Fluffy Markiplier Oneshots

This Is No Game

I am so sorry for not updating for a while! I've been busy with school and life in general. But I figured I should throw up another one-shot for you guys :) I've been in a Darkiplier sort of mood lately, so I hope you enjoy as I indulge in a bit of creepiness.

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"And, as always, I will see you...in the next video. Buh-bye!" Mark grinned as he signed off and stopped recording. He sat back in his chair with a content sigh, running a hand through his hair. Good day, he thought to himself. Very good day. He stood and stretched and left his booth to grab some dinner. Mark rubbed his eyes and hummed as he padded into the kitchen. Someone said his name, softly, back down the hall near his bedroom. He stopped, turned. There was nothing there. He went back to his business, cautiously. Maybe he'd misheard? Yes. He was tired. Too many horror games and too little down time were a bad combo.

Mark.

The whisper came again. Mark froze. There wasn't any mistaking it now. Someone was in his house, and they were closer than before. He slowly reached for the silverware drawer and pulled out the sharpest steak knife he had. This was no horror game. There was no screen to look away from. He couldn't escape the dread that pooled in his stomach. It was like playing Vanish, but in real life, with a real monster coming for him.

 A monster, Mark?

Mark struggled not to make any noise. He stood his ground.

You think I'm a monster?

Whoever was talking, they sounded offended. Mark took a step forward, staring straight ahead, into the dark hallway.

 Do you have any idea how ridiculous...? They snorted a short laugh. No. I suppose you don't.

Something was moving in the shadows, so dark it was almost a shadow itself. "How did you get into my house?" Mark demanded, his voice wavering at the edges.

"Get in?" The voice was more louder now, realer than before. It was truly there, in front of him. And the voice was his own. "You're asking...how you got into your own house?" Mark watched himself emerge as if from nowhere. "Even you must admit, that's a rather silly question."

Mark wanted to ask the man who he was, why he was standing there, just looking at him. But he already knew. He had always known. "Dark," Mark said quietly, tensing.

"Who were you expecting?" Dark purred with a smirk. "That bumbling fool, Warfstace?" There was a dangerous glint in Dark's eye.

Mark scowled. "I thought I took care of you," he growled. "You sick, demented parasite. You've taken over too many of my videos. You've scared my fans—"

"Oh, they enjoy it," Dark said with a pout. "Have you seen the fan art? It's impressive, and, to be quite frank...sexy."

"Would you just get out of here?" Mark sighed, straightening. "I'm tired of your emo crap."

In the blink of an eye, Dark was inches from Mark's face. "You really just don't know when to stop joking, do you, Markimoo?" he hissed. "You just...don't get it. It's frustrating, really it is. I just can't seem to get it into your thick skull...that I'm not going anywhere." Dark grabbed Mark's wrist and seized the knife from it. "You know I'm always there, Mark. I'm the pain of your past, mangled up into a single living consciousness. And you know what seperates us, in that head of yours?" He tapped Mark's forehead. "A wall. A plain, grey wall that just sits there, taunting me. But walls age, Mark, just as people do. And sure enough, they begin to weaken. There are holes in the wall, Mark. Just big enough for me to reach through. We share one brain; a brain that we both know only has room for one of us, as cliche as it sounds. You're slipping, Markiplier. You're curious about my side of the wall."

"Is that supposed to be an innuendo?" Mark said, frowning.

Dark made a deep sound of displeasure in the back of his throat, and in a swift movement, made a clean line over Mark's bicep with the knife. Startled by the pain, Mark fell obediently silent. "See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Dark asked through clenched teeth. "I really don't want to hurt you, Mark. After all, we share a body as well as a mind. But I can see no other way to make you cooperate." Mark let out a small whine. "Sh, sh, sh. Don't you worry. The channel won't suffer because of this...small misfortune. You won't die today, nor tomorrow, or the following day. But you must understand, Mark, that you're a hopeless case. Even with Tiny Box Tim, and all your fans, and your gaming buddies...you'll be mine eventually. No one will ever be the wiser."

Mark, gathering his strength, shoved Dark back. "Shut up, d-bag! I don't need to take your crap about being alone, or being hopeless or worthless or whatever. You're in my head, and that's where you're gonna stay, you dark demon douche-nozzle!"

Dark appeared behind him, the knife pressed to Mark's throat. "I could kill you for that, you know," he whispered, cold breath tickling Mark's ear. "Slit your throat, leave you here to choke on your own blood like a pathetic fish our of water. But I won't. It's so soon, now, that you'll fall into the abyss. So tantalizingly soon. I'll leave the true torture for then. Good night, Mark." He shoved the knife hard into Mark's gut, all the way to the handle.

Blinded by the onslaught of pain, Mark fell, down, down, down...

And awoke.

He was in his bed, still fully dressed, but completely unharmed. He blinked hard a few times, clearing the remaining fog from his head. Just a dream, he thought, but he knew better. It was a warning. Something big was coming; a war, of sorts, and losing wasn't an option. Mark swung his legs over the edge of the bed, groaning at the deep ache in his bones. Across from him lay a full-length mirror that he hadn't hung up yet. In the reflection, he saw his eyes go black, and his skin pale to a soft grey. His reflection menacingly smiled at him. Just for a moment, then it was gone. This isn't over. It has just begun.