This is my side blog about Marble Hornets, creepypasta, poto, and some slashers ^^ Here I’ll write, reblog, and randomly post about those. Full disclosure, I’m far more familiar with Marble Hornets than I am with creepypasta… I used to have another blog YEARS ago, but it got nuked when I was making a new tumblr ;-;
I am a full time grad student, so forgive me if asks take a while!
Ask Box is Open!
What I won’t write
Anything NSFW/romantic about Ben, Sally, or any other underage, or underage-appearing characters
Rape/sexual assault (I MAY write CNC/dubcon at my discretion)
Pregnancy
Homophobia, racism—the ‘ists and the ‘isms
Asks being filled are ‘at will,’ if you will. I typically don’t follow a specific order when I fill them
I’m not going to argue with anyone about anything on here. Don’t like, don’t read :)
I love thinking about the actual medical implications of the pastas’ various injuries. Like wdym Jeff doesn’t have eyelids? He’ll go blind?? QUICKLY???
It’s so fucked that Tim Wright is my exact physical type (for men), because I can’t show anyone that man. The one time I did, the immediate follow up question was ‘oh what was he in?’ Uh. Nothing. :)
//seeing people like hahadit and other darkshippers put such a bad rep on ticcimask is so disheartening. their dynamic could be so much more. but no, we have to discuss them having an illegal age gap instead like #ok
Wooo this got way longer than intended lmao
Rating: SFW
CWs/TWs: One-sided obsession, homicide masked as suicide, not warm and fuzzy
Ask box is open!
You, who’s had to examine a string of gruesome suicides in your small town. You, who doesn’t believe they’re suicides, but there’s no quantifiable evidence to the contrary. You, who lives a very solitary, morbid reality
You, who's had to write suicide on report after report--all these girls, all with pre-mortem broken bones and injuries, all these girls with increasingly grotesque methods of suicide
Jonathan, who lurks in the shadows of the autopsy room, watching you poke and prod at his victims as you look for evidence of foul play. Jonathan, who like to press too close when you step into a shadow, infatuated by the way misery flows from you like wine.
Jonathan, who's never been one to care about the appearance of his victims, but is sharply distracted by how soft your skin looks, the hue of your eyes, the way your hair frames your face
You feel the air temperature drop by 10 degrees whenever he gets too close, though you simply think the furnace is broken
Your misery is a righteous kind, brought on by disappointment in the way law enforcement won't listen when you say there's something wrong about these suicides. You're becoming desperate to prove it, to do right by these girls on your table. You're more self-isolated than ever before, you're not sleeping, not taking care of yourself
Jonathan dreams of breaking that stubborn, bright spirit of yours
When your therapist starts writing paranoid delusions in her notes on you, Jonathan lets himself be seen a little more
A flash of gold in the corner of your eye, a gust of wind through your skirts from under the autopsy table. You feel eyes on you constantly, but no matter how quickly you turn, or duck to check under a table, there's never anyone there
Jonathan never understood Jason's obsession with keeping his victims-playthings-alive, but he's starting to get it the more he sees you
He could make good use of your quick mind and skills with a scalpel
Eventually, you start hearing voices, when you're all alone in the lab
A man humming echoing off the walls, a whisper of your name in your ear, footsteps with no person attached
You get put on a temporary administrative leave when a colleague finds you tearing apart the autopsy room at 3 in the morning, looking for a tape player because you swear you hear singing. It's probably for the best, you tell yourself--you were starting to fantasize about taking a knife to your ear, if it didn't stop
Jonathan stalking your home, getting even more aggressive now that you're truly alone most days
The phantom voices persist, you see movement in the corner of your eye constantly, you wake up or come home to things in your house moved or knocked over
You finally crack one night, a repetitive slamming of a window or door--only for them too look completely undisturbed--waking you every time you get close to sleep. It wouldn't be so bad, if you hadn't only slept for a few hours each night for the last week
You scream, you cry, you throw things at your window in a blind rage and beg for whatever is tormenting you to just leave
Eventually, you cry yourself to sleep, and that's when Jonathan strikes
A soft, soothing hum wakes you after a few hours, your exhausted body reluctantly responding to the noise. Your eyes crack open just barely, and a panicked scream rises in your throat when you realize a man is crouched over you on your bed
Dark gray skin, deep bruising circling his neck, the stench of sulfur assaulting your senses--and the most hypnotic golden eyes one could imagine
A gloved hand locks over your mouth, the other around your throat, effectively silencing any noise you could've made. The grip on your throat relaxes once you quiet, fingers stroking the soft skin in an almost affectionate manner. His other hand leaves your mouth, stroking through your hair soothingly
"Shh, now, none of that. I'm here to help. Don't you want it all to stop?"
Your instincts riot against this, knowing something is wrong, but if he can really make it stop...
Besides, the longer you look into his eyes, the less fight you seem to have. You can't think of a response other than yes, like your mind had been hijacked, blocking everything but that one word
You choke out a 'yes,' tears welling up in your eyes. He's quick to brush them away, that echoing hum lulling you back to sleep
When you wake, you're in a different bed, a different home--not that you notice
You don't remember who you are. You remember your name, your skills, but nothing else. You can't recall your parents, or where you worked, or your first pet, it's all just... gone
But things have always been like this, haven't they? That's what Jonathan The Puppeteer tells you, after all
why do people baby Vincent so much he's a grown man who has shown some very sadistic tendencies such as COVERING SOMEONE IN WAX ALIVE and RECORDING A VIDEO OF A WOMANS HEAD IMPALED WITH A SPIKE.
Don't you dare say Bo is manipulating him HE DID THAT OF HIS OWN CHOICE.
Also if Bo was controlling Vincent why would Vincent have the balls to steal his truck and go out with the dog.
Sure Bo is a shithead towards Vincent but Vincent is not a child he has got a mind of his own.
Now don't get me wrong while watching the movie I was like ''AWWWWWW MY BABY WHY'D HE SAY THAT TO YOU YOU'RE NOT A FREAK'' but I still see the fact that he is although cute at times, a sadistic murderer.
For freaking freaks sake he paralysed Wade when he could have killed him to put him out of his misery and encased him in boiling hot wax
