mbgcreates

[mbgcreates]

I've been having so much fun dancing lately. I've missed it so much

[mbgcreates]

💕

[mbgcreates]

Hold gentl like forg

Aka snork mimimi

[mbgcreates]

Para Siempre

(Or, Forever.)

A/N: I've just been thinking.

Dark x female reader, but written in third person. Inspired by Mark's final (?) line from his Unus Annus anniversary video in November 2023. (I've had this sitting in my drafts for half a year.) Established relationship ("wife" used for reader), so he's evolved quite a bit from the man we've seen. Contains mentions of death (no actual dying) and angst relating to such. Would this be considered mild whump? Idk. Word count: ~1300

~~

It's afternoon, this time; bright, sunny, not a cloud in the sky. It’s almost too perfect, in contrast to the activity and emotions on the ground.

What a sight he must look: glamour barely in place, wisps of shadow effervescing from him as he rushes to the place where, not all that long ago, the soil was freshly turned, where reality and dirt set in. Now, grass has made the space its home, the patches from years past but a memory. Flowers perch in a holder on the headstone, preserved and immortal. He made sure of that.

They are accompanied by regular flowers, although whether from the funeral home or loved ones, he does not have any way of knowing. These look relatively fresh, and he lets himself believe it was their family. It assuages his guilt.

Dark looks human again by the time he arrives at the gravestone, once more the age he had put forth for over a hundred years—although, perhaps, aged just a little. He can't bring himself to look exactly the same, not when it's been many years since he looked young. Not when it reminds him of when he met her.

He kneels down after a few moments, a more controlled movement than one might expect after his rushing around. He worries not about his suit; even if grass stains weren’t anything more than an inconvenience for someone like him, he wouldn’t care. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s here, where she is.

Was.

It is human, to grieve—it was not something he expected to affect him ever again, and certainly not in such an intense way, and absolutely not for this long. But he is nothing but intense with everything, especially regarding her.

She had not been opposed to cremation, but he, the selfish entity he is, persuaded her into a traditional burial. He couldn’t bear the thought of his wife going up in flames, even if she no longer had any need of the flesh she once occupied. He could barely bear the fact that she was gone.

He brushes his thumb over the grooves in the stone, the ones delineating her name for all who seek her. A name that once was whispered reverently, said lovingly to the one whom it belonged to. A name that once laughed often, talked and listened, one who existed with him. Who wanted him. Him.

It could have been forever. But humans are not made for forever on earth, physically or mentally. They both knew what her decision would be, long before it came time…but that didn't make it any less difficult.

He can recall so clearly her smile, worn by time but no less beautiful, as he kept her company in the waning days, and he asked her again, hoping she would change her mind, this time. That death would not let them part.

That smile of hers was melancholic and her eyes pained that he would ask this of her again. “I don’t know that I could bear it,” she said, the words the same as last time, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “It would be selfish of us, amor. Hubris, even.”

“No more pain. You will be young again.” Even as he spoke, he could feel her stubbornness through their bond. “Stay with me.”

She was trying not to cry. He hated that he made her sad. “You know I always will be.” Her hand pressed against his chest, where his heart mimicked a pulse. “Para siempre.”

Her words ring clearer than ever in his mind, as if she were saying it directly to him again; but despite its fidelity, it’s a pale imitation to actually hearing her. Just like any illusion he could conjure would be a cheap imitation of her presence; it only instead brings back the pain.

There’s a tug within his essence, separate from his emotions, that makes itself known: an unwanted urge to leave. “It’s not fair,” he mutters. The last thing he wants to do is to leave her here alone. It's the same sentiment he has every time he has to go: He could spend all eternity here, at her grave, while the world turns and crumbles. Even forever would never be enough. But the void calls him back, forcing him to return. He doesn't care anymore if he dissipates, but the pull is too strong to resist; the very fiber of his being physically does not allow him to.

Obsidian presses his hand against the stone marker, mirroring her action from years ago. He reads it over again like it was the first time, as if he is trying to memorize words that are already emblazoned into his memory. The sensation of water collecting by his eyes is welcomed.

“I will be on time next year. I promise.”

Scotched, weathered landscapes, whipped by irradiated storms, stretches as fast as the eye can see. The soil, stripped bare of even a fraction of a sign of life, nonetheless holds the little memorial, clinging to what remains as if out of stubbornness. Long ago has everything else turned to dust…except for this. This, which that entity, now more creature than man, is now greeted by; what he will be greeted by in the time to come, until the very rock and core of the planet disintegrate into shards, and then into nothingness.

He can't remember when he came here last. For him, it had been an exact year, just as it had been all the years prior, when he kept his promise each time. How could this world and its time have become so detached from his own? How could he have missed the signs?

A multitude of eyes blink down at the monument, the shadowy mass from which they originate almost melancholic, if one could assign an emotion to the form. It reaches out to the stone, an incorporeal limb passing right through it. With effort, the entity dredges up the desire to become solid and tries again, this time succeeding in making contact. He caresses the headstone, fingers—he has fingers now, subconsciously formed—tracing over the worn spaces where letters were once chiseled.

This could be his last time here. With how eroded the stone is, it's likely it doesn't have many years left in it. He doesn't want to consider that. The Dark doesn't want to consider that the last tangible piece of the one whom he loved might not be here, next time. He's lucky enough it's lasted this long, even though it was by design, but it always felt like an impossibility. But, over the course of many lifetimes, one learns that few things truly are impossible.

The wind that slams into his form ought to sting in a way only intense, constant radiation can, but he cannot feel it, despite how badly he wants to feel the pain. He is beyond it now; only physical altercations with his enemy cause him any damage, and those clashes are becoming less and less frequent. The man within must be finally, finally tiring—or maybe, that’s just him. Maybe, it’s moments like this, where memories are really becoming the only things left of the one whom he loved, that are wearing on him. What is the point anymore, after all? When vengeance is ever escaping his grasp, how much longer can he really act the part?

Long ago, he had wished he could be lain here, keeping her company, so he wouldn’t have to continue on pretending. He was able to pretend, after a while, that was exactly what happened…his own name, next to hers until the end of time, was then etched onto the very headstone that he would come to see for nearly every year for thousands of years. He allowed them to “bury” him, an inert doppleganger that disappeared once the soil had returned into the space it previously occupied. The entity once known as Darkiplier was jealous of the doppleganger, even with the brevity of its situation, because it experienced what he could not.

And now, here, in the barren wasteland, he decides he’s ready. He’s so, so damn ready. If, after this, the planet itself is no more, then why even bother?

The formless entity “kneels” down slowly, sinking heavily against the headstone, as if the weight of his many lifetimes are now weighing upon him. All the eyes shut in unison. He feels, for the briefest of moments, a small hand rest on his shoulder, then a body wrapping around his, and a peace that he hasn't felt in millennia washes over him.

And he lets go.

[mbgcreates]

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[mbgcreates]

Reblog this if you would not only accept, but welcome fan art, moodboards, etc. of your fics

All of these used to be so common for people to show their appreciation of different fics and authors, and I think it’s a shame people don’t do it anymore. I love seeing fan work for my fics!!

[mbgcreates]

Service announcement brought to you by the dismal reblog economy

[mbgcreates]

Until We Are Parted

You are nervously waiting for Damien to emerge from the "seance room" with his sister. Surely this day can't get any worse.

A/N: I've had this one in the wings for a little over a year and a half, and I'm glad I could finally finish it! Set during the final chapter of Who Killed Markiplier.

Word count: 914 (I really thought this was longer!) Damien x reader (kinda). Reader is referred to as his wife, but otherwise there's no gendered language used. Reblogs are much much appreciated!

~~~~~~

It's been far too long since they went in that room, too long since the self-proclaimed Seer brought her twin with her to try her occult magicks once again. It was bad enough when she got the DA involved, but with your husband now the one with her, it makes that unease in your gut grow. Back and forth you had paced, anxiousness quickening your steps, but now your feet take you back down the hall, towards where you saw Damien and his sister last. You hadn’t meant to walk so far away, but whatever Celine was doing, you didn’t want to be anywhere near, despite not wanting to leave your husband behind.

There is a figure in the hall when you approach again, although you don’t notice at first, too caught up in the thoughts in your head. It takes you another moment, but that’s Damien, only just now exiting the room. You perk up, although your unease doesn’t leave you. You open your mouth to call his name, but stop in your tracks.

There is something…wrong with your husband.

You're just being silly, you think at first; the stress of Mark's death and both you and Damien being accused, followed by Celine's sudden arrival, must all be getting to your head. But, even down the hall, when he turns and looks at you…

…there isn't a drop of warmth in those honey brown eyes.

"Darling," he says, half a second too late and stilted, a belated smile forming that isn't your husband's. "What's the matter?"

The words tumble from you before you can think. "What the hell have you done with my husband?" you hiss.

"What do you mean?" He chuckles. The hairs raise on the back of your neck at the sound, both familiar but somehow entirely foreign. "It's me. It's Damien."

"The hell it is!" Your voice gets louder by the end, a slight wobble attached that you were hoping wouldn't reveal itself. "I— I don't know what happened, but you aren't Damien."

The smile on the body's face threatens to drop, but all he does is open his arms and take a step forward. "Don't be silly. I'm as much Damien as you are my wife."

The slight hesitation before calling you his wife, the way he holds himself, the other small things about him that you can't explain but all are setting off alarm bells— Whatever is happening, your husband isn't there anymore. But before you can let that sink in, another thought occurs to you. "Wh…where's Celine?"

There's no mistaking the way his expression twists, a particular ugliness to it that has no place on Damien's face. He mutters something belligerent under his breath. You take a step back, a sudden fear dropping your stomach. His head whips up, and you freeze when you make eye contact. It's almost absurd how fast that smile is plastered back on.

"She's…busy." That ire you saw on his face slips into his voice. Something tugs at the back of your mind.

"Tell me who the hell you are," you say, soft but hopefully threatening, "or I'll scream."

His face twitches. "And who will hear you?" He takes a step forward. You match it back. "The others are too busy pointing fingers to investigate."

Has it really devolved that badly? "Fine," you say. "Fine. I won’t scream, then. But, you are not my husband, and I am not your wife.”

He stops, then barks a laugh. "You really are as astute as I remember. Maybe that's one of the reasons the two of you got along. I always said you could have gone into a career alongside Damien."

Your brow furrows, a memory of a long-ago summer day resurfacing. You can so easily hear the conversation, the pleasant laughs all around. It couldn't be. "A lot of people have said that," you reply cautiously.

"Have they? Few knew the two of you as well as I did, so I highly doubt that." He huffs. “And here I just gave you credit for your smarts once again.”

Your lips suddenly feel dry. “It’s impossible, though.”

“Friend, the impossible is at my fingertips. And if you test me further, you might see firsthand."

You’re not sure what that means, but the hardness in his eyes leaves no room for guessing. There’s a horrid feeling in the pit of your stomach. “Mark…what did you do to them?”

“Just what they deserve,” he spits, not bothering to disguise his disdain any longer. “Every last one of them will get what they deserve.”

Your limbs feel like they're buzzing. Your breathing quickens, and there are pinpricks behind your eyes. Are you even in your body right now? “What did you do to my husband?”

“Look in front of your damn eyes.”

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY HUSBAND?!”

Your desperate screaming is barely audible over the sharpness of a gunshot. You turn towards the sound, shocked out of your despair, when something taps against the back of your neck. The muscles in your legs give out, and you collapse to the ground, eyes rolling up into your head. Your vision paradoxically goes bright white, but not before spotting a strange shape, like a tendril of ivy, in the air where you once were. Your mind retreats, as if it's being pulled from your body, and the last sensation you have is your gut plummeting like a rock. You don’t even feel the tears slip down your cheeks.

[mbgcreates]

Please don't let me do Egotober again next year, I literally don't have time for it anymore and I exhaust myself trying to make it happen ;-;

For instance: it is nearly 2am when I'm scheduling this on Halloween bc I didn't have that day's drawing done ahead of time like I had wanted. I did pretty good for most of the month, but I still had so many days where I've been staying up way later than I should be when I'm already not getting enough sleep during the week.

[mbgcreates]

Egotober Day 31: Halloween

Happy Halloween!! This year's costumes and scene are inspired by the fact that my pals keep trying to put me in baby jail any time I injure myself, and of course Dark has to be the warden/guard lol

[mbgcreates]

Egotober Day 30: Purple

I ALMOST PASSED UP THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY AGAIN

The final one to complete the trio!

Celine || Damien

[mbgcreates]

Cringetober Day 28: Mascot Horror

(and technically 27: youtuber fanart but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

[Mark: I don't got the patience for YOU!]

Definitely not creepy or scary at all, but I wanted to draw specifically Springtrap based on this FNAF reaction compilation edit, because Mark's impromptu song parody has lived in my head off and on ever since it was posted 😆

[mbgcreates]

Cringetober Day 24: Niche Interest

Cliquetober (!): Clancy

"It's over my head"

Have I mentioned yet how much I love cyanotypes? That's my niche interest. (And despite being a fan for 7-8 years, this is the first piece of fanart I've made for this band.) The fact that the Cliquetober prompt is Clancy is a total coincidence because I was already planning on doing this. Two alternate prints with one showing the full drawing below the cut!

Plus, the original negative:

Fun fact is despite the fact I did this negative like 6 days ago, it's still not dry. Not sure what it is about Micron pens that they don't dry on this plastic very quickly

[mbgcreates]

Egotober Day 23: Eyeball(s)

Technically not eyeballs, but definitely eyes. This took me a couple attempts, since I originally wanted to do charcoal but struggled (probably due to paper size). I've also included that one below the cut.

Not bad, just not quite what I wanted ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Fussed with the left side more than I should have

[mbgcreates]

Okay wait I'm genuinely shocked, because I only just got the 50 reblog notification at the beginning of the month after having this blog for about a whole year. Thank you so much to the people who are actually reblogging!! (I say to people who likely won't see this post because it's not going into any tags abdjdbd)

[mbgcreates]

Break for the next few days! I definitely need it.

Egotober days I'm definitely skipping: 11, 15, 19, 20, 21, 22, 26, 27, 29 (9 total)

Day I might be skipping: 25

Wish me luck! I may edit this if I add more days to my skip list

[mbgcreates]

OH WELL GUESS WHAT THEY DECIDED TO RELEASE TODAY

Turns out that was functionally a legitimate trailer after all....it's on their Instagram. They replaced the music apparently and changed some text and some shots, but otherwise it's basically the same. Huh. Wild...........

Egotober Day 18: Yellow

HAPPY EDGE OF SLEEP DAY OFFICIAL!!!!!

HOPE YOU ALL HAVE BEEN SLEEDGING!! I wish I didn't have to put the watermark in most of my shading when I rarely get myself to do shading at all nowadays, but c'est la vie. I'm overall pretty happy with how this turned out! Screenshot redraw from the "trailer" that was unlisted for a while on Regency's website (so I could draw this in advance).