#marble hornets angst | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sister-lucifer · 3 months

Text

A Bullet in the Chamber

Proxies (Hoodie, Masky, Toby) x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Horror/Dark Angst

Summary: They want you to prove your love, to prove that you truly believe you’re meant to be together…with the help of Tim’s revolver, of course.

Content/Warnings: God, where do I start…obviously massive use of a gun, they play russian roulette, descriptions of gore, the proxies are super manipulative and emotionally abusive to reader, just a super obsessive not healthy relationship, this is NOT a feel good fic, it’s implied reader is being held captive

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

“We just wanna…play a little game with you, that’s all,” Tim drawls, his voice deep and lazy as he looks at you from behind his mask.

You’re nervous suddenly. Unbearably nervous. A cold chill runs throughout your body and makes your stomach convulse in an agonizing manner, and you don’t know if you’re going to vomit or pass out first. You don’t know why. He’s only just started speaking. Maybe it’s the way he drew out the last part of that sentence, or the way he immediately tried to soothe you before you’ve even fully understood what’s going on, or just that look in his eyes that says ‘I want to fucking gut you.’

There’s a reason you learned to keep your guard up around these three.

Suddenly the little circle you’re all sitting in on the floor feels much, much tighter than is comfortable, and it doesn’t help that Toby slides in closer, bumping your shoulder with his and flashing you a knowing smirk. What exactly he knows, though, is a horrific enigma to you.

Brian is on your other side, and although he doesn’t move, for a split second he glances at you out of the corner of his eye before his gaze returns to Tim. He’s managing to hold a straight face, but you can see the corners of his mouth just barely twitching as he internally fights to keep the emotion bubbling beneath the surface at bay.

There’s silence for a few moments, you’re not sure how long, but you don’t realize they’re waiting for you to speak until Toby nudges you.

“I, uh…what, um— what kind of game…?” You stammer, immediately regretting your question despite the curiosity that’s gnawing at you like a starving animal. You shudder when Toby giggles, clearly trying to stifle the sound as he bumps your shoulder again.

Tim thinks over his answer for a moment, scratching at his stubble in a manner that is far too casual. You think he’s going to speak, you’re expecting it, but he doesn’t say anything at first beyond a tired sounding sigh. Your eyes are locked onto his hand as it reaches behind him, and when it emerges once more it’s holding onto the grip of Tim’s revolver.

“There’s one bullet in the chamber.”

The world is spinning suddenly as you watch him place the weapon on the ground, and the sound of it sliding across the floor to you makes you sick. You bite back a gag as it slows to a stop in front of you. Your mouth hangs open uselessly as you struggle for words, desperate to pull out some sort of protest to what you know he wants but no sound comes.

They watch you grapple with yourself for a few moments before Brian places a hand on your knee. It’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, and normally it would be, but now it feels like a threat.

“Hey, don’t freak out so soon,” He says, lips curled into a subtle smirk, “We did this all the time when we were younger, it’s practically a rite of passage.”

Unsurprisingly, this does little to quell your fears. You’re shaking now, unable to wrap your mind around how they could be acting so nonchalant about putting your lives on the line like this.

“Listen,” Tim huffs, “I’m gonna be straight with ya, kid. We know how you’ve been feeling recently.”

That hardly narrows it down. You’ve been feeling a lot of things recently, none of it good and all of it confusing. That’s just the sort of conflict born from this kind of captivity. You shrug, unsure what to say.

“We know you w-wanna leave,” Toby clarifies, “I saw you staring out t-the window the other day…you just s-sat there for hours.”

That…made you feel a bit guilty. You shouldn’t, but you do. You could’ve at least made it less obvious.

“We trust you, hon,” Brian adds with a nod, “But we also think we could all use a little…what did you call it?”

He turns to Tim, who yawns before answering.

“…Group bonding.”

You shudder at the phrase. Disgusting.

“I…I don’t think this is the best way to…t-to do that,” You murmur, but your words hold no weight when you can’t even look them in the eyes. You’d never take the risk of making any sort of real fuss anyways.

Tim shrugs, seeming to consider your words.

“How would you do it, then?”

You…don’t have an answer for that. Why don’t you have an answer for that?

“I-I don’t know, I mean…can’t we just have awkward group sex like other, uh…groups, or whatever?” You ask, hesitating to call your dynamic any sort of relationship.

You make sure to tack on a nervous laugh at the end to make it seem lighthearted, but no one is amused. Toby giggles, but he’s laughing at you, and it’s painfully obvious.

“Don’t stress about it,” Tim says, “Just think of it as a…a test, you know?”

He sighs when you shake your head no.

“Ya know, like…a way of proving yourself. I mean, you trust us, right?”

You hesitate to answer that, but nod quickly when Tim narrows his eyes at you.

“Good. Well, think of it this way: if we all survive this, it’s a sign that we’re…meant to be together.”

“There has to be a better way—“ You blurt out before you can stop yourself, and Brian instantly takes to calming you.

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. His other hand comes up to your face, holding your head against his shoulder.

“Calm down, baby,” He says softly, “Don’t jump ship so fast. I told you, we’ve all done this before. We’ll even go first to show you there’s nothing to be afraid of, alright?”

He’s not really giving you a choice.

You nod.

Maybe you’ll be able to just get this over with. If you sit here for much longer, you’re gonna be sick.

Toby reaches out to grab the gun first. That doesn’t surprise you at all. He’s never been one for forethought, or common sense in general. One day his hubris will get him killed, you think, but for once you’re hoping it won’t be today.

Not today.

Not here.

Not right in front of you.

Brian doesn’t let you go, continuing to hold you against him as Toby makes a show of spinning the chamber, letting it run until it stops on its own. He giggles with deranged amusement as he presses the end of the barrel to the bottom of his chin, looking back at Tim with a crooked grin.

There’s silent for a few moments, and you can’t look away from him until you follow his gaze to Tim, who is staring back with furrowed brows.

He’s still for a beat, and then he nods.

A signal.

Go.

You have a split second to process Toby preparing to pull the trigger before you bury your face in Brian’s hoodie and he, in turn, covers your face with his hand and squeezes you tight. It’s hardly comforting, but it’s better than nothing.

The soft click of the trigger seems to echo endlessly in the silence that follows.

Silence.

You quickly look back up and are immediately met with Toby’s hazel eyes looking back at you, their corners crinkled with the wide smile that’s spread across his pale face.

“Lookie there,” He drawls with a laugh, “This h-handsome face is still in tact.”

“Hardly the better outcome,” Tim mutters with a roll of his eyes.

This prompts Toby to slide the gun to him next, crossing his arms in feigned hurt.

“You go n-next then, wise guy. If you blow y-your brains out, at least we’ll know you h-had one.”

“Shut up,” Tim hisses back as he, too, brings his hand up to spin the chamber of the revolver. You’re still trying to catch your breath. You didn’t think they’d be so eager.

You’re gripping onto Brian’s hoodie so tightly your knuckles burn as you watch Tim press the barrel of the gun to his jaw, angling it upwards toward the dome of his skull.

He’s not nearly as giddy as Toby. He’s straight faced and silent, which isn’t odd, but something in his eyes is darker than you ever remember it being. You can only see his eyes with his mask on, yet you know his expression exactly. He’s staring right at you, and you’re imagining his brains dashed against the wall behind him, his face and any identifying features that once made him human reduced to a splatter of viscera that barely resembles the pieces of a person.

And when it’s all over, you think, you’ll surely be the one left to clean the mess of what used to be Tim. You’ll be left to scrub the red stains from the floorboards while the others continue on as if nothing has happened, and suddenly you can’t breathe.

The world stills as once more the trigger is pulled with a click.

Then relief hits you like a shockwave when that click is followed by silence.

Silence.

Your lungs fill faster than you were ready for, and you cough and sputter as your chest heaves with newfound breath. Brian rubs your shoulder gently, his other hand reaching out to grab the revolver as Tim slides it to him. The gun is exchanged without a word, only piercing eye contact as Brian lifts the weapon and spins the chamber, just as his companions had done before him.

It seems so natural for all of them. In the half a second it takes for Brian to lift the gun you wonder how many times they’ve done this, if you’re the first person to witness this ritual, and if not, what happened to those who came before you.

You don’t find any hope of getting answers, though, as you watch Brian press the barrel to the side of his head. He gives you a squeeze, and you can’t tell if he’s assuring you or saying goodbye just in case.

You still haven’t released his hoodie despite the throbbing pain in your fingers. You’re barely a thread away from tearing out a patch, but you can’t let go. You don’t look at him this time, unable to pull your head away from where it rests on his shoulder. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze like you’re trying to crush him, but he only lets out a breathy chuckle and ruffles your hair in response as if he’s amused by your terror. You’re a scared kid to him, a foolish little child running from an imaginary monster despite the very real threat.

You can hear his hoodie shifting as he adjusts the position of the gun. You can hear the slight scratching against his hair as the barrel moves against his head. You can hear him suck in a quick breath as he readies himself to pull the trigger.

You hear the click.

And then silence.

Silence.

You’ve never been so grateful for silence.

You nearly jump out of your skin when Toby claps and laughs loudly, practically howling with wildly misplaced celebration. He shakes you in his excitement, unable to get any intelligible words out through his giggling.

“Shhh,” Brian says with a finger to his lips, “We’re not done yet.”

He’s right. Goddamnit, he’s right. Not everyone has played yet. You were hoping that maybe just this once the higher being that trapped you in this hell would have this minuscule mercy on you, but you were met with a resounding no.

Brian places the gun on the floor in front of you. You can’t hear the sound of the metal gently knocking against the wood floor, but it makes you feel ice cold. Your world is rapidly going dark as you struggle to make yourself breathe.

You can feel the others’ eyes on you, three pairs of eyes staring right at you and boring a hole through your skull that’ll surely be identical to the one the bullet will leave. Maybe they’re imagining it, too.

It seems you’re not moving fast enough for them.

Toby reaches out and grabs your wrist a bit too roughly, forcefully placing your hand on the gun. You wince like you expect it to burn, but you’re left with only the cruel sensation of metal on your palm.

You weakly curl your fingers around the grip of the gun. It feels impossibly heavy as you lift it, trembling like a leaf in the wind. You force your other hand up, placing two fingers on the chamber of the revolver as you prepare to spin it.

You press the pads of your fingers against the metal, pushing down in an attempt to spin, but the gun slips from your shaking hands and clatters to the floor. You yelp in surprise and clamp your hands over your mouth, tears suddenly forming in your eyes but refusing to flow over.

Brian sighs. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just disappointed. He picks up the gun, and you think that maybe, just maybe he’s going to let you out, grant you some small reprieve and tell you you don’t have to do this.

Instead he wraps an arm around your waist and holds you close, and his other hand presses the barrel of the gun right to your head.

“I’ll do it for you,” He says, as if it’s nothing serious. Like he’s just grabbing a box off a high shelf to be nice.

You feel like he’s strangling you. He might as well be. It would be a more humane death.

He’s going to kill you, you think, you’re going to die in this godforsaken house with these bastards, you’re going to die in isolation with no one to honor your body.

They’ve sentenced you to death.

You think back to that question of how many have come before you. Is this what they thought about, too? Is this the first, third or twentieth time someone like you has been here? How many unfortunate circumstances have stained the floorboards red over the years this cabin has stood?

It doesn’t matter.

None of that matters.

You’re going to be the next.

That’s all there is for you to be now.

A stain of red on the old wood floors will be your only legacy.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you look up at Brian. His expression doesn’t move an inch. There’s no trace of the humor he always seems to have, not even a hint of feigned compassion or sympathy for your position. He’s not letting you out of this. None of them are.

You reach down and grab Brian’s hand where it rests in your hip, your nails digging into his knuckles. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t even move beyond adjusting his finger to pull the trigger.

Each second seems to go on for an eternity, yet at the same time everything is moving far too fast. You can’t process what’s happening but you just want it over with, that’s your only choice.

He’s lifting his finger, preparing to bring it down on the trigger.

He’s pressing the barrel of the gun into your skin just a bit harder as he readies himself for whatever happens next.

This is it.

This is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is…

The trigger clicks.

Then there’s silence.

…it.

Silence.

And then Toby erupts with animalistic, ecstatic laughter. It rings in your ears and echoes around your skull in an almost painful manner. You can’t stand the sound.

You’re alive.

The game is over.

All at once relief floods your body in such an overwhelming manner your vision goes dark. You can’t speak a word before you’ve gone limp in Brian’s arms, and he barely has time to put the revolver down and catch you. He holds you in his arms and makes a half hearted attempt to wake you, but when you don’t respond he looks up at Tim with a smirk.

“Out like a light.”

Tim can’t help but chuckle, and for a moment it’s even a full on laugh. This only encourages Toby, who’s flopped over onto his back as his body writhes with mirth.

Brian groans as he stands, pulling your body up with him. He throws you over his shoulder and nods to the others.

“I’m taking this one up stairs, gonna put ‘em to bed. I’m sure they’ll be whiny when they wake up, and you two better deal with it.”

Tim and Toby nod and wave him away. Toby’s finally stopped laughing enough to pull himself off the floor as Tim picks up the revolver. He shoves it into Toby’s chest, nearly pushing him over.

“Go put it up,” Tim orders.

“Or what?” Toby teases as he takes the gun, “You g-gonna get mad ‘cause I won’t clean up y-your toys?”

“Just do it,” Tim demands with a growl, clearly not amused. Toby rolls his eyes and huffs like a defiant child, but nods.

Tim starts to walk away, headed upstairs to his own room, but he pauses on the first step and turns to Toby.

“Oh, and don’t forget to load it,” He adds, “If it’s empty the next time I need it, I’m gonna kill you.”

438 notes · View notes

number1jaymerrickhater · 4 months

Text

If Tim died Jay would pick up smoking bc it reminded him of him send tweet

#marble hornets #mh jay merrick #mh tim wright #tim wright #mh jam #marble hornets angst

203 notes · View notes

kr4bzy · 4 months

Text

Thinks about jay and Alex and how many hours they probably spent across from eachother at the kitchen table.

Something something Alex making jay coffee except he makes it decaf for jay because he’s been up for too long editing the script.

Something something “I’m not gonna sleep until you sleep” Alex and jay and they’re both horribly stubborn but Alex plays dirty and gives jay his decaf and turns a warm lamp on while all the other lights are off so jay gets lulled off to sleep.

Something something Alex saying jay can spend the night as he’s guiding him half-awake to Alex’s bed

Something something Alex wanting to sleep in his bed with jay and hold him close but he can’t. So he sleeps on his couch and tells himself he’ll make some breakfast in the morning for jay and him

Something something all the things Alex did/wanted to do for jay that he never knew about.And all the things he will never ever know

#marble hornets #jay merrick #alex kralie #jaylex #marble hornets headcanons #marble hornets angst #??? maybe #if you squint #mh jaylex

60 notes · View notes

beeperis · 17 days

Text

i've been ghosting // Tim Wright/Reader

cross-posted on my Ao3 summary ; tim can't sleep without you. warnings ; implications of suicide, death, fictional afterlife (I just kinda made stuff up as I went tbh), paranormal, angst with slight comfort notes ; the lore may be incorrect but by golly. I need to get this out of my system. also not edited, I need to sleep (currently 3am)

It's easy to assume death is the only way to finally escape the Operator. You figured that all your friends who were formerly tormented by It were no longer suffering, since they were six feet under or missing. It pained you to relive the evening of your death, but it all ended in a bathtub with your favorite song playing in an effort to build up enough courage.

Obviously, there were people you regretted leaving behind: your parents, who you had to distance yourself from in order to protect them. Your friends who laid awake at night questioning what they could've done differently, or why you stopped talking to them one day without warning.

Tim Wright, the one who had unintentionally gotten you roped into what eventually ended your life.

By some odd accord, his drab apartment is where you ended up. You remembered dying. You remembered your lungs filling with water before peacefully falling victim to unconsciousness. And now, you were sitting in the corner of the room watching him sleep.

It wasn't like if you were trying to be creepy. It was one of the only things you could do: watch Tim lay awake all night, get out of bed late in the afternoon, go to the bathroom and occasionally eat, then return and sleep for a long time.

It was depressing, to say the least.

At night, your presence would curl up beside him in bed as he would shiver and pull the blankets further up on his body. You frowned at the idea of him only thinking he was cold. When he got up to go to the restroom, you'd follow right behind and wait outside the door until he was done. You lit up whenever he'd go to the kitchen and actually eat.

That night started off no different than the previous. He got ready for bed as you sat patiently, admiring him like a lost puppy or a stalker. Tim yawned and crawled into bed, covering himself up to his hips. You curled up behind him like you usually did, except this time, he laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling.

"I miss you." Hearing Tim's voice shocked you, causing you to abandon your usual position at his side and sit upright. You stared down at him, his deep brown eyes staring into nothing. Part of you wondered who he was talking about; he'd lost so many.

Almost as though he was answering your question, he continued. "I just wish I could've told you I loved you. That day I went over to your house to check on you, finding you like that…" Tim trailed off, his voice choking up whilst his eyes welled with tears that glistened from the light of the TV.

After a moment's pause, his body slightly trembled with heavy, troubled sobs. The sight broke you. You were sure there wouldn't be any pain in the afterlife, but watching the one you treasured more than the stars crumple into a hellscape of his own mind was simply too much.

Tim curled into a ball, fully breaking and hugged his knees closer to his chest. You wanted to cry too, listening to him mumble, "it's my fault," through broken cries. On instinct, you placed a hand on his arm like how you'd done comforting him in the deaths of his friends. Tim froze.

He stopped crying, but still remained tensed up. He never even made a sound. Instead, his eyes fell to where you had touched his arm. Something felt so familiar about whatever brushed against his arm, but he disregarded it as being a bug. Still, it felt like he couldn't continue crying.

This didn't go unnoticed by you. Finally, you recognized a glimpse of nostalgia in those profound, fawn-colored eyes. Experimentally, you reached out to hold his hand in your translucent one.

Tim abruptly sat up in bed, breathing heavily as he stared at his hand. So cold, yet it held the warmth and fullness of a lover claimed by the inevitable fate of time. You could've sworn you heard him mutter your name.

Daringly, you brought up another cold hand to caress his face. "I'm here," you spoke softly to attempt to reassure him. You had no idea if he could hear you. More than anything, it was a plea for him to notice you. To look you in the eyes and smile with the same familiarity, wrap you up in the tightest hug you'd felt in ages, and promise to never leave your side.

Rather than doing any of the aforementioned, tears continued rolling down Tim's cheeks. "I miss you," he cried once more. You could handle it no longer, and uncertainly tried wrapping him in a hug. To your surprise, it seemed as though he felt it given the way his body relaxed, almost easing into your nonexistent touch.

After a few more heart-wrenching tears and whispers of, "I love you," and, "I miss you, baby," Tim finally began easing himself back down into his bed. You, as always, were curled up right behind him. Your eyes wandered over to his digital alarm clock, red letters lighting up certain portions of the room.

It was 2:22 am when he finally went to sleep, clutching a tear-soaked pillow he imagined was you.

#tim wright x reader #marble hornets x reader #marble hornets #masky x reader #marble hornets angst #tim wright #tim wright imagine #tim wright angst #gn reader

30 notes · View notes

spittingbloodandscreaming · 2 months

Note

Hear me out about a Masc!Reader breaking down in front of Masky and Masky just doesn't comfort them and is more like "This is your own fault"

I love silly angst ideas, have a great day/night!!

I LOVE this!! Sorry it took me so long to get to this, I kinda took an unannounced break, but I'm catching up!! I hope I captured your image.

You can never tell the truth, But you can tell something that sounds like it. (Tim Wright x Reader angst)

The sounds of the party are muffled from the porch, but still, it’s somehow impossible to tune out. You almost feel ill. Staring off into the tree line and leaning against the banister, you flick the ashes of your burning cigarette. Your half-empty cup of whatever you were given when you walked in sits next to you on the railing—you almost feel bad for walking out, but for some reason, you can't bring yourself to go home, either. The heavy footsteps behind you throw you off your sulking.

“Didn’t know you smoked.” You roll your eyes. You know Tim when you hear him—gruff and tired. You understand why he’s out here—same reason you are. Neither of you actually want to be at this party, you both just want to feel like you’re doing something. You take another long drag off of your cigarette.

“You’re one of the last people I want to see right now, you know that, right?” You cover the quiver in your voice well, but not enough for Tim to miss it. He walks up next to you, standing a little less than a foot away, leaning with his forearms against the banister. You glance at him, and you’re almost sad he wasn’t looking at you too. He’s so close you can feel the warmth coming off of him, and you realize how cold it is. You wish he was closer, but you want everyone close to you now, don't you?

“I know.” Tim takes his cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one himself and struggling briefly against the wind. He’s the closest to crying he’s been in weeks—or is he? He doesn't remember the last month. It smells like rain, the air is heavy and damp, and you wonder if the covered porch is enough to keep you dry. Then again, you could just sit in your car, but you realize you don't have that option. You only stop thinking when you feel a drop hit the back of your hand. Your cigarette is reduced to just the filter and it's raining. You look over to Tim, and this time, he's looking back.

“Drive here?” Tim asks, stifling a cough. You shake your head, looking back out to the trees.

“Live right down the road, I just walked down.” You take a sip of your drink and grimace—whatever it is, it's trying to be a mimosa and failing terribly. Tim says nothing. No one says anything for a long time.

Eventually, the wind picks up, blowing the rain into your face leaving a cold sting against your cheeks, and you start to cry. You cry hard, almost a violent sob. It takes you several minutes to notice that Tim is looking at you—has been looking at you—and quickly you wipe your face with your hands like a kid. You start to say the same things as you did when you were young, too.

“God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't mean to start crying I just feel so bad.” Tim keeps his blank expression as you sharply inhale after you're done speaking. You realize then that you've been holding your breath. The man across you says nothing, and so you keep talking, trying to explain away an unexplainable guilt you have for crying. “I didn't think I'd be here, y'know?” Your voice has raised a few octaves now—high pitch and uncomfortable. “I thought I'd be in college, I thought I'd be with someone… engaged, even. I don't know what happened things just went so downhill after high school—I couldn't do it anymore. I can't do it anymore. I hate my job. I hate all of it. I'm nothing I thought I'd be. I just—”

“Why are you telling me any of this?” Tim says, the wind moving his hair around just a bit. The rain blowing under the cover sticks to him in cold drops. You try to speak, but you can't come up with why. Why are you saying any of this? Why do you feel the need to tell Tim?

“You don't need to tell me any of this. I don't care, you know that.” Tim speaks so blankly and you wish he didn't. You wish he was angry. You wish he cared enough to feel something other than annoyance as he speaks to you. “All of this is your fault. You had every choice to change where you are now, and you didn't make any of the right ones. That's not my fault, it's yours.”

All you can do is stare at Tim with years pouring down your cheeks. You're not sure the last time you've had someone talk to you like this. When you were a kid, maybe as late as high school. You're grown now, you should be able to handle it, but you can't even bring yourself to breathe. You feel so sick and cold and scared.

“Some people are in situations they didn't put themselves in, that they had no choice in, and can never get out of.” There's aggression in his voice now, and it's so clear he's talking about himself. It makes you cough through another pathetic, guilty sob. “But that's not how it is for you. So shut up, okay?” The hand he's holding his cigarette in is clenched—crushing the filter between his fingers. How could you think any of this matters? Why would you think anyone actually cared to hear what you have to say—you do have it better than everyone else, don't you? All of this is your fault. You could've fixed it at any point, and you didn't.

“You did this to yourself.”

#slenderverse #slenderverse x reader #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #marble hornets fanfic #marble hornets angst #slenderverse angst #tim wright #mh tim wright #tim marble hornets #tim wright x reader #tim wright x reader angst

26 notes · View notes

acidstrike · 9 months

Text

MARBLE HORNETS SPOILERS⚠️

After Jay’s death, sometimes Tim will find bluejays outside of his window, as if Jay is watching over him from the afterlife.

#marble hornets headcanons #marble hornets spoilers #marble hornets #mh spoilers #mh angst #marble hornets angst #aaaughh i love sad headcanons

23 notes · View notes

brian-thomas-askblog · 4 months

Text

TW for partial nudity/bruising, but this what Brian's spine looks like after falling in MH btw, that's why in this ask series you'll see with a cane, or simply not walking at all, Hoodie can't feel this injury, which is why it gets worse, and worse.

(Art Under cut)

#hoodie mh #marble hornets ask #brian marble hornets #hoodie marble hornets #marble hornets #brian thomas #creepypasta ask blog #ask blog #send asks #hoodie creepypasta #creepypasta au #marble hornets angst #angst #art #fanart #marble hornets fandom

8 notes · View notes

junipersramblings · 7 days

Text

Hey Marble Hornets fans, whatever you do, don't check the dates in the corner of Entry #26 and enttry #37

Trust me, you'll just make yourselves sad

Alright fine, but don't say I didn't warn you

The last day Alex saw his girlfriend alive, the day she DIED, was his BIRTHDAY

#junipers ramblings #marble hornets #alex kralie #Amylex #I guess #Sorry for adding even more angst to the tag #amy walters

592 notes · View notes

whatisr3alityy · 1 month

Text

"it's that Jay guy"

It was my brother the whole time..

How could such a monster make me forget..

My own twin brother

I almost cried throughout this entire process guys

#sketch #art #marble hornets #artist #artwork #digital art #marble hornets fanart #color #jay merrick #jessica locke #mh jessica #marble hornets comic #whatisr3ality #angst #ough #I'm so sad and mad at myself lol

615 notes · View notes

memewife · 4 months

Note

Hi could you draw Tim marble hornet with 🙏 (Possession) for the angst art meme?

i never got around to finishing this but here's a sketch :]

#somen somn the rock scene is so intriguing 2 me as a hashtag possession moment #ask #mh #marble hornets #tim wright #masky #mh masky #angst meme

526 notes · View notes

sister-lucifer · 3 months

Text

When It Rains

Tim Wright/Masky x Gender Neutral Reader

READ THE FIRST PART HERE

READ PART THREE HERE

Genre: Fluff, a bit angsty but has a happy ending, not explicitly romantic

Summary: It’s been raining all day, and the gloomy weather has you thinking about what could’ve been, and especially what never will be.

Content/Warnings: Brief mentions of alcohol, brief mention of death/suicide, it’s a little sad, I guess? But that’s it. Reader just speculates on how life would’ve been if the Operator hadn’t fucked them over and gets down about it, but theres a happy ending.

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

It’s raining again. Not that that’s new. Springtime out here sees its fair share of storms. Normally you’d observe the rain from inside, but today something inside was gnawing at you for some fresh air.

The old rocking chair creaks beneath your weight, moving to and fro softly as you watch the rain. It comes down in sheets off the sides of the cover, splattering to the muddy ground and making a shallow moat around the patio. It lands loudly on the old tin roof, rattling and groaning in a manner that is far too dramatic. It obscures anything beyond the perimeter of the cabin and hides everything in a misty haze.

It’s going to be foggy tomorrow, you think. It usually is when it rains like this. It’ll be cold for the next few days, too, and the ground will be soggy for weeks. Miserable weather, that is. Not that that’s new.

It’s a good day to wonder, that’s all. You’ve been doing plenty of that lately. A bit too much, maybe, but there’s no helping that.

You’ve been living out here with Tim for…shit. How long has it been? Almost a year, you think, but your perception of time is unreliable at best. It’s just one of the many things you lost when your world turned upside down.

That’s what it’s really about. The loss. Tim doesn’t like to talk about it, but you know you both feel it, him even more so than you. He was going to go to college, get a degree, and he’d be damn good at it, too. He was going to find a place of his own, maybe adopt a dog, a big old Saint Bernard like he had when he was a boy, the only type of housemate that wouldn’t annoy him. That’s what he’s told you, anyways. Not sober, of course, not even close; he’d never tell you anything that personal without at least a bit of alcohol in his system. He’s been drinking less since you showed up, though. You noticed he was cutting back a couple months after you moved in. You wonder if you’ll ever get him to open up like that again.

But those were Tim’s plans. He was already in his mid twenties when things really went south, you were barely out of high school when everything started. You didn’t really have plans. So…what are you mourning, exactly?

You don’t really have an answer to that.

You didn’t really have a set path for yourself. Your plan barely existed, and it’s feeble skeleton was little more than an intention to simply float around until something caught your eye. You’d find your way eventually, there was no need to worry. At least, that’s what you used to think.

Now where do you go?

You didn’t have any real plans, no, and you can’t mourn something that never existed, but it there’s this heavy feeling that comes with knowing you’ll never be able to choose.

That’s what it comes down to, you realize. Choice.

No, you didn’t have any plans, but that was because you had all the options you could ever want. Now, you don’t have any plans because you’ve only got one.

Tim does everything he can to keep you entertained out here. Hell, he risks his life every time he walks down the path to his truck to go to town for you, or when he just steps off the porch to refill the bird feeder he knows you love to watch. Nothing outside of these walls in these woods is safe. If it weren’t raining so hard, he’d tear you a new one for even sitting on the porch.

It’s a miserable existence, but it’s so nice to have someone to be miserable with, even if he can’t change anything.

You just wish that was enough to push away that yearning for more, that subtle thrumming ache that only wells up in your stomach late at night, that want that urges you to just take the truck and leave, to forget this cabin and Tim and everything in these godforsaken woods.

But you can’t.

You’d die. And even if you didn’t, the guilt of stranding Tim would eat you alive, especially knowing he’d kill himself before letting that thing get him.

You don’t want to think about that. You push the thoughts away before they can take root in your mind. It’s better to just not consider that possibility at all.

You jump when you hear the front door open. You look back to see Tim standing there, one hand buried in his pocket and the other still on the door handle.

“The hell are you doin’ out here?” He huffs, “I been yellin’ for ya, thought you up and ran off.”

You give him a weak smile, but you can’t keep it up for very long. You pull your knees to your chest and rest your chin on them, curling up as if trying to make yourself look as small as possible. You mumble an apology, but don’t look at him.

He pauses, then, and you can imagining his expression changing to confusion and then concern before he covers it up again. His footsteps come up behind you, the wooden porch creaking beneath him. His hand grabs the back of the rocking chair and forces it to still before he pulls it backward to get a look at you.

“…What’s up with you, kid?”

You shrug. It’s an easier response than an explanation, but it doesn’t satisfy him at all.

“C’mon, we both know that’s bullshit,” He says with a dry chuckle, and he’s entirely correct. “What’s goin’ on?”

You sigh, thinking for a moment about your answer.

“…It’s just…I dunno. Do you ever, like…think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t…you know…”

It’s a stammering, stumbling attempt at explaining yourself, but he understands. He nods, crossing his arms and leaning back against the house.

“Yeah, sometimes,” He replies, scratching at his stubble, “But if I’m bein’ honest, it ain’t gonna do you any good. That sorta thing only gets ya down.”

He’s right about that, too. If only it were that easy to just stop. It’s just so hard not to wonder at least every once in a while, it’s human nature. You just wish you knew when to stop. You just wish you were able to ignore the ‘what if’s that piled up in the back of your mind until they couldn’t stand anymore and toppled over into a pathetic mess of rubble. They’ll crush you one day if you aren’t careful, but such an idea seems almost inevitable.

“Do you think—“ You start, but stop short before you can get any further. Tim quirks a brow, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s making that skeptical face.

“…Do I think what?” He asks.

You hesitate to answer. Is this really a question you want to ask? If this starts an argument you won’t be able to take back, will it ruin the comfort you and Tim have finally managed to establish with each other? You can’t just not tell him now, though, or you’ll just piss him off more. He doesn’t care for secrets, but he can’t stand when someone wusses out of a conversation at the last second.

“…Do you think if you had the chance you would…like, go back in time? If you could make it to where none of this ever happened, would you?”

You feel stupid asking that, and it doesn’t help that Tim is silent for far too long before he answers. You’re already regretting this.

Tim finally opens his mouth, and he stammers for a few moments before his sounds turn into words.

“…I don’t really think I can answer that, kid. That’s a tough one.”

He sounds monotone, almost uncaring, but you can tell he’s doing it on purpose

to conceal whatever he doesn’t want you to know he’s feeling. You finally turn to look at him with a look that says ‘Can you please try?’

His eyes widen for a moment, his shoulders tensing in that subtle way they only do when he’s scared. His lips part slowly, and it sounds like he’s forcing his next words out.

“I don’t know. Maybe? I…”

He trails off, and you turn away again. Then there’s silence for another few moments.

Then he’s beside your chair, slowly lowering himself to sit down and doing that annoyed groan he does anytime he has to strain his back. He takes a moment to get comfortable, and you see him reach for his pocket to grab a cigarette only to sigh in disappointment when he realizes he left them inside. You feel bad for smiling, but at least he won’t be able to hide behind his smoke the way he likes to when a conversation makes him uncomfortable.

He accepts his fate, leaning back on his hands and staring out into the rain with you.

“I might,” He finally says, “But it wouldn’t be an easy choice.”

“Why not?” You ask, and for some reason he chuckles at that.

“Good question. This isn’t how I expected things to end up, no one does, but…I couldn’t just up and leave this.”

‘This’ he says. ‘This?’ That hardly answers your question. You quirk a brow at him, and he begrudgingly continues.

“You know, I just…I’ve gotten attached to all this—“

“What’s this, exactly?” You interrupt, and he winces like he was hoping you wouldn’t ask that. “I can’t imagine there being anything here worth sticking around for.”

“…There wasn’t. Not for a long time,” He says, and now it’s your turn to pause.

“…What did you say?”

“There wasn’t,” He repeats, “Not until…not when I was alone. But now…”

‘You,’ you realize that’s what he’s trying to say, ‘You are the only thing worth staying for.’

For some reason, that hurts. Maybe you feel guilty that you ever thought about leaving him, or maybe you feel bad that you of all people are his only friend. The bar for happiness is really low around here.

You slowly unfurl from your spot on the chair, letting your feet rest on the porch as you slump down a bit.

“So…you’re saying you wouldn’t?”

You expected an immediate answer. Stupid of you, really. He’s hesitating again. You’d thought you’d get a quick yes or no. You’re not sure if this is better or worse.

“I’m not…saying anything,” Tim assures you, “I’m just saying that…I’d at least have to think about it.”

“Yeah, but you have to make a choice,” You say with an eye roll, and the words coming out more forceful than you intended. Fortunately, his stoney exterior deflects any vitriol you could spew at him.

The silence that settles over you this time is heavy. It makes you slump even further down in your chair. You hate the silence that always follows when you say something that turned out far too mean.

You don’t breathe until Tim speaks again.

“Okay, yeah…I would.”

You don’t know how you feel about that answer, but you don’t have much time to think before he continues.

“But only because I’d know where to find you this time.”

That surprises you. You sit back up in your chair, looking down at him with an unmistakably confused look.

“Huh?” You blurt out, and your cheeks warm a bit when he chuckles at your noise of bewilderment.

“I’d do it, yeah, but I couldn’t just leave you to fend for yourself,” He explains, “I’d do it, but I wouldn’t abandon you. Now I know who you are, what you liked to do, where you’d hang out, all those things from before shit hit the fan. I just don’t want you to think I’d, ya know…forget about you like that. I’d come find you, that’s all. I think we’d find each other anyways, though.”

Something in your chest aches as he speaks, and it makes you want to curl up again, but you can’t move. You stare at him for a long few moments, and you’re lucky he doesn’t look up at you because you wouldn’t be able to pull your eyes away. You can’t even blink.

“I told you kid,” He adds, “I care about you. I always have.”

What do you say to that?

You don’t know, so you stay silent. You want to say something, to return the monument of emotion he’s just offered to you, to somehow express reciprocity, but you don’t know how. You’re silent.

You don’t move as Tim stands back up, cracking his back and stretching his legs. He puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving a small, affectionate squeeze.

“I gotta go start dinner,” He says curtly, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Don’t spend too long out here. If you get sick, Imma say I told you so.”

You nod, but give no further response. He pulls his hand away, and you think that’s the end of it, but just as you realize you haven’t heard him go to leave you feel him leaning over you.

You tense. You’re not sure why, but you do.

You feel him press a brief kiss to the top of your head before he pulls away again. It wasn’t even a kiss, really, he just pushed his lips against your head for a moment, but for that moment it was like everything you’d ever worried about up until that point was arbitrary. It doesn’t last long, but it lingers in the air like the smoke from Tim’s cigarettes as he pulls away and walks back into the house.

You’re alone again.

Now what?

You weigh your options for a moment, but once Tim’s footsteps disappear into the house it feels far too quiet out here, even with the rain beating down on the roof above you.

You wait for only a few moments more to make sure you won’t seem too eager to follow him before you get up, lazily making your way back inside.

You find yourself wondering again, this time about what Tim is making for dinner tonight, and you take a second to appreciate the pleasure in such simple problems.

There are things that will never be now, and there’s no changing that.

But for tonight, this is pretty damn nice.

#gender neutral reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #creepypasta fluff #creepypasta angst #marble hornets fluff #marble hornets angst #fluff #angst #tim wright #masky #tim wright x reader #masky x reader

222 notes · View notes

number1jaymerrickhater · 5 months

Text

So Jay was always recording right? That means there was probably a lot of footage that wasn’t posted on youtube because it was irrelevant to the investigation. Now I don’t think Jay would get rid of it…which would mean that somewhere sitting around there was just hours of footage of him sleeping, editing videos, rewatching tapes, talking with Tim. Just Jay living his life, not anything interesting or important.

Until Jay dies that is. Then I imagine Tim would have rewatched it all. Not to look for clues or anything (he was there for a lot of it he knew most of it was garbage) but just to see Jay. See him alive, hear his voice, maybe Jay even laughed in a few clips. Tim rewatches all that footage for all the little moments he missed. The way Jay fidgets with the camera, the way he bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling when Tim makes a stupid joke. All the little moments that didn’t matter until they did. The things he would never see again now that Jay was gone.

#marble hornets #marble hornets spoilers #mh jay merrick #mh tim wright #mh jam #marble hornets angst #marble hornets headcanons

207 notes · View notes

rebisrot · 3 months

Note

maybe Hoody/Brian reading a book?

I go back to school tomorrow morning and I'm losing my mind

my hot take of the day is that brian would like the catcher in the rye

#ty for the ask!! sketch requests r always open #ill get to the other asks when i have time #anyways sorry for the angst anon my bad good luck w school #actually while we're here did brian ever actually do the pages like alex i cannot for the life of me remember (< an excuse to rewatch mh)#brian mh #hoody mh #brian thomas #brian marble hornets #hoody marble hornets #mh hoody #mh brian #mh fanart #marble hornets #marble hornets fanart #rebisrot #digital art #sketch #sketch requests

424 notes · View notes

to---the---ark · 26 days

Text

I'm touch starved, and now I'm thinking about Tim.

He spent all his childhood being terrified by a faceless creature and then locked in his hospital room by doctors. He was a kid who needed to be listened and believe to, but only got drugged up and locked in a damn room.

Then in college he met Brian.

Brian isn't seen much on screen, but all his actions in the serie, and the comic book special "Issue 3.5 - ToTheArk" speak volume: he loves his friends and he loves deeply.

Do you think Tim melted the first time Brian hugged him?

Do you think he realized how touch starved he really was? How burning his skin seemed to be, and how much relief Brian's hug was giving him?

Do you think Tim felt ashamed of that? Do you think he thought of himself as too clingy, or too needy? Do you think about all the times he probably cried alone in his bed, because he was loved for the first time ever but didn't dare to go ask Brian for even an half hug? Just an half hug, a quick one, he could've been happy with some pats on the shoulder, even when he really needed the grounding weight of someone lying on top of him.

Do you think he ever got embarrassed about those thoughts? About those needs?

Do you think Brian managed to make Tim spill the beans? And if so- do you think Brian started to just lay on his best friend whenever Tim got too fidgety, or too anxious?

Do you think Brian learned how to ground Tim with physical touch to help him after an episode, or after a seizure?

When Brian disappeared, do you think Tim got to force himself to ignore his touch starvation like he used to before Brian? Do you think he cried and shook, his skin on fire, his breath irregular, his mind racing?

When he finally understood the truth about The Operator being something real, Tim surely got scared of infecting everyone else.

Do you think he forced himself to keep quiet?

Do you think Hoodie ever tried to hug Masky, to calm him through a gentle touch, only to be smacked away? Do you think the negative emotions and the anger Masky felt were somehow sad too?

When Tim got closer to Jay, do you think he ever got the temptation to hug him?

And Jay, our young man who just wanted to help, got turned into an angry individual, maybe a little lost, and surely scared, but also so courageous or simply too far gone to stop. Do you think he ever wanted the comfort of a friendly hug?

Do you think Tim wished he could hold Jay close and relaxed, before losing him? Do you think Tim felt something familiar while looking for his own things in the pockets of a still Hoodie? When Alex showed him Brian's corpse, do you think Tim wanted to just crawl over there and take his best friend between his arms, squeezing him in a comforting way?

Do you think Tim hallucinated those college night, with those familiar arms wrapped around him?

Edit: I wrote something about it, click here!

198 notes · View notes

spittingbloodandscreaming · 4 months

Note

Hey!! I hope everything is going a bit better for you with workloads n stuff!! Could I maybe request some Alex Kralie x M. Reader angst? Like if they got into an arguement over Reader's habits of staying up for days on end for no reason other than they just don't want to sleep

Thank you so much!! The work is definitely getting better and I appreciate you! Sorry this one's short but I felt like it suited the prompt

This is Bad For Both of Us (Alex Kralie x Male Reader Angst)

WARNING: almost loss of consciousness, mentions of self-harm, grown man cries not clickbait??

You're sitting in your office looking over footage from however long ago, staring at the slightly pixelated version of yourself on the screen the entire time. What's changed since then? Why does it feel like you're staring at a stranger when you look at the kid in the video? God, it had to have only been two or so years ago when it was filmed.

While contemplating you miss the sound of the front door opening, and when you hear your office door open you don't even look behind you. You know it's Alex. He turns the light on—you've forgotten how long you've been sitting in the dark until then. You rub your eyes. You can't help but ache, and you're not exactly sure the last time you've eaten. “Knocking is a thing you know, right?” Your voice makes it clear how long you've gone without talking. It's strained and rough. You still don't look behind you, but you hear Alex shuffle closer.

“You're killing yourself, you know. You can't keep staying up for this long.” Alex sounds almost angry. He looks around your office, trying to find a clock, and all he finds is a calendar that's three months and several years behind. “It's been three days.”

“So? What do you care? Doesn't affect you at all.” Your words hurt Alex in a way complicated enough that he doesn't even want to think about it. It does affect him.

“You have no reason to be doing this, you know that.” You could say so much to him. You don't, but you want to. You want to tell him how terrible you feel. You want to tell him that you've wasted your life on everything but what you wanted to do with it—no, it was taken from you. You can't get that time back, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care at all, does he?

“You don't know what it's like. Sleep‘s a damn waste of time.” You spin in your chair just enough to face him, but you can't bring yourself to make eye contact fully. He looks so upset, but you can't tell what way it is. His hands are clenched at his sides. Why can't he get it through your head that this is bad for you? That you're hurting yourself.

“This hurts me too,” he's bordering on yelling now. Alex almost never raises his voice at you. Your head hurts so bad—so much worse than normal. You can't see straight. You aren't sure what to say to him. “What happens when you have an accident because of all this? What then?” You don't know how to tell him you don't care. You know he's talking, but you're not sure what he's saying anymore, but you know he's still talking. You wish he wasn't. You wish he could just go home and live his life and stop wasting his energy on trying to get you to care about your well-being when you've been trained out of it for years.

You aren't sure when, but at some point, Alex had stopped talking. At some point, he just started crying silently and looking down at you with distorted vision cause of the tears sticking to his glasses. His hands are shaking. You wish he didn't care this much. You wish he wasn't hurting himself over you. You finally speak, and you're not sure it comes out right, but you say it anyway.

“I just feel so empty Alex. I really am sorry.” You can't hear your own voice when you speak. You think Alex starts crying harder.

#slenderverse #marble hornets x reader #marble hornets x male reader #alex kralie x male reader #alex kralie x reader #alex kralie x reader angst #alex kralie angst #marble hornets fanfic #marble hornets angst

20 notes · View notes