#ladywriting

I Love You Anyway Ship: Darkstache

1917

One glimpse at the crinkled page of the local newspaper was all it took.

The photo of himself, William J. Barnum, hand in hand with the town’s new mayor, Damien Ebonwood. Scandalous, they called it. Everyone was losing their minds over the possibility of a political figure being a homosexual.

He paged through to the next side, seeing another photo accompanying the article. One that was more recent, one that, when taken, the two had known it would be a nightmare.

They had been out for dinner and paparazzi had caught them. William had opened his jacket and pulled Damien into it to hide his face from the unwanted flashing of the cameras.

However, that had turned out to be the wrong thing to do.

William was so tired of all the drama, all the stress. He’d just gotten home from the war, and he just wanted peace and quiet.

But, he knew that would never happen when he had to worry about the negative impact he had on Damien’s life. His beloved had worked so hard for his career and everything else, and William’s presence was letting it go to waste.

He knew he had to do something about it. Damien wouldn’t let him go, certainly not for this reason. He’d say it was okay, that they’d make it through, that he didn’t care about what the public thought of him.

Of them.

The soldier, of course, knew that was a lie. Damien cared very deeply about his career and what the public thought about him.

It was going to be a messy end, that was for sure.

~*~*~*~*~

1918

“God damn you, Barnum!”

William took the smacks to the chest and the tears streaming down Damien’s cheeks with a straight face, though his heart was pounding out of his chest and the ache was like he was being shot all over again.

“I can’t believe you! Of all the people, you choose to cheat on me with my sister?! My married sister!” Damien sobbed and slammed his palms against William’s broad chest in a desperate attempt to get him to say something - say anything at all.

But, he didn’t budge, and just looked down at Damien blankly, trying not to cry, to tell him why he was doing this or that it wasn’t true.

Though he knew he couldn’t do that. He knew this was best.

He wanted to just take Damien into his arms and tell him that he loved him, but he knew that them being together wasn’t best for Damien, which is why it had to end like this, why he had to stand there and listen to Damien shouting.

“I hate you, William!”

It didn’t change the fact that he hated it.

~*~*~*~*~

1928

“...aren’t you even the least bit upset?”

Celine looked over at her brother with a slightly confused and mildly annoyed look when his voice pulled her away from the seance laid out before her.

“You mean about Mark’s death.” She stated knowingly, and Damien narrowed his eyes slightly, hating how calm and collected she sounded.

“Yes, I mean about Mark’s death!” He exclaimed, finally getting agitated enough to snap. Why did no one care?! “You and William both! I mean, I know you both betrayed him and me by cheating but I thought you’d still be at least a bit-”

“Are you still seriously caught up on that?” Celine rolled her eyes, tired of being reminded constantly that everyone thought she was a whore. “William and I never had an affair. I was unhappy with Mark and William was afraid for you, afraid your public image would be damaged by his presence, so we decided to stage an affair to get out of the relationships.”

Damien had been about to fully snap at Celine’s first words, before his jaw dropped and he just gaped at her, his heart starting to pound out of his chest.

“...what did you just say?”

It was all he could even manage to say, he suddenly felt dizzy, dizzier than he had been earlier when they discovered Mark dead.

His slightly older sister simply rolled her eyes. “He wanted a way out that would make sure you wouldn’t try to fight for him. He loved you dearly, Damien, he just knew how much you cared about your public image and he didn’t want to sully all that you had worked so hard for.”

There was silence in the room for a moment as Damien processed what his sister was telling him. He knew she was telling the truth, he could always tell when she was lying to him.

But, this? This scheme that had lasted ten years, an attempt to save him from the only man he’d ever loved because of politics of all things... it was ludicrous.

“I... I need to find William...” He whispered, his breath catching in his throat, his sweaty hands shaking around the cane that he gripped ever so tightly. Shaking his head, he forced back tears and turned to leave, to find William, to reconcile.

He didn’t know it was already too late.

~*~*~*~*~

2020

The sun was setting and washes of oranges and yellows came through the window of Darkiplier’s office, bathing the two people inside.

Wilford was on the desk, a marker in his hand moving furiously across the page of the adult colouring book that Dark had given him to distract him and keep him from bothering Dark while he was trying to work.

It was so sudden that the memory fluttered through Dark’s mind, that it honestly and truly caught him off guard.

He stared down at the page he’d been reading and was still for a long moment, before he looked up at Wilford, his eyes roaming over his face, taking in every detail of the man that he’d loved for over a hundred years.

“I don’t care about what anyone thinks.” He blurted out, catching the pink ego’s attention and having him turn towards him with a perplexed expression.

“What? What do you mean?”

“About us. I don’t care what anyone thinks about us. I love you, and I don’t care who knows,” Dark stated firmly, his lips pressed into a stern line before his features softened. “I just... wanted you to know.”

He could tell that Wilford didn’t know what he was talking about, which was a bit of a relief, and he relaxed when his partner smiled his beautiful smile and leaned down to pull Dark into a kiss.

“...you’re silly, Darky.” Wilford gave him an affectionate look as he pulled away slightly, brushing some of Dark’s hair out of his face.

“I know.” The dark ego hummed in reply, looking up at his partner with nothing but pure decades of love in his gaze.

“I like it. You can be silly,” Wilford kissed the tip of Dark’s nose. “I love you anyway.”

Dark smiled.

Candy Hearts Ship: Darkstache (platonic or romantic)

The thunder outside crackled alongside the accompanied lighting, illuminating the office in which Darkiplier was seated. He hated the thunder. The lightning. The loud noises and flashing light reminded him of memories best left forgotten.

Wilford felt the same way. If not more strongly on the subject. But, while the storm made him irritable, he knew it also distressed Dark, so, the pink ego had left a bowl of candies on Dark's desk in an attempt to give him at least a little bit of happiness. While he didn't often eat sweets, Dark appreciated the distraction, and peered into the bowl, plucking out a pink heart with light blue wording on it.

'Puppy Love'

He huffed and rolled his eyes at the words, and stuck the candy into his mouth, mildly ashamed to admit that the sweet flavor was rather soothing. He sighed and relaxed into the chair, flinching as the thunder struck again.

He reached for another candy, red flickering over his fingers.

'Be Careful'

Dark frowned, finding that saying a little odd, but, he supposed it was sweet to be concerned, so the expression wasn't entirely unusual. He ate the candy with not much more thought on the subject, and decided on one more before he put the little bowl away.

Reaching for the next one, he pulled it out and turned it over in his fingers.

'He Is Upset'

This one made Dark's brow furrow, before gunshots rang out from downstairs, and his sense of sound direction was good enough at this point to know it came from Wilford's studio.

The candy words faded back into a more mundane saying, and Dark sighed, knowing it must have been Celine trying to warn him that Wilford was having an episode due to the storm. He muttered a soft thank you and stood, adjusting the lapels of his suit before making his way downstairs, prepared to deal with it.

I messed up the first time and wrote it Host instead of Author so I had to change it because I’m big brain… and forgot to add tags.

Only From YouShip: DocthorPrompt: “That’s how the story goes.”Tag List: @gerardwayslips @laneofpennies @emiiinazer

“…so, yes, that’s how the story goes.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

Edward had spent the past half an hour arguing over plot points with the Author - or Isaac, as only the doctor could call him - and now Author’s patience was wearing thin.

“The Author is well aware that the plot is stupid, but it is what the client wants, so the Author has to deal with it and write it anyway.”

“I must admit, I’m still not fully understanding that part.” Dr. Iplier narrowed his eyes slightly with a frown, propping himself up on one elbow as he carefully regarded his partner, who was sitting up in bed beside him, working on his current writing project.

“What part is it that the doctor does not understand?” Isaac questioned in a mumble, scratching something out on the page, his writing almost as illegible as Edward’s chicken scratch.

“The satisfying the client part,” Edward clarified with a frown. “You’ve never valued customer satisfaction over the quality of your writing, so why start now?”

The Author’s lips turned into a thin grimace, and he didn’t answer the question, making Edward sit up fully, crossing his arms.

“Author.”

No answer.

“Isaac…”

“Mhm?” The Author mumbled in response to the sound of his name, his voice a bit softer and more sheepish.

“Why the sudden change?” The doctor asked again, snuggling up to the Author’s side and resting his head on the other’s shoulder.

“…the Author needs to satisfy the customer, as they are paying a substantial amount of money for the finished product,” He explained with a weak sigh. “The Author wants the money so the doctor can purchase new equipment for his clinic.”

Edward was silent for a long moment, his mind processing what the Author had just said, before he scoffed very loudly, and then pulled Author into a deep kiss before the other could question it.

“Isaac, you stupid, sweet, beautiful man, you…” He whispered affectionately as he pulled away, leaving the Author to tilt his head to convey his confusion, much like a puppy would.

“The Author would like to inquire as to the meaning of the… well… the Author is not sure if that statement was an insult or a compliment.”

“I love you so much, but, you don’t have to do that for me,” Edward smiled, brushing the blond strand of hair back into place on the Author’s head. “I never ever want you to compromise what you love for me.”

“The Author assures Edward that it isn’t a big deal-”

“Yes, it is. Isaac, your narratives are your livelihood, it’s the most important thing in your life because it is where your happiness comes from. Therefore you shouldn’t sacrifice doing what makes you happy to mold it into what someone wants just for money.”

The writer was quiet for a moment before he nodded his head slowly. “…the Author understands what the doctor means, and gives thanks to him for talking sense into him. Though, the Author also points out that the doctor is wrong.”

“What? What do you mean?” Edward seemed perplexed, and a bit irritated, as, like most people, he didn’t like being told he was wrong. “Wrong about what?”

“Wrong about the most important thing in the Author’s life. About where his happiness comes from,” Isaac clarified, reaching out to wrap an arm around the doctor’s waist and pull him closer. “The Author gets his happiness from his writing, yes, but he receives more happiness from Edward, who is truly the most important thing to the Author.”

That had been genuinely the last thing the doctor expected to hear, and as a result, he flustered, his cheeks darkening as he coughed out of embarrassment and looked away with a goofy smile crossing his lips.

It worsened for a moment before the Author kissed his cheek, and Edward beamed, turning back to return the sentiment.

“You flirt,” Edward smiled and playfully smacked the Author on the chest, cheeks still burning. “Regardless, the narrative should follow what the writer plans, not the reader. That’s how the story should go.”

“The doctor is correct in his statement.” The Author smiled, leaning in for a kiss, but stopping when Edward spoke again.

“Of course I am. I’m right quite often, but you still insist on arguing with me.”

The Author chuckled at that, the last sound he made before the evening was silenced by Edward’s lips on his.