i have beening staring at mark for a long time

saint, sinner, matyr

this fic can also be found on ff.net or ao3

Have a little piece that’s a little angsty, a little hurt-comfort and a little fluffy?? I also found out a riza (риза) is a russian term describing the gilding that they give to the portraits of their icons, so there you go!

There’s no particular timeframe for this piece, but I’m thinking prolly after Hughes’ death. Comments are always appreciated and encouraged!

It is three in the morning and Roy has been staring at the marks and lines on her back for a long time. Only some parts are highlighted by the streetlight that leaks into his apartment - the rest of the room is a hazy dull orange that reminds him far too much of Ishval and old research papers. He doesn’t need to strain his eyes to complete the sentences on her skin; finish the patterns that morph into mottled patches. He knows it all by heart – that the dip in her shoulder blades tells him the exact equation for transmuting oxygen around him, and the flare of her hips will help him calculate the distance from where the snap of his fingers is natural to when he needs to concentrate. If he were blinded and could only rely on his touch on her back he would still wager he wouldn’t get lost. Every muscle and piece of skin is known to him intimately.

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Markiplier Imagine: Choir kid

💙This imagine is not gendered!💙
💙This imagine can be interpreted as platonic!💙

💙This imagine includes Teamiplier!💙

You’re sitting on the charter bus next to a long time friend– she’s taken a window seat, and she’s been looking out the window at the scenery for about half an hour now. The scenery is changing– you know you’re getting closer to the high school you’re performing at.

You shiver a little and open your phone, messaging someone who might pay attention to you. Your stomach is in knots, you need to talk to someone who’ll help.

Bubbles: Mark help I think i might be having an anxiety attack

You stare at the screen until it reads “sent”– the data on the road is awful in this part of the country. To your surprise, he texts back almost immediately.

Moo: c'mon, it’s gonna be ok

Moo: you’re the best damn singer in your section and noone can take that from you

Moo: now get out there and kick some ass

Moo: …oh hey tyler said he and kathryn wanted to go to icecream after with you so hurry up :P

You close your phone and grin softly, feeling much better. You think you have the courage to do this now.


Je le vous… dirai!

The song is over. You’ve finished your performance, and wow, that’s the best you’ve ever sung those pieces. The applause starts, and you grin. That was AMAZING. There’s no way you didn’t score superior.

Some wild movement in the middle of the auditorium catches your eye. You squint. Who is that? You make out a flash of blue hair…

Suddenly the lights onstage dim, and you can see clearly out into the audience and there they are. Teamiplier, clapping without cheering because of the formal nature of the event but you can tell they REALLY wanna scream. Mark stands out to you– he’s grinning ear to ear and nodding and giving thumbs-ups over and over. You walk offstage with the rest of your choir, mouthing “sight-reading” to them, “wait.” They all look confused except for Kathryn, who caught it and tells the rest what you said.

You’re now beaming with pride. You feel ready to kick ass and take names on your sight reading assessment. An alto behind you taps your shoulder and whispers “hey, were they your family? They were acting weird.”

You nod in her direction, unable to shake the grin from your face. “Mmhm.”

It’s two am in the morning and I’m wide awake.
And I’m tapping to the keyboard my life away.
I guess it was the caffeine or the chocolates I ate.
But I know I would be lying. I know I would be denying.
Tonight, it isn’t the coffee nor the sweets.
It was you. Yes, it’s you. Fuck you.
I’m afraid that this would happen. I’ve always been afraid.
That there comes the night that you would be bugging my mind.
And that time I dreaded long enough has come.
And I know, for sure, I lost. I’m lost.
I’ll be lost until I break. Until I get hurt.
Until the pain etches it’s mark in my mind.
I can’t have you looking at me, the way I look at you.
I can’t have you staring while I walk by.
I can’t have you getting curious about how I feel for you.
Not now. Not when I’m trying to forget about you.
Not when I’m getting over this silly infatuation.
I don’t want to. I can’t fall in love with you.
Don’t make me feel like this. It’s not worth the risk.
I’ve stopped staring at you. Even the urge is too strong.
I’ve stopped saying your name. Even I like how your name rolls off my tongue.
I’ve stopped looking for you. In the sea of faces in the crowd.
Even If you were the  reasons of the poems I wrote.
Of the phrases I quote. Of the stories inked in my dog eared journals.
In the pieces of papers, in the scattered tissues, everywhere.
I have to stop. I got to stop this feelings growing. Lurking, waiting to burst.
Waiting for you.  
Because if not, I’ll fall. I’ll fall hard in the kitchen floor.
And I assume you won’t be able to catch me.
Because somehow, you’ll see all the secrets. All my demons.
All flaws, all my imperfections, all my scars.
And you’ll just leave me hanging like they do.
Leave me in the middle of a page, being the book always left  half unread.
Like always. Like every single time.
And I don’t want that. Not again.
Because I’m afraid I’ll lose every love I have for myself.
Because I’m not the girl  worth fighting for.
I’m as swift as the coursing waters.
I have the force of a great typhoon.
With the strength of the raging fire.
As mysterious as the dark side of the moon.
Do you want a girl who’s man enough?
Do you?

And now, it’s three am in the morning. And I lie in the bed, eyes closed, I pray to God
Mumbling my wishes, dreams and hopes as I hear my heartbeat racing.
My breath hitching. The clock ticking, the wind passing by.
And before sleep shuts me down.
I admit.
I like you. Heck, I love you. I think I really do

—  from my dog-eared journal about you