#mayor attorney
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mirror | manor (chapter 11)
Summary: After the events of Mirror | Void, a newly-christened Dark has two goals: take revenge on Mark, and, hopefully…
Find the DA.
Pairings: Damien/Dark x DA; Actor x DA (Implied, could be read as gen)
Warnings: none
Tagged: @opprose @volbeast @statictay @otterlyinluv @buc-eebarnes @flerpdederp @mirrorslament @hapikiou (if anyone else would like to be tagged hmu!)
i'm sorry this took almost three years to come out-
find it on ao3 | donate to my kofi
Dark knows the game.
Of course he does— he read the script.
He just expected them to see through it.
Then again... they haven’t seen through anything Mark’s done. They just don’t remember.
He can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a curse.
He sticks to the shadows as they approach, entirely too darling in what amounts to a burglar’s costume, as they wriggle their way inside.
Mark is his own brand of buffoon, and the ‘guards’ he hired match it to the letter, not a drop serious or truly threatening.
(“Sorry I didn’t message you first,” he says, brushing out bits of glass from his hair. “I tried to jam the cell signal and, um… it’s just broken.”)
Imbecile.
Even the dog is there, playing a role. How droll.
Even if she is a very good girl.
All throughout this, he watches for the guard’s radios, for a television screen, for— for anything that he might use to sway the DA, catch their attention without Mark noticing.
If he can just separate them—
The thing is, though, Mark is either ridiculously prepared for his planning, or is completely thoughtless about small, realistic details; throughout the entire museum, no guard has a radio, no wall has a screen.
Not ones that work, anyway— not a connection to anything remotely electromagnetic. Props at best. It’s the least technologically-advanced modern building Dark has been in since…
Well, since he left that manor, but that hardly counts.
The point stands that he’s unable to do much of anything but watch as the DA rolls their eyes and smiles at Mark’s antics, creeps quietly along while the man makes a fool of himself, face set and focused.
He’s seen that look. Pre-trial look. All business.
And they called him too serious all that time ago.
So fondly…
At any rate, their supposed treasure is both easy to get to and utterly unremarkable. A wooden case, carved but hardly special wood, the gem plastic even from his vantage point. A prop, like everything else.
And yet…
Mark lifts the box, and—
This is the end of the script. A successful heist, hightailing it out before they get caught, a seemingly-sincere thanks for help.
But there’s something. Like a little nudge, something like how he feels using the void, how the Earth seems to shift when the Host speaks creation.
The alarm trips.
Mark gives them a choice. Sneak out, or face the guards.
Perhaps... perhaps he overlooked. Perhaps he was given a working script, not the final draft.
Perhaps it’s another of Mark’s machinations.
There was no choice. Why is there a choice?
Why do they get a choice?
It doesn’t matter, really, because the DA picks exactly as he expected they would.
“We have to sneak out, it’s too dangerous, otherwise,” they say, just barely audible over the blaring alarm.
Mark’s face crumbles into a pout. “You’re no fun,” he whines— like a toddler; Dark half expects him to start stomping his feet— but he dutifully uncovers the sewer entrance, grumbling all the way.
The DA just watches, arms crossed. Petty.
They didn’t used to be so petty, but Mark deserves it, if anyone.
Dark very well understands that the entire thing is engineered, a massive staged undertaking to fool the DA and entertain an audience, unseen to his eyes but present all the same.
It doesn’t stop the trip through the sewers any less harrowing, doesn’t prevent him from using his unique position to draw attention away from the DA if ever they come a hair too close to getting caught.
It might be fake, but…
He doesn’t put it past Mark to introduce some very real danger. He’s a method actor, and he’d want his players to follow accordingly for maximum effect.
Dramatic ass.
They follow dutifully behind the entire way through the dark, though— and he notes it with a point of pride, one he chalks up to just how put out Mark seems— with a good amount of non-verbal sass. They cross their arms, roll their eyes, and stubbornly march right along behind Mark.
Not that Mark doesn’t try to get rid of them— oh, he tries to shake them like gum stuck to his shoe, and it’s a thrill to see him huff and grumble when they simply shake their head. He pouts— at several points! So very childish.
Then—
Hm. Unsurprising that the creator of this convoluted mess would whip up some way to surely remove them; if there’s one possible thing they’d listen to above anything else, it’s a worksite safety sign.
Not for lack of effort, though. “I… I really don’t know if we should split up, Mark,” they say, casting an uneasy glance back at the tunnel they just left. “I know it says only one, but if something happens—“
“Nothing’s going to happen! Nothing bad has happened even once!” His bright grin only gets a— astoundingly dry— look in return. It’s nearly impressive that he barrels on, anyway. “It’s for safety, buddy! You’re all about safety— and! We’re synchronized! In five minutes you just follow me over. Or I follow you, whichever.”
Mark gives them a once over, all while grinning, and if Dark wasn’t looking— wasn’t incensed at the familiarity— he wouldn’t have noticed, wouldn’t have cared. Alas.
It’s too… possessive. Too pleased.
He doesn’t need Damien in his head to stoke his rage, it seems, not anymore. The only thing that stops him is what Mark says next.
“You have a choice, sunflower.”
A choice. There it is again, more choices, as if giving them the power to change any of this. Giving them a say.
So they don’t feel trapped.
Aren’t they, though? If Mark wrote everything, created everything, what kind of choice is it?
However…
They glance back at the shadowy tunnel again, frowning, worrying at the sleeves of their top in a too-familiar pattern. If they turn back, they’ll be away from him. How far apart can they both get in five minutes?
How far apart do they need to be for him to intervene?
This is his chance. It may well be the only one he’ll get, and the margin of error is far too slim for his liking— he must get this right. He must say the right thing— and pray they don’t hate or fear him.
Thankfully, time goes a little off-kilter in the Void, or else he’d have to make a very quick plan.
He’ll have to ease them in. See what they could possibly remember from that night, prod what needs prodding. It’s an easy enough parlor trick to conjure up a memory these days.
After that… what could he say?
Damien— he— was never short for words in his past life. As mayor— as councilman, as law student, as debate captain, as his father’s son— he simply had to be good with them, and he was.
Not quite so smoothly charismatic as Mark, not as bombastic and warm as Wil, but— well, he didn’t make mayor through his familial connections, whatever certain parts of his constituency may have believed. He delivered his speeches, his debates, with calm strength, something personable but solid.
Hell, he—
He used to write them for fun. The person— people, really— standing right outside this pocket of Void once teased him.
How are you writing a paper now? Finals are over! Come on, live a little!
Even I don’t want to spend all summer in a library. Won’t you come with me? There are new flowers in the arboretum!
The memory comes unbidden, and throws him off-balance; thankfully, he doesn’t fall out of his incorporeal state or ruin any of his planning.
Such a memory… but how? That’s more of Damien’s—
He hasn’t heard him. Not since that agonizing split when he entered their dream.
Mayhaps they didn’t split.
Mayhaps—
“Well… if you’re sure, Mark,” they sigh, hardly thrilled at the idea. “But it has to be five minutes. If you disappear on me—“
“Relax! It’ll be okay, you’ll see me. Sheesh, you’re so serious.” Mark huffs— then straightens himself. Smiles, even as they turn away, towards Dark. “Yes, alright! You go down that tunnel, I’ll go down this tunnel. If you see anything, and I mean anything, you just turn that sweet little tuchus around and—“
He’s had about enough of that. With hardly more than a thought, he whisks Mark away elsewhere, wherever elsewhere may be, and rolls out his Hall of Memories.
And prays.
They used to pride themself on being unflappable, before, and he can see shades of it, now: their face remains the same, alert but not startled as they take in the paintings, the dust swirling in the beam of their flashlight.
He knew the truth of that, though, and it, too, remains; you need not look at their face for their feelings, but their hands.
Though one holds the flashlight, all ten fingers are in motion— tapping the length of the flashlight, curling and uncurling in their sleeve, the belt loop, the zippers and buttons of their bag. Moving for comfort, perhaps— certainly no expression of joy, as the rest of them is ramrod-straight, stiff with each step.
He longs— longs, what is happening to him— to say something to ease the anxiety, raise the darkness, but he can’t. This is no matter he can explain with soft, comforting words and a pot of tea. His powers aren’t of light at all.
They can, though, reach an electromagnetic signal, and now that they’re alone, he pushes through his thoughts.
Finally, you’re away from him. Aren’t you tired of it?
What?
He’s running you ragged. Don’t you feel like you’re running in circles?
That’s not what he said— not quite, anyway.
They won’t tell you anything. No one seems to question it.
Why can’t he change it?
I know you’re in there. But I thought you’d see through it.
The final painting, of the monster himself, grinning like a fool. It begins to crumble before them both— they step back, fingers tight around both phone and flashlight— and Dark gets a split second of pure dread before—
Before—
My villain. I wrote everything. Even you.
It’s not painful. It’s not— it’s not even close to the searing split of the dreamworld, nothing to the pain in his stolen body, nuts compared to his shattered leg almost a century ago. It doesn’t hurt at all.
He almost wishes it did.
“Same snake, different skin,” he muses, and something inside him quails at the sight of fear— truly, rare fear— in their eyes when they turn to take him in. “Always spinning his yarns, his webs, his lies.”
He means to say it. He means to say he’s nothing but a monster in human skin, that they’re being dragged one way or another at his whims— he doesn’t mean to sound so… angry. So—
Villainous.
He screams, though it doesn’t come out— not of this body. Instead, there’s the discomfort of a fragment, juddering, lashing void in every direction. He only keeps enough sense to keep it away from them.
Without him— without him!— his body paces, a smile too similar to Mark’s on his face. “Perhaps we’ve met a hundred times already, and you simply don’t remember it. Perhaps you’re tired of me repeating myself over and over and over and over again!”
He’s seen them a hundred times, but have they met? Has he said anything to them, his desperate wish for them to remember and leave simply that, a wish?
No. This is Mark’s doing, but he’s far from the only one with power. Dark pushes past the discomfort, past the fragments that shatter out of him, and tries to touch it. Tries to see what, exactly, controls him.
It’s a web.
Not unlike a spider’s, really, glimmering threads of words in several different directions, coalescing into bright points of light wherever they meet.
Ah, the choices. Planned for, then— prolonging the make-believe.
He sees an island man. He sees a brilliant scientist. He sees a pirate, an adventurer, a prisoner. He sees their end a dozen times, more, always coming back to the start.
He sees himself— but his point, his thread, is loose.
Not so in control now, are you, Mark?
They must know. They have to know.
With what little wriggle room he has, he reaches out— and changes a couple letters. One at each point. Nothing shifts, nothing breaks, but something is different— hopefully, different enough for his clever attorney to find.
They’re the sharpest he’s ever known. If anyone could, it’s them.
He settles back into his body, still speaking without him— without him!— and pacing before a desk. It doesn’t feel so wrong with his newfound confidence… in fact—
“You want answers.” He smiles to himself, happy to have control again, and for the hell of it, picks up the glass of wine— seemingly, so kindly provided for by the writer. “Well, games were always his forte.”
He’s not sure of the vintage, or even sure of the varietal, given the monochrome nature of his Void, but he takes a sip, anyway.
He tries hard not to gag, but can’t hide his wince. For all his budget, Mark hardly splurged on something decent, it seems.
Suppose that’s the loss of his wine cellar at work.
“But allow me this one moment of self indulgence.”
He sets the wine down. Neither of them will be partaking of it.
“Excuse me—“
He stops, holding the box— the conduit in this little foray into pretend— and looks at them from atop the desk. They’re— smiling a little. Not big, but it’s theirs, and if his heart still beat— “Yes?”
“Why’d you pick that wine if you didn’t like it?”
He wants to laugh. Oh, he wants to laugh at that, because in the face of— quite frankly— something frightening and beyond their control, they’re teasing it. He loves them.
He loves them.
“I didn’t,” he admits, truthfully. There’s something so warm in his chest, something he can’t prevent from showing on his face, so fond. “Sometimes we take what we’re given, for better or for worse. This game, for instance. This box.
“So much trouble, all for something so small.” He looks to them curiously, smile fading. “Do you want to know what’s inside this box?
“I didn’t imagine we’d have to be in sewers to get it,” they add dryly. “After all this, I definitely want to know, and it has to be something worth it, or else.”
He’d laugh at the thought, them tearing into Mark for dragging them over hill and dale, but he’s seen what lies ahead. They’ll have time to do it, and the nudging at his body indicates he’s rather short of time himself. “Well, I know how much you like a good game, so throughout your… adventures, I’ve hidden codes. Several codes. Find them all, and you’ll get your truth.”
They don’t look especially pleased at that, but the light comes into their eyes despite the slump of their shoulders— the light that kept them up all night with an encyclopedia or three, classes next morning be damned. “More games. Why am I not surprised?”
They eye him for a few long seconds, brow furrowed, even as the Void rumbles and sparks around them both. It’s too familiar, as if they’re reading him down to his core. “You aren’t Mark, are you? Not some character. But… you’re so familiar. Who… who are you?”
He could give them his name. It might spark something for them, kickstart whatever process they need to regain their memory of what happened. He wouldn’t even care if they screamed at him for all he put them through.
The Void, though, shakes and cracks, and he shakes his head with a slight frown and a mountain of regret. He has a modicum of control, still, but not fully. Not right now. “That’s all I’m going to give you.”
They open their mouth, but the Void winks them away, gone to their next run.
All he can do is sit and watch from here.
#fg writes#wkm fic#wkm fanfiction#ego fanfiction#darkiplier#actor mark#other markiplier egos#y/n district attorney#mayor attorney
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Mayor Attorney - The Charity Gala
Tonight was the night of the charity gala, one that had been highly anticipated for some time now. There had been a large drive across the city to organise small events to raise money for a good cause, and this gala was no different. The organisers had put a lot of care into making sure everything would go just right. The guest list included both the Mayor and the District Attorney, along with names that Damien eagerly reminded you of. People that had supported him in his campaign, patrons, and not a single person that would give him a stress headache trying to avoid for the entire night.
It was strange to know it was one that Damien had no direct involvement in, but that was a nice relief knowing that he might actually be able to enjoy himself. As Mayor, he would have to socialise and make his presence known, but you hoped he would have time to just be Damien for a little while.
It would be nice. The previous few weeks were too busy for both of you to find time for a date, and you had already agreed to attend this event together. Would it be wrong to make the most of the night?
-
You stood in front of the bathroom mirror so you could make the final adjustments to your hair. Your choice of outfit was a simple one - neat and black, plain and simple. It had been Damien's idea to co-ordinate with only black, but you couldn't ignore the suspicion bubbling up. Damien, a man who loves the chance to dress up nicely, the man who had once confessed that doing so was a 'guilty pleasure', opting for something ordinary? He had something planned.
But what? Damien wouldn't want to do anything that would throw him in the spotlight when he didn't want to be. He also wasn't someone who would add a flamboyant flair to his outfit.
Before you could mull further on what said 'plan' could be, there was a knock on the door. He was here. Your hair would have to do. A coat with money in a buttoned-up pocket was plucked off a chair on your dash to the door.
Damien stood in the doorway like a lingering shadow. He had kept his side of the deal. His black suit was pristine, with barely a crease in sight. The mayoral ribbon he wore for public events was the perfect shade to blend in with the material. His shoes were barely visible thanks to your shadow obscuring them. Even his shirt and bowtie were barely discernable from the jacket. What you did notice was the lack of accessory on the right lapel. He was known for wearing a flower, and you had expected him to find a black blossom.
The cane was neatly tucked under his left arm so he could carefully hold a small bouquet of white roses with both hands, as though afraid a mere breeze would damage them.
"I'm sorry," he smiled bashfully when he noticed your eyes drop down to the flowers, "I know we had agreed that we weren't to give any gifts ahead of our 'date' but… they were in their prime, and I couldn't help but be reminded of your sweet smile. You look perfect tonight, my love."
Ah, Damien. Roses might be a symbol of love, but you knew they were one of Damien's favourites, even before you two started dating. Once you let slip that you preferred the white blooms over the red ones, they became a reminder of you. You playfully rolled your eyes, accepted the bouquet, and invited him in so you could fetch a container of water to house them in. You would never be forgiven if they were left to dry out in the open air all night.
As you began placing the stems into their temporary, watery home, your gaze drifted over to Damien. He had stayed near the entrance, staying quiet so you could focus on your task and occupying himself with admiring the pictures on the wall. It was a common tactic he used for the sake of good manners. You waved a rose to get his attention, joking that you thought he had long lost 'guest' privilege by now.
You hit the nail on the head as he sheepishly chuckled and scratched his cheek.
"Ah. Yes. Well… This is a date, and I don't wish to behave so casually when it is the first time we've been together in a while." He paused as he noticed your wave beckoning him over. Who was he to argue with that? Slowly, he crossed the space to where you were working. "I simply want to make this a special night, and make sure you know how thankful I am that it is me you love." Your hands were preoccupied, and he took advantage of this to kiss your cheek.
The wall of formality was finally lowered, as Damien relaxed enough to engage in casual conversation about how the day went for both of you. His cane
For those few moments, you had forgotten the purpose of the night, until you glanced in his direction and was reminded of the empty lapel. You were quick to point this out.
"I did think one of my flowers would be a little too 'much' for a night that I have no involvement in. However, I did have an idea." He put his hand inside his jacket and pulled out two small, heart-shaped pins. One was red, the other was green. "A little gesture to show support, wouldn't you say?"
You flashed him a knowing smile. Your hunch was right, but you never would have expected how simple the act would be. He handed you the green pin so he could set to work putting the red one on your outfit.
"Sometimes, we have to remember the purpose for an event like this. It isn't merely to show how 'good' we are, or to make ourselves feel better. It's to help those who need it, and show that they aren't alone when it feels otherwise." With both pins in place, Damien stepped back to admire his handiwork. "There. Perfect."
You had a playful grin as you shook your head. You couldn't go just yet. His pin wasn't perfect, you claimed, as you reached back to the pin you had just put on him. He believed you, and that was his mistake. It left him open for your hands to swiftly move to either side of his face and pull him toward you for a kiss. When you leaned back, you saw a familiar lovestruck expression plastered on his face that you adored.
You asked if you should both get going to the gala. He nodded, leaning forward to close that gap between you one more time before it was time to go.
-
-
Do you want to help make a charity gala a success? Why don't you go check out Heropliers4Palestine, a week-long event dedicated to raising money to help the Palestine Children's Relief Fund (PCRF). Click here for more information on how you can support a good cause or help raise awareness, and get yourself something special and made just for you in return!
#writersofmark#mayor attorney#mayor damien#a date with markiplier#selfshipping#y/n district attorney#who killed markiplier#(no readmore because this is important mwahaha)#(Help support a great cause during the strike week!!)#(mobile posting so I am REALLY hoping it comes out okay)
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little test animation with clip studio paint bc i heard the audio last night n felt compelled to do some ozmien askdjh
#artswin#hey main blog i aint dead surprisingly#markiplier#wkm damien#wkm district attorney#mayor attorney#who killed markiplier#ozmien??? in the year of our lord 2024?#its more likely than you think#wkm#self ship#osmien#ozmien#wkm DA#district attorney#damien the mayor#mayor damien#animswin
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Happy holiday! Do you have headcannon of what would be damien's nickname for the da? And also did those nickname change when he's dark?
Happy holiday to you too (and anyone who celebrates!)
I do!
For Damien...
Damien very much gives off the "I'll use endearing pet names without us being in a relationship" vibes. Either as a cover or as friends.
"My dear" is a common one
As well as "little monster". Just the way it's said in WKM feels so much like a nickname used by a group that's turned into a term of endearment. The inflection paired with that warm, bright grin, you know?
Mostly, however, his nicknames are likely going to be largely based off the DA's name. Shortening it, or turning it into a pun that'll make the DA groan.
"Starlight" is one I like to use for my DA. Because...you don't see them until the conditions are just right, and then they shine so brightly it steals your breath away. (In return, he gets called "Sunshine".)
Dark...well.
It's always there, right on the tip of his tongue. All the endearments, all the old nicknames. But he knows his tone is different now. Where it was warm, it's cold. He sounds like he's sneering half the time.
It all sounds snide. And with the DA? He doesn't want it to.
So he doesn't, not until even he gets tired, lets nostalgia get to him. His voice softens when it's not tempered with anger.
"My dear" sounds more personal. "Little monster" regains it's gentle teasing quality. "Darling" comes more naturally.
He can't bring himself to use the nicknames and puns based off the DA's name, however. Either he's afraid of reminding the DA of who he used to be (and can no longer be), or he feels like he doesn't deserve to. The puns are hardest...his anger has burned away his sense of humor.
#askbox and you shall receive#nova headcanons#darkiplier x da#tall dark and spooky#dark attorney#wkm damien#mayor attorney#mayor damien#wkm darkiplier#wkm the mayor#wkm the da#markiplier egos#who killed markiplier#darkiplier
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Egotober - Day 12
Prompt: Green
Prompts by @tracobuttons
---
You remembered it randomly. Vividly. The tiny bar on the fringes of the city, occupied only by regulars and a sole, seasoned-looking bartender who glanced up and grunted as you and Damien filed in and chose a booth by the door.
It was the night before the election; Damien at that point was well known but not famous, like he would be later. Still, you’d chosen the diviest of dives on the idea that maybe neither of you would be recognized.
Case in point, the bartender barely glanced at you as he plunked two beers to the scarred, wooden table. The bottles were green and foaming, the glass gleaming under the dusty chandelier hanging above you. Reflections danced across the table and wall.
Damien’s eyes were warm. He smiled at you as you held your bottle to his, clinking them together before tipping it back. The beer wasn’t particularly good, but it was alcohol, and that was enough.
“No matter what happens tomorrow,” Damien said, setting the bottle down. “It’s been an honor having you by my side.”
“You’ll win,” you answered, feeling your face flush. “Have faith.”
Damien took another drink. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”I don’t know what I’d do without you. You paced the length of the mirror now, alone. You’d been alone for decades now, left behind without a body or a friend. You guessed he did know, after all.
#egotober2023#mayor attorney#mayor damien#the district attorney#markiplier egos#writersofmark#fanfiction#lostandwandering#lost writing tag#angst#q
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Sleepy…
Unfinished cuz I was to lazy to draw a background, shadow figure(DA) out here living(Nope) their best life
#art#digital art#wkm district attorney#wkm darkiplier#captain iswm#iswm#wkm damien#wkm#darkiplier#mayor attorney#yn chillin
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There are two wolves inside of me
#this was funnier in my head#markiplier#who killed markiplier#wkm#mayor attorney#wkm damien#wkm district attorney#mayor damien#wkm meme#they are best friends your honor
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Damien & District meeting as kids at a party in Markiplier Manor.
Damien’s introduced to District by his mother, after the fathers take Celine, Will and Mark to discuss ‘grown up things’.
Damien and District click instantly. They go and play in the gardens. District teaches him how to make flower crowns. Damien helps District work on their dancing technique. Both of them playing tag and being kids for a few hours. Both of their mothers watching from the living room window and agreeing to attend more parties together so they can discuss the pairs relationship.
The fathers and other kids return and are all introduced, Celine’s never seen Damien play so well with another kid that isn’t herself, Mark or Will.
The pairs fathers jokingly start a conversation about an arranged marriage. They get too into the conversation. Turns out they both run very powerful similar businesses. Oh shit- DAMIEN DISTRICT RUNAWAY-
#damien#who killed markiplier#wkm#damien wkm#district#district attorney#mayor attorney#your gonna look at how close they are and tell me their parents didn’t consider an arranged marriage??
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so I have a specific mayorattourny fic in mind but its very much based on my interpretation of the DA so I'm just wondering if I should use my DA's name or should I leave it vague so people can enjoy it as a x reader fic? (should add that it would be a he/him DA regardless, just because this specific fic calls for that)
(another note: the DA character I have is not a self insert!)
#wkm#wkm da#wkm district attorney#darkiplier#wkm damien#mayor attorney#tired of the lack of new mayor attorney fics and taking things into my own hands
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My partner had the idea of The Actor, The Mayor, and The DA dancing together
And I’m just
Aaahhh
Their mind
That’s so good
#how have I never thought of this before#actor mark#damien the mayor#the da#wkm#pre wkm#platonic marmiyn#marmiyn#acting attorney#mayor attorney#marmien
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youtube
finally!
i storyboarded this three years ago, and now it’s finally out!
it’s taken a lot of work, but i’m proud, considering i’m not known as an artist
song is “hey little songbird” from hadestown
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When Do We Ditch This City? - Mayor Attorney
Word Count: 549
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“So when do we ditch this city for good?”
You don’t remember which of you had asked the question in the Mayor’s office. There was a function happening in the main hall, but Damien had opted to step out citing a headache, and you were quick on his heels to check he wasn’t sick.
As it turned out, he was fine. He was merely ‘sick’ of the formalities. You two had slumped onto the couch together, partially tangled up as you both willingly blocked out the existence of the party.
Leaving the city? After everything you both had put into it?
“My term will end in a year. I don’t plan to run for a second one.” Even with all the precautions he had taken, Damien was exhausted. “I’ve been saving, and I intend to move out of the city. Find a home of my own somewhere far from the claws of my parents. But… I’m willing to postpone that plan if you wish to continue working here.”
You pulled yourself up just enough to give him a bewildered look. You’d quit your job tomorrow if it meant Damien could escape his horrible family situation. Once you knew when his tenure would be up, you would hand in your letter of resignation. You were sure you had some medical ailment that you could ham up.
“I don’t want people thinking you are dying.”
You dismissed his concern with a light bat of your hand. You will be unwell with a bout of ‘stringititis’, which makes you want to lie on your bed and wave your arms like they’re made out of noodles.
Damien snorted, which only served to bolster you. More severe cases would make you want to learn how to tie your arms into ribbons so you can look very pretty.
“You’re already pretty. I can give you one of my bowties if you’re that desperate.”
As much as you appreciated the offer, you opted to decline, stating that bowties were his thing, not yours. Leaving a kiss on his forehead, you admitted that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth if it meant you two could stay together.
“It will be grand when we’re both free,” he promised in a whisper. His right hand reached up to gently cup your cheek. “I would love nothing more than to find a place in the world with you. Somewhere quiet, somewhere small. A place where we can be near people, yet stay entirely separate if we so choose. Where would you want to go? It doesn’t have to be America.”
Anywhere? That was a rather important question that you couldn’t possibly think of a good answer for. All you could think of was how Damien’s plans sounded nothing short of perfect.
That was the right thing to say. His smile grew wider. “If I can live out my days with you as a family of our own, in whatever form that may take, with the ability to finally showcase my love for you in public without fear of having to avoid my family’s gaze, I will be the happiest man in the world.”
However cheesy that response may be, the sentiment behind it made something in your chest flutter as you leaned in to kiss him again.
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cupid.mp4
//explanation under the cut, feel free to ignore if you wanna try interpreting it cause idk if i showed it well enough (spoilers for WKM and its associated TW/CW)
lets get the three characters:
-blue: Damien
-green/grey: Oswin (the character, tho in wkm, i call him oz)
-black: dark
before the events of WKM, Damien and Oz were very much pining for one another despite not being able to do much at the time for a plethora of reasons, so they went along with their lives, hoping for another chance to meet and interact again.
when WKM happens, we all know who dies, and at the end, the DA's body gets stolen by the negative parts of Damien, Celine, and a manor entity, leaving the DA's mind and soul trapped in the mirror.
As Dark leaves Oz in the mirror, the good lingering parts of Damien remains and sees the damage it caused to his old friend.
There Oz yells, smashing the mirror trying to free himself, all the while feeling betrayed by Damien. Both are in shock and in betrayal at Dark.
In a fit of compassion and determination however, Damien reaches into the mirror to grab Oz. He ends up grabbing the soul of Oz, leaving the mind behind in the mirror, greyed and shattered.
Damien holds Oz's soul and cries, comforting the person he loved with all his heart. Despite Oz's soul lacking the memories of the times they were alive, he still recognizes the man he trusted and loved, shedding a single tear before resting in his arms for the last time.
The last shot is of the modern Oswin who partakes in AHWM and ADWM, he awakes in his bed, his eyes glowing blue from the panic he feels. The dream he had was so real, too real, and he cant remember why he's crying.
#da sona#heist sona#date sona#artswin#animswin#markiplier#wkm#who killed markiplier#damien the mayor#mayor damien#district attorney oswin unknown#districtattorney#wkm district attorney#mayor attorney#darkiplier#damien x oc#this took me a day n a half to make#my hands are fuckin dead lmao#angst#jack stauber animation#cw loud
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Seasonal
Characters: Damien, GN!Reader
Word Count: 942
Spicy Rating: F L U F F
Spring is wet this year. The rain makes Damien's knee stick unpleasantly, and he complains to you in private, stolen moments about how hard it is to focus on things. He's thankful for the quieter time of year for his office, where the most he has to concern himself with are upcoming projects. It still takes him longer than he'd like to think about them through the fog over his mind, but you help him break down each project into pieces he can process. You, without judgement, seek out the things he needs help with. Quietly making sure his cane is within reach to help navigate tricky things like standing smoothly. Making sure his salve is within reach. Fetching files, despite not being his assistant, being the one to push him to ring his secretary and let her know he's not making it in.
"I adore you," he sighs on one such day, his leg propped up on a footstool as he sinks into the armchair. You turn back to smile at him as the log you set on the fireplace catches.
He means so much more with those simple words than you know.
Summer is unbearably hot, and it's the worst for trying to focus. The offices are stuffy, even with every window open. He's trying so hard to focus on getting all his events planned. You watch a bead of sweat trail from his hairline down his face, ignored as Damien tries his best to make all his political appearances line up right.
"You have a summer home on the shore, don't you?" He looks up, nodding despite the confused furrow in his brow. "Send everyone home today, it's too damn hot, and no one will be here over the weekend. Why don't we go there, enjoy the breeze and the water, and plan over the weekend?"
Damien's eyes light up, and you know he had utterly forgotten about the place. He spends the drive there with you chattering about his favorite memories. Ever since his sister had gotten married, he hadn't had a reason to really take a break and visit. "It used to be a little tradition. A weekend in the very least, every summer. No worries or thoughts about the world, just enjoying life."
The cooler salt air seems to perk him right up, and there's something that warms the depths of your heart to see him relax without the pressures of presentability. The planning had gotten done in mere minutes, leaving you both able to actually relax.
"You really do always know exactly what I need, my dear," he offers to you softly as you place the lemonade in front of him.
Fall is tense for you both. Even with it not being an election year, it's still a crucial time to make sure his appearances, and the upcoming winter months, are perfect. It's bizarre to think of autumn as the season where all eyes are on you both, but he's getting more and more stressed out, planning out the city's big winter activities with his meeting schedule. He's always insisted on planning his own calendar out.
So you take the time one evening to insist that he comes to your place after work instead of right back home, where you know he'll work again. You can't help but smile hearing him call out from your front door, only for him to appear in the kitchen minutes later and stand in awe of the fact that you made him dinner.
"You didn't need to do this," he spoke between bites as you ate together.
"And how likely were you to remember to eat on your own?" Your quip gave him pause, and a faint blush dusted his cheeks.
"What would I do without you?"
And like that, winter fell upon the city, dusting everything into a romantic coat of white. In a few days, it would be the new year, and the seasons would carry on. It felt oddly bittersweet to you, the way the world kept changing, how things would ultimately be both the same and different.
Damien walked side by side with you, both of you enjoying the hot, sweet drinks as you meandered through the cleared paths in the park. The silence was comfortable between you, as it always had been, bundled up against the bite of cold air. The slow stroll allowed you plenty of time to think about curling up before a roaring fire, bundled in a favorite blanket. The sky was grey and full of heavy clouds, telling you that a new coat of snow was due by tomorrow morning.
"I simply must wonder, my dear," he finally spoke, breaking the quiet. "If I truly convey enough how much you mean to me for all that you do."
"You've said thank you enough." You shook your head, fighting down a laugh. "And I keep telling you that it's fine!"
"Not that. I..." Damien gestured carefully with his drink, trying to not spill it. "I fear I've...not made it clear."
"Made what clear?"
"That...That I...oh, blast my nerves, why the hell is this so difficult."
"Damien?"
"I...I love you. I've been in love with you since we first met, and every action you do for me just pulls me deeper into the depths until I feel lost in how intensely I feel for you."
You stop, blinking frantically as your thoughts try to catch up to his words, only fully processing them as you meet his gaze, and he asks you four words, words you can simply nod an answer to before you melt into his embrace.
"May I kiss you?"
#mayoral heartthrob#mayor x reader#mayor attorney#wkm the mayor#wkm damien#mayor damien#markiplier egos#who killed markiplier#my writing#wkm#wkm the mayor x district attorney#damien x gn!reader
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police reports and historians call them business partners. i have chosen to call them roommates, besties, homosexuals even.
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Damien: What on earth did you do???
Y/N: I got drunk last night despite knowing I go into work today and now I feel miserable. But it’s fine, really, I mean, I’ve done some of my best work hungover.
Damien: Have you really?
Y/N: Lol no Dames I fucked up so bad—
#who killed markiplier#damien the mayor#y/n the district attorney#mayor attorney#marshy speaks#this very dumb bit of dialogue has been rattling around my head for a while now so take it just take it
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