#marble hornets scenarios

[hatchetno1]

frustration and anger.

creepypasta/mh x reader in which they get frustrated or angry, or, in BEN's case, are frustrating themselves. word count: 2.1k cw: abuse, descriptions of anger, arguments/quarrelling.

EJ

EJ doesn’t often get angry.

in fact, it’s hard to even frustrate him. Even when faced with particularly difficult patients to suture up—ahem, Jeff— he shows no sign of being fazed.

well, perhaps that’s because he’s used to living with Jeff and his reckless, barbaric antics.

but when he does get frustrated, it’s like a gradual intensification.

you like to split his frustration into three phases.

phase 1: EJ starts to seem a little off. Quieter than usual, less responsive, and more distant. Almost as if he’s in his own world, deceptively peaceful.

phase 2: EJ starts to show actual signs of being frustrated. You notice that it is at this point he may start to snap lightly at others, but with you, he tries his best to keep it to a minimum.

phase 3 is the climax before the drop. On occasion, he may raise his voice slightly and openly express irritation. But he always drops, hard and fast.

“I am so sorry, Y/N, I am so sorry,” he whispers, rubbing circles gently on your back. Though he has to bend over quite a bit (he’s a gentle giant at a height of 6’6 or about 2 meters), you find it to be very soothing that his frame envelops the entirety of yours.

oh, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of getting angry.

no, the anger you heard in his voice was undeniable as he roared at another member of the household to stay the fuck away from you.

you’d startled at the sheer sound of it, and quickly those trembles descended into violent shaking as you cried—his roar was simply not…human.

you flinched as he picked you up, just as gently as was the anger intense in that dreaded noise he made, a stark contrast in behavior, a jarring change in your body, mind and soul.

but other than that, you knew your darling EJ was back.

he plopped you onto his bed, surrounded by his sweet yet musky scent, nuzzling your neck and your face.

“I’m sorry”s were whispered countless times in your ear that night as you dozed off in the safety of his arms.

jeff

gotta put a trigger warning on this one. you know what to expect, but just in case you don’t, TW: Jeff is literally a murderer with abusive tendencies and anger issues.

at the start of your relationship, Jeff had been…well, to say the least, not the best partner.

he often got mad at you, whether it be keeping him waiting or spilling a cup of water.

yeah. spilling a cup of water.

but you understood why he was the way he was. he just couldn’t help it. but that didn’t mean you were going to stick around for it, no matter how much you loved him.

one day after a particularly huge argument, you found him crying in his room. his sniffles were unmistakable, but you knew you’d have to pretend you hadn’t heard from ten feet away.

turns out, angsty little Jeff here wasn’t completely unaware of himself.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he had sobbed as quietly as he could. “I know I’m a bad boyfriend, I know, I keep lashing out at you and I’m so sorry.”

your relationship could have very well ended that day if you hadn’t found Jeff crying on the floor.

but even though he’d hurt you so many times, you took him back into your arms.

and so you taught him to manage his anger, though it took you immense effort, energy and bravery.

he’d always help, though, by reminding you it was okay to yell back at him. you chided him lightly for it, saying that it’d just cause a back and forth.

“oh, right. my bad. sorry, doll,” he had said with a sheepish grin.

today, you are proud to boast that you trained your bloodhound boyfriend to be a tame dog. hell, he even does whatever you tell him to now, albeit sometimes reluctantly.

but he understands that if he loves you, he must make sacrifices upon sacrifices. you did that for him.

now it is his turn to sacrifice himself for you.

masky - tim

it’s not really uncommon that Tim gets angry.

but his anger is almost always the quiet kind.

he will “hmph” and huff lightly, a mild kind of anger you both can still joke about, though his face will redden at it.

you can’t help it though, the sass he gives you when he’s lightly frustrated is too good to let slip past.

oh, but when his anger gets loud—

it’s no longer a harmless little nip.

it’s been directed everywhere. everywhere, his teammates, the table, the card game he’s losing a bit too embarrassingly to Toby who’s being an unbearable little ass about it.

but never you.

okay, it was one time.

but Tim decided it was one time too many. (as he should)

he’d raised his voice at you, more so out of frustration rather than anger.

and you flinched.

and oh, how that little flinch broke his heart.

he shut up immediately, gathering you into his arms, whispering “oh, I’m so sorry, darling”, and “you’re okay, you’re okay”.

he never did it again. ever.

now, when you both get angry at each other, it always devolves into stupid little giggles and kicking.

hoodie - brian

Brian doesn’t really get angry, nor does he get frustrated.

normally, at least.

something shines in his eyes when he is defied, a shadow of a grin, a curl of the lip—

you spend a couple days investigating this, defying him little by little.

“Y/N, could you pass me the water?” “No.” and you’d say it with a cheeky smile on your face to match this strange expression on his.

it evolved into much greater things, “Y/N, come over here for a bit.” “Nope!”

“Y/N, help me up.” “Nope!”

your gleeful defiance doesn’t have a complete zero effect, either. with each silly little “nope”, the glint in his eyes grows brighter. and you know that the cup you’ve slowly been filling the past few days is about to overflow.

it’s one fateful day that you happily defy him once again, and—

oh. something’s grabbing at your jaw, and your lover’s face is so close to yours.

he smiles so gently at you, so purely. but his grip on your jaw says otherwise.

firm like iron, reprimanding, but not harmful or venomous. you know he isn’t going to hurt you, but oh, he isn’t letting you go either.

“Y/N,” he says calmly. “You’ve been a little more uncooperative than usual.”

the shiver it sends down your spine isn’t one of fear. excitement, rather.

he lets you go, but guides you to the bed. “Sit,” he commands.

so you do. what else are you to do when your lover commands you so well?

“Good girl.”

so you never say no to him again, not when it comes to harmless favors.

Brian does not get angry or frustrated…at least, not like the normal person does.

toby

Toby becomes a very bitter cynic when upset, spitting sarcasm wherever he goes.

his BPD only makes it worse. his relationship with Tim is already strained as it is, with the latter trying his best (as much as a man with anger issues can), and his relationship with Brian being almost entirely carried by the older man.

and his relationship with you, oh his sweet vogel, his darling dove— he doesn’t know what to think of it. some days he lets loose around you, tickling you and blowing raspberries against your cheeks, and others he’s withdrawn, curled up into a ball in his bed, and so you dive in with him, nuzzling him against his sheets long overdue for a change.

but if it’s neither of those, he’s lashing out. sometimes you can’t even look at him when he walks into the room bringing dark clouds over the atmosphere. that’s when you know you can’t look up at him.

and when you make the mistake of looking up, your smile meets a scowl.

“what are you looking at.” he’ll spit, and then storm off, as if he can’t stand your eyes on him.

and it’s true, your eyes gaze at him with such gentleness, he can’t bring himself to stare back sometimes. especially when he’s in a bad mood, because he breaks inside as he sees his own eyes burn the love in your eyes, reducing them to ashes of fear.

“vogel,” he’d whisper at night, lying next to you in your bed. “i’m sorry.”

he apologizes so much and so often you no longer make a big deal out of it, but this time, his soft whisper is laced with such heavy guilt, your arms move before your mind thinks, pulling him into a soft embrace.

oh, but this bad mood is nothing compared to his jealousy.

Jeff gets close to you? Jeff is suddenly on the ground, blood leaking from his head and EJ hurriedly dragging the former away, admonishing him about not messing with Toby’s precious human.

Tim comforts you about Toby’s outbursts? suddenly he’s against the wall, Toby growling and spitting in his face. if he can’t be there for you, then no one else gets to be there for you either. though, he knows this is selfish.

if he could help it, he’d let you go to whomever you wanted for comfort. but oh, his heart aches so.

and his jealousy is nothing compared to how angry he gets at himself, bashing the walls of the manor, crying out at night, because he can’t be there for you like a normal boyfriend.

he doesn’t know this, but you’re in a corner too, muffled sobs, tears, nose dripping and all.

so at night, you crawl back into bed before he notices you, and lie awake till he comes back.

as his breathing settles and his snoring begins, you hug him just a little bit tighter, your sweet vogel with broken wings.

ben

you have to admit, BEN is really, really freaky.

in the way he plays his games, the way he treats his archnemesis Jeff, in bed—oops.

but particularly, in the way he seems to have an endless tolerance for things that would usually upset someone.

he just. fucking giggles.

“aww, my sweet Y/N is so cute when she’s mad~”

context: he pissed you off and you’re currently in the middle of admonishing him with your whole heart and soul.

conversely, you’re the one who gets mad right back at him.

within the hour, he presents you with a tiktok with two cats that says: me when i’m venting and all my bf does is make jokes

he cackles to the ends of the earth and proceeds to make even more jokes

frankly, when the topic of frustration comes up with BEN’s name in the same sentence, you pretty much just think of him being the frustrating asshole in the relationship.

“BEN, give me my fucking phone back.”

he’s dangling it over your head, using the fact that he’s a floating apparition that can somehow interact with physical objects to his advantage.

once, you got so frustrated at him that you cried.

thankfully, he had the decency to pause, panic, and reflect on his actions.

“oh.” five seconds passed and your crying didn’t get better (what did he expect?). he repeated himself. “oh.”

“actually say something, you idiot!” you sobbed. and this is what snapped BEN into action. (you can’t believe you actually had to tell him to comfort you.)

“oh.” then he realized he’d just been saying “oh” like a broken record. “um.”

so he wraps you up in a blanket like a burrito, and holds you close to his chest.

“i’m sorry.”

“promise not to do it again?” you look up at him with your best puppy eyes.

“…i can’t promise.” you can tell he’s holding back a cheeky grin.

you whine and hit him lightly.

but you know very well that he loves you; this frustration merely comes with him as a package.

[creepy-friday]

More Creepypasta Mansion Headcanons

Warnings: dark content,violence,

blood,mental illness and drugs mentions,suggestive content

if your room is close to Jeff or Ben,you're not getting any sleep.Both of them would play loud obnoxious music;Jeff would blast metal while the blonde would play hours of techno music while gaming sounds would be heard plus inappropriate loud sounds from whatever he's watching/playing/enjoying himself to

The calmest and safest times are during breakfast or when the others eat in general,everytime someone is in the kitchen they just do their own thing and leave

EJ doesn't need sleep,so if you happen to wander the hallways at night you might bump into him

Slenderman doesn't care about anything that doesn't directly affect him,he would actually be pissed if a resident would complain about something that he doesn't care about,that's why all the creeps can be unhinged at times

One violent fight has to happen at least once per month we all know the violent motherfuckers who start it and an argument has to happen at least once per day

If you're a shy and an empathetic person then your stay in the mansion can be hell,that's why you should stick with the ones who can make your life a little bearable

Even lone wolves like EJ and Bloody Painter don't stay alone for long periods of time.If you're isolated for a long period of time you might hear the static again..some say it's Slenderman who doesn't want his creeps to be alone because the eldritch might care about them,some say that it's because their loneliness can get into their quality of work and it would piss him off

Besides the blood and the desperation,most creeps keep themselves clean,but you might see some residents like Jeff who can wear the same pair of sweatpants for 7 days in a row

If you need money you can simply go to Ben,he will either order what you need for you or make himself useful and get you some cash,altough he is a little fuck and wants something in return even if it's HIS JOB to provide the residents what they need.Maybe a blowjob under the desk will do

Drugs are easy to obtain,even Nina has a bottle of something hidden inside her room,you just have to know what you want

One of the top unspoken rules between the residents is to never,in under any circumstances,never enter another creep's room without permision,the only keys that are provided are to proxies rooms.

[solazu1]

OH SHIT, THEY’RE ROAD-TRIPPING!!!! I have,, a bit of a thing planned :3 a series of images if you will, maybe one can consider it a project or whatever. They're on a journey!! More content awaits including how chaotic it is to have Alex, Amy, Brian, Tim, Jay, and Jessica all in one car going from Alabama to Arizona.

[creative-clawmarks]

Fun fact: the reason dogs like to sleep against your joints is so that they can constantly check your pulse and make sure you're ok.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

KO-FI

[mersei47]

I accidentally post this without tag a mere second ago anyway here's jam with shirt sharing

[rightous-int]

He's fighting his demons but his demos are just his own neurodivergent ass

[m0n1q]

MARBLE DRONES

Heyyyyyyy guyssssss.... so sorry for being so inactive recently!!!!! Hope you'll take this quick thingy as an apology :33

I've been super busy with work, school and apparantly my health as well now!!! Fun!!! I also haven't been the most motivated to draw, but I saw half the lineart was done on this already and here we are!

I know this is only gonna be cool to like, me and three other people, but I genuinely love both these shows so much aarghshhsshhhggh

(Also kinda still working on L0ST C0DE - trying to balance improving my writing with all my other hobbies haha)

[brain4heartz]

going bananas thinking abt mh while NOT WATCHING IT. FUCKED UP. SOMEONE WATCH WITH ME

vv my millionth take on “what if brian exploited tims psychosis” sorey i like making tim sad vv

^^ tbh its kind of a vent, i doodled it in a frenzy, so it looks like an entire ass, and brian doesnt look like brian ^^

[viscerax]

Okay guys I saw this tiktok that basically said "Why couldn't God forgive Lucifer" and I was like oh yeah thats cool ahahaha not connect this to marble hornets because im normal and can handle not making religious parallels in marble hornets

And then someone in the comments said "because lucifer didn't want to be forgiven" and I started thinking about timlex because yeah.

[oddballwriter]

Various MH & EMH Guys with an S/O who can Speak a Different Language

Summary: How Jay, Brian, Tim, Evan, Jeff, and HABIT react to a s/o who can speak a different language

Warnings: HABIT is here

Relationship: romantic 💕

Author’s snip: This idea came to me when thinking about a few headcanons that I have and then thinking about how some of the slenderverse guys would react to you speaking a different language.

Notes: There is no specific language and also if you can speak more than one foreign language that’s awesome. And if you have a native language feel free to place that here too. I just felt like making something for my bi-/multi-lingual peeps.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy!

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Marble Hornets

Jay

He’s actually the one who gave me the idea for this because I hc that he knows how to speak Spanish

Idk where this hc came from but I just hc that he knows it to the point that he can hold a decent conversation and probably learned it from foreign language classes in high school or whatever

Idk the foreign language requirements for Alabama high schools but I’m just gonna assume that that’s where he got it from

Anyways, if you speak Spanish then it’s fun for him since you guys can talk in a completely different language which feels weirdly fresh to him. Maybe you can help his Spanish become better by doing that

If you speak another one that’s fine too

Jay would probably get curious and ask if you can teach him some words in that language or maybe even how to speak it a little

If English isn’t your first language and sometimes only remember how to say a word or thing in your native language then he’ll have a bit of fun trying to guess what your trying to say via you trying to describe it like it’s charades

You: It’s like… a bug…

Jay: Okay.

You: But like, it’s not born that way, it’s something else at first. Like a worm?

Jay: A caterpillar?

You: Caterpillar! Yes but then it turns into something?

Jay: Oh, a butterfly?

You: Butterfly! Yes!

Brian

He thinks it’s fancy that you can speak a foreign language

Even if it’s not one of the fancy or romantic languages like Spanish, French, or German or whatever languages are considered fancy to know

I actually think he wouldn’t really notice till you were on the phone with a relative or talking to someone who only speaks that language

Once he does he asks you what language you just spoke and what you said

He does the same as Jay where he’ll then ask you to teach him some words and even laugh at some that he thinks sound funny

It’s not to be mean when he laughs obviously

He just thinks that some of the words sound funny

If you forget how to say a word in English then he’ll let you take your time trying to remember

He does however think it’s cute when you try and describe it by trying to imitate the sound that it makes or describe what it looks like

Tim

He doesn’t know how to speak any languages other than English so he finds it interesting whenever you start speaking in any language other than English

Soon he actually likes it when you do at some point even if he has no idea what you’re saying

Idk he just likes hearing you talk

He’d gladly let you teach him some words

Hell, maybe at some point he’ll even ask you to teach him how to speak it so that he can have conversations with you and understand you

It’ll obviously take him a while to get the hang of it but he finds it pretty fun

If the language you speak has weird vocabulary and grammar he’s definitely gonna ask questions

Tim: Wait so even if there’s way more girls than boys in a group, you still use the plural for the boys in Spanish?

You: Yup.

Tim: That’s a bit sexist.

You: Haha, yeah.

EveryManHYBRID

Evan

Look me in the eyes and tell me that he knows any type of foreign language or words that aren’t known in mainstream media or foods

He thinks it’s so fucking cool that you know how to speak a language fluently

He begs you to teach him how to speak that language

Of course he wants you to teach him how to cuss in it first /hj

But no, seriously, he wants you to teach him so bad cause he likes the thought of being able to talk shit about people with you in plain earshot of them and also just having a cool way to talk

He realizes that that’s easier said than done later but he’s still committed to trying

Once he gets the hang of it he thinks he’s so cool because he knows how to speak a foreign language

Let him bask in that glory, it’ll wear off in a bit

He also likes to guess what you’re saying whenever you forget how to say a word in English but he genuinely treats it like a game of charades

Jeff

Here comes Mr. romantic lover boy 🙄 /hj

No, because he thinks it’s so attractive that you can speak a foreign language regardless of what language it even is

He also begs for you to teach him since he wants to be able to talk to you and even flirt with you in it

He likes to use you teaching him how speak that language as a form of date

Maybe once he knows enough to have a basic understanding then you guys can watch movies with the dub of that language so that it’s still a movie date but he’s also still learning how to speak it

HABIT

So I have this hc that since he’s humanity’s bad habit. He inherently knows all of the languages in the world and maybe even some forgotten ones

He’s a weird inter-dimensional demon so it’s not that crazy to think that

Plus he canonically knows French since some of the videos he’s put in the EMH channel’s titles are in French

Im getting slightly off track, anyways

What I’m trying to say is that you can have a full on conversation with him in the language that you speak

Even languages if you’re tri- or multi-lingual

He won’t teach you any tho

He doesn’t have the patience for that

But 100% if you wanna talk in any language at all, you can just start speaking it and the second he realizes which one you’re speaking he’ll just start talking in it

[macabrelinguine]

ooo can i ask for a scenario/hcs with yandere alex and sensitive darling where they try to (unsuccessfully) hide from him since he has his gun and seems mad

(idk if this is more more specific 😔) - 🐝 anon

This is perfect! <3

You were HUNGRY. Alex had been gone for most of the day, and he kept all the ready-made food locked up. You’d cook something, as the lower cabinets were full of cookable food, but the oven needed a key to open. control freak. You had gotten upset earlier and spilled the uncooked food all over the floor. You recalled when you were first allowed out of the room he made for you. It was in the basement, but the door was right at the bottom of the stairs, which you figured out the one time you pushed past Alex to try and get away. You tripped on the stairs. That was the last time you tried to run, that was for sure. You still weren’t allowed in the living room, and you looked out at now. Then you heard the keys in the many, many locks. Alex was back! Finally, you could probably get him to unlock the cupboard so you could get food. But then you caught a glance of him. He looked mad. And he was waving around the gun. You saw the mess at your feet, and your body made the decision to hide before your brain could catch up. you squirmed your way into the cupboard, closing the door behind you. Alex walked into the kitchen, grumbling. Then it occurred to you that because of what was spilled on the floor, it would be painfully obvious where you were hiding. You scooted farther back, squeezing your eyes shut. Then he spoke. “Where are you..?” You heard his footsteps getting closer. “I’m not in the mood to play games.” You half considered going out of the cupboard, but…what if he didn’t notice? You’d already be in trouble for hiding. So…just sit. You heard the sound of him opening all the cabinets in a row, slowly getting closer to you. He stopped. You didn’t dare sigh in relief in case he heard. Then you heard a gunshot and screamed. He had fired into the cabinet next to you. Shit. The cabinet door in front of you slowly creaked open, and Alex was glaring at you. “Alex, I-“ you started to speak, but he cut you off. “You made a mess. Why were you in the fucking cabinet?!” You couldn’t help but burst into tears, the kitchen blurring around you. You flinched at a hand on your shoulder. Alex sighed. “It’s…alright. Just don’t do it again.”

[hatchetno1]

okay okay. dancing w the pasta hcs. how do they dance?? how shitty are they at it?? or good are they?? whos the best?? who would just spin you both in circles and count that as dancing?? (no nsfw pls!! minor anon here) IVE SEEN YOU SAY THAT YOU WANT REQS BUT IGNORE THIS IF THAT CHANGES!!!!

jeff

- knows NOTHING about dancing

- so you (attempt to) teach him, but he has two left feet and keeps stepping on you.

- he mutters quick but genuine apologies under his breath, and you forgive him.

- arguably the worst of the bunch at dancing.

ej

- surprisingly good at it

- in fact, he’s good enough to instruct you here and there, and understands what sort of dance is suitable for what kind of music

- if you can keep up with him, he’s actually good at the stuff

- but if you need to slow down, he’ll act as an instructor of sorts

slenderman

- the best by far at dancing.

- having been alive for ages, Slender possesses bits of trivia even scientists wouldn’t get their hands on for the next few decades to come.

- at his full potential, he could be mistaken for a professional ballroom dancer…except for the fact that he’s 3 meters tall and definitely could not fit into society.

- he even has his own collection of ballroom music to dance to.

BEN

- “isn’t that just stepping randomly together in the same direction at the same time?”

- he knows the definition of dancing…but cannot dance.

- actually ACTUALLY unironically thinks that whatever he said earlier is correct. you spend about 10 minutes debating over it before he finally agrees to it, albeit reluctantly.

- he ends up just spinning you in circles and counting that as dancing because he’s so against “spamming WASD”. (he means walking in circles together.)

- but a couple days after this, you catch him researching ballroom dancing.

tim

- grumbles a little at the beginning, but takes you in his arms nonetheless.

- takes very careful steps around your feet to make sure he doesn’t step on you. you suppose he at least knows where he can mess up, and takes care not to.

- he gets better at it as you go along, his steps getting a little less clumsy and hesitant.

- and by the end, you swear you catch him enjoying himself a little, a crinkle of his eye and a curl of his lip upwards.

brian

uses common sense through it all.

was never taught to dance, but can guess what it is.

his footsteps are light and surprisingly nimble for someone who claims to not know what he’s doing.

at the end of it, when he pecks you on the lips, you’re left wondering if he really didn’t know what dancing was.

toby

an absolute disaster of two left feet and a palm on the floor. which is what he actually thinks you’re asking him to do—breakdance.

“…Ballroom dancing?” he repeats after you like it’s a foreign phrase.

it’s going to be a long day, you think to yourself, as you take his trembling hands in your own.

by the end, he’s stepped on you about 52 times.

[creepy-friday]

This is a nsfw ask ‼️

What would happen if fem!proxy would ask proxies (seperate) to stop while they were having sex? The reason would probably be being uncomfortable or feeling unsafe (if so, you can imagine it being their first time)

I usually don't take NSFW anymore but I like this ask! I will also write more Toby content soon!

Warnings: obvious NSFW content

Brian stopped as he pulled up his pants and gently placed the blanket over you. After hearing you he asked what can he do to make you feel better and if you want to remake this night tonight,do something else or do it some other time. He gives you a gentle smile while petting your head and starts telling you how special you are to him.

Tim would slow down and ask you if it's okay,not fully understanding you.When you continue to tell him to stop he would stop and step aside. He's..sad. He wanted your first time to be pleasing,thrilling,an unforgettable experience that would set up expectations for the next time,that would both fuel his ego and would satisfy you. He is disappointed in himself and would try to forget about it while awkwardly sitting next to you.

Toby wouldn't hear you for a few moments before the realization kicks in. He would immediately step aside and desperately touch your face asking what's wrong and what he did that made you uncomfortable. After hearing your reasoning he would apologize over and over again and ask if you two can just cuddle. He played with your hair as you fell asleep the whole night and tought about how to remake this day as something special for you.

[thatonewatching]

Masky/Tim head canons and scenarios

Head canons and scenarios for each! CW: Self-hate and swearing,

Stubborn: "Tim, oh my fucking God. Can you just admit you were wrong? You do not know where we're fucking going!" Brian yelled, slumping back against his car seat. "I do fucking know! I just made a wrong turn!" Tim retorted. "Sure," Brian muttered, rolling his hazel eyes underneath his black mask. "Quit being a stubborn asshole."

Chubby: As his eyes grazed over the parts of his body, a kind of shame washed over him. Grabbing at his tummy, a sickness fell over him, complete disgust lacing his sullen features. "Tim, your body is fine," you assured, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "It's perfect to me, okay?"

Dad bod: His arms raised, and he flexed his gained muscle. "Dad bod energy!" Brian cheered. Tim's eyes fell onto the brunette man a foot or two away. "Up yours!" Tim joked. 

Not very touchy: You extended your arms, waiting. "What?" he asked, flicking the ashes of his small cigarette onto the concrete. You moved your arms, giving him a look. "You want a hug?" Tim scoffed, taking a long drag of his nicotine stick. (Lmao idfk) "Tough luck, kid."

Bad hygiene: As Tim stared in the dusty mirror, the smell of sweat overwhelming, he peeled off his clothes, dropping them into the hamper, he stepped back into his bedroom, walking to the closet. He grabbed some clothes, slipped them on exhaustedly, and fell into bed, falling asleep as he hit the pillow.

Hairy motherfucker: Your fingers brushed along the revealed skin of his, hand being tickled. "Damn, you hairy motherfucker." you joked. "Whatever," he rolled his eyes ruefully. "You still love me."

Intimidating: Tim's figure towered over the smaller boy, casting a dark shadow over his cowardly features. "Who are you talking to?" he snapped. "I'm sorry," the boy apologized. "Who the fuck are you talking to?" he repeated. "I'm sorry, sir."

Doesn't like sugary things: "How do you want your coffee?" you asked, peeking your head from the kitchen to watch Tim's eyes flicker to yours before his answer. "Black," his eyes flicked back to the book he was reading, eyes moving slightly with every word he consumed. "Like your soul?"

Doesn't like cheesecake (y'all ruined it): "Want a slice of cheesecake?" you questioned, slipping a piece of the sugary treat onto Brian's plate. "No?" he said, yet his answer sounded almost questioning, as if he were confused by your inquiry. "What?" you replied, noticing his foreign tone. "I don't like cheesecake anymore," he said, eyes refusing to leave his distraction. "Why?" you pressed. "Brian."

Black coffee: "What can I get you to drink?" the waitress asked. "Coffee," Tim answered. The waitress' eyes turned to you, waiting. "And you?" she pressed. "I'll have (f/d)," you answered. She nodded, walking off. Returning a moment later, she placed your drinks down, sliding packets of sugar to Tim's side. "Milk?" she asked. He shook his head. "I like my coffee black; thank you, though,"

Favorite food is prob grilled cheese with tomato soup: As your eyes fluttered open, the scent of food filled your nose. Toddling into the kitchen, you watched as Tim put the last grilled cheese onto his plate. "Whatcha eatin'?" you asked. "Grilled cheese and soup," 

Basic bitch: Opening his closet, flannels, jeans, and hoodies hung. "Red flannel, red flannel, or red flannel?" you teased. "I think I'll go with the red flannel," he joked. "Good choice,"

Listens to classic rock (like AC/DC or something): Climbing into the car, Tim flicked on the radio, scowling and sighing as some hip-hop song began to play. "Hand me that CD, would you, (y/n)?" he requested. Handing him the flat piece of plastic, he took it gratefully. Inserting it, he pressed play, and AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell' began to play. After a few minutes of the song playing, he sang along the entire time. "I'm on a highway to hell!"

Aero sexual: "What's your sexual preference?" you asked, glancing over at Tim, his eyes red. "None of the above,"

Needs time to himself: "Tim, can't you just tell me what's wrong?" you whined, following behind the towering man. "Nothing's wrong, (y/n), I just need some time to myself. "Are you sure?" you pressed. "I'm sure!" he slammed the door behind him, making you stop in your tracks. "God damnit, Tim."

Smokes all the fucking time: You clambered out of the bed, the smell of smoke slightly preset.  "Tim?" you muttered, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting of the room. He hummed slightly, torso pressed against the windowsill, hand and head out of the window with his other cupping his hand's elbow. "Why the fuck am I in your bed?" 

Brian forces him to drink tea 'cause it helps smokers: "Timothy, you smoke excessively. Just drink some tea," Brian said, placing the steaming cup in his friends' reach. "Fuck you, Brian," he snarled. "Well, I'm not going to let my friend die from black lungs!"

Good at math: You groaned loudly, eyes snapping shut in anger and frustration, as your hands pressed against your cheeks. "Oh my fucking God," you whined, tears pricking at your eyes, but you couldn't tell from what emotion. "What?" Tim asked. "Nothing," you lied. Eyes scanning over the paper once again, for the millionth time, perhaps, you sighed. A shadow cast over your figures, making you struggle to read the other equations. The paper lifted as Tim took the paper from your desk. "Are you kidding? The answer is negative sixty-seven,"

Hates math: "Thanks, Tim," you muttered. "No problem," he sighed. "What?" you inquired, writing down the answer. "I have to help you write out the equation, don't I?" he mumbled. Looking back down at the question once more, you concluded that the answer was yes. "Yes..." you answered. "I fucking hate math,"

Petty: "Tim, where's my slice of pie?" you asked, closing the fridge and standing to your full height. "My stomach," he replied. "Why?" you hissed. "Because you drank the last beer,"

Strongly opinionated: "Tim, oh my fucking God..." you pinched the bridge of your nose, holding your eyes closed angrily. "I'm sorry, is Brian not dirty blonde?" he hissed. "He's fucking brunette!" you yelled. "He's fucking dirty blonde!"

Hard to convince he's not right: "Tim, coffee is/isn't better than tea," you argued. "Lying asshole!" 

Bad at reading: "Tim, what's the order say?" Brian asked, glancing at his friend. "It says that we have to," he stopped, squinting his eyes. "Kill a guy names Duke Aubertine."

Needs glasses but refuses to get them: "Dude, you can't even read the fucking cover!" you teased. Tim's eyes squinted. "Fuck you,"

Anger issues: "Tim, you've got something on your shirt," you said, pointing to a spot in the center of his chest. He looked down, and you flicked his nose up. He grunted, pushing you away lightly, as he stormed off.

Okay cook: Your door creaked open, and you spun around to see the towering man in your doorway, holding a plate. "Made you some spaghetti," he said, placing the glass on your desk. "Thanks, Tim."

(NOT PROOFREAD; I'M SORRY IT'S BAD)

[whaleofatjme1920]

From Where the Land Meets the Sea -Chapter 1

[GN!Reader]

[Warnings: Some fighting, wounds described but nothing too major.]

[AN: here's,,,, actual chapter 1,,,,,,, 3393 words <3]

Full Index

Prologue | Chapter 2

Reblogs are appreciated!

Your ears felt as if they were ringing as the sounds of an ongoing fight rang from downstairs. It was a cacophony of violence. Your mother was hissing, curling curse upon curse from her lips as loud thuds from hits landing reverberated around the house. You shot up in the bed and tried hard to avoid the way your body swayed, how your vision blurred and your half awake form struggled to match the adrenaline that began to pool and rush throughout your body. 

Dizzy, you stumbled around your dark, moonlit room and found yourself leaned against your bookshelf. You squinted and moved your hands around and grasped for a weapon. “Fuck, come on,” you hissed to yourself right as your fingers wrapped around smooth glass. You gripped the item. The pads of your fingertips ran over the base that held the outline of skyscrapers and the bubbled letters of ‘Chicago’. Of course, it was a snowglobe your parents had gifted you way back when. It was one of their many random little gifts, something that they wanted you to have ‘just because’. You shook away the doubt of potentially breaking such a pretty gift but decided you needed to intervene more than be sentimental. 

That same adrenaline rushed wildly through your veins as you powered down the hallway. At that moment, you did not care about how much noise you were making. Your mind was focused on your mother and the danger she sounded to be in. When you rounded the banister to the stairs, you almost slipped down and narrowly caught yourself by gripping the rail tight, knuckle bones almost breaking free from the skin due to how taught you’d wound your hand up. Your fingers mused around the snowglobe as you crept down quickly. It’s not like you wanted to take it slow, but you needed to know what you were getting into as well. 

Panting, you watched as your mother’s posture froze for just a moment. She’d just popped up like a bright daisy on the first day of spring when the breath had been stolen from her lungs. She screeched as the hulking figure dashed forwards with murderous intent in his eyes as his strong arms wrapped around her waist and slammed her down onto the coffee table. Your eyes widened when you heard the glass shatter followed by his weight physically bearing down on her to crack the wood, nails splitting unceremoniously from their drilled holes, the creak of the splitting timber and the crisp crackle of glass as it dug deep into her flesh and spilled rubies onto the floor. 

You watched as your mother brushed the pain off and tucked her knees upwards to her chest before kicking swiftly upwards at her attacker’s torso. “God damn it!” She growled as she shoved him roughly off of her. Not wasting another second, she rose to her feet and returned the favor. Screaming something raw and bloodied, your mother jumped on him while the assailant tried to catch his breath. Her nails dug tight into his skin before upwards to his hair. Her fists pounded at him. The assailant was fairly tall. He wore a tan coat and was still panting, now cursing, from behind the white mask that donned a stereotypically female visage. He clawed wildly like a caged animal to get your mother off. 

You had a golden opportunity. He hadn’t noticed you from the darkness of the stairwell. You glanced down at the snowglobe in your hand. Could you really do it? You listened to the sounds of struggle for a few more moments before deciding that it was now or never. You hardly formed a plan while your body took flight, almost as if some greater force had switched on your sense of autopilot. You let out a ferocious battle cry and ran forward before swinging the snowglobe on the crown of his head. The glass burst. Sharp little shards fell across the man’s form like the snowflakes it once housed. Your hands were now covered in the liquid, but he had been soaked by it. Not even registering it was broken, you swung the snowglobe down again and let the jagged edges embed into his skull as he yelled in pain. 

His rough hands reached around and threw you off of him before attempting to pry your mother off of him. 

You caught his gaze for just a moment. Deep, dark brown eyes met your own. They were wide, and his skin looked pale. It was like you were a ghost to him, an apparition that should not be. His body language told you he didn’t think you were worth the trouble physically, but your very presence had somehow changed everything. The masked man slammed his back against the wall, letting your mother take the brunt of it and coughed loudly when she finally slithered off of him like she was boneless. 

“Mom!” You cried out as you rushed forwards. Your fingers curled tight around his bicep as you helped her back up. 

“Reader? What the hell are you doing down here?” She asked in an exasperated tone. It didn’t sound like she was that upset with you, but rather the entirety of the situation. She was exhausted. Her breathing was labored, and much too quick. Her thousand-yard stare told you she was starting to see stars. 

You brushed away the pain that bloomed across your body in order to answer her properly. “Helping you! Where’s dad?” You asked in a hurry. You draped your mother’s arm over your shoulders and began to haul her away from the living room. You just wanted her to be away from the conflict, or at least get a head start from it. 

The man clad in the tan coat narrowed his dark eyes at you. With annoyance, he brushed his fingers through his hair and shook away the glass and flicked away tiny remnants of a city called ‘Chicago’. His shoulders squared like he was going to rush you again. He slowly reached his hand up to dig around in his coat pocket. Gradually, he came closer. His shoes scuffed the hardwood floors. 

You could hear your heart drum in your chest as the barrel of a gun glinted in the light. Is this what it’s like when people say your life flashes before your eyes?

Your mother’s eyes widened as she began to push you out of the way. “N-!” Before the plea could be uttered from her lips, your father swung open the front door. His eyes were burning with a rage you did not know he was capable of holding, pain, and ire, a soft sadness all the same wore themselves on his face. He growled as he took over the masked man, his teeth bared while he snarled curse after curse. “Get them out of here!” He finally boomed as the hurt grew tenfold in his eyes. 

You saw the most curious thing as your mother began to usher you out - the masked man was elated. There was joy and energy in the way he danced for death with your father. 

“Let’s go!” Your mother breathed quickly. She held your arm tightly. It was an interesting feeling, the way her steps became a little more powerful as the two of you made your way to the backdoor. The cuts on her face, they’d looked so much smaller than when you first caught sight of her. Her back didn’t seem to be giving her any problems despite being thrown on top of the coffee table. 

You glanced backwards just to ensure your father’s safety as your mother pushed you closer and closer to the door. Your hand had just barely wrapped around the knob to open it when the masked man kicked your father in the stomach, sending him flying back the wall. “No!” You exclaimed in horror as you attempted to break free from your mother’s grasp to help. 

Your mother pulled the backdoor open and shoved you through it before slipping out herself. Her brows furrowed as she shook her head. This was not your fight. 

The backyard was normally a very welcome sight. In the summer, roses would bloom here. You had a few blueberry bushes, elderberry bushes, hydrangea, a whole vegetable garden you and your parents had lovingly cultivated since you were small but now, the shadows seemed much too dark. The moon was high in the night sky at this point, just barely blue and peered down at the two of you like the watchful eye of a being that had no discernable face. 

The two of you began to hobble towards the back gate. It’s clear now that whatever your mother had acquired physically during her battle with the masked man had finally begun to take its toll on her. The wound on her midsection had split open like the delicate skin of a soup dumpling and spilled red broth from her body. She scowled when you ripped off a piece of your shirt and began to apply pressure. She wanted to quip that she’d just bought it for you when the shadows shifted near the bushes of the back gate. 

Gods, release had seemed so close. 

Your mother’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed the area. The hairs on the back of her neck raised while she fixed her stance to something more confident. It was that of a warrior, not the wounded. It was clear that she did not want to make the first move, but she knew the cowards would not come out first unless provoked. “No more playing games,” she called out, her voice strong and unwavering. “Show yourself.” 

Answering her prayers came a man wielding hatchets. His frame was strong, but relatively wiry. He was tall and just a bit gangly, but the way he looped and twirled the handles of his weapons conveyed a sense of arrogance and joy that mirrored the same energy from the man still fighting with your father in the house. His neck cracked unnaturally to the left, then to the right before he was joined by a… person… wearing a white hoodie. The mask that sat upon their face looked dirty, but planned that way. This was no thoughtless design, but one that gave an eerie edge to its wearer. 

The two of them glanced at each other before sharing a single nod. The one with hatchets stepped forward, cracked his knuckles loudly, and then jumped. 

“Watch it!” Your mother yelled as she pushed you off from her. 

You yelped and tumbled down to the grass. You braced for impact and grunted at how the earth rose roughly upwards to meet you. Cursing under your breath, you attempted to rise and help your mother when the one wearing the white hoodie pounced. “Fuck!” You exclaimed as you unnaturally rolled around the grass to try and get them off. 

Their legs held tight around your midsection as they clawed at you like a wild animal with growling and hiss ign to accompany their actions! Eventually they pried your hands away from your neck and wrapped their rough, calloused hands hard against your throat. Their thumbs dug deep into your windpipe as your eyes rolled upwards. 

Your hands desperately clawed at the earth for anything you could use to avoid getting choked to death. Feeling around, your fingertips just barely clipped the edge of a decorative rock you’d made when you were a child. The paint had rendered some part of it smooth, but you didn’t care. Gripping it tightly for all it was worth, you swung the rock hard and upwards against the attacker’s face. 

They yowled like a wounded animal and rolled off of you. 

You pushed their legs off of your body and looked down at them. You held your breath as you raised your foot and brought it down on their head. It wasn’t hard enough to kill them, but you knew with a force like that that they wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon either. “Mom,” you whispered at the budding realization she had to take someone on by herself. Whipping your head around towards the sound of the outside commotion, you saw your mother. 

In one of her hands was the man’s other hatchet. There was a certain elegance and grace to the way that she blocked and landed hits. You watched her move some more. Her form wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t the cleanest either. She was a bit sloppy, but that could be because of the bloodloss. There was a miniscule, barely present gleam in her eyes from the way they traded hits. 

Where… No, WHEN did mom learn to fight? 

Not having long to dwell on your mother’s fighting skills, the tide changed. Caught just off guard long enough, the hatchet holding man swung the blunt edge of his remaining hatchet on her temple. An awful crack echoed through the night. He raised his leg, wound it up and kicked her hard in the chest to push her back down to the earth. His movements were calculated and quick as he straddled her waist and raised his hatched high. 

The backdoor swung open followed by the familiar face of your father. Relying on reflex, he hurled the remnants of the snowglobe at the hatchet man’s face which clocked him right between the eyes. 

A groan emitted from his lips that sounded like it was the socially polite thing to do rather than an actual physical response as your mother pushed him off of her. She panted deeply and motioned for your father to join her. She was in no state to keep fighting, not like this. The wound on her abdomen was going to weigh her down, and your father’s adrenaline would wear off sooner than later. On the grass laid the man who was hit with the snowglobe. He seemed to be in some form of physical pain due to how good of a fight your mother had put up. 

Seeing he was in a much better physical state than your mother, he did the heavy lifting as he sprinted over and scooped the two of you up. Your parents shared a quick glance with each other as if they conversed without moving their lips as they rolled you towards the back gate. 

“Wait, wait-” you gasped when they launched you over it. Wide eyed, you stared up at them, them and their broken forms. “What about you guys?” You asked, seemingly already aware that they would leave themselves behind for your benefit. 

Your mother shook her head and hushed you. “Look, there’s no time to explain. You just need to go.” She glanced over her shoulder as a precaution and shuddered at how unnaturally the two laid out on the back lawn began to stand up. Through the backdoor, the masked man joined them. Their steps were slow, like they were toying with the three of you as they stalked closer and closer. “We’ll find you later,” she whispered. Her shaking lips connected with your forehead. Her hands were warm, cut up, but warm as they caressed your face like she did when you were small. 

You looked wildly between the two and felt your heart lurch. You turned your attention to your father and tried to find comfort in him. You were still praying, hoping, screaming in your head for this to all be a dream turned into a nightmare. “But-”

“But nothing. Keep your head on a swivel.” He gently reached his hand up to brush your cheek before turning around at the sound of steps growing ever closer. He frowned that the moment with his child had been ruined but focused on keeping that child safe. 

You took in a deep breath and watched as your parents rolled their shoulders and shared a similar glance between each other that the hatchet wielding man and white hoodie wearing person gave one another earlier as if they were mirroring their confidence and power. You looked out at the dark forest that laid ahead of you, and ran. 

Hot, thick tears welled in your eyes as you booked it towards the treeline before finding yourself swallowed whole by the dense forest that lived directly behind your home. You let the tears cascade down your cheeks as you haphazardly ran over roots and foliage. 

“You let them get away? I’ll kill you myself!” One of the three yelled in hot rage. 

You winced at the sound of it but kept running. Fuck, they’d be looking directly for you now. 

You mentally cursed the world for having cried the morning before. The slippery leaves made running safely an impossibility, and the tree tops were so thick here that the light of the moon could not penetrate through them shrouding you in an uncomfortable darkness. It was stupid to keep running during such unsafe conditions. If you kept it up like this, you would be bound to be captured from dumb decision making alone. 

Your body sucked in the oxygen fast as you struggled to get your breathing down to a normal pace. You paused and rested your hands on your knees, bent over slightly and breathed the air greedily. After a brief point of recalibration, you heard the shuffling of the woods around you. It was unnatural to anything else you had heard, so you got down and nestled in the roots of a tree. Your fingers curled around a large rock, but your vision stayed on the faint lights of your house that cut through the cold darkness. 

“Found you,” a low voice says. 

You screech wildly as they wrestle you down to the ground. You wriggle and pull at them, then push some more and repeat the process. You try your hardest to fight your way free. “Let me go, you bastard!” You exclaim, more than upset you can’t see their face to identify them so you can turn them into the cops when you escape. 

While the thick blanket of treetops obscures their face from view, you could feel how annoyed they truly were with you in the moment. It’s that same annoyance that led them to wrapping their hands around your throat and squeezing before you could even try and continue cursing them out. 

You felt your body weaken as your arms grew slack. As you quietly huffed, you listened to your kidnapper take in deep, labored breaths. 

“You are exhausting,” they mumbled. 

“Don’t touch me,” you tiredly wisped out as you absentmindedly pawed at their chest. You groaned in disapproval when they stood and caught their breath, lifting you in their strong arms as if you were a minor inconvenience to their overall plans. They reached one hand under your shoulder, the other under your knee and began to walk. 

You frowned and wiggled. “Put me down,” you half mindedly whispered. 

“Stop,” they warned. 

You wriggled more in a vain attempt to free yourself. 

More than tired of your antics, they knelt down against the earth and rested your lower half on the damp soil. They listened with more than enough grace and patience as you yowled and hissed at them while they reached into their back pocket. “Alright, time to shut up and get some sleep,” they mused more to themself than you as they pressed a neatly folded cloth flush against your face. They made sure every breath you took was filtered by the rag. 

You tried to grab at their wrist to move them off but found in your weakened state you held no real power. With exhaustion washed over your system, you let them carry you again. You sleepily hung onto consciousness while your limbs swayed with each step. Leaves and twigs crunched softly under their boots. Traversing the woods at night seemed to come like second nature to them. 

They smelled of whiskey. They smelled of burning campfires. They smelled just barely of gasoline. They smelled of cigarettes. 

The owls high in the trees cooed softly while the crickets hung up their instruments. This part of the woods grew colder despite the dogs of summer still running high amongst the fields. Something old draped itself over your form. You finally saw the light of the moon again. 

[lemondoddle]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marble Hornets Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jay Merrick/Timothy "Tim" Wright | Masky Characters: Jay Merrick, Timothy "Tim" Wright | Masky Additional Tags: Bedsharing, Fluff, let them have a rest PLEASE, Confessions, jay craves the domestic life, There Was Only One Bed Summary:

Through an odd stroke of luck, Jay and Tim find themselves in a nice hotel room and catch a break. feelings ensue.