my surprise when I realised that my best friend had fucked off and left me alone.”

“That mirror was a prison of the Actor’s own making.”

You took another sip. “Yes it was. But just because I forgave him doesn’t mean I absolve him of the blame. No one that day was blameless.”

Damien maintained his calm demeanor. You should have too, you had been the District Attorney once. But you were over one hundred years out of practice. It was an effort not to let all of those emotions out, not to lose your cool with him. Truly lose it.

“He’s the reason you were stuck.”

Fuck remaining calm. And fuck fear. You tossed the wine glass to the side, bits of glass going flying on the ground next to you.  

You slammed your hand down on the desk, the noise ringing out through the darkness. “You did that. You and Celine. Don’t you dare sit there and try to rid yourself of the blame. And the only reason he did any of those things is because your own sister - the woman he loved - betrayed him without even giving him a thought. And not just with any old Tom, Dick or Harry, but with his own brother. And you knew! And you-” you stopped, beginning to choke up as you thought about it. “You left me.”

Damien looked down at the desk, as if ashamed. He had been thinking of you, had admitted to it in an insulting manner. But even if he had thought about you every single day, it didn’t change the fact that he had let you rot in that mirror for a hundred years. He had never come back once. And he had the nerve to be angry that you had clung to Mark like a lifeline when he had gotten you out. Had the nerve to be angry that you had fallen in love with each other.

“You kicked me out of my own body, left me trapped there. And you never came back. I was alone for so long Damien. And you never came back.”

And when he looked back up at you, there was something like true pain in his eyes. The same kind of pain that had been in Mark’s eyes when he had come for you. But you just didn’t have it in you to feel sorry for him right now. Because that pain had never been strong enough to make him come and get you. 

“Mark did. Late. But he came back. And you know what makes that hurt even more?” You took another deep breath, steadying yourself and trying so damn hard not to cry. “You were my first love Damien. You were my best friend. And I waited for you to come back for me for so long.” A tear trickled down your cheek. “It was a vain hope, but it made me strong enough to go on for a long time.” Another tear fell.

And Damien, god damn him, reached out a grey hand to wipe the tear away. Like he had done so many times in the past.  And then he reached down and touched your hand. He was as cold as death. You rose from the chair, unable to sit still any longer, and before you knew it Damien was in front of you, holding you to his chest like he was afraid you would disappear in a puff of smoke. You clutched his biceps tightly, not wanting to wrap your arms around him, but still wanting to make sure he was truly there. 

And you were still so fucking angry at him. You always would be. But unleashing all that pain on him had cleared you out, and the other feelings you had came into play. You had missed him so much.

Your heart ached. You were afraid that it might split in half, shatter like that mirror. You loved Damien. You loved him so much even after everything.

But you loved Mark more.

“Things can never go back to the way they were can they?” Despair laced his voice, breaking your heart even further.

 “No, they can’t. I’m not even sure I would want them too.” You allowed one arm to snake around Damien’s chest, the other hand still maintaining a tight grip on his bicep. “Mark did a terrible thing. But so did you. So did Celene and William.”       

Damien buried his head into your shoulder, whispering his next words, “I never stopped thinking about you.”

Another tear fell. 

“Neither did he,” you whispered back. “And he was the one that dragged me out.”

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed there in the abyss holding each other, tears flowing freely.

And it killed you to do this, but you planted your hand on his chest and pushed him away. Because as much as you wanted to stay there with him a little while longer, you could never take his side. And as much as you wanted to remember the man who you had been in love with, you knew that the being in front of you would never be him. He had changed in an irreversible way, consumed by hate and revenge.

But you had changed too. 

“Goodbye Damien.”

“Goodbye (y/n).”

You blinked, and you were back in one of the manor’s bathrooms, hands gripping the sink like a vice, the fingers on one of them still sticky with red wine. 

#Darkiplier #The DA #actor Mark #Damien #Damien the Mayor #Markiplier #celine the seer #The Colonel #Darkiplier x reader #actor mark x y/n #Darkiplier x y/n #Actor Mark x reader #Markiplier egos

[mrs-hyperfixed-writes]

Guardian Angel

I have a request if you don't mind? (Totally feel free to ignore it though!) Mark is lonely after Celine leaves, so Damien and/or the DA gives him a cat (or maybe Mark finds one out in the rain and brings it in). Animals can sense the presence of the supernatural, so the cat can tell that the Entity in the house is trying to mess with Mark's head. The cat keeps ruining the Entity's plans, so it tries to get rid of the cat. When the Entity eventually tries to make a deal with Mark, he is like "WTF, no! You tried to kill my cat! (ง'̀-'́)ง"

@the-tragic-hero-and-you if you want me to stop tagging you in my Actor stories just let me know xx

If this felt a bit rushed at the end it was because I was desperately trying to get it finished and out.

 She was gone. 

It almost didn’t seem real. The Actor was sure that if he pinched himself then he would wake up from this horrible nightmare. This was nothing but a bad dream. That deep pit in his stomach, that cracking that he felt inside his chest, the pounding in his head. . .They would all go away once he woke himself up. He would sit bolt upright in bed covered in sweat and gasping for breath. Moonlight would stream through the windows to show the late hour and a body would stir next to him between the silk sheets. He’d look over at her and sigh in relief before sliding back down and pulling her to his chest. 

But try as he might to wake himself, this was reality. How long had his Celine been gone? A day? A week? A month? He didn’t know, time seemed to blend together. All he knew was that she had left, and taken a large part of his heart with her.

***

If people didn’t know better, they might think that the manor on top of the hill was abandoned. There were never any lights on, and no one had been maintaining the flora that had once been the epitome of prim and proper. Now the hedges were overgrown and the grass tall enough to obscure any rocks that someone may trip on, the cobblestone path that led up to the front door was beginning to suffer with the weeds that had grown between the stones. But people noticed how every week two men would drive up with bags of groceries and toiletries and leave them on the doorstep of the house before driving away. And only when they were out of sight of the house would the front door creak open and a man in a red robe would take everything inside. So no, the manor on top of the hill - as desolate as it may be - was not abandoned. But life had left with the mistress of the house.

***    

The wind and rain was relentless. The windows of the manor shook with the force of it. And as the wind wailed outside, Mark found that he wanted to join in. Recently, it had seemed that all he had been doing was crying and going down to his wine cellar to drink himself into a sleep. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was sitting in a bed that hadn’t had its sheets changed in weeks holding onto the pillow that she had laid her head on. It was pathetic, he knew that. His pride took a fatal blow every time he did it, but he couldn’t help himself.  

Thinking about her hurt. He couldn’t even think of her name without feeling like he was twisting the knife in his chest. And she had left him for William. His brother, one of his closest friends. The three of them plus Damien had been thick as thieves in childhood. There had been no secrets between the two of them, no story too embarrassing to share.

And none of it mattered to either of them. 

He didn’t know who instigated the relationship. Would it make him feel better to know? Probably not. Did they always have feelings for each other? Surely not? There must have been a time when Mark was enough in her eyes. He could have had any woman he wanted and he chose her. Didn’t that idea give her at least a little bit of satisfaction? He was rich, famous, and he loved her dearly. He had given her everything in the world. If she had asked he would have taken the moon from the sky and hung it on a chain to give to her as a necklace, even if it had sat at the bottom of her jewellry box for the rest of her days.

In the end it meant nothing. Two people he had cared about had spit on him and left him to drown in his own sorrows. And Damien? Damien. He knew. Maybe he hadn’t approved of William and Celine’s affair, but he hadn’t said a goddamn thing to Mark about it. Mark had used his wealth and influence so. Many. Times to bail Damien out of any trouble he had ever gotten himself in, but that meant nothing too. Everything Mark had done meant nothing. 

Mark meant nothing. 

Not even a year ago, he had been a man full of confidence and pride with a manor that was worth more than some entire towns. He had a chef and butler to take care of his needs. But now. . . Mark could barely get out of bed unless he had a drink. He had sent Chef and Benjamin home, and now the manor was falling into a state of disrepair. Sometimes he had fits of anger where he’d throw furniture against the walls. Then he’d break down, regretting all that hubris and confidence that had dictated his life. 

And sometimes there was a voice. It didn’t belong to him and he didn’t like it, but it came from inside his head. Whenever he heard it he wondered if he was going mad. He wondered if Celine would be happier knowing that she had destroyed him.

You hate them don’t you? Don’t lie, it hissed with that serpentine voice. 

Did he? He had known them for so long. He didn’t know if he had it in him to truly hate them. They had so much history.

How can you not? Do you think they even spared a thought for you? Clearly not while they were fucking when your back was turned. They deserve your hate.

Had they really never thought of him? Not once in their entire affair?

You’ve been forgotten. By everyone. No one is coming back for you.

It was right of course. 

They deserve your hate.

They did.

You hate them.

He hated- 

A loud banging brought him out of his thoughts. Those thoughts and feelings that had started to cloud his judgement dissipated like a puff of smoke. He didn’t hate them. Not yet. 

That banging sounded again. The front door. Someone was at his front door.

***

It took a considerable amount of willpower on the Actor’s part to drag himself out of his bed and down to the front door. Part of him hoped that whoever it was would give up soon and leave him to his torment. Another part of him craved human contact so badly that he found himself wanting to rush to the door. 

Bracing himself, he grabbed the door handle and twisted. The door creaked open, and he came face to face with the DA.

He didn’t know who he had expected. Maybe part of him hoped that Celine had come back to him. When was he going to learn that things were never going to go back to the way they were? Would he always hold out hope for a reality that was gone? He should’ve realised what he had when he had it. But he snapped himself back to reality before he could dwell on those things, and instead he turned his attention to the DA. 

At their feet they had placed a single giant bag full of shopping. Past the toiletries that had been stacked on the top he couldn’t see what else was in the bag. That was strange, Chef and Benjamin had dropped off food for him not that long ago. He wasn’t running out just yet. (Y/n) looked better than Mark did, but dark circles underneath their eyes told tales of sleepless nights. He entertained the thought of them being kept up thinking of him. But surely that wasn’t true. No one thought of him. They held a black umbrella over their head. Mark noted that they were hiding one hand behind them, but he didn’t care enough to ask what they were holding.

They sighed in relief when he answered, but that was quickly followed by a look of utter sadness and a wrinkle of the nose when they took in the sight and the smell of him. To summarise, Mark smelled of a bar that had been abandoned with all the bottles on the shelf opened. He looked even worse. He looked like a dead man. It was half true.

“Mark-”

“Did Damien send you?” He asked them, a hint of the resentment he felt for the mayor creeping into his voice.

(Y/n) shook their head. “ No. But he’s worried about you. It's been a month and a half and no one has heard from you.”

Was that it? It had only been around forty five days? It had felt like an eternity.

“I don’t care,” Mark whispered, letting even more of his resentment show as he began to shut the door.

(Y/n) shot their free hand out and pushed against the door, and for all that anger that he had towards Damien, he didn’t put up a fight when they opened it again. He didn’t feel the same way for the DA. They hadn’t known. And they had been the one to comfort him when he had discovered the affair. He felt nothing but a sort of love for the DA, but right now he wasn’t of the mind to share that with them. He was afraid that whatever he felt for them - be it friendship or something else - would be rejected. And he was too damaged from Celine and William to consider moving on.

They swallowed, “Mark, I’m here because I’m worried. You sent Chef and Benjamin home and there are never any lights on and you smell as if-” They had to take a deep breath before they continued, seemingly finding it difficult to keep their own emotions in check. “I’m sorry I haven’t been up as much as I would have liked to be. I promise I’ll try to be here more. But you need something to love. You need something to keep you company.”

With that, they brought their hidden hand out from behind their back. They held a fuzzy bundle as black as the night sky. For a second, he was confused until it opened its amber eyes and stared at him.

“A cat?”

(Y/n) looked almost bashful now. “I found him two days ago. He was abandoned on the side of the road. No owner and only about a year and a half old. No fleas or diseases either. He needs a home.”

They held the kitten out for him to take. He was so small. Small enough that he could easily be mistaken for a kitten. He briefly thought of rejecting this gift, but in the end the Actor reached out and gently took it from (y/n)’s hand. Something in his heart twisted when it snuggled into his chest and let out a high cry.

Mark looked back up at the DA, stared into their hopeful eyes. “I’ll try.”

They sighed in relief. “One week Mark. I’ll come and check on you in one week. I promise.”

Hesitantly, they leaned forward, brushing his cheek with their lips. And as they walked away, Mark reached up and touched where their lips had been.

He had watched the DA get in their car and drive away before taking the bag in and shutting the door before sliding down against it, the cat still bundled up against his chest. He rummaged through the bag, finding all the food and cat toys that (y/n) had hidden beneath the shower gel and soap. Bless them. 

He looked down. The little black bundle uncurled himself and looked up at Mark. It put its paws on his chest and stood upright, using Mark’s hand as a platform for support. He let out another little cry. Mark brought his head closer, and was a little surprised when it licked his nose and bumped itself against his face. It was as it was telling him it’s okay, I’m here now. Mark was interested to see how this was going to turn out.

Not that much followed for the rest of that day. Mark tried to name the kitten and failed. He fed him and tried to play with him, and when the clock struck midnight he took the cat up to bed with him and passed out.

***

Mark was cold. Colder than he’d ever been. He was caught in a blizzard, the snow coming down so thick that he couldn’t see three feet in front of him. His feet were numb. He barely had the strength to trudge through the snow, the cold sapping all of his strength like a leech. But he had to go on. He felt like something would be waiting for him if he could just keep moving.

Eventually he came to his mansion, the only sign of civilization on this frozen wasteland. The lights were on in the living room. He made his way to where the front door should have been, but to his horror he realized that it was gone, nothing but a brick wall in its place. He fought his way through the snow to press himself against the glass of the window to peer inside.

Celine was there. She was smiling and laughing, and Mark’s heart twisted and how beautiful she looked with a smile on her face. There had been a time where she had always wore that smile for him. Maybe that’s what this smile was for. Maybe she was waiting for him. 

And then he saw William, and the cold that pierced his heart had nothing to do with the blizzard. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, planting little kisses along her neck to make her giggle before she twisted around in his arms to kiss him deeply. 

Mark had to look away, the wound in his heart ripped freshly open. He felt something behind him, something dark. He was too afraid to turn around, even when he felt it idly play with the hair atop his head. Something so casual and yet it inspired such a deep feeling of fear in Mark that he was frozen.

This happiness is at your expense pet.

He didn’t like that. Both that whatever was behind him used a pet name as if to claim him and the fact of William and Celine’s relationship.

The kiss. They fuck. They spend their days together while you rot. It’s not fair is it?

It wasn’t fair. But he didn’t want to listen to this. He wanted to cover his ears and make it go away. But he was stuck. Frozen. A prisoner in his own body. He couldn’t even do a thing as he felt something long and cold - a finger most likely - trail up his spine through his thin robe. He didn’t want it touching him. 

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

Doesn’t it?

You could make them feel what you feel. You could make them understand.

He could? He brought his eyes up to the window again. Celine and William’s passion had begun to pick up now, hands fumbling to take clothes off and share their love right in the Actor’s own home. 

He wanted them to understand. He wanted - 

A piercing shriek rang through the frozen hellscape and Mark felt a small piercing pain in his chest. It was as if he was being stabbed with a little needles. The presence behind him hissed, angry at the disruption. He felt it slither away into the storm. His vision began to fade at the edges, the shrieking getting louder and louder.

Mark’s eyes fluttered open. A dream. Just a bad dream. And the source of the shrieking as on his chest. His cat stood, kneading his claws through the fabric of Marks robe. When he lifted a hand to move him, the cat moved closer to his face to shriek even louder, desperately trying to wake him.

“Alright, alright. I’m awake,” he groggily said as he sat up.

The kitten stopped making that high-pitched wail, deciding instead to press his head up against Mark’s hand and give him affectionate licks. He needed to be fed. Mark picked the small bundle up in one hand and made his way down to the kitchen.

***    

The Actor hadn’t left his bedroom door open when he had gone down to feed the cat. He was sure that it had been shut firmly behind him. He stepped in, and realised that it was so much darker than it should have been. Memories flashed. He remembered Celine and him spending nights in each other's arms, him and Celine talking of the future, him and Celine speaking about the family they would start. That last memory hurt more than the others.

She’s planning this with William now.

That voice. The voice that haunted him both in dreams and in reality. And in that moment Mark knew that it was the one responsible for the absence of light. His bedroom had never been a place of such pain before this moment, even when all Actor had done was curl up with the pillow Celine had used.

She shares the dreams of a family with that Colonel.

Mark fell to his knees, afraid that they would give out on their own. He didn’t want to think about William and Celine’s future children. He hated them already.

The corner of the room, it was so much darker than the rest of it. No light would ever breach that dark stain. And he knew that that was where the voice was coming from. He stared, finding the shape of something so monstrous that the Actor’s mind could barely comprehend it.

And that stain grew. Grew until it was right in front of him and a long clawed finger reached out of that dark mass and used it to tilt Mark’s chin up. 

But you can stop it. Can stop them. Why should they be happy?

They didn’t deserve happiness. They had taken his. They had spit on his. 

Kill their chances. They don’t deserve them. I can help you. I can-

Mark was so hypnotized by the entity that he didn’t even see the black furry ball dart into the room. But he did notice when it planted itself between them and hissed and spat. The entity shrank back, and if Mark didn’t know better he would say it was afraid of the cat. The little black furball hissed and spat as if it was a black panther, screaming and yowling with so much anger that Mark was stunned. This cat was prepared to fight the being for him. It looked like it was about to lunge. It came to rescue him.

Without thinking, he scooped him up in a hand and bolted out of that room and slammed the door shut, shuddering at what had just gone down. And when he held the cat up to his face he couldn’t help but let out a small smile when it covered his nose with affectionate kisses.

***

It happened again. Mark had let the cat out to use the toilet, and he felt that being behind him. Felt those dark hands on his shoulder. Felt it slam the door shut to keep the cat out. And heard it whisper Damien.

Do you feel like a fool pet? Do you feel like a fool for trusting Damien? For helping him? Do you remember that scandal? The one where the Mayor was nearly exposed for gambling? It was a poker addiction was it not? He nearly gave away the entire town

Mark did remember. It hadn’t really been a scandal. Mark had got there before Damien did something drastic. Mark had paid off all his debts. Mark had paid for him to get private help to confront his addiction. Damien had said that now he would be forever in Mark’s debt.

So you do remember. You would think that a man in your debt would have told you your wife was fucking your brother.

Somewhere in the back of his head Mark knew what it was trying to do. But he was beginning to lose the will to fight. He hated this thing. Hated the way it touched him. Hated the way it called him pet. Hated the ownership it had over him. But it was so hard. And on top of that, the part of him that wanted revenge was growing. And he could do nothing to stop it.

It snaked a finger up his cheek like a lover. Mark wanted to vomit. 

Then the entity let out a cry. And when Mark wrench himself free of that grip he saw his cat. He was absolutely furious, and somehow had a mouthful of darkness and was tearing into it like there was no tomorrow. The entity dissipated, leaving to presumably go lick its wounds. He looked down at that furious bundle. How had he gotten in? The was only one window open on the second - 

Mark knelt. “Did you climb up to the second floor for me?” 

The cat just started to climb him, coming to a stop on his shoulder and rubbing its head against his face. Mark couldn’t describe just how much he was beginning to love this cat.

***

That thing had lost its patience. Mark could feel it. A dark cloud stood before him, that entity hiding within. He had come into the living room for. . . What had it been for? He couldn’t remember. All thoughts had fled his mind when he came back to face this dark cloud. From within, he heard the snake-like voice of the entity, no longer just a voice in his head to make him doubt his sanity. Tendrils of darkness reached out, spreading that ghastly darkness out through the room, wrapping it around him. Isolating him. He could see nothing beyond this blackness. 

She fucked him while you were married. She kissed you and told you she loved you all the while she was thinking of him. Would you like to know how long that went on?

Mark shook his head. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to-

A year. For an entire year she lied to year face. Neither of them even respected you enough to end the marriage first. She’d fuck you half-heartedly then leave your bed to meet him outside. So you remember your favourite spot in the garden? That was the place where they did it the most.

The Actor had proposed to her there.  

You see how little you mean? You want revenge. You want to make them suffer.

He did.

You want them to feel your pain.

He wanted to make them feel his pain.

You want their entire lives to fall apart before they even realize we were involved.

He wanted-

A familiar shriek rang through the air. Mark snapped his head to the side just in time to see his cat fly at the entity. The entity let out a scream of its own, and when the cat came close enough a tendril flicked out and smacked it away. The cat hit the far wall and slid to the ground, landing with a thud. It tried weakly to get up before collapsing back onto its side and letting out a pitiful meow.

Darkness closed in again. But all Mark saw was red.  

I can-

“Get out.”

Time stood still. And if Mark didn’t know any better he’d say that the entity was lost for words. Stunned into silence. 

I-

“Get. Out.”

The entity laughed. You think-

Mark threw his hands up and screamed, “This is my house! You’re trespassing! Get out! Get out! Get out!”

White hot fury coarsed through Mark’s veins. It had tried to kill his cat. His anger was so extreme that it radiated out of him like the darkness radiated out of this thing. He wouldn’t stand for things anymore. Celine and William, they weren’t worth his time. They were insignificant. He didn’t care about revenge. He wanted to forget them. And he wanted to be left alone by this creature to take care of his cat. And as that horrible creature’s influence started to release him, so too did that darkness start to dissipate. Something like real fear was in the air. But it wasn’t his. 

Wait! I-

“You tried to kill my cat.” Mark took a deep breath. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

The fear was thicker now, and that darkness shattered the living room window on its way out. Mark had felt lighter than he had in years. He rushed to his cat, scooping him up in his hands. The cat purred. He was going to be okay. 

“My guardian angel,” he murmured. “Angel.”

Mark wondered what to do next. Taking Angel to the vet would probably be best. Then maybe beg Chef and Benjamin to come back home. And maybe, just maybe, he could ask the DA to come over for a cup of coffee.

Things were going to be okay.  

#actor Mark #actor mark x y/n #markiplier #markiplier egos #the DA #Celine #William #Actor gets a cat #Abandonment #loneliness #Cheating #Honestly I can't stand Celine

[mrs-hyperfixed-writes]

Mirrors and Madness

Could you write a oneshot about y/n who is still stuck in the mirror, at the border of madness, and Actor Mark rescues them? Requested by Nekotsuki314159.

And since @the-tragic-hero-and-you wanted more Actor content.

How many years has it been? You didn’t know, for your own sanity you had stopped counting the cycles of sunlight and moonlight that streamed down through the windows.

On the other side of this mirror, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just solid darkness that you were able to stand and sit on. You had watched this mansion fall into a decrepit ruin, home now only to spiders and their prey. Not even vagrants wanted to sleep in this place. They had tried, but as soon as they had glanced at the mirror and glimpsed a misty dark shape banging against the broken glass and making noiseless screams they had uttered shrieks of their own and ran for the hills. You had been well beyond subtlety at that point, the sight of another person had filled you with such an intense hope that you had lost all sense of self-control and started raving for them to help you. But no one ever visited this place twice, afraid of the silent demon in the mirror. You had become the town’s resident Bloody Mary.

All they saw was a dark shape, but on the other side of the mirror you could see yourself clearly. The colour of your skin, the length of your hair, your fingernails. You were still wearing the clothes you died in - a white shirt and simple dark trousers. Everything was still there on this side of the mirror, only visible to you. That made it worse, knowing that no one would ever see the person behind the dark shape.

So, stuck in this hell, all you could do was think. And you had been thinking for so long. It had been one hundred years, not that you would have known that. And for the millionth time, you thought of Damien. You thought of the Colonel. You thought of Celene. You thought of Abe and Chef and Benjamin.  And you thought of Mark.

You had been so angry when they had shut you in the mirror. At everyone. Even today you still were, anger and pain were old friends. Damien was supposed to be your best friend, but that had meant absolutely nothing in the end. Him and that bitch Celene had condemned you to something you wouldn’t have wished on your worst enemy. The Colonel had killed you, the evidence of his crime still a fresh wound in your stomach that never healed. Whatever Damien and Celene had become probably sported the scar, but you had no body to heal it. Your soul was bare, and the wound had gone right down through it. You had grown used to the pain. Your white shirt had been glued to your skin with the dried blood.

Finally, your thoughts had turned to Mark. You had hated him most of all at first, angry at his entire failed plan for revenge. But all this time to think had brought sorrow into the equation. The Colonel had gone mad. Damien and Celene had had no choice you supposed - even if you still held hate in your heart for that Seer. And Mark. A poor heartbroken fool whose wife had hadn’t even had the decency to leave him before fucking his best friend. So you had forgiven them. . . Most of them.

And sometimes, like today, you entertained the thought of Damien coming back for you. Taking you out of this place.

You almost laughed. The idea was so hysterical that it might as well be a cruel joke. It was almost a guarantee that you weren’t even on Damien’s mind. You were forgotten. You probably weren’t even important enough to be a thought in the back of his mind. And then you were laughing, so hard that tears were running down your face in great big drops. You hugged yourself, your ribs beginning to ache. From a certain point of view the situation was so funny! So funny that you couldn’t stop the shrieking laughter that bubbled up from your throat.

Then laughing gave way to sobbing.

You fell on your knees, hugging yourself even tighter to keep from falling apart. Then the sobs turned to screams. Screams of unbridled anguish that threatened to tear your throat apart. You gripped fistfuls of your own hair and pulled, trying to use physical pain to distract you from the mental torment. But it was useless. Your head was a whirlpool of negative thoughts, a volatile mix of the desire for someone to help you, the anger and lust for revenge, and a degree of self-blame for staying here and getting caught up in the situation. But you were Mark’s friend just as much as Damien was. How could you just leave after what had been done to him?

I’m such a fool Mark, you thought to yourself.  

You raked your nails down your face, stinging red marks rising in their wake. You screamed even louder. You were hanging on so tight to that last shred of sanity that you possessed. You clung to it like a man lost at sea clings to a piece of wreckage. But as you screamed and cried you wondered if letting go would be such a bad thing? Losing your mind had been your bogeyman when you had first been imprisoned here, it had been the only thing you had. But as you sat there, trying desperately to hurt yourself, you seriously considered just letting go. Just sinking down into the comfort of insanity, where these thoughts couldn’t reach you.

Let go, a voice whispered inside your head. And you were prepared to. You calmed yourself as you felt your fingers slipping from the piece of driftwood holding you aloft, as you started to slip into the abyss.

SLAM!

You yelped, clinging back on for dear life in fright. That had been the door. Someone was in the house, and by the sounds of their footsteps they were coming towards the shattered mirror. You picked yourself up from the floor, prepared to throw yourself against the glass and beg for their help, shame overcoming you at the thought of how easily you were going to give up. But as you rose and came face to face with the person that had saved you from giving into the madness you paused. You knew that face.

It was Mark.

And he was staring right at you with a look of utter devastation on his face. He was staring at you as if. . . as if he saw you. Not that dark shape that others saw, but you. He was scanning you, taking in every detail. His eyes lingered on that gunshot wound, and he winced.

He looked awful. He had bags under his eyes and dark circles to match that spoke of many sleepless nights. He had lost weight, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in a month. He wore a red jacket, so some things never changed. And his eyes. His eyes were full of such sorrow that it broke your heart. You had never seen him like this. Never seen him vulnerable. Before, he had used his arrogance and pride to shield him, but now he was strppied bare and exposed to the world. Exposed to you.

And with all the questions that raced through your mind, all the conflicting emotions that threatened to cleave your heart in two, you could only think to ask, “Why did you come back?”

And he heard that. You, who had spent so many years in alone with your own screams, were heard. And you were heard by the very man that had been involved with this. But regardless, relief ran through you when he answered you. Oh, to hear a voice that wasn’t afraid. To hear a voice that wasn’t your own.

“I missed you. . .” he trailed off, seeming to know that it was a poor reason to come back after all this time.

You wanted to laugh again. But if you did you might again descend into that pit of madness and never be able to climb back out. And the thought of scaring him off with that insanity grounded you. Instead a single tear rolled out of your cheek. He had missed you? The idea that he had been thinking of you at all sent conflicting emotions racing through you.

“You left me,” you whispered. “Damien left me. The colonel left me. Everyone left me.”

“I’m sorry (y/n).”

Another tear fell. He had meant that apology with everything in his being. The Mark you had known wouldn’t have apologised if you had tortured him for it. What had happened to him? What had broken him.

“I should never have left you here (y/n),” he said with watery eyes.

He hadn’t forgotten you. He saw you. He heard you. He came back for you. Late perhaps, but he came back.  

“I forgive you.”

Because you did. There was a voice that told you to try to reach out and grab him. Pull him in, take his body and be free. But you ignored it, because he came back. He hadn’t forgotten about you. And that whirlpool of pain and anger began to settle again. It wouldn’t be calm waters yet, not for a long time. You both still had issues to work through, but now you had each other.

“Take me with you?” you begged, letting the raw desperation creep into your voice.

He nodded and reached out a hand, his fingertips stopping short when they gently thudded against the glass. You stared for a moment, unsure of what to do, and when you looked at his face for guidance he gave you a smirk. That smirk was so familiar that it nearly sent you sobbing again. Apprehensively, you reached out your hand too. It also thudded against the glass from your side, but there was something else. You could. . . feel his fingertips against the glass. He was so warm. Mark worked his entire hand closer to the glass, never once breaking contact with your skin.

You nearly fainted when his hand reached right through the glass to fully grasp yours tightly.

Then he pulled.

And the feeling of euphoria when he pulled your hand right through the mirror towards him was indescribable. You cried out, unable to keep these feelings to yourself, tears of joy instead of anguish streaming down your face as you looked at him. He was pulling you through slowly, a look of intense concentration on his face. He never let go of your hand, and when your arm was fully free of the glass he used his other hand to grip onto it.

And as you were pulled out into the biting air, you solidified. You were developing a body. You could feel the air and dust against your bare skin. Against your shoulder. Against your face. He didn’t take a moment to stop, only hooked his arm under your shoulders when your top half was out. Soon your legs followed, and with a final pull and an arm hooked under your legs, you were out.

The Actor fell to the floor, grunting as your weight fell on top of him. You did sob then, but this time it was because of the feeling of the air and dust, and most importantly the feel of Mark’s warmth underneath yours. You wriggled around, lying on top of him so that you were chest to chest.

“I’ve missed you so much (y/n),” he whispered, pulling you closer to him as if afraid you would disappear, a hand gently running through your hair.

You drew back suddenly, going to feel those gunshot wounds. But you didn’t. They weren’t there anymore. All that existed in their place were scars. Mark traced them with his fingers, something like wonder on his face.

You pulled yourself away from him and attempted to stand only to collapse again. After so long without a physical body learning to walk again was going to be difficult. Mark chuckled, whispering something that sounded like baby deer to himself. Instead of helping you up, he stood and hooked one arm under your shoulders and the other under your leg, carrying you in his arms.

You snuggled into his chest, murmuring about how he would never be alone again. He murmured back the same thing.

#markiplier #markiplier egos #actor Mark #actor mark x y/n #Madness #Isolation #imprisonment #tw: self-harm

[mrs-hyperfixed-writes]

Dead Memories

The Host doesn’t like Yancy. When Yancy aims to find out why the Host takes things too far. 

@thomothysdoodles

I finally got round to it. I feel like the quality of this deteriorated the further down I got but oh well.

A Heist With Markiplier had done very well, and as a result 3 new egos had been “born”. They had fit in well. Magnum was loud and boisterous and got along well with Wilford but had the common sense to hold the lunatic by the back of the shirt whenever he attempted to do anything suicidal, much to the relief of Dark. Illinois was charming and could reduce most of the egos to a blushing mess in no time with his flirting. He also had some wonderful stories that he had given the Host permission to write down. There was one problem though. Yancy. The Host didn’t like Yancy. He had been as quiet as a mouse when he had been introduced, having seemingly lost the confidence he had had in prison. When he had finally opened up he was just as loud as Magnum before he quieted down again and went back to his timid ways. These were normal characteristics, but something about the man just rubbed him the wrong way. Something about him felt dangerous. Everyone knew he had killed his mother and father, but no one seemed to be aware of that capability for violence that lurked underneath Yancy’s skin. But the Host knew. As soon as the Host had been near Yancy he’d been struck with a vision so violent that the blood had poured from his eyes, much to Yancy’s horror. As a result he tended to avoid him whenever he could, opting to just stay in his library and work. Yancy’s past reminded him of someone long dead.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t avoid him forever. And Yancy had started to notice how the Host turned on his heel whenever Yancy and him had accidentally appeared in the same room or how the Host would rush by him if they were forced to go past each other in the hallway. At first Yancy had been slightly relieved, the Host was a terrifying being and was taller than most of them. To be honest Yancy had started off avoiding all of the egos until he had been talked into socialising after an incident. It hadn’t been so bad, Wilford had just pissed everyone off when it had gotten stuck in his head. And then everyone else had gotten it stuck in their head. But everyone preferred having Yancy’s signature song memorised rather than not having Yancy here at all.

Now that Yancy was beginning to settle down properly with the rest of the egos he was beginning to take things a bit more personally.

So Yancy resolved to go down to the Host’s library and ask him what the hell his problem was.

***

Yancy had to admit, he was impressed. The library was where the basement should be, but as soon as he stepped inside he knew that some magic had to be at play. The ceiling was so high that he couldn’t see it, the shelves so tall that it would be impossible for him to reach the top of them. The carpet was red and plush and the gargantuan room was illuminated by what appeared to be bright candlelight without a single candle in sight. The smell of old books permeated the air. It was a beautiful place, and Yancy felt slightly sorry for the Host for not being able to see it.  

He wandered down the aisles idly, not really knowing where he was going and what he was looking for. After a little while he had forgotten why he had originally come down and instead ran a finger over the hardback spines of the books. Some were black, some were red, some were a deep green. Golden letters in a beautiful looping scrawl adorned them. He was tempted to bring one out and look at the handwriting on the pages, but part of him remembered that everything in this library belonged to the Host. He didn’t want to risk pissing him off too bad by touching something he wasn’t supposed to. 

A prison flashback came to him unbidden. A flashback that showed a young Yancy reaching out to grab an apple off another inmate s lunch tray. He wasn’t going to eat it anyway. Big mistake. Yancy had ended up with a snapped wrist for his trouble. Of course the man who had snapped his wrist had ended up in solitary, and some of the older prisoners had rallied around him to teach him how prison worked. They had taught him well. Yancy had been the leader and the Warden’s favourite right up until Dark had come to get him. 

He had been fairly lost at first. The environment in the mansion had been so different to prison, but just like those old prisoners had done, some of the egos had rallied around him. Many of them were surprisingly paternal. 

But not the Host. And Yancy was reminded of his purpose when he came to an enormous gap in the shelves. And he quickly discovered that the Host used this space for his office. 

Across from Yancy sat a decently sized mahogany desk that was adorned with a short stack of papers, and an old-fashioned golden pen with an inkwell next to it . A cushioned brown leather chair served as the seat for when work needed to be done. Off to the right side of the clearing was a comfortable looking armchair with a small end table next to it.. But no sign of the Host. 

He must be further into the library. Yancy entertained the thought of turning back, but if he didn’t do this now then he would never have the courage. So he sat in the armchair and waited. And waited. And waited. 

The library was so warm and the lights were at a dim glow. Why would a blind man need light? He thought to himself as his eyelids started drooping. He had been having trouble sleeping recently in unfamiliar terrain. He fought to stay awake. In the prison if you fell asleep anyway but your bunk then you were either going to be woken with a beating or with something missing. Falling asleep was dangerous. And he didn’t want the Host to find him asleep in his library. But he couldn’t help himself as sleep dragged him down into the abyss. 

***

Yancy didn’t know what time it was when he was woken up by the scratching of a pen. It could have been hours or minutes and he would have been none the wiser. He kept his eyes shut. 

“The Host knows Yancy is awake,” came the delicate voice from off Yancy's right.

He uncurled himself from the couch and peeled his eyes open. The Host sat at his desk and scratched away with his golden pen at his stack of papers. Half of the stack was now off to the side. How long had Yancy slept? 

The Host was just as imposing as when Yancy had first met him. He didn’t have the same kind of terrifying raw power as Dark, but something oozed out of him. Even in his chair he was tall. His head was down towards the paper he was writing on, the bandages covering his sockets beginning to go red with blood. He was muttering under his breath as he wrote, quiet enough that the scratching of the pen nearly drowned out his voice. 

“Yancy needs to leave.” 

Straight to the point then. 

Yancy shook his head as he spoke, “No, not until youses tell me why youse been acting so weird.”

Yancy moved to stand in front of the Host’s desk, determined to stand his ground. 

The pen stopped, and the Host moved his head up to seemingly stare at Yancy. Yancy felt those empty eye sockets cut right through him. He wondered if they were really pitch black inside. 

The Host seemed to consider for a moment, “If Yancy wishes to know, he makes the Host uncomfortable. Now that he has his answer, Yancy needs to leave.” 

Yancy was taken aback. Sure, he had made people uncomfortable before. But that was usually on purpose, throwing his weight around so that new prisoners understood the hierarchy. But he hadn’t actually done anything to the Host. Had he? 

The Host went back to scratching away with his pen. That was it? He wasn’t even going to tell Yancy why? He felt his anger rising in a way that it hadn’t since he had gotten out of prison. That wasn’t good. His temper could be dangerous and make him do stupid things. But he was a slave to it. Yancy waited and waited while his anger grew. He wasn’t going to leave until the Host acknowledged him again and told him why Yancy was such a source of discomfort. Without thinking about the consequences, Yancy marched over to the Host and ripped the pen out of his hand. 

He had been midway through a word, and now a line had been jerked across the page and through the paragraph that the Host had been in the middle of writing. As Yancy yanked it back the inkwell spilled over the pages that the Host had written on, effectively ruining the whole pile. Somewhere in the back of Yancy’s head that registered as being a very bad thing. He almost wanted to apologise. But his anger was still fierce. 

The Host wouldn’t have accepted his apology at this point anyway. 

“What the hell is youses problem?!” Yancy hissed.

The Host was silent for a minute. Then he stood up. 

“How long before Yancy turns those hands on one of the other egos?”

“What-”

The Host interrupted him. He was angrier than Yancy now, and the impact that his words were going to have hadn’t yet reached him. “The Host sees everything. The Host sees Yancy as a teenager. He sees Yancy’s mother with her back turned staring out of the kitchen window.”

Yancy’s anger dissipated. It had been replaced with cold dread. He knew where this was going.

“Yancy’s mother feels dissapointed. Her son was expelled for getting into fights. She doesn’t know what to do. Lost in her thoughts she doesn’t hear him. Not until his hands are wrapped around her throat.”

Yancy took a step back, dropping the pen. 

“She reaches up and starts clawing at his hands, desperately trying to pry him from her neck. Desperately trying to get some air in. She can’t make any noise. She can’t call out for her husband to save her. She tries to reach for a knife, but even now she can’t bring herself to hurt her son like that. He notices her reaching and yanks her away from the counter, pulling her down onto the floor. Hurting her son be damned, her brain is in survival mode and she begins to thrash. But she doesn’t realise it’s too late, only that she’s in some of the worst pain she’s ever felt. Her arteries have ripped and her blood has entered her arterial wall. She’s having a stroke.”

“Please stop,” Yancy begged.

“She’s dying. And her second to last thought before she fully slips into death’s embrace is what did I do? She feels betrayed, and yet she still can’t bring herself to hate her son. And as her soul finally leaves she thinks please God don’t let anyone hurt him.”

Yancy fell to his knees, devastated. He hugged himself as he felt tears prick at the back of his eyes. How was he supposed to react to this? He wanted to shrivel up and die. But the Host wasn’t done.

“Now how about Yancy’s father?”

Yancy shook his head. He wanted to beg the Host to stop. He would do anything.

“Yancy’s father came downstairs after ten minutes to find his son still choking the corpse of his dead wife. Yancy raised his head to look up at him. Everything happened so fast, too fast for his father to fight him off.. Yancy had reached towards the counter and ran at his father to attack. At first he had thought his son had punched him repeatedly. And he foolishly thought to himself that he could have a chance of survival if he ran. Then he felt the warmth. He felt like he was covered in hot sweat, and then he looked at his son. His son was holding a knife with a blade covered in so much red that it had coated the handle, thick red rivulets of it ran down his hand. He looked down at his chest. He couldn’t see the wounds. His white shirt had been dyed completely red and stuck to his chest. It was beginning to run down his trousers and stain the carpet. And then he felt the pain. He felt the hot searing pain in his organs. He screamed, and Yancy lunged forward to slit his throat.”

Yancy was sobbing openly now, uncaring of the Host’s presence.

“The man felt the same betrayal his wife had, and as he choked on his own blood he hoped that they wouldn’t kill his son when they found him.”

Yancy’s heart cleaved in two. Even in the end his parents had loved him. He was a monster. The Host was right, it would only be a matter of time before Yancy turned on his new family. He didn’t deserve to be here. He should be back in prison suffering alone in solitary. Without thinking, he got up and ran past the Host, going further into the library until the Host could no longer hear his cries of anguish.

***

The Host had made his way up to the Doctor’s office, his bandages heavy with blood after forcing those visions of Yancy’s parents. It had been a slightly painful process removing his bandages, the blood acting as a glue. Dr Iplier had used cotton swabs to reach into his sockets and clear out fresh blood as well as blood that had dried to the inside of his sockets. He had remained silent for the entire cleaning process, mulling over what he had said to Yancy. Maybe he had gone slightly too far, but Yancy had ruined an entire book. And he hadn’t been wrong about Yancy’s capacity for violence.

“Have you seen Yancy?” Dr Iplier asked as he cleared the last of the blood from the Host’s gaping eye sockets.

“The Host has not,” he lied, hoping the doctor wouldn’t sniff out his guilt.

The Host wasn’t good at keeping secrets, it went against the very nature of his powers. He fought to keep from narrating what had happened in the library when Dr Iplier had asked, instead focussing on narrating his surroundings. 

Dr Iplier wrapped a fresh bandage around the Host’s eyes. “None of us have seen him all day. I’m afraid that he’s going to do something stupid.” 

“What does Dr Iplier mean?” 

“I’m honestly shocked the all-seeing Host never saw it,” Dr Iplier joked, trying to mask his obvious worry.

“The Host is not all-seeing,” the Host said as he beckoned for the doctor to continue.

Dr Iplier sighed. “You know it took him a while to adjust. Well, in the first few weeks before he came out of his shell he tried to kill himself. Broke into my office when I stepped out and tried to overdose. I’m afraid that something might tip him over the edge.”

The Host froze. 

Oh no. No no no. The Host had gone too far. He knew he’d gone too far. Not even ten minutes after Yancy had ran from him, the Host had started to feel as though there were stones in his stomach, and he didn’t want to admit to himself that he was beginning to feel regret. The weight of his mistake hit him like a train, forcing the breath out of him. Dr Iplier shot him a quizzical look that the Host ignored in his panic. He hadn’t liked Yancy, but he hadn’t wished for his death. All of his thoughts crashed into him. Who was he to judge Yancy anyway? He had been a monster too at one point. And this. . . if he had pushed Yancy to the edge then it would be even more blood on his hands. 

Yancy might still be in his library. He had to find him. As soon as a fresh bandage covered his eye sockets he shot out of the office and ran.

***

The Host had forced a vision. It made him bleed profusely and he would probably need to go back to the doctor fairly soon, but it had helped him find Yancy. He was deep in the library, and the Host found him curled up hugging his knees and sniffling, just like he had been in the Host’s vision. Yancy’s face was red and streaked with tears, his brown eyes bloodshot and the skin around them puffy. He was breathing hard, exhausted from the excessive sobbing. If he heard the Host’s approach then he ignored him. 

“Yancy?”

Still Yancy ignored him. The Host didn’t blame him.

“Yancy, the Host is sorry.”

Still nothing. Sighing, the Host sat on the floor across from him, back leaning against the bookshelf and crossing his legs.  

“Just leave me to starve,” Yancy whispered. “I’m a monster. They loved me and I killed them. All because I can’t keep my cool.”

The Host winced. He shouldn’t have told him their last thoughts. It had probably made it easier believing that his parents had hated him in those last moments. The Host had made a terrible mistake. 

“Yancy isn’t a monster. The Host is a monster.”

Yancy lifted his eyes from his feet to stare at the Host, obviously curious but at the same time too afraid to ask. The Host was using his sight to look at the smaller man, blood slowly leaking through his bandages again as a result. Yancy looked so small and vulnerable curled up in the Host’s library. It made his heart twist with even more regret. 

“The Host ignored Yancy. He ignored Yancy’s issues. He ignored Yancy’s pain. And the Host has no right to judge if Yancy has violent tendencies.” The Host took a deep breath, his own memories just as painful. “The Host was someone else before. Someone who did terrible things. He hurt people for fun. He would break people’s legs with his bat and watch them crawl. He would cut off slices of skin and make them swallow it. He would put out cigarettes on his victims eyes. So the Host supposes that Yancy and the Host aren’t so different after all. No amount of apologies can take away what the Host and Yancy did, but all they can do is try to move on.” The Host took another deep breath. “The Host is sorry. He truly is. And he will spend as long as is necessary to make it up to Yancy.”

Yancy stared at him, but at least his tears had stopped flowing. The same couldn’t be said for the blood still dripping out of the Host’s eye sockets.

Finally Yancy uncurled himself, wiping his eyes and face as he did so. “It’s. . . It’s alright.”

It wasn’t alright, and the Host didn’t feel any better. In fact, he felt worse. And things were beginning to grow awkward in the silence that stretched out between them. The Host looked for something, anything to say.

“Does Yancy like to read?” 

Yancy looked down at his feet, almost seeming to be ashamed. “I can’t read.”

The Host cocked his head in surprise. Yancy was illiterate?

“I just. . . never did so well in school. And people in prison don’t care if you read good, ya know? One cellmate once read his book to me once when I asked, but I was too embarrassed to ask if he’d teach me.”

Yancy wanted to learn to read. And the Host had a library full of books.

“Then the Host will teach Yancy.”

“Youses don’t have-”

The Host held up his hand. “It’s the least the Host can do. He will not take no for an answer.”

Finally, Yancy nodded. And the Host was pleased to see a timid smile on his face. 

The Host stood and offered the smaller man a hand. “Lets begin.”

#markiplier #markiplier egos #the host #yancy #yancyiplier

[mrs-hyperfixed-writes]

Things are Different Now

For the Rat-mama down at @the-tragic-hero-and-you. You turned me into an Actor stan and a drawing of yours inspired this. I should be studying but this was more important.

The Actor deals with the aftermath of a fight with Y/N.

The Actor cracked his knuckles against his desk, the noise audible all throughout his study. His other hand nursed a glass of whiskey, the ice cubes gently clinking against one another. The room was quiet except for the roaring of a fire, and one could make the mistake that it was peaceful. But internally Mark’s mind was like a black cloud. He was in a foul mood, and likely would be for the rest of the day if he didn’t fix it. Maybe for the rest of the next as well. 

An argument. A stupid argument with his dear y/n.

They had fought before, countless times. What couple doesn’t? But this felt different. This felt final. Y/n had started the fight when they had found the Actor in his old bedroom holding Celine’s old dress, running the fabric through his fingers. They had seemed to snap, complaining about how they always would be just a replacement for Celine, or at the very least a second best option. They had said that he would always choose Celine first. Would he prefer that they started dressing and acting like her? Would he like it if they had been as cold and cruel as she had? Maybe if they’d fuck the butler, the closest thing Mark had to a friend besides themselves then he’d feel like she was with him again. Or maybe they should just go fuck themselves. He’d often forgotten recently how they’d been a DA, they knew how to argue and what buttons to push. 

Indignant, he had bit back about how the same could be said for y/n and Damien. How they’d probably trade Mark in a heartbeat to have him beside them instead even after what he’d done. It wasn’t Mark who’d trapped them in the mirror, but it was Mark who’d dragged them out. And then he’d gotten angry. Very angry. He was on a roll now, and he couldn’t stop himself if he’d wanted to. And they’d been the one to poke the wound that Celine had left. He was a man in mourning. He had told them that if they really wanted to go then they could, and he would love to see how long it took for them to come crawling back. Maybe they would find that monster that Damien and Celine had become. Maybe they would see how good they had it when it looked at Y/n from their original body with nothing but disgust in their eyes. Maybe when it learned how Y/n’s relationship with the Actor had developed it would try to hurt them. But then it would discard them when it realised that not even Mark wanted them. And they would be all alone again.

Something in y/n’s eyes had seemed to break. Tears started to fall and they’d put a hand to their mouth and the other to their stomach as if they were in agony. They had looked at him once more before running from the room, leaving him there with clenched fists and metaphorical steam coming out of his ears. 

He had made his way to his study at one point, pouring himself a drink, and another, and another. He had been left to stew and consider what had happened. He hadn’t meant those things, of course not. But he had an uncontrollable temper sometimes. And Y/n had started it. How could they be so stupid? Thinking that he didn’t value them? That they were second fiddle to his ex-wife? He was loath to admit he was in the wrong, and he still wasn’t convinced that he was, but he needed to talk to them about it before they did something drastic. If they did leave he didn’t know what he would do with himself. 

He pushed his chair back, attempting to clear away the last embers of his anger and get rid of his bad mood. He put his half full glass on his desk, the ice rattling loudly with the force of it. Maybe he still needed a minute to think clearly?

***

They shared a bedroom at this point. Not the Actor’s old one, it had too many memories of happier times with Celine. He had figured his Y/n would have gone to the new one they shared. He knocked lightly on the door, not wanting to wake them. When there was no answer or sound of movement beyond the wood he opened it gently. Sure enough, Y/n lay curled up in the middle of the bed. They seemed to be fast asleep. The bed was enormous, making them seem so small. 

He crept closer to the side of the bed they faced to take a look at them. The pillow was wet where their tears had soaked through the fabric, and Mark felt a pang in his chest. But his attention was drawn to what they were curled around. A brown teddy bear in a red robe with black trimming with an empty martini glass fastened to its hand. Blotches of the fur on the bear’s head were wet where Y/n’s tears had soaked in. They held onto the bear for dear life as they slept, clinging on like it was the only thing in the world that would keep them grounded. Whatever was left of his anger dissipated in a puff of smoke. 

When had they made this? Why had they made it? Where had they hidden it?

They loved him. They really did. But seeing him with Celine’s dress had tipped them over the edge. He supposed he did talk about her a lot. And he had noticed Y/n staring at the wedding ring still on his finger. He sat down on the edge of the bed and put his hands in his head. Why were things so fucking complicated? 

He was a stubborn man, and hated admitting he had done something wrong. Y/n would apologise when they woke up, but this time he was going to beat them to it.

Y/n stirred behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see that they had tightened their grip on the teddy bear. A tear fell from one of their eyes as they continued to be dead to the world.

Then he stood up, and made his way to his old bedroom again. Throwing open the old closet doors he took out all of Celine’s old clothes and threw some of them over his shoulder. Pile by pile he took them to his study and threw them on the floor in front of the fireplace. Then he went back for her shoes and scarves. And then her veils, hats and even her jewellery. Everything that belonged to her was cleared out of that room. Once all that was left of her was on his study floor he looked at his fireplace. 

It was a massive thing, useful for keeping the chill out in a mansion that Mark couldn’t be bothered modernising. You could fit a person in it, and at the lowest point in his life he had considered throwing himself into it and lighting a fire underneath him.

He stopped to consider only for a second. He would be destroying what was left of his ex-wife. And there had been happy times with her. But then he thought of Y/n curling around the teddy bear they had modeled after him. Then he had thought of the first time he had ever received a bouquet of flowers, and the card that had said I love you - Y/n. He thought of how they would lie with him when he had a bad day, and how they would lead him out of bed to give him a bath and feed him. And he remembered when he had finally bought a stereo and the two of them had danced until their feet heart and drank until they’d ended up tangled in each other's arms. 

So considering all of these moments, he threw the first pile of Celine’s clothes into the fire and then watched it burn. He didn’t even wait for it to finish before the next pile went in on top of it. And then the next. He increased fervour, his breathing becoming heavier as he picked up handfuls of fabric. And then he was throwing jewelry. And suddenly there was nothing. Nothing but a roaring fire so hot that sweat was beginning to drip down the end of his nose.

He looked down at his left hand. The gold band winked back up at him. Without taking a second to think otherwise, he slid it off his sweaty finger and threw it into the fire. It was going to take a while, but by the time that fire finished burning it would be nothing but a chunk of metal. And that was perfect.

He picked himself up from the carpet and left his study, making his way towards the bedroom he shared with his love. They were still fast asleep in the centre of the large four-poster bed. Without a word, he crawled next to them and pulled them towards his own chest, the bear between them. They subconsciously snuggled closer, burying their face in his chest. 

He sighed, content. “Things will be different now,” he whispered before letting himself fall into a deep slumber

#markiplier #markiplier egos #actor Mark #y/n #actor mark x y/n