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weirdlyhornyforegos · 2 years

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Dust and Moonlight

MINORS DNI!! Perfect time to bring out this idea stuck in my notes for a year ;3 Directed at horny gang (but mostly @westanthewaterman and @sleeplessinspace ) and everyone that have joined the Illinois chaos (also funny sidenote; this was titled “revenge illy” for a bit ;3 )

Warnings/tags: handjob, fingering (reader receiving)

Wordcount: 2.1k+

By the time you and Illinois make it out of the caves, you’re sweaty and exhausted, covered in dust and just ready to set up your tents and sleep.

Or even, screw the tents, just sleeping right on the ground sounds tempting right about now. It’s a warm enough summer night to do so, you just might.

It’s dark out, but the moon lights up the surroundings well enough that you have no problem walking without any extra light.

You had both agreed to leave your stuff hidden away in some bushes next to the lake that the caves starts at, and not setting up anything in case someone else came.

You didn’t want to bring it into the caves while exploring, but at the same time you didn’t want it to be fully out and visible for anyone to see and steal.

Not that it was likely, since you were somewhere that could be the definition of bum fuck nowhere.

So as you walk over to the lake, you curse the fact that you will have to actually set up the tents before you can sleep, but you don’t want to do anything right now.

Kneeling down next to the lake, you scoop up some water to rinse at least some dust off your face.

You hear Illinois shuffle somewhere behind you, but you don’t pay it much mind until his steps goes past you. You look up, and is met with Illinois walking out into the lake, back turned to you.

His very bare back.

In fact, all of him is bare except his hat that is still on his head. You get a nice look at his naked ass before it disappears underneath the water.

You squeak and hide your face in your hands, hearing Illinois chuckle.

“Illinois!”

“What, the water is lovely. Nice temperature and easiest way to get all that dust off.” You look up and he has turned towards you.

The water comes up to just below his chest, but you can’t see much below that.

Not that you need to, what you can see is making your face feel warm enough. Illinois chuckles, surely noticing your gaze, but he doesn’t comment on that just yet.

“Come on, join me.” You’re tempted, for a few seconds you hesitate. “I promise the water is nice.”

“It’s not the water I’m worried about.”

“Aww, come one, I don’t bite.” Illinois winks, and you huff. It’s not him either, its honestly yourself. You have been able to control yourself and not fall for him, but being near a naked Illinois might be a bit too much.

But, you must admit, it would be nice with a swim.

So with a sigh you get up and start undressing, making Illinois grin smugly. You don’t comment on the fact the he watches you get undressed or that is sends heat traveling through you. But he comments on you leaving your underwear on.

“Aw shucks, not going to go skinny dipping with me?” You snort as you take your first few steps out into the water.

“Not everyone is an exhibitionist like you.”

“I am not, I just.... appreciate the natural beauty of our bodies.” You don’t answer that, but give him an unimpressed look as he winks again.

Bastard.

At least he hadn’t lied about the water. It feels nice, slightly cool against your heated skin, and you can almost feel the dust coming off you.

You keep a respectable distance between you the two of you as you lower yourself until only your head is above water. Closing your eyes, you can’t help the little content sigh that escapes you.

“See, told you.”

“Oh shut your trap.” Illinois just laughs, smug as always, and you find yourself smiling despite yourself.

Next there’s noise you can’t identify, and when you open your eyes you find Illinois’s hat floating on the surface alone.

You only manage to worry for a second before Illinois pops his head up right next to his hat, shaking his head to keep his hair out of his eyes and rid it of some water. The water runs down his chest, leaving only drops behind his tan chest.

He looks like one of those models from those shitty commercial that uses sex and hot people to sell less than subpar products.

Oh no.

Illinois catches you staring and this time he chooses to comment.

“Like what you see honey?” You look away, your face feeling like it’s on fire while you try not to put.

“No.” That’s perhaps the biggest lie you’ve ever told. You hear the water moving, a clear sign Illinois is not just standing still anymore, but you don’t look until there’s a hand on your jaw turning your head.

“Are you sure?” Illinois smile is soft, but also somehow smug. How he manages that you don’t know, but fuck him for it.

Or....

“I, ummm...” Illinois leans closer then, and you’re sure if you were the protagonist in a cheesy romance novel, you would faint right about now.

But you’re not, and you don’t, but you have to admit your knees do feel a little weaker.

“You know you can touch, and not just look if you like.” He takes on of your hand and places it on his chest. You have to resist the urge to just grab, instead you’re a little more refined, letting your fingers wander.

Illinois hums deep then, it’s almost a growl as your fingers brush against a nipple.

“There you go treasure.” You will deny to high heaven that you whine just then, but Illinois grins at you, looking for all intent and purposes like that cat that ate the canary.

His own hands come to rest as your waist, pulling you closer to him. You feel his hard cock rub against you, making your breath hitch as he also noses along your jaw.

“So pretty...” He places a kiss there, and now you grab the back of his head, knocking his hat off in the process, pulling him in harshly to so you can kiss him properly.

Lips against lips he makes a noise of surprise as you kiss him, but there is nothing slow with the way he returns the kiss. He only lets you have the upper hand for a few seconds, licking his way into your mouth with purpose.

You groan into the kiss as you feel his cock rub against the front of your underwear, you own arousal very much announcing its arrival deep in your guts.

Illinois breaks the kiss, but only so he can grab his hat from behind it, barely keeping it from sinking. As he goes to place it back on his own head, you tug at his hair.

“It will just be in the way.”

“Hm, I guess you got a point.” Seconds later the hat is placed on your head instead. It doesn’t quite fit right, but the smile that Illinois sends you makes you forget that instantly.

“Looking good honey.” Another wink, and he looks so handsome it should be stupid. A smug look on his face, water droplets covering his tan torso, the moonlight making him almost look eternal.

Fuck, you’re in bad, huh?

You pull him in for another kiss and he smiles into it, your tongue quickly coming out to meet his.

Your arousal soars as his hands move, one to grab at your ass, the other to rub against your underwear clad front. You whine into the kiss, moving against his hand.

The hand against your front is gone for the briefest of seconds before making it’s it way under your underwear, fingers dancing over your arousal. You whine, moving against his hand. Your hand in Illinois hair tugs his head back, making him break the kiss with a groan.

“Treasure...” His voice rumbles, and you keen against him, strangling your moan by biting his shoulder, hard. He grunts, but doesn’t stop moving his hand against you. “Fuck.” You soothe the bite mark now adoring his shoulder with your tongue.

He sounds so breathless, and the sound of it soars through your body. Now you’re the one that feels smug, making the normally so confident man sound like that.

And you haven’t even touched him yet.

But that changes as your hand moves between the two of you, coming to grasp his cock in your hands. Your fingers wrap around him, giving a light squeeze. He moans, and it sounds like the sweetest sound you have ever heard.

“Darlin’, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Only if you stop touching me.” He squeezes your ass then

“Didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

“Good.” You mutter against his neck. To be honest you have always wondered how his neck and shoulders would look with your bite-marks and hickeys on it, so you start on doing just that.

His neck is so open like this, your head in his hair keeping his head tilted back while your other hand works on his cock.

His hands working you over, one against in your underwear working over your arousal, while the other slides from your ass to rest one finger against your hole.

“Yessss.” You try to move down against his finger, but the angle isn’t the best.

But, taking advantage of the water around you, you jump up with no real effort, putting your legs around his waist.

You briefly have to let go if his cock to do so, but you don’t give him much of break, your hand is back in seconds.

“Ahhh, there you go honey.” You hum against his neck as one finger enters you, starting on another hickey, making your breaths hitch in unison.

You feel slightly weightless like this, the water holding some of your weight, but you still considered it a show of strength on both your parts that the only holding in place is your legs around Illinois waist and his hands against your arousal and hole.

The water laps at you both, but you hardly pay it any mind as your hand works over his cock with one hand, the other keeping his head tilted back for you so you can make marks along his neck and shoulders.

The quite night is filled with the sounds of your shared moans. Your hand against his cock and mouth against his skin, his hands against your arousal and your hole.

At one point Illinois hits that bundle of nerves inside of you, making you shake with your next moan. His own corresponding moan is more of a laugh, though it changes as you thumb the head of his cock.

“Illinois, Illy, fuck!” You’re getting so close, every movement of his hands against your front and hole sending you closer and closer to the edge.

Illinois seems to be in much the same state, chanting your name right back at you, hands speeding up, determined to not be the first to cum, or at least to not let you fall behind.

Through some luck and skilled work from his fingers, you come first.

You shake apart with his hands on you, biting down hard as you come, making Illinois groan and come too.

You both keep stroking against the other until you’re both almost too sensitive, making you both shiver. Not from how cold the night air or water surrounding you both are, both how the other makes pleasure shoot up your spine.

You move from having your mouth solely on Illinois skin to give him a proper kiss, lips against lips. He exhales into it, his hands on your thighs now. Keeping you in place, since you don’t think you have the strength

“Thought we got into this lake to get clean.” You mutter against Illinois’s lips. He chuckles, kissing your cheek.

“Something like that, yes. But I can help you scrub clean if you’d like.” You know that tone, the utter tease he is.

“Think I can manage, but don’t you dare let go of my legs just yet.” If you thought he looked smug before, it was nothing compared to now.

“That good huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t need to, you do it well enough for me.” You hit his chest as he laughs. You choose not to comment on how good he looks covered in the bite marks and hickeys you made, you don’t want to blow up his ego too much.

Though that might be a lost cause, but still.

Fuck, he looks too good as he kisses you again and start wading towards the shoreline of the lake.

He doesn’t let go of your legs until you’re on solid ground again, and that is only after you insist you need to at least find your sleeping bags.

You end up sleeping under the stars that night, to tired and sated to put up the tents.

After that night however, you end up only ever using one.

#illinois #illinois x reader #illinois ahwm #illinois ahwm x reader #illinois fic #illinois fanfiction #reader insert #lemon #smut #illinois smut #markiplier egos fanfiction #targeted drabbles #my writing

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romanticallyghosting · 2 years

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ooooo now that makes me curious, can we have fave sweets hcs? celebratory for your dad (happy birthday to him btw) angel anon

The Egos' Favorite Candy

my real birthday gift to my dad is my Markiplier Ego fanfiction in honor of his birthday/j

also i didn't know which egos you wanted to see so if you want me to add any I'll try my hardest :)

DARKIPLIER♡-

he wont eat sweets often

he just doesn't find them super appetizing

but when he does dark chocolate is his go-to.

i mean its basically in his name

and he's just as bitter

so frankly its a match made in heaven

He's not too picky though and would take almost any kind of chocolate

2nd favorite is probably hard candies

but he absolutely will not eat anything sugary

if you give him like cotton candy or smth

he will hunt you down in the dead of night and make sure you won't be around anymore to make that mistake

also the type of person to believe he's objectively right

so he genuinely thinks Wilford is inferior to him because of his sugar-eating habits

WILFORD♡-

speaking of wilford

he'll eat like any candy you put in front of him

he complains about the kind of candy dark buys

but if you leave him alone in a room with any sort of candy

you'll come back to wrappers strewn all around the room and chocolate smudged around of his face

but if he goes to buy some on his own

the more sugary the better

YANCY♡-

hasn't had candy in years

so when you smuggle him some jolly ranchers one third sunday

he goes completely hyper

he's practically bouncing around on the walls and he seems so happy

next time he writes you he's definitely telling you to bring some more

he likes m&m's and skittles the most

no I don't take criticism

he doesn't eat super-sugary candies

but unlike dark, its not because he is snobby about it

but because there's no way he's sleeping if he takes even just a bite

ILLINOIS♡-

he likes butterscotch 100%

i don't know what else to say

he carries a big ol jar of them in his supplies whenever he goes out adventuring

and will pass them out to the other egos like a sweet old grandma

he doesn't know why

but they just help him focus and stay calm even in high stress situations

MURDOCK(MURDERPILER)♡-

running out of things to say i think lol

he's a mix of dark and Illinois

so he likes butterscotch and dark chocolate

but he won't eat sweets too often

also would never admit it but he eats lollipops and thoroughly enjoys them

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weirdlyobsessedwithegos · 2 years

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Illinois x reader

Anon: illinois and reader (gn or female, i dont mind) just cuddling and being all in love maybe ? 🥺🥺🥰

Reader is gender neutral, just pure fluff and good vibes. Hope you like! <3

Traveling with Illinois is a lot of fun, you love the adventures the two of you go on. You see many things and have several experiences you wouldn’t have had without him, but every so often, the two of you decide to take a little break.

So last night the two of you booked into a fancy hotel in a city neither of you have been in before (even this has to have some adventurous part in it).

You wake to the sun light filtering trough a small gap in the white curtains that frame the window of your room.

The bed is soft beneath you, and though you love camping with Illinois and are quite used to more solid surfaces underneath you, it feels like floating on a cloud, which you won’t complain about.

It also helps that Illinois is curled around you from behind, his arms clutching you close, still asleep, light snores leaving his mouth and brushing against the back of your neck.

You smile, feeling warm and content.

Stretching, you feel the covers slide down slightly, and Illinois shift behinds you as you seem to have waken him, as he brushes a kiss against your shoulder.

“Mornin’.” He drawls, his voice gruff with sleep. You turn around in his arms, noticing with a little laugh that Illinois’s hair is looking extra crazy this morning, seeming to defy gravity. He cracks one eye open, the other hidden by the fluffy pillow

“What’cu laughin’ at this early in the mornin?” You don’t answer him, instead reaching forward and brushing your hands trough his hair, calming it down somewhat. He hums, closing his eyes as you start to massage his scalp.

“Is’ nice.” You hum in return, working your fingers with some pressure, loving this as much as Illinois is.

You stay like this for a few minutes, your hands in his hair with his arms around you, just enjoying the soft morning together.

Shifting one hand, you let it rest on Illinois cheek. He opens his eyes at that, making brief eye contact before shifting slightly so he can kiss the palm of your hand.

“Oh, a romantic.”

“Only for you my treasure.”

“Smooth talker.”

“Oh always, made you fall in love with me at our first meeting didn’t it?” He winks and you roll your eyes at him, poking his side jokingly as he tries to squirm away from your fingers.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” You grin, which he returns in kind. Getting an idea, you poke at his sides again.

“Don’t you dare.” He tries to stay serious, but can’t manage as he tries to move away and you follow him.

“Don’t I dare what?” Illinois moves so he straddles your legs, looking down at you as you just grin up at him.

“You know I can be ticklish.”

“Yes, which makes it fun.” Using surprise and some strength, you manage to flip the two of you, straddling Illinois’s legs as he looks up at you with a stunned look.

You go for his sides again, and he tries to wiggle away, which leads to the two of you half play wrestling, half laughing with each other as you move around on the bed.

You switch who’s on top quite a bit, sometimes both of you are on your side, but it doesn’t take long for both of you getting a little disoriented where the bed ends and begins.

Both of you fall of the bed with synchronized yelps of surprise, and Illinois grunts as his back collides with the ground, you landing right on top of him.

“Shit sorry, are you okay Illinois?!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll live honey. But I’ll need a kiss to make it all feel better.” Illinois grins at your worry, and you huff at him, but obliges.

The kiss is short, barely a press of lips before you lean back.

“Think of it as payback for tickling me and causing me pain.”

“You know you get all the kisses you want from me for free right? Plus, if I had to pay for any pain I caused you, I would owe you a lot.” You brush against a scar on his shoulder, left by a wooden arrow you had to pull out after he pushed you out of the way of a trap.

“You’re more than welcome to start now.” He grins up at you, one hand on the back of your neck.

“You’re insatiable and unstoppable.”

“Only with you love.” He winks, and you give him another small kiss, which he pouts at. “Is that all I get?”

“While we’re on the floor yes. Lets move back to the bed, and order some really expensive room-service breakfast.” Another kiss, then you get up and pull him up.

The rest of the day is spent paying Illinois back with kisses, while you cuddle in bed, and eat foods that you can’t pronounce the name of.

#illinois x reader #Illinois #ahwm illinois #illinois ahwm #illinois fic #illinois fanfiction #reader insert #gender neutral reader

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sardonic-the-writer · 2 years

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In light of my job position I got a fic idea

Illinois and a librarian reader. He had gone to a library to check a book out for research on an ancient artifact and met you instead. Something far more precious than any jewel he had ever stolen.

Anyone wanna snatch up this idea?

#just make sure to credit and tag me!!!!#i wanna read that shit #sardonic rambles #illinois fanfiction #illinois x reader #illinois

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southsideserendipity · 2 years

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Hi ☺️ could you write where reader is Severides roommate/best friend and fellow squad member and she has a nightmare and screams his name in her sleep so he bursts into her room to hold her and calm her down. Just fluffy/protective Sev vibes 💕

Close Call (Kelly Severide x Reader)

Synopsis: You almost lose Kelly on a call one day, and it's all you can think about, so much that you have a night terror.

Warnings: Mentions of loss, swearing, shitty writing. (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 1.9k

“If I’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes too.”

“You okay?” You jumped out of your thoughts at the sound of Kelly’s voice. Removing your head from the palm of your hands, you turned your head to the side to look at him. “Yeah, I’m good” you said standing up, continuing to grab your belongings from your locker. “You?” you asked him curiously without looking at him, trying to brush off his concern and appear as unbothered as possible.

Things got serious on a call today. Being on squad for the past couple years has most obviously exposed you to some traumatic situations, but they usually didn’t involve one of your co-workers- this co-worker being your lieutenant, roommate, and the man you’ve grown to love. “Sore, but good” he responded.

“For the brush with death you had, I’m surprised you’re in one piece. Thought I was going to have to post a ‘roommate needed!’ flyer around the firehouse” you joked, as you sat down to tie your boots. The only way you knew how to cope with the fact that you almost lost the man you haven’t confessed your love for yet was through horrible ‘comedic’ small talk.

Severide chuckled in response, watching your every move as he waited patiently for you. “Will cleared me at med, I’m good” he assured you. “You told me you were ‘good’ today when you had an entire chimney crushing you. Just another day at the office though, eh?” you stood up and looked up at him with playful, annoyed eyes; this type of exchange was regular for you both. “You got it” he smiled back, putting an arm around you as he guided you out of the locker-room.

The drive back to your shared apartment was quiet. You and Severide were not ones to share your feelings with each other- you were merely friends; roommates; co-workers. You both had your own mental problems but being on squad definitely added to the pre-existing trauma-pile. You shared many similarities with Kelly – familial trauma, not telling anyone anything, being hard-headed – and this made it easier to keep your relationship on a platonic level. Only opposites attract, right?

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours” Severide asked, earning a laugh from you in response. He had one hand on the steering wheel, the other on his gear shift. He looked over at you, scanning your face as if the answer was hidden somewhere on your complexion. “Nothing, Kel. Promise. Just a long day” you shot him a smile, as you once again pretended that you weren’t riddled with anxiety.

Playing repeatedly in your head were the events that had occurred just a few hours prior. You were pacing outside the burning house, resisting the urge to run back in and mentally preparing yourself for the possibility of losing another member of firehouse 51 (and coincidentally, another best friend) in the line of duty. You were attempting to envision a life without Kelly, and you just couldn’t. You had already written him into the rest of your life, he just didn’t know it.

First Hermann and Ritter ran out, then Cruz and Tony- with missing equipment. “Tony, where is your mask?!” the chief asked him in shock. Tony’s hands were on his knees as he attempted to cough out the soot in his lungs. “Kelly… he ran… out of air” he spat out in between. The chief clenched his jaw in anxiety, the expression of severe concerned plastered across his face. Seeing your chief unable to keep his cool always sent you into an internal spiral.

You whipped your entire body and started walking towards him. “Chief, please let me go in there, I don’t weigh as much, and I can help them” you walked towards him and begged; you felt useless. You would loathe yourself for the rest of eternity if you could’ve done something to save Kelly’s life and you didn’t. “I’m not risking another life, Y/L/N” Boden sternly said, with a hint of disappointment knowing there was nothing anyone could do but wait.

Before you were able to plead with him once again, an explosion had occurred, the sound and vibration echoing in your chest and bouncing off every wall inside of you. You wanted to scream in horror, knowing your best-friend’s last moments could very well be taking place in this burning house, but you were unable to produce any sound. Your eyes were locked on the front door in anticipation, and you could barely believe it when you saw Casey and Cruz emerge with him.

Running towards Kelly and engulfing him, you felt like you were dreaming; you thought he was dead. “Fuck, Kel. You scared me” you muttered into his shoulder, relief washing away your anxiety. Kelly had been in many dangerous situations before, but even he thought he wasn’t going to make it this time.

You snapped out of it once you heard his voice. “I can read you like a book. Why don’t you just talk to me?” Says him. “You… read books?” you put a hand up to your mouth for theatrics, asking him with exaggerated sarcasm which caused him to roll his eyes.

“Okay, keep joking around, Y/L/N” he chuckled to himself, knowing you weren’t going to crack anytime soon. He wishes you would just open up to him, but he knew it went both ways. “I think everyone’s going to Molly’s tonight, you want to go?” he asked you as he pulled into his parking spot. “I’ll see how I feel after we order some takeout” you winked, heading upstairs.

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You and Kelly ordered some Chinese food, deciding to sit on the couch and watch the Bear’s game. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you attempted to slurp your noodles, which resulted in soy sauce splattering all over your face. He chuckled, and grabbed a napkin, dabbing the corners of your mouth. “You’re a mess, Y/L/N” he said, staring at you in admiration. “Hey, you knew what you were getting yourself into before we became roommates” you shrugged, watching him walk to the front door.

“I’m gonna head out to Molly’s, you comin’?” he said as he put on his leather jacket. If you were to be tempted with alcohol, the night would end with you in the back of an ambulance (and not ambulance 61). “Nah, I’ll pass. I’m tired” you spoke as honestly as you could get across. You did want to see your 51 family- they always cheered you up. But tonight, you knew you needed some self-care (if you count contemplating your entire existence as a self-care activity).

Kelly nodded his head, signalling that he understood. “Have a good night though, Kel. Be safe” you shot him a smile, and he saluted you on his way out. “Always, Y/N.”

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It was 1:00am, and you were wondering what you did to deserve the tossing and turning you’ve been enduring for the past 2 hours. Perhaps all the melatonin had seeped out of your body being replaced by stress in the form of adrenaline. You kept replaying Kelly’s close call from that afternoon in your mind, a variation of ‘What If’s’ being overthought.

Kelly was your rock. You’d never admit that – especially not to him – but it was true. You were strong, independent, brave, and a plethora of other qualities that make up a badass female firefighter, but even resilient people need to be held sometimes.

By the time you had finally fallen asleep, your brain had decided to concoct a very vicious recall of events in the form of a vivid nightmare. Everything went exactly as it had in real life, except Kelly didn’t survive. He was pulled out by Casey and Cruz, and Capp, Tony, Hermann, and Ritter helped place him on a stretcher.

“Oh my… Kel??? Kelly. Wake up. Please, you have to wake up!” The chief was attempting to hold you back, but you broke out of his grasp in desperation. You vowed to stay right by his side as Brett and Foster went to work, but it was too late. And all you could do was let out an earth-shattering scream. “Kel… Kelly… WAKE UP!!!”

The sound of footsteps sounded into your room. “Hey, hey, Y/N. I’m right here. Hey, you’re okay” he cooed. You jostled awake and couldn’t distinguish reality from your nightmare- there was no way Kelly was right next to you, touching you, holding you; alive and well. “Wh- What? Kel?” You squinted and touched his arm, attempting to verify his liveliness. “It’s me, you had a bad dream. Everything’s okay” he assured.

Using the back of your hand to wipe off the layer of sweat that formed on your forehead, you looked down and realized you drenched the sheets with sweat.

You looked back at him, trying to convince yourself that he’s not just a figment of your imagination, but a real person. The second you saw his eyes glimmer in concern, you began to bawl, holding onto him with all your might. “I know… I know. Let it out. Everything’s okay. You’re safe.” Your head was nestled into his bare chest, and you knew you’d get tears and slobber all over him, but you figured you couldn’t embarrass yourself any more than you already have. His arm was around your shoulder, engulfing your entire body; no one’s ever held you with such fortitude.

After a 5-minute sob session, you reached over to grab a Kleenex from your bedside table. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” you sniffled, avoiding eye contact. The strong fort you put up had been knocked down by your own brain; you felt betrayed. “You don’t have to put on a façade, Y/N. Especially not around me. You don’t always have to be the strong one” he advised. “Kel- I’m” “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Y/N. You’re not okay” he responded, grabbing your chin with his index finger so you’d look at him. “Let me help you” he nearly begged; he just wanted to see you happy.

Your lip began to quiver, and you felt tears reach the brim of your eyes once again as you quietly said, “I lost you, Kel. It felt so real.” You shuddered in horror, recalling what you just dreamt. He didn’t want to pry too much so he took what you said as a start. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” You nodded slowly, feeling like a helpless child.

The motion of him rubbing his large, calloused hands up and down your back restored your inner peace, and you felt the safest you had ever felt under his touch. Your eyelids grew heavy, a headache from your crying session already starting to develop. You began to drift off; with his arms around you, you felt like everything was okay, and that all that mattered was the present- you and Kelly together.

He wrapped his arms around you, keeping you in his hold and kissing the top of your head. He muttered an ‘I love you’, but little did he know you heard all 3 words; you were safe here.

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Y'all... it's been too long. I'm truly sorry. School is killing me, and September was going well until I got into a car accident, and I've been playing catch up ever since. Just an extremely stressful time right now, so I'm very sorry- if you're waiting for me to write your request, I appreciate your patience! I really want this to be a fun thing for me rather than a chore, but with school, unfortunately I have 0 time for hobbies. But I am going to try. I hope this imagine was bearable- please comment any feedback/ what you thought! PS this is based on the episode where the chimney falls on Kelly in season 7.

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elhayd · 8 months

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Fighting the Midwestern urge to make all my characters say “yeah no yeah” regardless of where they’re from

#wttt #welcome to the table #welcome to the statehouse #ben brainard #writers on tumblr #writing #character #write #midwest #wttt midwest #wttt illinois #writing is hard #writing characters #wttt fandom #wttt fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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itsyourimaginaryworld · 1 year

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Miss Impatient | Illinois x Fem!Reader

Ship: Illinois x Fem!Reader Requested by: @nickaroo Warnings: near-death experience Notes: Super late fic, hope you enjoy nonetheless! x Words: 705

You weren’t sure how you had ended up saying yes to Illinois taking you with him, a man you’d only met a few weeks ago, but ever since, you had been going on adventure after adventure, without regret. None of your days were boring ever again and the friendship between you was like a passionately burning fire. Today was special, as he said he’d take you to Kitten Heaven, the best place you were ever going to see.

“Are we there yet?” you asked. Not that you were typically one to complain, but even the death traps you and Illinois faced on a daily basis couldn’t scare you out of rushing your way through the tombs as much as you could.

“Little miss impatient today, are we?” he replied, walking behind you in a more calm manner.

You dodged an arrow coming out of a dispenser, light on your feet as ever, and narrowly avoided stepping on another pressure plate. Illinois looked over with a bit of concern, but also knew how good you had become at avoiding the traps, so he didn’t say anything.

“We’re going to Kitten Heaven and you expect me to be patient?” you said, a hint of defense in your voice as you hopped over a tripwire.

Illinois didn’t say anything, as he was distracted by something else. He reached into an old dusty chest with spiderwebs all over it. Looting was a fun part of every adventure, but even now you purposely ignored whatever was lying around. That is until Illinois pulled out a necklace made out entirely of bright, sparkly crystals, it being so pretty looking that it would be inhuman to not be entirely captivated by it.

Ooh, shiny! Excited, you hurried back over to him but felt your heart sink when your ankles touched the familiar tripwire you had avoided before.

Click.

Illinois saw it first — his familiarity with the layout of tombs and the way the sound cues echoed around helped him realize. Two trapdoors opened in the ceiling above you and Illinois leaped forward, tackling you out of the way without thinking twice. Nearly half a second later, the sharpest-looking spikes you’d ever seen fell down and pierced themselves into the ground where you had been standing.

Illinois and you barely processed what happened, both looking back at the trap in horror, and then back at each other. You didn’t know whether you were gonna burst out laughing or crying from the adrenaline.

“You alright?” Illinois asked, still lying on top of you. He’d say it’s because he’s avoiding activating another trap, but really, he wasn’t ready to let you go yet, now finally having an excuse to be so close to you.

“Yeah...” You said, blinking slowly. “You saved me...”

“Oh, don’t worry, that’s just what I do.” He tried to sound casual but you could hear the smug undertone and tried to not roll your eyes and laugh like usual.

“I’ve got this all under control, sweetheart.”

You blushed hard at the nickname (some things you just don’t get used to) and tried to hide your look of disappointment when he got off of you, now feeling cold and less safe without him there.

He extended his hand to you to help you up, and you took it.

When you were both standing upright again he gently put the necklace around your neck.

“You’re gonna need a hero for the rest of your life if we’re gonna keep adventuring,” he said. You looked down, still blushing hard about what happened. But then he lifted up your chin with two fingers and forced you to look him in the eye. “I said I was married to the job when I met you, but honestly, I’ve loved you from the start. I can’t lose you...”

Your stomach filled with butterflies. There was no way... Was this actually happening? Did he like you back? Was all you had to do for a confession this entire time just “have a near-death experience?”

“You’re the lucky one who gets Illinois.”

You laughed, kissed him on the lips, and immediately looked away again, unable to say anything at all. He understood and pulled you closer than ever before.

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falseroar · 2 months

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Murder on the Warfstache Express

Part 1: All Aboard, Full Steam Ahead

((So. That train story, right? Okay, but this is something I've been playing with the idea of writing ever since Wilford dropped that Murder on the Orient Express reference back in Wilford Motherlovin' Warfstache, and it really helped when AHWM and ISWM dropped and introduced us all to a wide cast of characters who don't all happen to look like Mark. Which is partially why this is a much different story than it would have been before ISWM. There's going to be a lot of familiar faces, some of them very out of place here, along with a couple of folks only referenced by name or as jokes. Also a murder, can't forget about that. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!))

Abe had never been a fan of confined spaces. Something about being caught with his back against the wall in one tight corner after another made it only natural to be on edge whenever he found himself confronted with a small room with only one way in or out.

A room very much like this train compartment he’d already lost track of time in, between the muted colors of the shoebox-like space that offered a seat just long enough to stretch out on and a window looking out at the unchanging landscape whiplashing by too quickly to really focus on anything in particular, and not much of anything else in the way of entertainment or stimulation. Abe had the riveting options of staring out at snow-covered hills and snow-covered trees and a dreary gray sky that promised, yes, even more snow that no one had asked for, or up at the jostling luggage rack overhead while he thought about the usual things.

Things like why the hell he was on this train in the first place.

He gave up on that pretty quickly and jumped up again, pacing the narrow space before deciding he really needed to stretch his legs. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to get a better idea of the layout of the train.

Just in case.

If he had noticed the conversation going on in low voices outside of his door, Abe would have stopped and held his ear to the door in the hope of hearing some of it. After all, he was a detective, which made eavesdropping practically his moral duty. That, and he was nosy as hell and bored to go with it.

If he had known a little more about the pair standing out in the hallway at the time, he would have loved nothing more than to have a regular door with which he could have “accidentally” hit one or both with as a possible alternative for some quick amusement.

Both options were only apparent in hindsight though, because in the moment Abe just turned toward the sliding door and opened it abruptly, startling the two men on the other side so badly they both jumped away from the opened door like it was a ticking timebomb.

One, the man with slicked-back black hair dressed in a suit that felt expensive to even look at, recovered first and gave Abe a withering look before remarking aloud as though addressing the air in general, “So much for this being luxury travel. It looks like they’ll let any low class, ill-mannered lout buy a ticket these days.”

Abe bristled, any apology he might have had instantly dying in response to that stuck-up, drawling voice. “And I thought you’d have something intelligent to say when you opened that pretty mouth of yours, so I guess we’ll all have to get used to being disappointed today.”

The rich man drew himself up, visibly swelling with indignation, but the other man cleared his throat and subtly moved between the two as he said, “Perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere a little more private, sir?”

“Somewhere more private than the middle of the hall?” Abe asked. “Wow, wonder where you could find something like that around here.”

Choosing to ignore that comment, the second man slid open the door opposite Abe’s and stepped aside for the rich man with an, “After you, sir.”

The rich guy gave Abe one last sneer before going into the other compartment, which from the glimpse Abe got looked to be far more elegant and spacious than his own. The lackey added a disapproving stare of his own in Abe’s direction before sliding the door shut again with a sharp rap and promptly lowering the shade on the other side of the door’s round window.

Well, Abe could tell he was already off to a great start getting to know his fellow passengers. Although if the rest were anything like those two, he’d be better off staying in his own room for the rest of the trip.

A not very tempting thought, so instead Abe stepped out into the hallway and slid the door shut behind him, taking a moment to look both ways.

More rooms to either side, the doors slightly offset from their opposite so that any uncovered windows just looked out into the hallway and not directly into their neighbor’s room. To his right past a few more compartments was the door he used to step onto the train, and beyond that he’d caught a glimpse of the luggage car being filled by the station porters. Past the luggage car there was only the train’s engine, so nothing to see that way.

He turned left and paused not three steps away from his door, head unconsciously tilting while his brow furrowed in concentration. Over the rhythmic sound of the train’s wheels turning and the distant huff of the engine, Abe thought he heard something else.

Music?

It was faint at first, but the longer he listened the louder it seemed to get until the noise of the train died away, until the beat roared in his ears and drummed in his chest, the sound so tangible he was surprised the next door along and seeming source of the music wasn’t shaking in its casing. It was as much a mystery as why there was no complaint from the rich man next door, who had to be able to hear that noise through the connecting wall between the two rooms.

Abe slowed, staring at the covered window of the door like he could see through it if he tried hard enough. That thumping, upbeat music was familiar, familiar in a way that itched at the back of his mind and made his trigger finger twitch. Where had he heard this before?

Before he could make the connection, Abe heard the rattle of another door opening and quickly turned away from the offending door, eager not to be spotted staring into someone else’s room. A maneuver that put him directly in the path of the man stepping out of the room opposite, the two colliding so hard that the twin batches of swearing temporarily drowned out both the music and the train.

“…Sorry about that,” the new man muttered after a moment, rubbing his own shoulder. Fedora, oversized trench coat worn over a suit that looked a little too new, and a piercing stare that returned Abe’s once over with one of its own. If Abe wasn’t already suspicious enough, he’d felt something during that collision and was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the stranger being happy to see him.

There were only so many people who’d travel with a hidden weapon close to hand, after all.

A number that should have included Abe, except he had been forced to turn over his gun before boarding the train with the assurance that it would stay in a weapon safe during the duration of the trip. Flashing his badge hadn’t helped, the conductor no doubt calling his bluff because they were leaving his jurisdiction—or was it that they weren’t in it at the time?

Point was, if this guy had a gun on him, that meant he either found a way to sneak it onboard or he had the kind of authority to get a pass from the conductor.

All of this passed through Abe’s mind rapidly, but not fast enough that there weren’t several seconds of awkward silence before he asked, “In a hurry to get somewhere?”

“…No,” the other man said, proving he wasn’t much of a liar, at least. He stepped back into the still open doorway behind him and gestured for Abe to move on. “Please, you first. I’m sure your companion will be wondering where you’re at.”

Companion? Where’d he get that idea?

“No, I’m traveling alone. Same as you, I’m guessing?”

“Yes?” His eyes went past Abe to the room he’d just left, brow furrowing in confusion before he made a visible effort to relax it. “I mean, yes, it’s just me for now. Traveling for work.”

“Work? What kind of work is that?” Abe asked, trying to appear open and only as curious as a fellow traveler might be even as he glanced at the room behind the man, the quick glance enough to tell him that it was much smaller than his own (a fact he didn’t think possible until now), with no sign of any convenient personal belongings left out and about to give a hint as to their owner.

The man paused, clearly not having prepared for follow up questions, and finally said, “Oh, boring stuff. Like 99% of it’s just, you know, paperwork to make the home office happy. What about you, where are you headed?”

The question came quickly, Abe thinking less because the guy was interested and more because he didn’t want to leave an opening to ask what the other 1 percent was supposed to be.

“Oh just…to the next stop, same as everyone else on here I guess.”

The awkward silence lasted much longer this time, both men struggling to come up with any more small talk without the risk of having to answer their own questions. Abe broke it first with a clearing of his throat and said, “I, uh, was just going to get some fresh air. See you around, uh…”

“Apless,” the man answered immediately, showing the barest hint of a wince around the eyes before he continued, “Harold Apless.”

“My name’s Abe,” Abe answered, distracted by the realization that the previously overwhelming music seemed to have stopped at some point without his noticing it. “Nice to meet you, Happy.”

“My name’s not—”

The protest gave way to a defeated sigh behind Abe as he pulled open the car’s door and stopped in the small space between cars where the shaking and jolting was worse than ever. The enclosed space wasn’t made for people to stay here long, with doors to either side for boarding when the train wasn’t in motion providing enough gaps for the freezing cold outside to seep in. As different from that crowded room, too packed with dancers to even breathe, as he could get.

Dancers?

Abe winced and rubbed his eyes, dispelling that memory as quickly as he could. That’s why he was here, right? To get some distance between himself and…all of that.

Abe took a deep breath and exhaled, fogging up the glass of the nearby window, the welcome chill still enough to make him glad he hadn’t taken off his black leather jacket, and continued on through the next door and into what proved to be the lounge car.

Wooden paneling and low, flickering lamps set in intervals along the walls gave the lounge a warm, comfortable air, helped by plush armchairs seated in rows to either side around the windows and small, round tables. A thick, elegant carpet ran the length of the car and muffled the noise of the wheels underneath to the point it felt too quiet when Abe entered, not helped by how few people were seated or talking around the room.

A small bar area at the opposite end gave Abe something to aim for as he walked the length of the car, checking faces and counting heads out of habit.

Not that there were many to keep track of.

There was a woman dressed in bright, flamboyant colors underneath a white jacket, a bandana holding her long, wavy hair out of the way as she studied the mass of papers and books covering every inch of the table in front of her. From what he saw as he passed by, said papers and books all looked like a bunch of plans and equations so dense that his brain refused to take any of it in out of self-defense.

She on the other hand was so utterly focused that her lips moved along with thoughts that she couldn’t seem to keep contained within herself, occasionally sparing a hand from the coffee cup she held in front of her for lack of anywhere else to put it to push her glasses back in place or retrieve the pencil behind her ear to make another note in the same handwriting that littered all of the papers. For her, Abe and the rest of the train may as well not have existed for all it mattered in the moment.

The other two passengers he passed next did notice him, but were so engrossed in their conversation over a game of chess that the older woman wearing a black burnoose and dress littered with silver stars and matching jewelry could only spare him a friendly smile. Across from her, a man dressed in khaki with a brown leather jacket not all that dissimilar to the one Abe was wearing tilted the brim of his brown hat in the detective’s direction without looking away from the board, his hand still resting on the knight as he considered the consequences of his move.

“Well, you can tell me more about the monkeys or avoid losing your rook, but I’m afraid you can’t do both, dear.”

“Funnily enough, I’m pretty sure one of those monkeys stole my traveling chess set. That or my assistant on that little adventure still had it on him when we realized the simians weren’t quite ready to give up their piece of the map.”

“A real shame, that,” the woman said, shaking her head. “To shreds, you say?”

Abe had several questions, but he kept walking toward the bar with the confidence that a good drink would be less likely to leave him with regret in the long run.

Or it would have, if he hadn’t reached the bar just as the bartender stopped what he was doing and looked up, his customer service smile disappearing with a flash of recognition.

He’d recognize that handsome face and look of distress and horror anywhere, especially since aside from the emblem of the train company on his lapel and a splash of dark red on his tie and handkerchief, his outfit really wasn’t all that different from the getup he wore back when he was Mark’s butler.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Abe asked and Benjamin shushed him with a glance at the other passengers.

“Language!” Benjamin hissed, his own voice lowered to just above a whisper. “Please do not disturb the other passengers.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, pal,” Abe said, obliging him with a low growl.

“I am not your pal,” Benjamin said, straightening his already ridiculously broad shoulders and trying to look prim and proper like Abe hadn’t seen him threaten a man with a feather duster once. “And I should think it’s rather obvious that I am working here. Would you like something to drink?”

“I think you and me already know the answer to that one,” Abe said, and Benjamin rolled his eyes before reaching under the bar for the strong stuff. “Now you’re talking.”

Abe sidled onto one of the stools, turned so that he could keep an eye on the butler turned bartender and the rest of the carriage.

“I had to make my way somehow after my last employer…” Benjamin paused, lip trembling, and with an effort he shook himself and poured Abe a healthy dose in a glass before pulling a second glass for himself. Pushing the glass toward Abe, he asked, “What brings you here, detective?”

Abe took the drink and took a long sip before setting it down with a sigh, because it was rude to leave a good drink waiting.

That, and he had to stall for an answer somehow, but the best he could come up with was to turn it around with another question as he asked, “Why do you think I’m here?”

Benjamin gulped down the contents of his glass, which admittedly was barely a splash of alcohol poured out before his conscience caught up with him, and swiftly put the glass out of sight before any of the others saw him drinking on the job.

“Still chasing leads then?”

Abe shrugged. “Maybe.”

Looking out over the rest of the lounge car in search of a change of subject, Abe suddenly said, “Not a lot of people here, huh? Guess they’re all hiding out in their rooms.”

“Mm, no, I think this is about half of the guests on this particular trip,” Benjamin answered, and it was his turn to shrug when Abe turned a disbelieving stare on him. “Look around, detective. This is hardly vacationing weather in country that I assure you is much more pleasant in the spring, and at this time of the year the only people crossing the country by train are those who have somewhere they need to be and no other way to get there.”

He gestured toward the back of the train behind him and continued, “There is so little interest that we only have the one passenger car for this leg of the journey. There is just the dining car behind this, and a mail car we are taking to the next station as a way to earn enough revenue to even justify running the train as scheduled. On the other hand, I believe the services we provide during the journey will more than make this a trip to remember for all of our esteemed passengers.”

“I’m not tipping you extra for that.”

Benjamin scowled and made a pretense of cleaning the other side of the already pristine surface of the bar to put some distance between him and the detective.

Fine by Abe, who removed himself from the bar stool and took a more comfortable seat in the corner of the car.

Somehow knowing that there were so few people on board made this trip feel more…not sad, although it was kind of sad in a pathetic sort of way. Gloomy, maybe, with the darkening sky outside and the white snow coming down sideways in the train’s wake? No, more than that. There was another word for the mood settling in around Abe’s shoulders.

“Perhaps loneliness,” Wilford suggested.

“More like ominous, like a premonition of things to come,” Abe answered before freezing in place, the narration that threatened to spill out of him hitting a hard pause on that thought, his eyes still on the dark windows where he could see the reflection of the man sitting opposite him, smile gleaming and eyes twinkling like he was waiting for the joke to sink in.

Abe held his breath and turned his head, as though expecting both man and reflection to disappear when he laid eyes on the real thing.

Instead, the colorful man in an extravagant yellow and pink confectionary of a suit crossed his legs and settled further back into his plush seat, looking around the train car with undisguised wonder. His drawling, unhinged voice stirred up the worst kind of memories in Abe as he said, “You sure do know how to travel in style, don’t you detective?”

Abe nearly spilled his drink reaching for a gun that wasn’t there, a thousand questions running through his mind although most of them could be summed up by the words that finally made their way out of his mouth after a bout of helpless sputtering:

“What the hell?!”

Wilford took a sip of hot chocolate from a vibrant pink mug and swished it around his mouth thoughtfully before answering. God, Abe hoped that was hot chocolate. Wilford hyped up on coffee was a nightmare waiting to happen, and he already felt like he was in a waking one of those.

“The suit’s a bit much, isn’t it? But unlike you, I happen to enjoy dressing to the occasion. That, and apparently trousers are ‘mandatory’ around these parts, for some reason.”

Of all the feelings Abe expected when he laid eyes on Wilford Warfstache again, “relief” wasn’t one of them, but then he’d also never considered the apparently non-zero chance of running into his greatest enemy pantsless either.

“Aw, you think I’m the greatest?” Wilford said, his brown eyes crinkling with a smile.

“My greatest enemy, and don’t do that,” Abe answered, and if anything, Wilford’s smile just grew wider. “It’s not a compliment! How did you even get here?!”

Abe realized it was a ridiculous question as soon as he asked it, but Wilford seriously considered it before shrugging.

“Same as you, I suppose. Say, where’s this train going, anyways?”

“Why would you get on a train without knowing where you’re going?” Abe asked.

Another shrug. “Something, something, ‘life is about the journey, not the destination,’ or whatever it is people put on the postcards. What do you think they do for fun around here?”

Wilford turned around in his chair again to look over his shoulder at the other passengers, the silence except for the background noise of the train positively deafening.

“Huh. Not much, by the look of things. Bet we can do something to liven things up around here, what do you say, you old—”

Wilford’s words stopped short on his lips when he turned back around and found the detective inches away, a finger dangerously close to his nose as Abe spoke in a low growl.

“You’re not doing a thing on this trip, Colonel. The second we get off, I’m going to put you down.” Abe paused, aware something hadn’t come out right there. “I mean, the next stop this train makes, you’re under arrest.”

“Huh, I think you’re the only one who still calls me that,” Wilford said, unbothered by the threat.

“In fact,” Abe continued, too angry to be deterred by Wilford’s calm, “You’re already under arrest, and if I catch even a whiff of you trying to escape or laying even a finger on anyone else on this train, I’ll…”

He let the threat hang in the air unspoken, mostly because he couldn’t think of a way to finish it. His gun was locked away, and he couldn’t be sure the same could be said for Wilford, not if that Happy guy was able to keep his own weapon. That, and he knew all too well what Wilford could be capable of when the mood took him.

Wilford looked down at Abe’s finger still pointing in his face and gave it a little kiss before saying, “Whatever you say, detective. I’ll be on my best behavior, promise.”

“…Why do I feel like that’s not a very high bar?”

Wilford winked and toasted Abe with his mug of hot chocolate before taking a sip. The gesture revealed the black block letters printed on the side of the mug to Abe for the first time: SPOILER ALERT!

((End of Part 1. Hope you enjoyed it! I'm going to try to space each part by a couple of days or so, just because they're all on the longer side. For the record, no, that's not Actor Mark, but he is a Mark ego. Sort of. You'll see. Genuinely curious how many people know/remember Harold Apless. As far as I know he was only ever referenced on the ISWM website, and we only got a Noirverse photo of him. Haven't fully committed to who I imagine as "playing" him, maybe Sean? But judging by the shows' history that means he would actually end up being played by MatPat, so...

Link to Part 2: An Easy Offer to Refuse.

Also a confession about the tag list: it's, uh, been so long since I've written anything I'm not sure if this is the most up-to-date version at all. I also ended up removing a lot of urls that no longer connected to a blog, so I may have accidentally deleted a few valid ones. If you'd like to be added or removed, please just let me know in a comment.

Said hopefully not too out of date taglist: @silver-owl413 @asteriuszenith @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @95fangirl @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-star-eyes @shyinspiredartist @avispate @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard

))

#markiplier #fanfiction #detective abe #wilford warfstache #big dick moneybags #agent harold apless #wkm butler #ahwm illinois #iswm dorene #may avoid tagging all the characters in the future #just to avoid cluttering the tags #we all know how this ends right?#but it's about the journey not the destination or whatever they put on the postcards

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lostcybertronian · 4 days

Note

Yancy/Illy with "I've got you"?

Prompt: “I’ve got you.”

“Are you sure about this?” Illinois dangled from the wrought-iron gate, half-prepared to pull himself up and over, half-ready to drop and run if the guards caught on to what they were doing.

“Yeah!” Yancy stood on the other side of the gate, inside the prison walls. His white-toothed grin made Illinois feel more confident than he was, and the white stripes on his prison jumpsuit seemed to glow in the late night dark. “Youse can meet my folks. Themses good people, even if they stab sometimes.”

“Will they stab me?” Illinois finally steeled himself and hauled himself up and over, carefully avoiding the sharp spines lining the top of the gate. He thunked to the ground beside Yancy, knees bent, perfect form.

Yancy clapped him on the back. “Not with me, theyse won’t! I’ve got youse. Youses safe with me.”

Illinois smiled. It was a genuine Illinois smile, not the charming debonair grin he occasionally flashed for cameras or newspapers. He leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to Yancy’s lips. “Let’s go then,” he said, and started toward the prison, letting Yancy lose his composure in private.

#yancillinois #yancy #illinois #markiplier egos #writersofmark #fanfiction #ego shipping #lostandwandering #lost writing tag #writing prompts #fluff #humor #asks #lovely anon

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year

Text

Hyperfixations

Illinois x autistic!gn!reader x Yancy

Requested by Anon:

“could we have more illinois x reader x yancy?? just some soft cuddling and kisses in bed maybe”

Requested by Anon:

“i LOVED your dark with implied autistic reader, there isn’t many fics that include us like that ❤️ would you be willing to do something similar with illinois or yancy?”

I went ahead and combined these two requests bc I thought they worked together! Realizing now that I didn’t add any kisses sorry 💀

Warnings: very fluffy, slight swearing??, lots of cuddling tho

Word Count: 620

Masterlist

Tag List Form

Why were you still scrolling? It was almost 3am, for one thing. Your partners were asleep, snoring away on either side of you, and yet, there you were, continuing to go through the same tags you went through a thousand times before. The same art, shitposts, and fics popped up. And you’d seen them all, no matter how you sorted the feed. But you needed more. You needed new art, new shitposts, new fics.

Despite the mounting frustration and boredom, you kept scrolling and scrolling and scrolling.

An arm wound around your midsection, startling you out of your focus. Yancy peeked at you through half-lidded, drowsy eyes. He was always a light sleeper.

“What’re youse doin’ up?” His words slurred a little, accent seeming unfamiliar to him at this hour. “Somethin’ wrong?”

You shook your head and turned off your phone, allowing the device to rest on your chest. “No, I just…” Yancy waited patiently as you found the right words. “I’m hyperfixating on something right now, and nothing seems to really… satisfy it.”

He hummed. The bed shifted as he scooted closer, nuzzling his face against the pajamas you wore. He didn’t want to trigger you with the feeling of his stubble, especially not when you’d apparently been awake all night.

“Youse wanna tell me about it?”

He felt more than saw the way you lit up. Excitement ran through your whole body like a shot of adrenaline.

“Really?”

He hummed. “I’ll try to stay awake.”

A pang of guilt shot through your heart. You didn’t want him to stay up just so you could ramble his ear off about something he isn’t even interested in. You opened your mouth to protest, but another face nuzzled into the shoulder of your pajamas, opposite to Yancy.

Illinois’ voice was rough. The languid, almost haughty accent he carried was almost unnoticeable. “What’s goin’ on?” he murmured, eyes squinting in the dark to peer at his two partners.

“They’re hyperfixatin’ on somethin’,” Yancy slurred. Sleep was already pulling his eyelids shut, but he forced them open again. “Was gonna let ‘em talk about it.”

Illinois hummed and turned to look at you, though his neck was at an awkward angle trying to do so. “You sleep at all yet, darlin’?”

You floundered, under the sweet way Yancy had said explained your problem so unbothered by its absurdity, and at the equally sweet pet name Illinois used. “I don’t want to keep you up just so I can talk,” you finally mumbled.

They both seemed affronted at the idea. “We love hearing you talk about your interests,” Illinois assured.

Yancy, seeming a little more awake, sat up so he was sure you saw the grin he bore. His eyes twinkled. “Youse is so passionate about the things you love, how could we not?”

“But-”

“Don’t worry about us, doll.” Yancy settled back down, resting his head on his pillow so he could look at you as you spoke. “We’ll just take a nap later.”

Illinois nodded against your shoulder and wrapped an arm around you. His hand rested easily on Yancy’s arm, tucking calloused fingers under the songbird’s t-shirt sleeve. They both waited for you to speak, to ramble for as long as they could stay awake about your hyperfixation. There was no way to deny them any longer.

You slid down further into the blankets. You told them about everything you could think of. You explained what it was you were fixating on, the goods and bads of it. Ships you loved or hated. The lore, history within the universe, character design. Everything.

And as the sun rose, all three of you were curled together in a mass of blankets, fast asleep.

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@hyperfixat

@cryptidjester (wasn’t sure if you still wanted to be tagged but I’m tagging you just in case. lemme know if you want me to remove it from this fic!)

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whitesuitdarkiplier · 1 year

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The brain rot has begun.

#darkiplier #markiplier #darkiplier x reader #darkiplier fanfiction #ahwm yancy #iswm noir #illinois ahwm #markiplier egos #and if you have suggestions feel free to tell me

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drunkonaheistinspace · 5 months

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three almost kisses and the one time nothing could interrupt

originally published: December 3rd, 2023

Pairing: Illinois x gn!Reader

Rating: General Audience

Tags: fluff, friendship, first kiss, slight angst

When Illinois proudly announced that the two of you would be attending an auction again, flashbacks from last time hit you like a tsunami. Luckily for you, you were informed of his plans two weeks in advance and not hours in advance like last time, giving you plenty of time to prepare.

The first thing you did was insist that you wear your outfit from last time and he didn't have to buy you a new one. You accidentally found out how much he paid for it, which nearly gave you a heart attack. The only reason you still had it was Illinois's argument that it was a birthday present and you didn't want to be rude. And yes, you even kept the overpriced ring that could possibly be an ancient relic. The second was to find out more information about the auction. This time it was about a deceased collector whose collection is being liquidated so that the family can pay off the mountain of debt that the deceased had left them. It looks like you might even find it this time as the deceased specialized in ancient artifacts and judging by the thumbnails were the kind of artifacts you're after.

The sight of Illinois in a suit was something you could never get used to. It was just wrong. But it gave you the opportunity to tie his bow tie, which in turn gave you an excuse to get close to him. "Let's go over the rules again," you said as you straightened the bow tie. "Why are we going to the auction?" Illinois sighed. "To find potential pieces for my collection." "What don't we do?" "Do not purchase artifacts of unknown and/or questionable origin." "And?" "And don't give my partner any gifts that cost me more than fifty dollars." The fifty dollars was still a compromise. You wanted to go lower than ten bucks, after all he was still your boss and after all he was obligated to pay you and he paid you well above average, which is why you didn't see the point of expensive gifts. But he insisted that there should be at least fifty. He referred to this as a bonus for excellent work performance.

A look out of the window told you that the limousine had already arrived and was now waiting for you. You went to grab your coat, but Illinois grabbed your arm. You looked at him in surprise. “After the auction...would you like to go out for dinner afterward? It doesn't have to be expensive! We can also just make a detour to McDonald's and get something there.” A gentle smile graced your face. Illinois was always so cute when he was shy. This was a side of him that only you got to see. "I'd love to have dinner with you." You stood in absolute silence for a moment, looking at each other before Illinois slowly walked towards you and leaned towards you. You closed your eyes in anticipation but your lips didn't touch. Instead, you were startled by loud impatient horns. "The limo is waiting," you said, heart racing, and grabbed your coat. "Yeah, we should go now," he agreed, running his fingers through his hair.

In the end, the auction was canceled because two idiots broke in and took a large part of the collection. Instead, you spent the night in the parking lot behind a McDonald's watching the stars while sharing a helping of chicken nuggets.

You had asked Illinois for a single day at the beach several times in the past. Just to relax. Well, your wish has finally been granted after a long time, but unfortunately not in the way you would like. Yes, you just found yourself on a beach at sunset, but instead of sipping colorful cocktails and enjoying the view, you were stuck on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere with a treasure map that made no sense.

"I give up! The map is useless!" you called to your boss who had climbed up one of the palm trees hoping to get a better view of the island. You, on the other hand, had the map in your hand and tried to make sense of the scribble. "I'm afraid I have to agree with you there," Illinois admitted while clambering down the palm tree. "I'm not even sure if we're on the right island anymore." You sit down on the sand and bury your face in your hands. The adventurer sat next to you and fanned the cool air with his hat. "At least we can enjoy the sunset." With a sigh, you looked up and you had to admit that the sunset here was particularly beautiful. At least there was a nice moment you could share with Illinois. "We should take a vacation and just go somewhere that isn't dangerous," you murmur as you rest your head on his shoulder. Illinois said nothing and just silently took your hand and gently squeezed it.

You just sat there and watched the sunset without saying a word. You couldn't remember who turned around first, but suddenly you were looking at each other and your faces got closer and closer. Your lips were only a few millimeters from touching. You were just a head movement away from what you both longed for. At the same time, a cannonball hit the water just meters in front of you, drenching you both in seawater. You looked up in surprise and saw a ship on the horizon.

"Please tell me that's not who I think it is," you moaned in annoyance and frustration. "Captain Magnum," Illinois confirmed. "Maybe we should flee inland before he actually hits us." As if on cue, you saw another cannonball being fired and you ran into the dense jungle hoping to escape the pirate.

You ran through the dark maze-like corridors. You've been running for quite a while and you're not exactly sure where you are right now. Everything looks the same and the fear that you've been going in circles the whole time overcomes you. The worst thing about the whole thing, however, was the fact that you didn't even know who you were running from or where exactly you were going. The day started out so harmless.

It was a beautiful summer day and you and Illinois were “on vacation” so to speak. Maybe vacation wasn't the right word. It was much more of a break between adventures because your plane broke down and your flight was delayed by two days. You were in no hurry and instead chose to take this as a sign that you really needed some time off. This included sitting in cute little cafes, drinking coffee and talking about possible new goals. Buy new work boots. Arguing with Illi about why you don't need a 200 euro jacket. In the end you decided to visit an art exhibition.

The exhibition included several different pieces by well-known local artists. You didn't know any of them, but that didn't stop you from marveling at the countless works. Illinois seemed to feel the same way because he would stand in front of a work for a long time complementing both the composition and the technique and all you could do was listen in silence and marvel at how much this man knew about art.

Then it happened. Illinois was laughing. Everything was good. Everything was wonderful. Then he noticed something in the distance. His laughter stopped. His smile vanished. He looked like he had seen a demon. Then everything happened quickly. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards the exit, but something forced him to change direction and you ran deeper into the gallery. You couldn't see who or what was doing this to Illinois, but you were sure of one thing. You've never seen him so scared. Eventually he drags you through a door with a staircase leading down. Once you got to the bottom you saw two hallways and Illinois turned to you with a worried look.

"Listen to me. We have to split up! He's most likely after me and I doubt he'll hurt you as long as you stay away from me!" "But-" you tried to protest, but he placed a finger on your lips, silencing you. "No buts! For once, I want you to listen to me and do what I tell you. This is solely for your good.” He removed his finger and instead took your face in his hands. “We will find each other again. I promise it." You wanted to protest again, but the look in his eyes tells you that he won't accept any complaints. You took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. I trust you." He gave you one final affirmative smile before you walked in different directions.

And so you found yourself in the endless dark labyrinth that sucked every hope out of you with every passing second. Your legs hurt from running and you were exhausted, but you couldn't afford a break. Not unless you knew where the adventurer was. Every step you took felt like you were pulling a heavy load behind you, and a tightness that settled in your chest heralded the onset of a panic attack. It was difficult for you to see in the dimly lit hallways and you felt like it was getting darker with every step. How much time has passed since you broke up?

You turned a corner and instead of finding another endless corridor ahead of you, you ran into what you initially thought was a wall. Only the wall was warm, muscular and difficult to breathe. Two strong hands rested on your shoulders, providing the necessary support that kept you from collapsing like a cheap folding chair on a hot summer afternoon. "Thank God! You're fine!" did you hear the living Adonis statue say You were too exhausted to say anything. Instead, the hands moved away from your shoulders and you were pulled into a tight hug. "I know I have some explaining to do, and I'll do it once we get out of here," Illinois still held you tight, afraid someone would pull you away from him. “I promise you that we will then be a month – no, two months! oh you know what Let's take the rest of the year off and just relax!" The support that the adventurer gave you finally let you relax and catch your breath. Over time, your mind became clearer and the hallway you are in became brighter. You take a deep breath. The familiar smell of leather and linen gave you another piece of security. Your limbs were heavy as lead, but you somehow managed to raise your arm and squeeze Illinois' biceps, after which he released you.

You didn't realize your vision was blurry until you tried to look the adventurer in the face. You feel his warm hands on your cheeks and a light pressure on your forehead. You blink a few times and as your vision cleared you noticed his forehead was pressed against yours. His eyes were closed, his sun-tanned skin was glistening with sweat, and you could smell the faint whiff of coffee on his breath. "I promise nothing will happen to you," he whispered more to himself than to you. “You survived until now. You survived longer than anyone else." He opened his eyes. "You mean too much to me to let him take you away." You stared into each other's eyes for a long time. The corridor was long forgotten. All your senses were taken over by him. The warmth radiating from him. The smell of him clouding your mind like a potent drug. His breath on your face. His eyes that looked straight into your soul. It was like a spell that you couldn't break.

Slowly he closed his eyes again and tilted his head. His lips were only a few millimeters from yours. You inhale his breath and close your eyes. This was the moment. But before you could lean forward and fully surrender to the spell, a door next to you was violently thrown open. You both jumped aside in shock and panic. Was the door here all along? "There you are!" exclaimed Wilford. You both looked at him in horror, but neither of you was able to say or do anything. “You two are extremely late for your interview! Well, come on in!" Wilford grabbed you both by the wrist and yanked you through the door.

You didn't talk about what happened in the corridor. Neither of you could.

It's mid-August. The sky was painted yellow and pink from the setting sun. Illinois kept his promise. Since the Gallery incident, you've stayed away from adventures and settled in a small town. He gave you you room to breath by giving you a small house on the outskirts of town. Under normal circumstances you would insist on getting an apartment, but since the incident you just needed some alone time. Time to think. Time to understand your own feelings. His house wasn't far. A few minutes walk. He gave you a key. You were welcome at any time. And yet you haven't seen each other in two months.

Those two months were the first time you could really think. Overthink. Losing yourself in your own mind. You realized three things: 1. The carpet in your living room was exceptionally soft and perfect for staring at the ceiling for hours. 2. You miss the smell of leather and canvas. 3. Illinois' entire existence was like a siren song and you struggled every day to resist it.

You only now realized that you had been under his spell since the first time you met and every time you tried to leave, you somehow found a way back to him. You had lost your heart and it was now part of his collection. The only thing that stopped him from possessing both your body and your soul was a single kiss.

One kiss and there will be no turning back.

A kiss to seal the deal.

A kiss to become his holy grail.

Every time you opened your front door and looked out, you could see his house. So far and yet so close. There was nothing standing in your way except your own pride and sanity. But today you were weak.

You didn't bother putting on shoes. You looked up at the sky and noticed that the colorful play of colors from before was replaced by dark rain clouds. You felt the first drops on your face and closed your eyes. It didn't take long for the light drizzle to turn into a storm. The rain soaked your clothes and your hair was wet and stuck to your face. This was the perfect weather.

Your legs moved of their own accord, carrying you down the street until you stood in front of his house. Lightning and thunder joined the rain and the wind became more ruthless. But you didn't care. Three steps and you were standing at his door. You take three deep breaths. You knock on the door three times.

You heard the footsteps behind the door. Your heart was racing and you felt the adrenaline rushing through your veins. You heard the door unlock and you held your breath. The door swung open and you took the first step. Illinois didn't have time to react as your arms wrapped around his neck and cold lips pressed against his. He stumbled backwards until his back was pressed against a wall. Only when he realized it was you kissing him did he allow himself to close his eyes and return the kiss. Only when he wrapped his arms around you and felt how wet your clothes were did he force himself to break the kiss. He grabbed your shoulders and pushed you away. You were surprised at his sudden abruptness, but the sight that greeted you made every bit of anger in you fade away. His otherwise perfect hair hung over his face, his cheeks red, his lips swollen and his eyes dark. You wanted to lunge at him once more and steal another kiss, but his grip was iron, keeping you at arm's length.

“What happened?” he asked, struggling to keep you at a safe distance. “Why are you wet?” “I couldn’t take it anymore,” you replied while breathing heavily. "I need to see you, feel you, you..." “And that’s why you walked through the rain?” He looked you up and down again. “And that barefoot?!” You rolled your eyes. “How dare I walk barefoot in the rain! This is worse than the time I had to jump off a cliff into the sea! Or the time I had to fight a mutant killer bunny!” Now it was Illinois who rolled his eyes.

You felt his grip on your shoulders loosen and you took the opportunity to approach him again. He didn't do anything to stop you and so you wrapped your arms around him again and hid your face in his neck. Strong arms wrapped around your wet form, pushing you closer to him. “I want to be more than your partner,” you whisper into his skin. In response, he kissed you on the temple. “Were you thinking about a spring wedding or would you prefer fall?” You gave him a light kick to the leg. “Not so fast, my dear! We haven’t seen each other for two months and we have to make up for that time first.” “Whatever you want, treasure!”

#ghost writing #illinois x reader #in space with markiplier #a heist with markiplier #ahwm illinois #iswm illinois #fanfiction

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romanticallyghosting · 2 years

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ooooo okay 💐 and illinois because that man has my heart, it is so pathetically funny how quickly i caved when playing ahwm with my bestie (who predicted that i would love him) angel anon

You were about halfway to the priceless artifact you and Illinois were looking for when the man in front of you stopped abruptly.

You walked around to see what Illinois was looking at before freezing beside him and gasping in pure awe.

In front of both of you was a flower patch of every color known to man. Snow littered the ground surrounding you while the plants in front of you stood untouched by the frozen water, in a sort of inverse snowglobe.

Illinois was the first to move, kneeling down and delicately touching the flowers with his back turned to you.

he turned back around with a small bunch of flowers in hand, being sure to wink after extending the bouquet out to you.

#sorry this took so long #illinois markiplier #illinois x reader #illinois fanfiction #illinois ahwm #illinois x y/n #anon :)#ghostly writes #ghostly answers #angel :)#i needed my romance playlist to help me power through this #reader insert

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arthurrei07 · 24 days

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actverse / take on cross!sans and swad!sans / pt. 5

tws: mild curse words, mentioned 1njuries, mentioned phys1cal 4büse.

ship: none.

Cross was lowkey nervous.

It was not like he wasn’t ever, just, if Nightmare and Dream were powerful enough to destroy AU’s and create souls, how strong would their older brother be? Leave alone negativity and positivity — what the hell was he the guardian of?

He left his weight on his left foot this time, his fingers doing and undoing his sleeves over and over again. He left his right sleeve outwards, and the cold air almost immediately froze his wrist to the bone, causing him to frantically open the sleeve back. He huffed, and actually came to realize that the weather was cold as shit when his breath left white humidity in the air.

His eyebrows knitted.

Well, whatever the guardian he was of, he definitely didn’t know what punctuality meant.

Something creaked, and Cross’ head shot up.

The first thing he saw was a woman, dressed in white as if she was going to a wedding.

“Cross,” the woman’s mouth did not move, “Cross from X-Tale. Welcome.”

Cross couldn’t help but stare, trying to figure out if she even had a mouth. And no, she did not have one.

After some moments of pure confusion he gulped down his sore throat, nodding his head accordingly, “Hello. I was here for—“

“—Yes. I am the lieutenant of the palace.”

Cross’ face scrunched up, eyes looking directly at the woman. Her demeanor was weird, not exactly expressive—but monotone. The woman seemed to figure out what was bugging Cross just from his sour expression, and she bent in front of him — causing him to step back in some kind of an awkward fashion as she met her two palms together, apologizing.

“I am extremely sorry for my mannerism. I am the first prototype created by bliss, so I can’t really control the way my words come out.” She lifted herself back up with a swift move, and faintly smiled at Cross — causing him to blush out of embarrassment.

Cross sheepishly hid his nose under his scarf, sighing softly as he frantically tried to get rid of the newfound embarrassment. He softly muttered, “…It’s no problem.”

The woman seemed to be entertained by his mild stress, and she exhaled out of her nose, “Let’s get inside. His Highness is waiting for you.”

She slowly walked to the side and suddenly, a large gate and a palace appeared, causing Cross to step back once more as he was struck by awe.

The woman gestured with her left hand for Cross to follow her.

The woman did a perfect turn at the gateway, the two large doors budging open with loud creaks as she proceeded towards them, her high heels clicking on the newly formed stone paths. The doors hit somewhere as they fully opened, a deep thud coming out from each side; and she slowly continued forwards.

Cross swallowed, his feet unwillingly urging him to follow the woman.

“This is the headquarters of His Majesty,” The woman took a glance at the demon guards waiting at the sides, and then turned to Cross — nodding softly. “He had asked for you to first meet with him.”

Cross’ cheeks flushed with a faint yellow as she faintly smiled at him, and he tried to shake it off.

His eyes couldn’t help but dart over to her face structure anyway, and he noticed her imperfectly perfect lips, eyes, nose — everything.

His lips pursed as he pulled his scarf up to his nose.

The doors in front of them opened with some loud creaking, and a bright office was revealed.

Cross frowned at the pretty unusual sight of an office — organized and not dirty unlike Nightmare or Dream’s, and made do with a look towards the woman.

The woman’s head just tilted to the side and took a walk to him, gently holding him from his right arm as she pulled him into the chamber. Cross let her take the lead.

Their footsteps echoed in the room, the marble floor shining under their shoes. The woman closed Cross up to the desk in the middle, and put him just in front of it, “I will be outside if you need me. Just wait in the circle until His Majesty comes.”

Cross did a second take at what she had formed out and his head dropped down to take a look at the ground, and seriously, there was a circle rounding up around his feet. As his head perked up to the woman to question it, he was met with—…green.

Cross instinctively flung himself back in a split second, raising his arms to block out any incoming attack. But it didn’t come. Instead, he heard a chuckle.

“Now now, no need to get so defensive,” Cross’ head rose up and up, trying to make sense out of the shadowy and long figure, “I am not a foe.”

Cross took another step back, trying to steady his ground as the feel voice came closer to his person, his eyes following the figure.

Suddenly, six golden wings fluttered — blinding Cross with pure bliss as he squinted to minimize the pain.

When the light was gone, Cross finally selected a face, and was nearly speechless at the absolute flawless face structure; but was quick to get his guard back up. He scowled.

“Ah, I see,” the man sighed, pulling his hair back as he wiped his hands on his green button-up, “Nightmare and Dream, as always, don’t know how to treat their employees. You can relax, Cross. I am not going to harm you.”

And there it was. He was the brother.

Of course. The exact same way to get him to let his guard down.

“Would you like tea, coffee or anything at all? I can quickly whip out something for you.”

Cross’ left eyebrow rose, and he let his arms dangle on his sides, mumbling under his scarf, “I don’t want anything. Thanks.”

“No problem,” the man sighed sourly and snapped his fingers — the hearth nearby Cross instantly bursting out with orange fire, causing Cross to irk in his place. The man’s mouth took an ‘o’ shape, his face apparent of surprise, and he hummed as he put one hand on his desk and the other on the armchair next to him, “Are you always this jumpy, Cross?”

“No.” Cross said, his eyes not separating from the fire. It was radiating a warmth he had never felt before, making his body actually feel like he was in comfortable clothing, and he felt his churning stomach relax even if just a bit.

He heard the man clear his throat with simple coughs, and turned his focus on him.

“I am glad that you are feeling better. I noticed that you were wounded, so I made the blazes as kind as they could be.” He took a bunch of paper in his palms, and hit them twice on the desk to get them in a straight line and placed the stack down; taking just a single paper from the top, “I am Blaze, the guardian of Hearth. It might seem a bit useless, but I do more help to the universe than those idiot brothers of mine.”

He took a pen from his desk, and settled down on the armchair. He glanced at Cross, and gestured with his head for him to sit on the other armchair.

Cross slowly creeped up to the chair, and sat on it hesitantly.

“As you know, you have a new contract, with me. So, I need you to sign this paper here,” Blaze pulled the white A4 up in the air, and placed it down on the coffee table in between him and Cross, “and we can start talking about the other matters.”

Cross watched him place the pen next to the paper, and stared down at them. He huffed out of his nose, and glanced back up, “Isn’t the contract already made?”

“Yes, but I need your signature. That way, you will be out of the Game as long as you stay with me. That will depend upon your behavior, though.”

Cross was taken aback. “…Is that even possible for a non-God? Not participating in the Game?”

“If you agree, then yes.” Blaze spun his fingers in the air, a cup forming in his palm. He sighed, and clicked his nails on the delicate glassware of the cup, “Anything is possible if you make the right contract.”

Cross felt as if the white paper was sucking him in, a single signature seeming too big of a move to do.

“…N-No, I’d rather not. I’d rather be traded in between.”

“My, are you scared?” Blaze mumbled into the cup and put it in the air after two or more sips, “Aren’t my brothers already much of the abusers?” His face scrunched up at the bad thought of… what Cross feared, “I don’t… hit my employees. That’s not my preferred way to ‘punish’, as Nightmare would say. I usually give out chores to do for them.”

“…What kind of chores, exactly? Like getting rid of an AU?” Cross offered, his voice getting weaker towards the end of what he had formed out— Blaze’s left bottom wing was twitching weirdly.

He sucked in a sharp breath, and made do with a glance at his own wing, “No. Gosh, do my brothers literally find the solutions in destroying anything? No, Cross,” his hands grabbed his wing, and he pulled it closer. He swiftly ran his fingers through the feathers and rubbed on certain spots, “I make you clean around the palace. The most extreme I would go is to make you train—but that would be the top.”

Blaze flung his wing back to its former place, and took the cup from the air, placing it down on the table.

“…Your workers don’t train? Then how do they defend themselves? Isn’t it the standard practice for employees?” Cross mumbled, his eyes narrowing down as Blaze just stared, not a single emotion written on his face.

“Since I don’t get involved with wars and crimes or gambling,” Blaze said, his eyes wavering around his office and then back to Cross — snapped his fingers and a ballpoint pen dropped into his palm with orange and turquoise sparkles, “I don’t find the necessity to train them like bunch of animals.”

He slightly bent over to the coffee table, putting the pen down next to the A4 paper. “So, are you convinced enough? Do we have a deal?”

Cross gulped down.

“…Alright.” He reached for the pen, taking it into his palm as he clicked the button on its end. He bent over to the coffee table, and the metal tip of the pen met with the white paper — a messy sign writing upon it.

Dream Sans belongs to @jokublog

Nightmare Sans belongs to @jokublog

Cross Sans belongs to @jakei95

Swad/Blaze Sans belongs to SONG_A

Actverse belongs to me

i wrote this while listening to nymphology and just perfect

i also changed swad’s personality a lot, but ill fix it in the future chapters i promise 🥹🥹

and yeah, swad nightmare and dream are brothers — ( got the idea in the middle of the night )

#cross sans #undertale au #undertale #actverse #swad sd #swad sans #utmv au #gay #fanfic #fanfiction #nightmare sans #dream sans #dreamtale #xtale cross #xtale sans #mental illness #(mental Illinois)

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theknightmarket · 9 months

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Chapter 1

<> Chapter 1 <> 'You Were An Oh-So-Generous Imbecile' <>

You were pretty sure you hated your uncle. Hate was a big word, but it was a big sentiment that you harbored against him. If he wanted you to hate him less, then he should have actually told you what you were getting into – but he hadn’t, so you didn’t. That didn’t change where you were standing, that being in the front lawn of a rotting, decrepit manor with annoyance and fear steadily growing in your heart, on a beautiful summer’s day when you could have been doing literally anything else.

What a pain it was to be generous in this climate.

You slammed the door of your pick-up truck a bit harder than necessary, but it didn’t do as much to quell your anger as you had hoped it would. Instead, the only thing it did was startle the Jack Russel that had been peacefully napping in your passenger seat. The little thing jumped up at the indication you had arrived at your destination, beginning to whine at being in the car without you for more than a second. You rounded the hood, swung the other door open, and watched your pet leap to the dry dirt.

“C’mon, bud,” you muttered, mentally preparing yourself with a twist of your backpack’s strap, “let’s go see this damage.”

Buddy yipped at your feet as he trotted alongside you, only picking up the pace to be the first one at the top of the stairs that led to the porch. For him, it was completely silent with his rise, but your weight warranted a few more groans and creaks from the old wooden boards. Hopefully they would stay put until you had unloaded the boxes you brought with you. If they were to fall through, you were pretty sure you would boycott this entire thing.

However, for now, they were fine, meaning you were free to jostle the loop of keys that hung by your belt. The silver to your pick-up, the square to your apartment, the smooth to your work locker, and, finally, the rusted to the house. You eagerly shoved the key into the lock and twisted, not for want of seeing the interior, but more absolutely despising the texture of rust coming off on your fingers. With one hand, you pushed one half of the double doors and brushed the other off on your pant leg. It was the most you could do before putting on your gloves.

Buddy marched in before you, nose to the air and nails skittering over the boards. The bridge of light marked by your entrance didn’t let you see far, but it was enough to know that this place was going to be, to put it lightly, a lot of work. In just the foyer, you could see splinters in the floor, furniture scrapings along the baseboard, and too many holes to count in the walls. Half of the banister that trailed unhelpfully up the staircase to your right was snapped off, and a chill spread through your fingertips to the back of your neck at the sight of an extremely spear-like section at the curve.

You slung your backpack off your shoulder, landing it clean in the dust. Not ideal, but you were able to retrieve the notepad and pen that you had stashed in there from the depths, catching a flashlight and pair of gloves on the way out. Those went on before you pulled the bag back over your shoulder. The items left on the floor you brought with you when you stood back up straight, and, snapping the torch on, you noted down the damage in the notepad. Later, you would sort them out in order of importance, but now was time for inventory.

Once all your things were in order, and you had figured out a music situation that wouldn’t stop you from accidentally getting attacked by a racoon from not hearing it sneak up on your or you having no hands to defend yourself, you set out on your mission.

One that, by your count, took two hours, and that was just the first floor.

Now, when your uncle had offered you the ‘opportunity of a lifetime’ – which, really, should have been the first red flag – you hadn’t asked many questions. Only the basics you got answers to, like where the place was, when you could start, and how big it was. He posed it as a business proposition, you believed it to be a favor, and where did that leave you? Standing in front of this busted-up manor with the unenviable task of fixing it up to a livable condition, that’s where, and with three entire pages of repairs, it was definitely unenviable.

You flopped against the cardboard boxes in the back of your truck. Ceramics dug into your sides, and cushions cramped you into a box yourself, but it was the most you could relax in clear view of the second floor. A sigh forced itself between your teeth; to recount, there had been 11 rooms: a foyer, a kitchen, a living room, a dining room, an office, a game room, a library, a pantry, a sunroom, and two bathrooms, plus or minus a few storage closets. How this place had been considered a home and not a hotel was beyond you, but you did know that you would kill to live in a place like this. Currently, you were renting a one-bedroom apartment in the bad side of your hometown, though, your uncle was now occupying it while you managed the manor.

Glaring up at the shaded windows of the second floor, you wondered if you had been tricked, even if you were somewhat to blame for not asking more questions, not least of all how he came into such a building in the first place. Your uncle wasn’t rich, he wasn’t particularly well-liked enough to have inherited it, the most likely scenario that you could think of was that he had broken in and decided you would be the best person to make it all better.

You glared down at your hands; you were only getting yourself more worked up, and that was doing you no good. The best thing to do would be to check out the damage on the second floor, and then make your next plan of action, which would probably include setting yourself up in one of the bedrooms.

And yes, you knew that there were multiple bedrooms, only because your uncle had phrased it as being a good place for the family to meet up without having to worry about getting home to sleep. But, knowing him, you wouldn’t put it past him to expect everyone to sleep in a tent outside.

The size of the floor gave you some security in your idea, so you threw yourself out the cargo bed and strutted up to the front door again. As you passed, you tried to keep your eyes off the growing pile of rats, mice, and other pests that Buddy had been delivering to the porch. You had never been gladder to have a hunting dog as a companion, the suggestion of finding all those vermin yourself practically making you gag.

But the journey up the stairs damn-near made you flinch. That spiked section taunted you as you neared it, and, even when you’d moved away by five steps, it felt like you were just one wrong move from impaling yourself on it. You could already feel that being at the top of your list from mere discomfort alone, but that would have to come after looking at the remaining rooms. You only hoped that they would be better than the downstairs.

When your feet came to a stop at the carpet in the hallway, you were greeted by the lovely sight of not-too-much-damage. It seemed to have been spared from the barrage of destruction that the rest of the house suffered from, with the walls looking good as new. No peeling paint, no scratches, no nothing could be seen in the dim light given by an overarching window. The decorations didn’t look bad either, with the only thing off being a knocked over vase, luckily, empty. The corners of your lips perked up in relief. This wasn’t so bad.

Or, you had thought, before you took a couple steps forward and your left leg fell straight through the floor.

You cursed and panicked and flailed, the jagged edges of broken floorboards jutting into your leg and pulling the skin from the flesh of your calf. Immediate lines of pain struck like lightning; the true damage hidden from you by your thigh getting stuck in the hole. The few spots of light that surrounded you only hinted that there was going to be splinters in your leg, and the stinging agreed with that.

Alongside your squirming, your music played naïvely, not quite a mockery as it was a bystander not realizing they were a bystander. Past that, it was very quickly becoming a hindrance, clogging your brain with innocent lyrics, and tugging your attention in too many places. Your breathing hastened underneath the melody.

You needed to stop panicking. You knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier, especially when you could feel the beginnings of a trail of blood flow down your leg. Your breathing was stuck between calming down and speeding up, mind desperately trying to keep up with your instincts. It was an unfortunate purgatory that you found yourself in while your body fought with itself to decide your next course of action. The second that you started to shift in the hold of the floor, pain leaped out and stopped you dead in your tracks. You tried to take in a deep breath but even that felt like the wrong move. A million and one questions sprinted through your mind; how were you going to get out, how long would it take, where was your dog, were you going to die? That one was unlikely, but you were understandably scared.

Which meant that you needed to calm down, and that was somewhat easier now that the shot of adrenaline was emptying out of your system. So, planting your hands against the floor at your sides, you sucked in a breath, held it, and began the task of bringing yourself up. The first seconds were the hardest, since you were also taking the splinters of wood that were still attached to the boards with you. When they snapped, you, trusting that it wasn’t the sound of your bones breaking or something, managed to wedge yourself out and lug your body onto more stable ground.

You couldn’t help but let out a pitiful laugh. The first day wasn’t even over yet, and you’d nearly fallen through the second floor. You could try and get some compensation for that, but then you wondered if this was even legal, and you were already too tired to deal with your uncle, let alone law enforcement. That left you lying on your back, staring at the ceiling, and hoping beyond all hope that there wasn’t a secret third floor.

As you let your head loll to the side, another aspect was added to your hopes; that being that you hadn’t somehow gotten head trauma from this whole incident – because, standing at the end of the hallway, bathed in the light from your flashlight, was a person. A full, in-tact, random stranger, who was decked out in a black suit and white dress shirt. A similarly ashen cane was planted next to stainless dress shoes, giving the impression of high-class society. That, coupled with a ribbon on their lapel, hinted that they weren’t actually there.

You rubbed your eyes with one, dusty hand, and then brought yourself to look in their direction again. They hadn’t disappeared.

Were they real?

You called out a shaky, “Hello?” to which they didn’t respond.

Not real.

They blinked.

Real.

You collected yourself and stood to your feet, albeit without much confidence now that you were once more above the hole, but you managed to take a step closer. Again, they failed to react.

Not real.

But they weren’t a trick of the light, and your head felt relatively fine, so what was causing this illusion? Was it an illusion in the first place?

“You… nobody’s supposed to be here,” you mumbled, barely loud enough for it to be heard. Nevertheless, it seemed third time was the charm, because this did earn a response from the suited stranger. That being, they twisted on their heel and walked into one of the adjacent rooms, not even the sound of their cane coming down on the floor trailing after them.

Without much else to do, you pursued.

“Hey, wait!” you called, skidding to a stop where they once stood, “I’m gonna need to talk to you!” Your own heartbeat overtook the sound of your shoes against the boards as you rushed to open the door that they had presumably closed behind them. “You can’t just—!”

They were gone. There was nothing else to say, apart from that they were gone, like a fire’s smoke dissipating into the air. You didn’t know how, considering that you were only two seconds behind them, and there was no feasible way out of the room, apart from the door that you were obviously blocking. If there were some secret passage, it wasn’t visible to you, and they wouldn’t have had enough time to close a door behind them when you had gotten into the room.

You hated this.

But you still had a job to do, so, having the chance to brush yourself off, you whipped out the notebook and pen from your back pocket, put the flashlight in your mouth, and started to inspect the room. All the while, you tried your hardest to dismiss the stranger as an adrenaline-created illusion.

It was pretty obvious that the room was another study, a lot like the one downstairs, if not smaller. That would have made it appear cozier, but the tighter constraints were only balanced out by the sparse décor. It was simple; a desk, chair, and – when you approached to grab at the string – a broken lamp were stationed underneath the singular, large window. The draws were entirely empty, save for a fine layer of dust that similarly permeated the air. In fact, everything was coated with the stuff, from the shelf and mirror at one end of the room, to the chest of draws at the other. Why such a thing was in there was beyond you, but, like the desk, they were all empty. It was a good thing, too, because, as soon as you pulled one of the handles, the whole thing collapsed in on itself, as if it had never been stable in the first place. Next to the note of its damage, you scribbled down a reminder to just throw the whole thing out.

Apart from that, the damage in this study was less unique. There were the common scratches along the floorboards and the peeling paint, though those could all be fixed just as the rest of the house. You left that room feeling infinitely more positive about your chances than when you ran into it.

Those positive feelings were dashed as soon as you stepped foot into the room across from it.

What looked like it should have been in a hospital instead of an old manor, also would have suited a dump better. Five beds, headboards aligned against the walls, gave the whole place an asylum-esque feeling. The cold metal outside, the spilled first aid boxes, a collection of pill bottles in the corner, and a stain on the floor that you wished was just weird-old-house-juice but was definitely just blood. A horror scene that had happened years ago.

“Oh, what the fuck,” you sighed. You repeated this as you stumbled through a forest floor of old clothes and spare rags, not a single one looking useful anymore. Picking your way over them, you made your way to the bottles in the corner. It would give you an indication of the furthest this house could have been occupied.

After locating one with a semi-legible label, you twisted it around to look at the expiration date. March 1995. March 1995. 23 years ago. You quickly dropped the bottle.

Well, at least it explained the state of the place. 23 years was plenty of time for raccoons or bandits to come along and pick it apart, not to mention the damage it could have sustained from the owner themself, especially given that this specific room looked more like an infirmary than a normal bedroom. It was anyone’s guess as to what the entire manor was used for.

Your shoes clicked at the door a few moments later, when you were entirely done looking over the room. They weren’t normally this loud, but, when the only other inhabitant of the building was your dog – who was who-knows-where – and a possible ghost, there wasn’t much else to fill the void. In fact, it was an eerie quiet, a worrisome quiet, a something-is-wrong quiet.

Why had your music stopped?

Your hand trailed to your ear.

What happened to your earbuds?

You patted your backpack’s pocket.

Where was your phone?

You didn’t have the time to have another freak-out, nor did you want to, so you elected to take a deep breath in and turn back to the infirmary room. You valued the thing that held all your information, contacts, and way out of the manor over your body not contracting some minor disease, so you retraced your steps to the best of your ability. It was like diving without a mask, you would keep coming back out of the piles of stained rags and medicine bottles to get oxygen, and then you’d go back down to try and find your phone amongst the wreckage. Along the way, you discovered a worrying number of bullet holes in the floorboards below – 13, you counted – and a couple cinder marks marring the baseboard. The piling concerns for the building’s integrity didn’t help the fact that you did not find your phone, but you had been sure that you had it when you first entered. Where else could it have been?

Sighing, you admitted that there was a lot of places it could have been, and your not-so-enviable task of searching for your phone was not-so-kindly extended. Ten minutes turned to thirty, thirty minutes turned to an hour, and then an hour turned to two, until you had wasted two whole hours looking in every nook and cranny, even the rooms you had yet to explore. After scouring the hallway, study, and the infirmary for a second or third time, you moved on to the rooms the other side of the staircase.

The first were quick busts; two bathrooms that would have suited a haunted house more than there, with growing mold spots you were not excited to deal with. The porcelain of one of the sinks had been cracked so much that it would spill any water poured into it if the pipes worked at all. You doubted it very much so, especially for the second toilet that had duct-tape haphazardly wrapped around a portion. It also had you making a mental note to look up when lead pipes were banned.

Next up was a bedroom. The master bedroom, you presumed, given the larger bed and the adjoining bathroom. You gaped at the red satin sheets when you first entered, marveled at the canopy drawn around them, which were an equally rich color, and let out an expected wolf whistle for the impeccable mahogany posts. Looking at it nearly brought tears to your eyes, not only because of the unimageable design, but because it looked untouched. No damage for you to deal with. You felt the bright light of hope claw itself from the depths of your stomach. If you weren’t still missing your phone, you would have collapsed onto the plush pillows.

You shuddered with the burden of a sinner when you forced yourself to disturb the room to search – was it worth it, though – and you were quick to leave when you found nothing. When your boots stopped outside the room, you couldn’t help but laugh. What were you, a maid too scared to get caught in the master’s private quarters?

You stopped laughing when you realized that was just what you were.

Onto the next room! You scuttled from the master bedroom to the room opposite. What you thought was a room, anyway, a belief that was broken when you opened the doors to see the outside. A balcony that stretched from the door you had just stepped through to the room one over. That same mahogany danced the border between you and the rest of the world, the same as the bedroom, but with notable cracks and divots. Patterns were inscribed in the pillars supporting the roof above, and, for a brief moment, your shoulders dropped, your lungs exhaled, your weight disappeared just like that. With how creepy the manor appeared, you had forgotten that it was still a home. One that people lived their lives in.

Carved into the banister were notes. Some were small, some were full sentences. ‘Don’t forget Tiny’s birthday’ – ‘violet, moss, garlic’ – ‘o’ slow-winged turtle, shall a buzzard take thee?’. None of them lined up in a manner of tone or handwriting, it just showed you how many people had taken to this place enough to leave something of themself there, ingrained in the wood. You would probably be passing this onto your uncle when you finished up, and, for some reason, that almost disappointed you. Sentimentality was a fickle thing, you had your ups and downs with it, and yet you rapidly found yourself wanting to make the same connection that these people had made, even though you knew it would be short-lived and painful. But maybe that was what it was like for them, too.

You wished you could meet them.

Pushing off from the balcony’s edge, you decided that this wasn’t something you needed to fix. Instead, you would focus on getting your phone to finish up the day. It was already getting late, with the sun dipping into the horizon behind you, so it was the most you could do to make use of the light. You only hoped you could find it soon, or else you’d be stuck for the rest of the night in the dark, alone. The mere thought made you shiver as you pulled open the other door along the balcony.

And then you stopped.

“Okay, then.” Your quiet muttering was left drifting in the air. You tried to conjure another thought to replace it, something more helpful, but you only managed another, “Okay.”

The floor space was relatively empty in the room. A single leather chair sat next to a small table in the middle, while a bookcase leaned against one wall. In contrast, the walls were what caught your attention; from one corner to the next, the tanned wallpaper was splattered with mounted animal heads like bullets from a shotgun blast. The largest was a bison, complete with the two horns and furry head. Surrounding it was a wolf, moose, and elk separately mounted. Golden plaques were screwed in below some, though others had either fallen to the ground or disappeared entirely. As you side-stepped a crack in the floor that was barely hidden by a dusty rug, you were sympathetic to the smaller wolf head that had a clear bullet through its forehead, one not taken in its death. Whoever had been in there before you had an obvious distaste for the décor choice.

The room itself unnerved you. The glossy eyes of dead animals both mocked and pitied you as you walked towards the centre, like the angels of death that couldn’t make up their minds. The lack of… well, anything made you grimace; there was no smell, no sound, no sight for the blackened edges of the room that neither your torch nor the windows could reach. But the feature at the head of it all, the one that had you debating taking off from the balcony behind you, was your phone on the table.

Your phone, on the table, in a room you hadn’t even known existed.

Why were you doing this again?

Oh, yeah, because you were an oh-so-generous imbecile.

Your damn-near jumped out of your skin when your phone started belting a tune to an old song you thought you’d forgotten. It would have been nostalgic in any other situation, but you rushed forward to scoop the offending device up and jump to the door. The eyes of the taxidermized heads trailed your boots, burning holes into your back and bringing a cold shock up your spine. You didn’t look back, refused to look back, until you were safely crashing into the front seat of your truck. The door slammed next to you, making both yourself and Buddy – who had been peacefully snoozing away in the passenger seat – rear up like horses.

“Damn it,” you mumbled, elbows on the steering wheel and the heels of your hands boring into your eyes, as if, if you pushed hard enough, you could gouge the fear out of your brain. It didn’t work.

But the adrenaline was leaking out of you now that you were inside something that wasn’t an ancient manor dead-set on giving you a heart-attack. You even managed to crack a smile when you felt the wet texture of Buddy’s nose push against your side. Bringing one hand to scratch behind your ears, you steeled your nerves and stared daggers into the window opposite you.

You weren’t going to be beaten. Not by a house that could be knocked down by a bad gust of wind. Not here, not now.

“C’mon, bud,” you announced with a confidence that was half-convincing your canine companion, “let’s go set up shop.”

You lugged the borderline camping gear out of the bed of your truck, Buddy helping by carrying his dog bed as best he could, and through to the foyer. It was only the question of where you would be sleeping. The bedrooms were no-go, the master was definitely out because you would feel like you were disgracing a 1600s lord, and you were not sleeping in a bathroom. Most of the downstairs rooms were out, as much as it pained you to say it, just from the concerning amount of bullet holes in the walls that meant it was as cold as a grave down there. That meant that the best bet was the study.

So, that’s where you found yourself, ten minutes later, with an old mattress covered with a comforter you’d found buried in your closet draped over it. A flat pillow marked the top of the bed, while Buddy’s little nest sat next to the bottom. With him with you, you could find relief in there being no rats, at the very least.

It was when you were getting dressed into your nightwear that you received a message from the one person you had been dreading talking to, who was also the someone you’d missed a call from out of your panic.

Throwing your last shirt over the chair, you tapped on your uncle’s contact and skimmed over his message.

‘Hows it going champ’.

You scowled.

‘Really appreciate you doing this for me’.

Your fingers moved quicker than your brain, but, at 11 o’clock at night, with your physical and mental energy zapped, that wasn’t an accomplishment.

‘I hate you.’

His reply was immediate. ‘I know’.

You flopped onto the mattress and pushed your face into the pillow. With your luck, maybe you’d suffocate before the morning.

But that wouldn’t be the end of it. Not for you, because something in the manor was stirring. While you slept on the second floor, the first floor was alive with whisps of shadow, light, laughter, and graveness.

This was not an uncommon occurrence. In the past 100 years that this house had stood, there had been many a meeting in its halls. Now, the dining room was being used as the hub for nine very uncommon individuals.

At the foot of the table, on the right-hand side, sat someone only shadowed by the brim of their hat. A strap stretched from one shoulder to the other, the same color as the table at which they sat, and it ended at a satchel marred with soot, similar to the rest of their outfit. A button-up shirt and, noticeably, two different belts to hold up their pants. As was typical, a smirk was carved into their mouth, like they were getting just what they wanted, regardless of whether they knew what that was or not. What was not typical, however, was that it was closed.

Opposing them was someone who looked vastly brighter and bubblier. No smirk, just a calm, welcoming grin, almost golden retriever like. Given the late-night mist practically pooling around their feet, their attire was the most suited to where they sat; a beige jumpsuit thrown over a spotless turtleneck, adorned with patches and badges that hinted at a wider experience than what was given by their disposition. A belt wrapped around their waist – just one, this time – but it was decorated with little machines with readings and logs and all manner of technical things that lit up once in a while. In general, they looked happy to be there.

Next to the first person was a figure hunched over, calloused hands squeezed between their legs. A myriad of tattoos drifted up their arms, breached their neck and curved down their chest, not that all of them were visible. A plain white shirt blocked most, but that didn’t cover the scratches and bruises that dotted their face. A plaster here, a bandage there. Some looked like they had never fully healed, while some appeared as though they had been sewn into the skin.

That was nothing, though, given who they were across from. The most notable thing about them was the bloodied rag wound around their eyes, the middle pushed in as if the sockets were empty. The trail of velvet dripped down from the cloth to the dress shirt to the collar of their trench coat, marrying the fabrics together. This figure sat straight, straighter than any of the others before them, and yet was just as relaxed. They found comfort in their knowledge, which scattered from their mouth with no sign of stopping.

Continuing on was someone situated diagonal to the blinded. Had there not been a constant flickering of light from their right, one might have thought they were hidden in the darkness, bathed only in the light of the shadows. They were completely grayscale, not a single article of clothing or expanse of skin was natural. A gray hat with a black band – the shadow it threw down nearly invisible compared to the rest of them –, darkened eyebrows that hinted at nothing but curiosity, a tie loosened around their own dress shirt that offered the strictest contrast. Their head was tossed to the side, but it was held aloft just enough that they were able to guide a glass of whiskey to their lips.

Despite this phantasm being a contradiction of color in of themself, the one perched haphazardly in the seat over the table was an insult to their monochromatic scheme. They were dressed head to toe with a sugary motif, like cotton candy turned to silk. The two shared a drink, however, as one of their hands curled around a martini glass. The bright pink handlebar mustache was a surprise and the fluffy hair that dropped over their forehead threw the only darkness on their face. Even the air around them seemed to pop and fizz with eccentricity; fireworks on the fourth of July.

A much more arrogant space wavered around the one on the next diagonal. They laid back in their chair, like it wouldn’t dare fall over with them in it, no matter how far they tipped it, something they did with proud elegance. Slicked back hair that tapered out at points less effected by product swayed as they rocked, not a single piece out of place enough to touch the collar of their shirt. Their outfit looked plucked straight out of a catalogue, nothing odd or unkempt or even ruffled. A deep crimson suit jacket sat atop the dress shirt, with a black bowtie peeking out between the folds. Although it appeared without fault, the person donning them looked like they would rather be wearing anything else; otherwise, the scowl was just a permanent quirk of their face.

Their opposing guest dropped the vibrancy, settling, instead, for the classic suit jacket, shirt and pants that high-class society adorned. Slicked back hair, more so than the previous figure, but the only feeling expressed was a strict somberness. A prisoner accustomed to their fate, their eyes were trained on the reflective surface of the table, their hands fiddled with a cane that was their only tethering to this world.

All of these phantoms of the night were gathered in the same place, for once in a blue moon, to discuss a single matter. Each had been questioned in turn, and, while some were let off without a comment, others were heavily berated. Often times, they weren’t sure of what these meetings were for, but there were the odd occasions, the rarest of the rare, that it was obvious.

The dismal creature at the head of the table, sitting with their hands wrapped firmly around each other – as if the last speck of patience they held was caught in their fingers –, had announced the communion for one reason, and one reason only. The room flexed around them, and the blinking of red and blue lights struck lightning into the walls. Their grasp was so tight, not as if they were running out of patience, but because they were. Collected in a black shirt and white suit, ashen skin only rivaling that of the monochrome guest, it was easy to imagine it cracking.

“Now,” they spoke, slowly rising to their feet in what felt like a millisecond, “what are we going to do about the new owner?”

And crack it did.

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bookwormscififan · 4 months

Text

The Glint Off Your Fangs, Chapter 1

Read on AO3!

A/N: So @brokentimewatch encouraged me to write this Markiplier Vampire AU a few months ago, and I'm finally posting it.

Warnings: none yet.

He seemed to glide down the hall, fingertips grazing the sapphire strip lining the top of the wainscoting on the wall. He pulled his hand away from the wall, frowning at the dust he had picked up on his fingers. Curling his lip, he rubbed his fingers and thumb together, dispelling the dust before continuing down the hall.

He adjusted his suit jacket with a deep breath before opening the grand double doors before him and stepping into the room.

“The newest member is settling well,” a smug voice informed him from the armchair in front of the fire, waving a hand at the full glass of blood beside the adjacent armchair. The man in the suit sighed, sitting down before lifting his glass.

“Was there really a reason to turn him, though, Actor?” he asked, looking to his side to see the smug face of his brother.

“Is there ever a reason, Dark?” the firelight gleamed off his exposed fangs as he grinned at the suited man, sipping from his glass.

Deep in the catacombs of the castle, hidden from the moonlight as he writhed in his constraints, a man screamed, sweat beading down his head plastering his hair to his forehead. Black leather-clad hands clenched and unclenched, muscles tense beneath his dark turtleneck sweater.

He set his jaw, releasing it with a gasp as his incisors grew longer, pain spreading like wildfire through his mouth. Behind dark sunglasses, bloodshot eyes watered, heat rising from his chest to the two small holes in his neck, skin around them blistered and clammy.

A final burst of pain flared through his body, causing another throat-shredding scream, then the man collapsed onto his side on the ground, eyes closed and breathing heavily.

----

“What were youse looking for in here again? And why did I have to come along?” Yancy frowned as Illinois shushed him, glaring at the adventurer before peering through the gap in the hedges bordering the grand castle in front of them.

“The story is that a man came in here once, about forty years ago, and he never came out. Or something like that, I don’t remember the full story,” Illinois replied, motioning for Yancy to help him climb over the hedge. The prisoner rolled his eyes, helping the adventurer before accepting Illinois’ hand and joining him in the rear courtyard of the castle.

“What’s so special about this man? Why are we going into this castle to… what? Find him?”

“He was a murderer. Killed a lot of people. Maybe we could find out how he disappeared.” Illinois began to walk across the courtyard toward the stone hall lining the wall, waving his hand when he turned and noticed Yancy standing still.

“Are you coming? If we go through this hall, maybe we’ll find our way in,” he asked, tilting his head when Yancy’s face went pale, eyes trained on something behind the adventurer. Slowly, Illinois turned, raising his gaze up into the scarlet eyes of the sharply dressed man standing right behind him.

“Find a way in, you say.” His voice was a low rumble, bordering on menacing as Illinois stepped back slightly to make some distance. “Why did you not just knock at the front door?” The moonlight glinted off the man’s smile, reflecting the sharp incisors in his mouth – the man’s fangs.

“Illinois, he’s a…” Yancy’s voice shook as he stared into the vampire’s eyes, moving forward to stand beside Illinois. The adventurer nodded with a gulp, hand slowly reaching for the bullwhip against his hip before stopping as the vampire’s fingers curled around his wrist.

“None of that here. Come inside, I’m sure we can accommodate you,” He stated, voice still low, and Yancy and Illinois gasped as cold darkness wrapped around them, transporting them inside the castle.

Illinois immediately knelt to the ground, dry heaving above the dark red carpet as Yancy looked around. The prisoner gaped, eyes wide as he took in the surroundings.

The castle was as grand as its exterior suggested, with tall vaulted ceilings painted in rich royal blues. The walls were dark blackwood, striped with a sapphire band of wallpaper just above the burgundy wainscoting that accented the large floor-to-ceiling windows, draped with navy blue wool curtains.

The room that Yancy and Illinois had ended up in appeared to be a drawing room, with a large stone fireplace against one side of the room, two leather armchairs positioned in front of it with a simple coffee table between them. On the other side of the room, a pair of double doors stood closed against prying eyes, bordered with crimson drapes that complemented the wainscoting. Directly in front of the pair, matching double doors suggested an entrance to the hall, crystal sconces on either side of the doorframe, emitting a warm glow against the rich wood of the wall. A day bed was against the wall to the left of the door, and a bar trolley adorned with various bottles and glasses stood against the door on the right.

Yancy looked to his side, raising an eyebrow at Illinois crouched over the wooden floor, continuing to dry heave above the plush carpet they stood on. The prisoner looked up when the doors in front of them opened, revealing the suited man that had transported them.

“Names.” He demanded, voice low as he moved to the bar trolley beside the door. Yancy watched as he poured himself a drink, squinting at the dark red liquid that flowed into the glass. He cleared his throat when the man turned around, nudging Illinois with his foot as he straightened up and wet his lips before speaking.

“Yancy. This is Illinois. He dragged me here, I didn’t even want to come.” The man hummed, leaning against the day bed and observing Yancy as Illinois stood up. The adventurer adjusted his hat, straightening his shirt and staring the man down.

“You’re a vampire.” Yancy rolled his eyes at Illinois’ statement, watching warily as the man strolled toward them, unbuttoning his suit jacket with one hand as he sipped from his glass.

“You’re trespassing on private property,” he returned, leveling his gaze on Illinois. “I don’t take well to intruders. My brother would kill you if he saw you here.” He placed his glass down on the table in front of the fireplace, cracking his neck before turning back to the duo.

“I would suggest you forget you ever came here. If I find you here again, you will not be leaving.” With a wave of his hand, Yancy and Illinois found themselves outside the castle gates once more, less lightheaded than the last time they were transported. Illinois huffed, lifting his hat to run a hand through his hair before looking at Yancy.

“We’re going to find another way in.”

-----

@iamvegorott

#writing #fanfiction #markiplier fanfiction #markiplier #vampire au #darkiplier #actor mark #ahwm yancy #ahwm illinois #you can tear my vampires from my cold dead hands

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