Adult British (boo) Marble Hornets and FNAF consume me. I don't know how tumblr works and I must live with that. Saving money to move out of an abusive household.
I am but a poor brit, please sir, can I have some more? (money)
Stupid joke aside, Hi! :) I'm currently doing semi emergency comms to help with money for moving out of my current house with my abusive mother!
If you can comm me, that'd be great! If you could reblog, that'd be cool too! If you just wanna scroll, I hope you have a good rest of your day, thank you anyway :)
I forgot what else I was going to say so here we are 😅
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Ships/Characters: Brim (active relationship.) Brian Thomas. Tim Wright.
Tags/TWs: angst. Character study??? Kinda??? Written in like,, Tim's thoughts. Lots of metaphors.
POV if applicable: Tims
---
He was a sharp edge. Tim knew this, he always had. But he was surrounded by smooth curves now that had him questioning on how he was going to fit, having never had to ask the question before.
He looked around the room and it looked beautiful with the sun soon to rise.
He looked beautiful, a sun soon to rise.
Tim's hand rubbed across the opposites shoulder in a form of comfort that didn't fully work but at least made him a bit warmer, top thrown off so he wasn't too warm too sleep. Yet here he was, still awake with the suns rising. He looked behind him and there was the sun, hard to look at for too long without getting burned but still soft, still bright and wanted.
He had asked Tim, about three weeks ago, the dreaded question.
‘Will you be my boyfriend?’
It replayed in his mind. Every stare, every whisper, every shine from the sun, it replayed in his mind.
In the comfort he'd found in night and in the smoke that soothed him during long shoots and in the smirk he would often flash to Alex when he was annoyed at Tim, it replayed.
He was not a curve. He was not a sun. At the most he could see himself as the moon, selfishly squandering the suns light and claiming it as its own so it to can be loved. And it did work, sometimes. People would tell him he seemed cool, he seemed fun (Tim had to not laugh, Brian could tell and elbowed him with an eyeroll. Tim knew he didn't see why that was funny to Tim.) And Tim let them.
The moon, selfish and squandering and alone despite the millions of stars around it.
He looked away from Brian, not quite looking at the wall, not quite the floor, there, willing but forced.
The stars whispered. They yelled to, told him he was weird and sick looking, told him he shouldn't be so close with the sun and Tim could only agree. But the sun stayed anyway, holding him close and making him feel the warmth it admitted, forcing him to relax in its hold and tell it whatever it wanted to know- secrets he had sworn to tell no one.
And the sun stayed. He seized and coughed and bled and screamed and clawed at walls no longer white but still suffocating and punched and kicked and even got the sun caught in the cross fire as it tried to protect him from his own hands and it stayed, touch burning him but needed so desperately.
The sun stayed. And so the moon did to, pulled into its gravitational force and kept there by it’s brightness.
How could he say no, really? After everything- he owed him so much.
And as he thought he frowned because he made the sun sound like some villain. Something he hated.
He loved Brian. He loved Brian more than words or metaphors or actions could say. If the chance came, he would always choose Brian to save over himself. If he had to protect Brian, he would. If the sun told him to sit and let him hold him, the moon obeyed. Because Tim loved Brian. And he had said yes, to the repeating question. He had said yes and of course and here they were, in a room full of curved edges. In a life full of it.
A perfectly good student, a great looking guy. Friends, grades, hobbies, boyfriend.
Brian was not Tim's sun because he was perfect. Brian was Tim's sun because deep down, Tim knew he would burn Brian out, not made for the average life the other had.
He wouldn't even do it on purpose. He never did. But Tim knew what he was. A sharp edge. And a knife in a room of balloons could only go so far before it popped one.
Tim was waiting for the pop. Brian was not. But Tim knew it was coming, holding his hands near his ears, ready to cover them when the balloon gets too close to the sharp blade.
He had told Brian, pointed to the balloons and pointed to the knife and begged him to take the knife out of the room, to save them both the harm…but Brian had persisted and now Tim loved him. And he was going to ruin his life. He always had.
He sighed and put his face in his hands and wished he wasn't the way he was, but wishing rarely did much good.
When he did break Brian's life- (if, Brian would deny, Tim wouldn't correct him. He knew Brian wouldn't believe him.) He still had to be in this stupid film Brian had convinced him to join. (He bats his eyes and Tim doesn't even think, he swears. Brian teased him for it after. Tim was just surprised to actually get into the film but…then he saw the entire script and it made more sense.)
So Tim would still be fucking stuck around Brian, ruining him more and more just by existing.
He jerked as a hand was placed on his back, too stuck in his own head to hear any movement. He looked behind him and there was that smile. Brian had a signature smile, a big grin that put everyone to ease, but then he had this other one, just for Tim, Tim liked to imagine, soft and warm and begging him to come closer. Accompanied with bedhead and that glint of concern so often in his eyes when he saw Tim, Tim could almost believe it was worth cutting the balloons.
“Hey, you ok?”
Tim nodded softly, clearing his throat. “Yeah, just was too warm.” He spoke soft, like there were parents outside they had to keep quiet from waking up. (Not that he had ever had that experience, the last time he saw his mother he was a child hearing about how she just ‘couldn't do it’ from a nurse while his mother glared to her side, refusing to look at him.)
Tim couldn't tell if Brian believed him but if he didn't, he pretended to anyway. “Oh, want the fan on?”
“You can't afford to have the fan on, Bri.” Tim teased. Not entirely untrue, he was the only one in their friend group working. Still, Brian let out a dramatic gasp.
“You backstabber!” He wrapped his arms around Tim's waist and pulled him on top of him and Tim made a surprised noise and tried to shift, scared of crushing Brian but the hands kept him near.
“This is your punishment now.”
Tim raised a brow. “Cuddles?”
A serious nod. “Yep.”
Tim rolled his eyes fondly and sighed, resting his head on Brian's shoulder and nuzzling into the crook of his neck, warm breath blowing across it as he breathed.
“Seriously, you ok?”
Balloons, popping in worry. The first stages, doubt.
Or just a concerned boyfriend.
Tim let out an airy chuckle. “I'm sure, Bri, deep breaths, we'll be OK.”
He felt the deep breath that his boyfriend did, indeed take and knew Brian would let himself belive the comfort for a little while.
“it's too early be up.” Brian commented and Tim hummed. “Alex wants us shooting in like…four hours. Well you.”
Brian groaned at the mention of the director and filming and wrapped his legs around his partner. “why is it always me?”
Tim chuckled. “because you're the star.”
That made his partner smile and laugh. “I am the star.”
“What would he do without you?”
“Have no star, I assume. I am the only one who auditioned.”
“Oh please, the character is literally called Brian, he was always going to give it to you.” Tim let his eyes droop some as they spoke, relaxing into the suns warm embrace as he always had before.
“Hey, your character is named after you to!”
“That was after I auditioned! All that proves is Alex is a lazy bastard!”
Brian laughed and Tim could melt.
“Tim! Don't talk about him like that.”
“Whatever.” Tim mumbled contently and there was silence for a moment.
“Y’know that does mean we can get at least three hours more sleep.” Brian tried.
“If you're late one more time Alex might kill you.” Tim joked and Brian snorted.
“Fine. Then can we go watch the sunset? It has only just started!”
Tim looked up (rookie move) and Brian was staring down at him with puppy dog eyes.
He sighed and sat up. “OK, OK, c’mon then. I'll make us breakfast after.”
He looked around for his top and heard the hiss of a ‘yesss’ as Brian fist bumped the air and started getting up to. He smiled, faced away from his sun.
Brian put his shoes on and Tim put on his top, shoes and a tan jacket he had been wearing more recently. Brian insisted on bringing his blanket, dragging it along on his shoulders and Tim didn't tell him no because why would he?
They climbed the stairs to the rooftop of the student accommodation, lock having been broken and never replaced years ago and sat behind the rails on the top of the roof. (Brian had started to climb on top of them for god knows what reason, Tim had shut that down fast.)
Brian covered Tim with half the blanket and Tim put his head on Brian's shoulder and it was peace.
The best peace he'd get.
Balloons, unaware and unwilling to see the knife.
Curved edges waiting to be sharped.
The moon and the sun.
And peace. If only for now.
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> Want a story like this? I take writing comms!:) DM with a purple heart at the start of your message to start discussing details!!!
Ships/characters: polyhornets (no current relationships but crushes). Tim Wright, Alex Kralie, eventual minor Jay and Brian.
Tags/TWs: intoxication + kissing while intoxicated, angst??fluff???, unrequited love kinda, Tim thinks Alex thinks the kiss is nothing and Tim thinks it might be something. Kiss your homies👍.
POV if applicable: Tims
---
He doesn't really know when they started drinking or who offered it. Waiting for the other two and not amazingly certain with each other despite the few months they'd been friends now, it was an offer took up readily.
The beer wasn't the best but they were college students and last Tim knew, people didn't drink for the taste. They weren't drunk but they were certainly tipsy by now, laughing at- well Tim couldn't quite remember, did it matter? They were laughing, backs pressed against the music room wall, Alex closest to the door and they were laughing. It was nice, it was good. They'd been sat there a while waiting for Brian and Jay to arrive. It seemed it was always Alex and Tim waiting for Brian and Jay.
And they were laughing and then there was this moment of silence. This buzzing peace.
And then Alex kissed him, hand on his shirt pulling him in. And then Alex shifted in front of him, one knee either side of one of his legs and Tim found himself kissing back, pulling Alex a bit closer and it was a screaming peace and then Alex pulled away.
They stared at each other, breath heavy and Tim could tell really. That it hadn't meant as much to Alex. That it hadn't meant to Alex. Just some fun, really, wasn't it? Because Alex obviously liked Jay and Tim obviously liked Brian.
There was a knock on the door and Alex clumsily got up to go answer and Tim knew it was just a bit of fun, really. But his heart beat and his face flushed and some part of him wished it was more.
But then Brian was in the room, laughing at Tim's red face, probably assuming it was from the alcohol and Jay came in with Alex's arm around him and it was forgotten as the two joined them.
Because it was just a bit of fun, really. And Tim knew it wouldn't be more even if he wanted it to be.
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> Want a story like this? I take writing comms!:) DM with a purple heart at the start of your message to start discussing details!!!
Ships/Characters: can be seen as Jam, can not be! Tim Wright, Jay Merrick, The Operator.
Tags/TWs: angst. talked of/implier physical + mental abuse to child Tim by the hospital staff, the operator is an abusive evil prick, unhealthy dynamics(the operator sees Tim as something to control, a puppet rather than a person. Something that is his.), depersonalisation (tim is referred to as 'it')
POV if applicable: Tims kinda
---
“Isn't it horrible what they've done to you?”
The child's soft sniffs and hiccups pause only to look up at the creature looming above.
“You know you should really fight back.”
The child knew it wasn't a suggestion. It shook its head anyway, sniffling. “Can't. I'll get in trouble.” A voice so meek was rare for the little one but it had ran out or bite for now.
“Says who?”
“Says them.”
The creature chuckled. The child didn't see the comedy in the forming bruises on its legs. He loves climbing. They'd say.
“They do not control you, child, I do.”
“No one controls me.” the child frowned and the creature did not take it to heart. “Why did you do it then?”
A clawing feeling in its stomach.
“Do what?”
“Do you not even remember it, Timothy? You truly are a monster.” A laugh. Louder and cruel. Screams. The child turned its upper body quickly where it was sat but there was only a wall behind it though, now it was looking… “Timothy. Pay attention.” A few clicks had it looking back at the faceless tormentor. It swallowed.
“Do what?” It repeated, somehow louder and more unsure. It didn't want the answer. But it asked anyway.
“The ‘accident’, of course.” The creatures head tilted, quick enough to make a snapping noise. The child could practically see the creatures grin.
“I don't…-”
“No, of course you don't, my child. But you will soon. Don't worry, I have you now. And you're never getting free.”
The very idea, the absolute confidence, sent a chill up the child's spine. The room shifted and began to crumble and the child shot to its feet but it was suddenly falling, the creatures laughter distorting into static.
He was shook awake and he knew he was outside. He knew the feel of grass by now. He blinked slowly and looked up and there was a nurse, blonde and melting with a concerned expression, fire still raging behind them. But he blinked and it was Jay. Jay Merrick. Just Jay, looking at him with enough concern to make him melt. “I-” He shallows the dryness that sticks to his words, coughing into his fist some before retrying. “I'm fine, Jay. Sorry if I woke you.”
Jay shook his head. “It's ok.” He whispers as if there was anyone to wake other than them, laying carefully beside Tim. “why are you out here?”
Tim looked near their feet where the tent was, taking a moment before he looked at Jay, bonfire dying behind him. “uh- I don't know. Think I just…Fell asleep.” He mumbled. He'd been sat by the fire and just…got lost in a distant memory. Or was it a dream? Now he was trying to remember it there was a struggle, his best response static that was hard to focus on and the beginning of a headache.
Jay gave a soft hum. “Well, you should come inside the tent. It's probably better for you and it's definitely more comfortable.”
Tim watched the fire behind Jay for a moment. Jay gave him the time. Soon Tim gave a sort of grunt of agreeance and let Jay get up and help him up to, the soft hands in his own leading him to the tent the comfort he needed.
He missed them when he pulled away to finish off the fire but he knew they'd soon be back, clung onto his shirt like he was their saviour.
Maybe he was.
He could feel the disappointment from the trees at the end of the embers. He walked to the tent and found he didn't care. He wasn't that things monster anymore. Maybe he never was.
So why was it still grinning?
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> Want a story like this? I take writing comms!:) DM with a purple heart at the start of your message to start discussing details!!!
Ships: you can see it as Timlex or as platonic or whatever you want, I'm not your boss. Tim Wright. Alex Kralie. Brian's mentioned bc Tim has attachment problems.
Tim looked around the room, stood practically in the middle of it as he listened to the footsteps behind him.
He'd been here…maybe three times since he had met Alex. Honestly, if they hung out it was usually at Tim and Brian's. They seemed to have their shit together the best dorm wise.
Tim found that humorous because he would fail in any other regard of a ‘shit together’ contest.
He cleared his throat and looked up at his friend.
(is that what they were? He still didn't really know what a ‘friend’ was. It had always been him and Brian. And then him, Brian and Brian's friends. But it had been months. They were getting closer to actually filming Marble Hornets… and yes. Maybe these people were his friends to now.) Alex leant against the doorframe, raising a brow at him with a smile. “What?”
He hated that.
Others were so good at understanding him. Brian was the best. Brian always understood. But the others were good at it to. At understanding his furrowing eyebrows and never stopping eyes and twitching fingers.
Sometimes he felt like an abused dog, watching and waiting for the next movement. Imagining movements when they didn't come. Imagining things to bark at.
“You uh-your bed.”
He waved a hand to it, other hand gripping the backpack on his shoulder.
Bed was a stretch of the word depending on who you ask. It was a mattress. A mattress that didn't even have a sheet on. The rest of the room was a bit messy but Tim always looked back at the bed when he visited. It was wrong. Even when he was in the hospital his mattress had a sheet…he thought. Most things about that place were blurry.
“Yeah? What about it?” Alex shrugged and headed past Tim, to his desk, sitting at it. The editing app was still up on it despite the fact Tim had been here ten minutes already. (An awkward ten minutes, he wasn't too sure how to…human without Brian near. Or even with him near somedays.)
Tim didn't think Alex would be the one editing Marble hornets and they hadn't…filmed anything yet anyway except b-roll. (Tim assumed that meant background stuff. He wasn’t doing film but was too embarassed ask.) But he didn't comment.
“It doesn't have a sheet.”
Yes. That was the main problem.
Alex shrugged.
Tim gave a slow nod and sigh. “Do you have sheets?”
Alex shrugged again. “I mean, probably, somewhere.” his tone was dismissive and it reminded Tim somewhat of all the adults around him that used the same tone…but Alex said it differently still. Alex was different.
“Right.”
“When are the other two getting here?”
Tim shrugged. Alex didn't see, back to him. Whatever he was editing was dark. Not that Tim was very interested in it anyway.
“Bri said like…ten more minutes last I checked. Him and Jay got caught in traffic.” Tim didn't remember why Brian was bringing Jay but oh well. What did Tim remember? Even now.
Alex gave a hum to say he had heard.
Tim sighed. OK. He couldn't deal with this. He put his bag on the floor, opening it up and taking out a sheet.
It was a bulky backpack, Alex had asked why he had brought it and Tim said something about it having everything he needed and he had something after this. (It was a sleepover. He didn't.)
Ok, so maybe he had been planning this kind of. He was often called the mother of the group. He thought it a dumb title. Sarah thought it hilarious every time she called it him. He liked Sarah. He didn't complain.
He got to work, taking everything off the mattress before putting a cover and sheets over it. He put covers over Alex's pillows (he saw them in the store, covers themed over some character he remembered Alex ranting about one day) and set up the bed, even adding a new, soft blanket (same theme).
Alex didn't seem to notice until he was sorting out the pillows, looking over and frowning. “Tim, you don't have to do all-”
“Too bad. Doing it.”
Alex paused.
“I really don't care.”
“Well I do. If we're gonna be friends, you're gonna have a comfy bed to lay in with sheets n shit. I'm not gonna let you be uncomfy in your own bed because you don't have the energy to-”
“I have the energy-”
“-do this yourself.”
Tim looked over at Alex and Alex looked back.
Tim put the last pillow down.
Alex sighed.
“You're a dick.” If Tim noticed the emotion in Alex's voice, he didn't say so.
“love you too.”
Before either of them could let that sink in, could question why Tim sounded like he meant it with everything in him even as soft as he said it, there was a knock.
Tim got up, straightening his back.
“I'll get it. I don't know why they haven't just come in.”
Alex looked down at the bed at Tim left, taking it the soft sheets and smiling softly as he recognised the character he had mentioned to Tim once.
He looked back at his computer.
A long figure was at his door. Watching.
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
> Want a story like this? I take writing comms!:) DM with a purple heart at the start of your message to start discussing details!!!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Characters/Ships: Tim's Wright, Brian Thomas. You can take it as platonic, romantic or whatever else you want.
Tags/TWs: seizure aftermath, emetophobia. Tim is implied as having chronic pain at least. Hurt/comfort.
POV if applicable: kinda Tim
---
Tim woke up not sure where he was, whole body aching, so tired. But that was usual. Days he felt rested or pain free- no matter both- were so far and few they would shock him. He had grown used to pain, laughed when people asked if he was OK if he groaned or grumbled about it. Not cruely. It just felt so odd..to think people didn't feel this way.
While in pain, he did feel comfortable.
It was something new he was getting used to- living somewhere where he could wake up feeling comfortable. It had only been two months since he and Brian moved into a dorm together and he now woke up feeling comfortable most days.
But it wasn't day, he could tell by the shadows on the wall and ceiling. It was around 4 PM. He had remembered waking up already, going about his day…and now he was here. Head in someone's lap and on the floor. Comfortable but this dread set deep in his chest, made him feel a bit sick. Because he had woken up already. And now it was 4 PM and he was on the floor with his head in someone's lap.
There was this soft touch moving his hair around, raking through it but never touching his scalp with much pressure, like the fingers were scared to press against his actual body, scared to touch him like he was an already broken bowl, waiting to be put down a bit too harshly and smash in bits.
Tim felt like he was already in bits most of the time…all the other perfect bowls staring as the human tried to eat his cereal out of the broken bits on the counter anyway, not saying a word when the bits dug into his mouth until he was a bit broken to.
Not that it was only the bowls fault for the humans breaking.
Soft noise was coming from above, just behind where he could see. Soft hums of a song from a movie he had been forced to watch the night before but couldn't quite place in this haze. Not that he cared much about what the voice was humming.
He would know that voice anywhere, would know this touch, this lap.
Home.
The voice was soft and gentle, an air of calmness that Tim had never dared to even hope to achieve-the voice of someone who didn't have to wake up like this. The voice of someone who didn't understand and wouldn't…but stayed anyway. And Tim knew the voice had made his comments, he thinks it just…happens when people don't understand…but Tim had made worse comments, even if it was often because of his cracks…(or to save the voice from the cracks. But the sun had never obeyed anyone but itself, stubborn in its burning.) And the voice had stayed. Gentle, soft, there. Even when concerned. Even when raised.
There.
No matter what.
Some days that's all Tim needed.
And he knew the voice needed it to even as it laced its worry with a chipper tone meant to soothe but would sometimes only cause unease.
He gave a soft grunt as a sharp pin of pain came into his head, hand pressing to his forehead like it would stop the pain inside his skull.
It did not.
The humming stopped. The touch stopped.
Tim wished he hadn't moved.
“Good morning, moonshine. The earth says hello.”
He could hear the grin even before his eyes traveled up, meeting Brian's.
The boy had his phone in his right hand, left hand in Tim's hair. His hair was fluffy, he'd been in the shower before- yes, he'd just got out the bathroom, dressed but hair just a bit damp still, Tim had been in the bedroom-
Tim groaned again at more pain and lugged his body to the side. Brian knowingly brought a bowl closer to Tim as he was sick, though it was more blood and saliva and not much anyway, he didn't exactly have much in his body to force out today. Or most days. Days just seemed to slip by too fast recently even with Brian's reminders and alarms.
He took a few deep breaths, pulling his face at the smell. It seemed it hadn't been the only time he'd been sick since he woke up according to the bowl. (even if his memory was failing him as it often did, the bowl had some proof.) Brian moved the bowl away again and grabbed his towel, dropped on the floor when he had had to catch Tim earlier. He wiped Tim’ mouth gently, far too gently for what Tim deserved, he could imagine Brian’s nail digging into the corner of his mouth, forcing blood to trickle down. He wanted it. But he knew it wouldn't come. Not from any hands but his own nowadays.
“It's starshine, Brian, starshine.” He grumbled out as he let himself go backwards, back to laying on his back, head on Brian’s lap. Brian let out an oof at the sudden weight.
“Yeah but you're more like the moon.”He defended. "When did you become the man of movie knowledge anyway?"
Tim looked up at him. Brian was facing away from the window but the light was still hitting him so right. Tim had never seen lighting-or anything for that matter- make Brian look wrong. If he felt any better he might've laughed at the last comment.
“If I'm the moon you're the sun and I'm just stealing your light.”
“Shut up.”
Silence stretched for a few seconds, Tim waiting, Brian putting off.
“You had a seizure.”
“Yeah.”
Eye contact was shared, concerned eyes looking into eyes that they knew had given up.
Brian couldn't change that. They'd been like that long before Brian met them, Tim's eyes. Like everything wrong with him bored them. Like Tim knew the bowl was broken. Like he knew that one day Brian wouldn't be able to handle the bits of broken ceramic cutting his cheek…but would continue to eat anyway, ever stubborn.
The eyes looked away. Brian's stayed but Tim's never could. So Brian looked away to.
“have you-”
“It doesn't. do. anything, Brian. Nothing does anything. I'm just.. like this.”
Brian frowned. A hand went to Tim's shoulder.
Tim sighed and sat up. Too fast for Brian's liking. Tim was always too fast. Alex would complained the opposite often when on set. But Tim didn't even know him yet.
He sat so his back was against the end of the bed. Brian sat at his side. He looked over at Tim. Tim looked forward.
The question of why Brian never left crossed both their thoughts. More often than Brian would ever admit. More often than Tim verbalized.
“How long was I-?” he didn't finish. He didn't need to. A lot of things were unspoken between the two. Even when they weren't like this. Even when they were smiling. He just waved a hand-uncaring, unfeeling. But Brian knew better. Even if Tim often hated him for it.
“I almost called an ambulance.”
Tim gave a slow nod and a soft hum when Brian didn't react to that.
Brian watched him.
“Tim, let me in.”
Eye contact again. Seconds. Nothing.
Tim looked back at the wall. Brian's gaze stayed.
Sometimes Tim could pretend the feeling of eyes on him was just Brian.
“Saw some things again.”
Some things. He thought of the figure- haunting him as long as he could remember- but it blurred in his memory. The trees around it, the grass and the leaves- that all was clear. But that figure always blurred. Haunting him all his life and he could never remember what it looked like…but he knew what it wanted. He knew the bloody knuckles and screams and dread it adored.
He wouldn't be like that again. Wouldn't be sent back to the hospital. He couldn't be anyway, not anymore.
He didn't turn his head.
Flames flickered in the corners of his vision. The smell of burning and dust and the far off screams of adults. The pressure of a figure he obeyed but never understood, watching.
“OK. Wanna talk about it?”
He wanted to do anything but.
But Brian had never been one to give up in the time he had known him.
“All I'm ever gonna be is this.”
Brian softened. Because that wasn't what either of them knew he had meant. But it was needed all the same. Because not even he could get into Tim Wright's head most days.
“Yeah. But…you can get better. It can get easier. We'll get through it.”
A laugh that wasn't quite his own threatened to bubble out.
We.
We'll.
Like Brian had just had a seizure. Like Brian had just thrown up. Like Brian was…
But sometimes Tim wondered. Brian would seem off. Or come out the bathroom wiping his mouth. And Tim wondered, Tim knew. But did nothing.
And Brian was there.
He looked over at him, eyes taking in every feature of his face, every pigment.
Brian was there.
And Tim knew he always would be. If Tim liked it or not.
He looked out their window and he knew it was out there. Watching. He could feel the imitation of a smile. He knew it was amused by Brian, by Tim. Tim understood why.
He looked back at Brian.
“Yeah. We’ll get through it.”
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> Want a story like this? I take writing comms!:) DM with a purple heart at the start of your message to start discussing details!!!
Ships/Characters: N/A. Masky + Hoodie (family relationship), vague Jay, Operator and Alex, Tim mentioned
Tags/TWs: animalistic behaviour and metaphors, depersonilisation, Masky gets called stuff like pet/creature, Hoodie orders Masky around and Masky 'obeys', I write in the thoughts of my characters and do not share their opinions, Tim/Masky are a system, unhealthy dynamics really
POV if applicable: Maskys
Italics are the twins taking in sign beside like once
---
A finger pointed to show him what the other wanted him to see and nothing more. He was used to seeing only what the other wanted him to.
Cautious hands that should not be on the ground stretched and aching legs, one aching much more than the other, followed so he could move closer to the other, see what he was pointing at.
The figure stood in the window, watching, waiting. Maybe for them. They could hide but neither of them were very scared of the figure at the moment. He was just a man. They were more. He could watch, if he even could see.
Maybe it wasn't them he was watching for.
A low growl came from him, testing, asking and the other shifted his foot, just a bit, to kick at the ground. A reply only he could understand.
They only had each other. Only them. They understood each other because no one else would. No one else could. The Twins.
They had many titles, too many, he had never cared for them. He would answer to basically anything except one.
The other had called it him once, near the start. He was confused then. Didn't know. He had quickly corrected at his partners reply to the name.
The other accepted Hoodie as a name now. Simple. And he himself had settled on Masky being the most used named for him.
He didn't need a name to receive commands and therefore did not care for them. Whatever worked.
Hoodie started to move, started to walk and he was quick to follow, four limbs pushing him along, slow and aching but right. Hoodie knew better than to correct him for now so it continued.
A hiss came through chapped lips and his brother paused, looking over.
Masky shook his hand while a sound not quite a growl and not quite a grumble escaped him until a thorn fell back down to the dirt below and he didn't need to see his brothers face or have a voice he didn't know to speak up to hear the I told you so.
Eyes glared through the holes in white plastic and his brother sighed, starting to walk again.
Masky went to follow, hands still on the ground and Hoodie clicked, making an upwards motion. Unhappy with the verdict but ever obedient, Masky stood, walking beside his brother the way humans were meant to.
As they got nearer the door to the building, still half heartedly hidden by shrubbery, Hoodie put a hand out to stop his companion. Masky stopped. A gloved hand made a symbol only he and Hoodie understood.
Jay was here. He looked around aimlessly before a finger led his sight once more.
Jay. In the bushes. He tilted his head, looking up to the house and watching him walking out of it, trash bags in hand. It felt too human. Too normal. The figure didn't deserve it. Masky would not call him his name because he did not deserve that right either.
Watch? His eyes went back to his brother. His brother thought for a moment before nodding. Watch. See.
Masky grazed a hand over Hoodie's, gripping a camera probably a bit too tightly.
Hoodie's hand moved away.
No filming then. Just watching.
They watched Jay sneak into the house, an idiot, slow and something…someone in Masky stirred when he wasn't out by the time Alex was in the house. Get Out. Be Safe. Not his thoughts but the person they belonged to would not even remember this when he woke up.
It appeared. Sudden, as always. Demanding. He took a step back automatically, hand going around his brother's wrist but his brother did not run…so neither did he.
Watching. Seeing.
The being disappeared and the twins knew where it had gone. Light flew around the ceiling and walls inside and it wasn't long until Jay ran out.
The figure did not.
They had expected that.
But Jay had ruined it. They could not attack now. Not with it in there with the figure.
He was just a man. They were not. It was not.
His brother seemed annoyed, turning and walking off, expecting and knowing he would follow after like a puppy dog wondering where its owner was going.
Because that's exactly what Masky was.
Later. Next time. Masky tried to soothe, speed walking to keep up with his brother's annoyed steps despite the pain it caused.
Always later. Always next time. And Masky could not argue with that.
Eventually. Jay will-
Jay will die.
Masky stopped and Hoodie didn't take long to stop with him, looking back at him.
Masky had always been good at making Hoodie feel bad. He looked like a kicked puppy right now.
Was it because he had said Jay would die and Masky was upset by that? Was the idea that the person Masky seemed so sure was their Saviour would fail? Especially given to him by Hoodie, who he has always hung onto with a trust no one could match…
Masky.
He did not move, staring.
Masky. Sterner this time, not with words but understood because Masky moved then, going over to him and kneeling in front of him.
Hoodie wished he wouldn't. This was what Masky needed, craved, what made him live. Hoodie wished it wasn't sometimes, even when Masky was useful to his plans.
He motioned once again for Masky to stand and his partner did.
We will stop this. We still have…him. Jay will lead us to the ark and we will end this.
Masky gave a nod.
He didn't want Tim involved, having a relationship with him that he couldn't explain anymore than he could explain himself and Hoodie…but he was a last resort. He knew how to handle the Operator. He was strong. Strong enough. But he was a last resort.
Jay could do this. Could lead them to the ark, could free them.
Come on. Stay?
Masky walked in line with Hoodie once more and he gave a nod. It wasn't too often he would stay in control when not actively following orders- when not actively needed by Hoodie to do what Tim and Brian could not. But he could stay. He would stay tonight.
It wasn't often his brother asked.
Masky didn't call Hoodie his brother out loud often. The animal rode a fine line of knowing his brother wants him near but assuming he doesn't want anything but the strength and obedience Masky provides despite the proof that says otherwise. Needed not wanted- he was used to it, unlike Timothy. He had so much..feeling for Hoodie and they understood each other better than anyone else could ever understand him yet the belief that someone would want more than his sharp fangs was a bit too impossible to believe.
They soon got to the small hut they were using as a base for now. Masky wouldn't say it might've well had no walls, they did something against the weather but it was very little. Alex-The Figure. Watching. Ready. Teeth always bared but small compared to Masky's own. Compared to Tims even.- knew about Brian's home thanks to Jay so here they must stay for now, changing locations every now and then as to not be found once more.
Glass crunched under their boots and Masky didn't hesitate to practically fall to sit on the blankets laid out in a makeshift bed.
He could feel Hoodies scowl as he crumpled the ‘bed’ so he fixed it, wiping away any debris or dirt.
That must've been good enough for his twin for he left Masky alone, sitting nearer the pillows and grabbing a computer he used to edit the videos they made. Masky looked over curiously but did not interfere, doing his job and keeping watch, protecting, staring at the door.
It was too dark to see, really, but his brother trusted him to anyway. He looked over after what must've been an hour at least and his brother was still typing away so Masky moved, going to the opposite corner of the room and rummaging through a bag before he pulled out two water bottles and some trail mix. Not the best but what they could get in the time they had- which was never enough.
He walked back over to his brother who had not looked over since the screen had first took his attention and sat beside him, pressing the bottle into his hand. Hoodie looked up and wished to growl, to tell Masky no, but Masky did growl in return. Hoodie gave into Masky not because he couldn't harm, but because he wouldn't. Not Masky. Plus, Masky had forced the water down his throat before and he did not want an experience like that one once more.
He drank and ate the food pressed into his hand and Masky took his own sips and bites as he fed him. If he was the hand that commanded, Masky was the hand that fed, taking turns being the owner rather than the pet, both equals yet never quite equal. The Twins.
The food and drink was soon gone and Masky tapped the bed twice. Hoodie's eyes narrowed as he motioned to his computer and Masky shook his head. They stared at each other, a stand off, but eventually Hoodie gave in, saving his work and closing the laptop, laying.
When the warmth of Masky curled up near him did not come he looked up and over near the door, where his companion stood.
Masky looked back at him at the shift of the blankets.
?
Masky shook his head. He would keep watch. He would keep Hoodie safe, always.
Hoodie didn't need him to keep him safe tonight, so he motioned to the spot in front of him.
Masky raised a brow.
Let me protect you this time. There was an air of desperation in that notion that they both knew better than to mention.
Masky was a good pet. He would always listen to his owner. Especially when Hoodie seemed to need it.
He walked over and lay, neither taking off their shoes to do so, there wasn't time for that when you could wake up to static. A hand went around his waist and he let Hoodie pull him a bit nearer, sighing contently. His mask was uncomfortable, digging into him from where the side of his head rest against his arm. He made no move to remove it. This was the best he got- just him and Hoodie. Today hadn't been on of their best but it was enough. It was each other. And that's all they needed.
In the morning he would be gone, unable to keep Tim away forever. Unwilling to. But Hoodie knew how to get him back when they needed it.
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> Want a story like this? I take writing comms!:) DM with a purple heart at the start of your message to start discussing details!!!
Jay wakes up in a bed with Tim next to him, arm around him loosely, breath on his neck.
He knows it's not a hotel. On the ceiling there are glow in the dark stars, in the corner of his eye a keyboard.
It's Tim's room in this new house they had for god knows what reason because having a house, sharing a bed out of want rather than need felt so…normal.
Sometimes he woke up in Alex's bed instead, head on his chest, Alex holding him near until he had to comfort the other from a dream neither of them knew was good or bad. But more often than not Tim would narrow his eyes at Alex and you could practically hear a growl or bark despite the fact Tim would say nothing and Alex would back off, heading to his room alone.
It had been one of those nights. And now he was waking up. But it was still dark outside. The streetlamp just outside illuminated the room just enough to see the figure above him, standing closer to his legs than head.
It's hands were raised, shaking from the shifting glint of the knife in them. Jay tensed immediately, pushing up on one elbow. Tim gave a soft grumble but didn't wake up and Jay didn't care if he did right now.
“Alex?”
His eyes were hollow, like they had been..like they kept being. But Jay said his name and he blinked and his friend was back, dropping the knife and ignoring how it clattered on the ground and shaking some. “I'm sorry- I'msorryi'msorryi'msorry-” it was whispered, frantic, tears building up.
He didn't even have his glasses on.
Jay carefully got out of the loose hold Tim had on him and stepped around the knife. “Hey, hey it's ok, it was just a dream. Sleep walking, you're fine, Alex.”
Alex sunk to curl up against the wall, gripping his hair and staring at the ground. He was a shaking leaf, not even due to the t shirt and shorts he was wearing. Jay chose to ignore the jacket he was wearing, the same one from when he- Tim had demanded he throw it out, Jay had said Tim should throw out his mask first and that was the end of that fight.
“It's ok, Al, it's over. C'mon. Why don't I take you bed?”
Alex didn't seem any more ok at the comfort but he nodded to the request and let Jay help him up.
Jay would wake up in Tim's bed, most often than not. But he always seemed to end up in Alex's.
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> Want a story like this? I take writing comms!:) DM with a purple heart at the start of your message to start discussing details!!!
Fandom/AU: Marble Hornets - The Three Years Before S1
Ships/Characters: Amylex. Save me Amylex. (Alex Kralie, Amy Walters)
Tags/TWs: none. Fluff!!! Angst in the last paragraph.
POV if applicable: Alex's kinda
---
“Alex!”
He laughed, not daring to look over at the eyes he could see staring at him from the corner of his own, head shaking some in amusement. “whatttt?!”
“just one picture! You promised!” He had, in fact, promised they'd take a picture this date. They didn't really have any of them since…
She clung to his arm, hand intertwined with his own and matching plastic on their wrists touching and he knew if he looked over he would see perfection and cave. “what are you even going to do with it?!” He looked at his phone instead, looked at a message he had yet to reply to because he was on this date.
“keep it!” the girl next to him insisted and he sighed and rolled his eyes, a betraying chuckle escaping him, letting her know he was not truly annoyed at her- he rarely was.
“keep it where?” “on my phone!”
He looked over finally, saw her grinning up at him with those blue eyes and blonde hair, pulled back in two sections into small braids he'd done for her, rest falling down below her shoulders.
Perfection. And he caved.
“Okkkkk, only because you won't leave me alone unless we do.” He joked and she whooped in success, standing up straight to jump happily. He watched her, fond and loving and only took their hands apart to shorten the lives of some flowers and carefully put them in her braids- which she stilled for.
“OK. Over here then? What pose are we doing this time?” He joked. Most of their interactions were Amy showing him something other couples were doing- cute photos, date ideas, matching mugs. He didn't mind- seeing her smile was worth anything.
“Ooo I saw this really cute one with shadows!”
“So we're not even going to be in it?!” He laughed.
“Our shadows will be!”
“Well- yeahhh-”
“Yeah! So come over here-” and he does, following her lead. “And see? The grass here is perfect for this, ooo! Awww our shadows look so cute- they're in love!”
“That's because we're in love, Amy.” Fond. Loving. Looking at her like she was the world and all the stars surrounding it.
She giggled. “Shut up, you never let me have anything, Alex Kralie!”
He laughed and just stood where she wanted him, getting his camera ready on his phone.
She took his hand and looking at their shadows, it was a cute idea. You could see their bracelets, some of the flowers in her hair, that she was wearing a dress and he a jacket even with the sun.
He took the photo and before she could pull away, kissed her cheek and took another, even managing to take a few more when she squealed and squirmed away while laughing at the sudden kiss. “Bastard! I wasn't ready!” She slapped his arm and he laughed. “For a kiss?!”
“That wasn't a kiss. This is a kiss!” She pulled him in and he certainly wasn't going to stop her, the ‘proper’ kiss lasting a few seconds before Amy slowly pulled away once more.
They watched each other a moment, silent as they took in each other before Amy cleared her throat. “The photo?”
“Oh, yeah.” Alex fumbled a second before he pulled the photos up.
She looked over them, picked her favourite and Alex sent it her. And if one of them became his lockscreen, he never told.
And she wouldn't get to see it again.
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> Want a story like this? I take writing comms!:) DM with a purple heart at the start of your message to start discussing details!!!
Fandom/AU: Marble Hornets/Creepypasta Slendermansion AU (Tim's first few days at the mansion)
Ships/Characters: Brim if you want to believe it. Brian Thomas/Hoodie, Tim Wright/Masky, The Operator/Slenderman, very very very vaguely mentioned creepypasta crew
Tags/TWs: angst, very very very miniscule comfort, animal (canine) metaphors for Tim, implied Tim with DID, confusing writing a bit but it's on purpose
POV if applicable: Tim's/Masky's
---
He's aware he's screaming. He knows he’s screaming. He's aware he's biting. He's aware he's hissing and scratching and yelling and killing. But he's not. Because hands far too soft for how hard they're pushing him down by his wrists are stopping him. He's lurching and jerking and yelling words he can't even comprehend himself, white plastic his only salvation, his only protection and trust.
He doesn't know who he is, doesn't know where he is or the bright lights above him or the wood (secure, not rotten) below him. He doesn't know why he's so warm or where he was before or where he will be. In his jerking and fighting he is getting glimpses of tan and yellow and white walls but not the kind of white walls his brain is telling him is there- white walls he used to be scared of- except he can't remember why.
He does know these hands. These hands holding down his wrists and dealing with every kick to the chest and every futile attempt to escape.
This had been going, happening- on and off and he thinks it's been days. He's not sure. He keeps coming- in and out, in and out- sometimes in the mask, often not if there is a softness below him and he is in a room he is to believe is supposed to be his now. Or maybe the hands?
He doesn't like that. He needs the mask.
The hands that grip and feed and soothe don't understand this. He doesn't think so. Because they try to take it from him all the same. Even as they apologize for it-even as they try to explain. Even as they say they'll give it back or try reference a being he knows he belongs to but doesn't see. He can't quite focus on their face. It's all covered anyway.
He doesn't think it's their choice that it is.
There is this static whenever he awakens. Whenever he starts to fight once more. (He never stops. He has never stopped.) The longer he fights it gets stronger until it gets too much and the darkness is surrounding him once again. As if the source stops finding his yells amusing and gets tired of them- forcing him into silence until the source is in a state for the yells to be amusing once more.
He is on the floor. He knows that. For the first time-or maybe the second or third (he cannot remember anything and the more he thinks, he thinks he's much more an it than a he at all. He only knows otherwise because he swears he's heard the hands holding him down use he for him at some point, talking to the source, always just out of eyesight.)- he is starting to be able to think. Properly think. And the hands seem to know this. Seem to notice how the fighting doesn't become any less animalistic but becomes more confused.
“I know. I know.”
Has a voice been there this whole time?
The hands voice.
He knows it well.
But doesn't know why he knows it.
The hands do not know as they claim to. He knows. He knows he is on the floor. There are stairs (that's where the source stands. Watching. Waiting. Spectating.), not far off and for the first time, he’s realizing that he knows there is something under his head, stopping it from hitting the ground with the full force he was throwing it back at.
A headache was still already present.
People are staring- he can feel them. Even after he hears the hands bark something at the people. He doesn't know what. Does it matter?
He is tired. And slowly stopping his fight. He is losing.
But it's not the statics tired. It’s his own. And it doesn't feel as much like defeat as it should.
His head falls back on the hoodie- he thinks that what it is-but not the hands. So who's? And his breathing is heavy and quick, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that betray and do not really see.
The hands are still speaking.
“I know, I know.”
They say more. He doesn't know what and quite frankly doesn't care what. He has fought, he has done his purpose. But even as he has given up all of him is tense and he knows the hands know it, all of him is ready. Because he has not won. He is not safe.
He will never be safe.
But how does he know that? Who is he? Behind this white plastic that sits too low so he has to tilt his head some to see out of it. Behind eyes that wander and never see, Behind body large but failing him in his only true function. Who is he?
And why does he so often give into the hands when he becomes more lucid?
They hold him, so tight, knowingly, but they're so soft and the voice that accompanies them softens him to, even when he cannot understand it. But one of them has moved and he doesn't notice until it's on the edge of his mask. He hisses and jerks, enough to twist his upper body to the side, to face the front door up on his elbow, but not enough to escape the body sat on his legs, keeping him there.
He was stronger than the body, he knew. But he did not fighting it. And maybe…maybe he wasn't right now. Or maybe he just didn't want to fight this body despite its lies and betrayals.
“Hot…Tim…breathe..off”
Really, he knew the sentence.
‘It's hot and you're crying, Tim, you need to breathe, let me take it off.’
Something close enough to that and he knew but he still doesn't hear. He blinked, slow and tired, still panting like a dog in a desperate attempt for air he knows will never fill him quite enough. Maybe he was one.
Tim.
He knew that name, knew it belonged to him but it still wasn't him. Who was he?
Tim. But only if the hands said so.
His white face was wet and warm, feeling stifled, hot breath coming right back up at him and drifting into his eyes, making his blinking quicken a bit.
But it was safe.
When had he started crying?
The hands tried again. Softer. Slower.
He pushed and it worked in getting the body off his and he scrambled backwards, up on all fours and scrambling around the sofa to get to the corner of the room, where he could see hands, the body.
He knew it. That body, those hands, that mask, that voice.
Everlasting. Ever trying.
He could just feel something to the side of the body. Watching. Amused. Always so amused by his…antics. By his theatrics.
But Tim's focus wasn't on it. It could watch. (He could not stop it. He knew. He knew a lot.)
When the hands were here…his focus was always on them.
The body pushed off the floor where he had shoved it and the body, the hands, must've been laughed at because as it looked up at the amused being beside it, Tim swore he could see a glare even with the red frown hiding the body's true form.
The body came closer, slow and experimental, joined the room he was in.
“Tim.”
Brian.
He knew that was the body's name.
He didn't know when he was told it.
But he knew it.
He did not speak.
Brian didn't seem sure if he could.
He let him wonder. He didn't fully know himself. But he didn't try. The animalistic noises got his meaning across well enough, the bites attempted even through plastic that protected but stopped him. And Brian seemed to understand anyway.
He hated that.
He didn't reply fast enough it seemed, eyes digging into Brian. Finally unmoving.
“Tim.” A bit louder. A step closer.
A hiss.
Brian stopped.
There was a pain in Tim's chest. It wasn't real pain. He knew that. Not the body aching. Well, the body always seemed to ache but he knew the difference.
It was a pain he could not fix. A pain at seeing Brian stop. A pain at seeing Brian. A mourning.
Not even just for Brian. But he couldn't remember whatever or whoever else his body had decided to mourn…he didn't even fully know it was mourning. Not yet.
It burned and hurt and made everything seem so pointless but his fight persisted, always persisted.
“I know.”
Tim blinked. What was he saying it about now?
Then he realized he was howling.
Tears streamed down his face and his voice was betraying him, making a mixture of howls and whimpers instead of sobs and he pawed at the floor, crouched, but the pressure did nothing to stop the pain. Or the tears that made his face far too warm, that made his protection of cheap plastic that never seemed to break a regret.
He fell to his fours again and sobbed, howls coming out weak and pathetic and this was how it always ended- eventually. His body heaved as if he would be sick- like a dog trying to cough something up. But nothing came up. Just more howls that broke the hands that fed.
The static grew for a moment and it only made him howl louder but they were alone now, bar the creature watching. So he had no reason to quieten and wouldn't of anyway.
Everyone else had gone a bit after Tim had entered his corner. But it stayed. Watching. It didn't seem as amused by his howls.
Brian came closer, he thinks, because he's louder when he speaks again. “Tim. Tim, please. Darling.”
The name hurts more and he chokes, starting to cough.
“Tim please.”
He must know Tim has accepted, that he will not fight. Not anymore. Tim had never been able to deny Brian when it mattered. Or often times when it didn't.
The mask is off Tim after that beg and Tim is coughing, harsh but the pain still isn't any worse than the pain deep in him. He wishes it was. Wishes the coughs would consume and end him, put him down finally.
He coughs and coughs and blood is coming out, on the floor, on his hands, down his chin, dripping.
There's a hand on his back, rubbing and patting and there and he coughs.
He coughs until he falls, body giving out, on his side while breathing in harsh rasps in between coughs. His eyes are half lidded, body unable to cope with it all(failing him once again, always failing.) and he can see it’s legs. Long and there and watching. Unamused but joyful. Sick.
His breath is ragged as the coughing stops, long and slow like he's on his death bed.
The animal is still in him. He is still him. But it's too tired. Too tired to even bark. Knowing- knowing it's lost.
Not that it won't try again. Later. When he wakes up in the softness again.
The hand stays. On his back. Another to his hair. He doesn't know where his face- his comfort has gone. He doesn't bother to find out. He stares forward.
There is the voice again. Soft. Assuring. Promising. It must be so tired. He is.
It is humming softly, whispering comfort inbetween it. And Tim knows the song it is humming when not lying to him that things will be OK, that he will be there. But he is barely Tim. And utterly too much Tim.
He is a mutt.
He knows.
The legs that have now disappeared haven't even called it him yet. But he knew his place long before today.
Even if he cannot remember knowing.
He knows the hands know to.
He is a mutt.
He let's them think he is their mutt. (Even as they prefer other terms to mutt, even as they lie once again in futile hope to comfort.)
He let's them think their touch soothes his mind as much as it seems to soothe his body.
He barks for them instead of at them when they ask. He eats when their hands dare to get close to his mouth. He leans against them to sleep, soft yips coming out him as his dreams twist so they know to pet and soothe him again.
Maybe one day he will be their mutt. He knows he thought he was before. He knows a lot.
Maybe one day the pain in his chest will actually believe that they are back- that he is theirs once more.
Even if the other it stings for is still gone.
As he lays, eyes failing him once more, darkness consuming him-
He doesn't get his hopes up.
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
> Want a story like this? I take writing comms!:) DM with a purple heart at the start of your message to start discussing details!!!
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Fandom/AU: Marble Hornets College Era (is Alex being trans an au, really?/j)
Characters/Ships: FTM!Alex, FTM!Jay, Brian, Tim. Polyhornets if you squint. Jaylex if you squint. Or they're just friends.
Tags/TWs: character on their period/cramps, fluff, hurt/comfort technically, Brian causes slight dysphoria on accident for like 3 seconds. Author doesn't know how t-shots work probs.
POV if applicable: kinda Jays
---
"Ouuuugghhhh."
"Al, I think that's a bit dramatic."
Jay rubbed the small of his best friends back with enough pressure to try relieve some of the pain shooting through it, watching the curled up man fondly.
He had thrown the blankets off and put them back on at least four times now, temperature going everywhere but a middle ground until he threw them off again ten seconds ago and complained about being a 'shrimp'.
Jay thought he meant a lobster being cooked but knew better than to correct him right now.
"You know it's not." Alex huffed out, wincing when another wave of pain came and *whimpering*, Jay's fond smile falling.
"No meds you got here doing *anything*?"
"Nooo and I don't *have anything stronger* until-" Another unhappy noise as another cramp came, head turning to bury his face into the pillow to quiten himself.
"I know, I know. They'll be here soon, Al." Jay pet down his hair gently before his hand was back on the small of his back.
Alex had never dealt with things in any way except 'as dramatic as possible' but Jay knew he was being sincere in these noises, they they showed exactly how much pain his friend was in.
They had been best friends since before they were even Alex and Jay but t-shots were expensive and Jay had money Alex did not. So Alex continued to have periods and Jay continued to be right by his side to help him through it.
It didn't help that Alex had had some kind of dental surgery that left him feeling even crappier, cursing whatever God dared to claim him that it put the surgery and cramps at the same time.
"This is the worst."
Jay doesn't miss how the tone is *tearful*.
"Al, look at me."
Alex turned even if he clearly didn't want to, letting Jay cup his face in his hands and wipe his tears gently.
"There's our pretty boy!"
Both men jerked as they looked to the doorway, Brian leant against the doorway with his usual grin and Tim stood beside him holding a bag in each hand. Alex just buried back into the pillow.
"Not pretty today." Jay told him softly, knowing without looking at his best friend how he would feel about such a term right now.
Brian gave a hum, walking over and climbing on the bed, looking his head over Alex's body. "There's our handsome boy?" He tried. Alex turned his head to the side to side eye up at him, giving a soft 'ugh' before he pulled Brian down to lay and cuddled up to him.
Brian laughed, making a complaint about how he was still wearing his coat and shoes, but wrapped his arms around Alex all the same, watching Alex melt into the touch.
"Who needs a heating pad when you've got a Brian?" Tim joked to Jay, who laughed awkwardly.
Alex side eyed him to. "Please give me a heating pad."
Tim put his hands up in defence and got it from one of the bags, going to heat it up.
"S'bad?" Brian mumbled, Alex giving some incoherent noise in reply. Brian kissed his forehead. "You'll survive. You always have before. In a week you won't even be able describe this pain you'll have forgotten about it so quickly." He told him carefully and Alex huffed but relaxed fully, closing his eyes and enjoying the warm despite the occasional spasms from pain.
It didn't take long before Tim was back, Jay pointing out where Alex was having most pain beyond- obviously- his evil uterus.
Tim sat and pressed the heating pad to Alex's back, holding it there for a moment maybe just as a way to indirectly hold Alex and offer some form of comfort.
Jay searched the bags for the medicine the boys had picked up before he was back over, gently assuring Alex he could go right back to his position, he just needed him take these meds.
Alex would be asleep against Brian not even half an hour later.
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> Want a story like this? I take writing comms!:) DM with a purple heart at the start of your message to start discussing details!!!
Fandom/AU: Marble Hornets - Everyone Lives / Everyone lives and no ones happy about it.
Ship: Tim x Alex
Tags/Tws: fluff... angst???
POV if there is one: Tim's.
---
His skin is cold beneath his hands. He knows he is not dead. He can feel the rapid beat of a heart too fast. A prey in trouble. He does not pull away. His hand rests on his back, the other smoothing his hair rythmically. It is peace. The best peace they're getting.
He shifts under his arms. A soft noise leaves him and his head buries into his chest like it can hide him from the world. His grip only tightened. Just a fraction. That fraction he knew he needed. It is peace. The best peace they're getting.
His hair is soft under his hand. It has grown longer in their time together. More like it used to be. There are no more knots to tangle on and yet his mind sees them anyway. It is peace. The best peace they're getting.
He loves him. He knows he loves him to. He holds him closer with a promise to remain and it is peace. The best peace they'll get.
---
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