Multifandom Oneshots

(Who Killed Markiplier)- Conscientiousness

Abe lights a cigarette as soon as he glances at his calendar. The date, October thirteenth, had somehow crept up on him... he's been busy lately, working on a murder case for who knows how long.

The irony isn't lost on him. 

His tired eyes roam his cluttered office in thought, and the detective realizes it's been months since the room was cleaned. The desk looks as if a raccoon covered in dirt had taken his case files, rolled over them for twenty minutes, and then spat on them for good measure. And the walls... dear God, how had a dust bunny the size of a cat gotten taped to his cork board? Perhaps it was a practical joke from Wilford...

Or, indeed, Abe has gotten careless.

He sighed, thumping his head on the desk. 

Today was going to suck.

For a few hours, he sits at his desk, eyes closed and dead to the world. Then, sighing, Abe gets up, starting to gather his papers into folders. Just because his life was a mess didn't mean he had to keep it that way...
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Wilford was for once quiet, staring at a photo in his hands. He'd taken it out of his closest, not quite recalling how it had gotten there. It looked old... the picture was yellowed, and the corners' creases were worn.

A man that looked like him, but not... the moustache was dark, too bushy. His bright eyes were hidden behind thick glasses, a wide smile tracing his face. Next to this not-Wilford was an old friend- Damien? He hadn't seen him in years.

Where was he, exactly...?

Shaking his head to clear it, Wilford blinked, then looked at the other person in the photo... he found himself tracing her silhouette, not understanding the welling of unfamiliar emotions.

Celine... where did you two go? Why did you leave me?

... Are you ever coming back?

He cradled the photo to his chest, weeping softly. Then, he set it back in his closet, waiting to forget once again.
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She sits in her room with the lights off, her palms pressed against her closed eyes. There is a mirror hanging tauntingly behind her back, which has been covered by some blackout curtains. Outside, thunder rumbles eerily, and the former attorney whimpers. A small rabbit curls in the pit of her stomach, slowly climbing her rib cage.

We watch and wait, torn and turned. 

Look to the end, and you won't be burned...

Images flicker in her mind, memories she'd rather forget, and it's moments like these that she secretly envies Wilford. For him, the hard days are nearly nonexistent.