TheArk Theory

The “Ark” Theory

OKAY, so there are a lot of theories out there about Marble Hornets, and I likely haven’t even seen half of them before. But one of the main questions around it is, what exactly is the Ark? There have been speculations that the Ark is Alex, that it’s the “Own Zone” as Joseph called it, or even that it’s a certain mental state that you have to put yourself in.

But what if it’s none of those? What if the Ark isn’t even physical at all? Here’s a theory; there have been many instances when totheark talked about the Ark, one of their more known quotes is, “He will lead me to you. Lead me to death. Lead me to the Ark.”

And so I was thinking, when you die you can either go to heaven or to hell, and if they were talking about one of these places you could only get to them if you did, indeed, die. Now we know that totheark is searching for something, and this “something” is the Ark. It’s unsure who exactly they’re talking to several times; it could be Jay, it could be Alex, it could even be Tim. But maybe it’s none of them. Maybe they’re trying to reach out to someone else for answers, maybe they’re looking for guidance from someone that they’re unable to find.

Here’s where we get into the theory.

What if the “Ark” in question is Jesus? Or rather, salvation? Considering the fact that the Operator is obviously an otherworldly, sinister being, it takes people who die to the Own Zone, which is the other world. Its other world. Remember when Tim got teleported there during Entry #65 and he saw the man Alex had killed with the rock? All the surroundings were dark. You couldn’t see past the corpse.

What does the KJV Bible say about hell? “And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day.” -Jude 6. Hell is a dark place. But at the same time, it’s filled with flame.

“And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.” -Revelation 20:50. What do we know about Tim? He smokes. We also know that his old hospital was burned down. Most don’t know that Tim himself was the reason it burned down, though. That quick shot of the melting grill, along with the fire as Tim gets teleported back to his room in Entry #83? The fire started in his room.

So maybe that’s why the Operator latched on so tightly to Tim before it found Alex. It was attracted to fire. We know that the devil is associated with fire, not because he’s from hell but because he’s going to be thrown into hell. 

So in this case, let’s say that the Operator represents Satan, the other dimension represents hell, and Jesus is the Ark. Then let’s say that, in terms of Noah’s Ark, that “hell” is the flood. It’s the place nobody wants to be taken to, the place of eternal darkness, flame, and suffering. And totheark doesn’t want to be caught in the flood.

So then what would the Operator be? I thought about this a bit and came to the conclusion that it’s sin. Or rather, the influence of sin. It affects everybody it manages to get its hands on, and Alex is a great example. Then Alex would be the people, the sinners that needed to be wiped off the face of the earth. The only way to get away from the flood would be to find the Ark, which in this case, would be Jesus.

So the Own Zone is the flood, the Operator is sin, Alex is the sinners, and Jesus is the Ark. The only way to escape the flood, ultimate death, would be to find the Ark. But totheark says “lead me to death”. So maybe they want to die, but they don’t want to be taken to hell, which we’ve seen is the Operator’s dimension that it takes victims to. 

It took the man that Alex killed, we can assume it took Jay, and it took Alex. I would say it took Jessica, but since she’s alive and well maybe it only brought her out of danger because she is its new puppet, its ‘people’ that it manipulates. She’s the new sinner.

In the end, maybe totheark wanted one thing besides getting revenge on Alex, and maybe that one thing was salvation. They wanted safety, they wanted to be sure they would be okay in the end. They wanted the Ark. 

Did they get it? Well, we don’t know what happened to Seth, but after Hoody died and was revealed to be Brian, did the Operator take him? No. Even days after being dead, his corpse was still there. We know for a fact that whoever dies due to Alex, or anyone else that had been affected by the Operator, is taken almost immediately after death. That didn’t happen for Brian.

I like to think that he did get what he was looking for in the end. Remember totheark’s video “Null”? It was their last upload, and in it, the person behind the camera, who we now know was Brian, seemed almost... peaceful. There was a sad kind of feeling to the video, but the way he speaks in it sounds like he has peace of mind. Like he knows he has nothing to fear, because maybe he doesn’t anymore. It’s clear that he knew it would be his last upload, that he knew he would have a showdown with Tim. 

He didn’t care if he died in the end or not, why? Because he knew he would be okay, whether he lived or whether he died. He had nothing to be afraid of anymore. He found Jesus, he found the Ark, and he boarded it. And he knew he was on his way to heaven, away from the flood. Away from the clutches of the Operator.

As for Tim? Some speculate that he killed Jessica and then himself, as before Alex died he said that it wasn’t over. He would have to keep killing the infected, and then himself. That it was the only way to stop the ‘spread’. 

Some think that he continued being controlled by the Operator, and that would be a reasonable thing to believe because, as you may remember, in the last entry Tim suffered a major coughing fit, with Jessica bending down to ask if he was okay. The video then cuts to Tim driving in a car, seemingly composed a bit. 

The camera stays on him for while before he grabs his pill bottle, continues to stare ahead, and looks moments away from bursting into tears before he swirls the camera around so us, the viewers, are facing the direction that the car is being driven. The screen then goes black and the letters displayed on the screen is but three simple words; “Everything is fine.”

IS everything really fine, Tim? No. No, it is not. At least, that’s what I got from it. Tim’s known to lie, and it wouldn’t be a surprise that his last words to viewers would be a reassuring sentence to try and convince him that he’s okay. But I don’t think he’s okay.

At best, I think he continued to live a life with nightmares, hallucinations, and random blackouts that may or may not lead to him having a broken leg. At worst, he found a nice, quiet place to overdose because he didn’t want to suffer anymore. Except he will suffer. He will suffer for eternity.

But yes, this is my theory behind the meaning of the “Ark” and the basis for the series. Has this been done before? Idk, I’ve never seen it before. I can promise you that I’m not stealing someone else’s theory, at least not on purpose. I feel like this makes a lot of sense, and it gives totheark a good motivation as to what they’re after and why they’re after it.

It’s a nice thought that at least somebody finally got what they were after, that they finally got peace after everything that happened to them. I have no proof that Jay did or did not find the Ark. I suppose that his corpse was still physical, I mean, it was still in the real world. But it had clearly been teleported, and he was sitting on a bunch of pages that Alex had drawn. 

They were nowhere near Tim’s house at the college, which is where he died at. And when Tim finally goes back to his house, Jay isn’t there, the pages aren’t there, “Your fault” isn’t written on the mirror a dozen times. So we can assume that really, he wasn’t in the real world. He was in another dimension, likely the Own Zone. We’ve seen Tim go into that place before, but I don’t recall Jay ever going. So Tim can be teleported into that dimension while he’s still alive, and Brian is also there too. But only for a moment. This is also before he died.

So I don’t know. I think Jay was taken to the Operator’s world, like Alex and the poor rock victim. What do you think? 

Even if this theory is utter nonsense it was fun writing. It’s an interesting concept and I definitely enjoyed it. I’ve been literally breathing Marble Hornets for the past few weeks so I couldn’t stop a theory from popping into my mind and then make me think, ‘hey, what if?’

Actually, I’ve been thinking about making a separate blog solely dedicated to Marble Hornets. Should I? I probably will - after all, this blog I have right now is more about Creepypasta rather than Marble Hornets. And I’m a huge Marble Hornets fan so I want something dedicated to it. Also, it’ll give me the opportunity to talk about my unending love for Brian without seeming sudden and obsessed xD

So... yeah. That’s me done. Happy Valentine’s day, btw! I am very lonely, as I assume a lot of you are, so it’s the perfect excuse to write CP fluff and act as if I won’t end up alone with thirty cats. I already have four of ‘em, guess I’m well on my way. That isn’t a bad thing though. Cats are awesome. Prove me wrong.

So yes, I will be sure to get some Valentine’s day content out for you beautiful people tomorrow unless I find myself totally unmotivated. Fingers crossed, right?

[Zero]: What do you call a clown-faced freak with ugly hair and a lack of charm?

[Jeff]: Don’t you dare.

[Y\n, grinning]: I don’t know, Z. What do you call a clown-faced freak with ugly hair and a lack of charm?

[Jeff]: Glares

[Zero]: Jeffery Woods. 

[Jeff]:

[Jeff]: When you don’t wake up tomorrow, assume that it’s my fault.

Headcanon (OLD)

There are only a handful of Creeps that actually feel remorse for what they do and are empathetic with their victims, unless they deserve it, of course. These include Brian, Tim (not to be mistaken for Masky), Toby, Jane, Liu, and Jack. 

The others either are incapable of feeling empathy, like Jeff for example, some just don’t think about it, like Helen and Cody, and others just don’t care, like Zero and Kagekao. Slenderman is just a bitch and couldn’t give less of a crap about it though.

At Your Service (OLD)

[Ben]: Yo Masky, make me a sandwich, will ya?

[Masky]: Yo Ben, get your lazy ass up and make one yourself.

[Ben]: Well, geez, you don’t have to be rude about it.

[Y\n, literally a minute later]: Tim... I’m hungry.

[Masky]: Already rushing to the kitchen Of course, Y\n.

[Ben]: ... Scoffs

[Ben]: Now that’s favoritism.

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 7 - I’m On My Way

With fatigue, she leans on the wall for support and stands, weakly stumbling to the sink, refusing to look at her reflection in the mirror as she bends over and turns the faucet on. She gets soap from the dispenser on her palm and rubs both of her hands together before holding them under the water to rinse them, and immediately after that, sticks her face underneath, hoping to rid herself of the foul taste still very present in her mouth. 

She spits minuscule pieces of undigested food into the sink, letting the cool water run over and wash them down the drain without another thought. The sickening stench of bile sitting in the porcelain bowl almost has her gagging once more, so she reaches over, pushes on the little silver lever, and flushes it down into the sewer pipes, never to be seen again. 

Only then does she look at herself in the reflecting glass hung over the sink, not surprised when she sees dark bags under her eyes and unnaturally pale skin, no doubt results from lack of sleep and getting hit by an extreme wave of nausea so suddenly. Her lip trembles from the exertion, her eyes distant, stressed wrinkles creasing her forehead. What is happening? Why is it happening? Why are such terrifying thoughts invading her subconscious each time she goes to sleep?

Perhaps she can blame this one on the news she received yesterday, but that doesn’t explain the strange symbol. Why would she draw such a thing? What does it even mean? And what about the buzzing noise? It’s accompanied each dream she’s had down here thus far, and it made itself apparent before and during she was heaving her lungs out yesterday. It also started when she saw that figure in the woods earlier. Is it connected to something?

She rubs at her eyes listlessly and pushes herself away from the sink at once, switching the light to the bathroom off and wandering back into the living room at a pace much slower than normal. Her eyes trail up from the floor to Marshmallow, who sits on the arm of the couch, eyes narrowed as he stares at her with dilated pupils. Maybe this should worry her; after all, animals can sense things that humans can’t. But she can’t bring herself to care very much. She just wants it all to stop. She doesn’t want to be sick 24\7, or have nightmares far worse than what’s considered healthy, or be on the look-out constantly for something that’s possibly hunting her down. 

She flops onto the couch rather sluggishly and runs her hands through her messy hair, gaining sight of the large symbol that she seemingly sketched onto the paper for unknown reasons. Come to think of it, her hand is beginning to cramp due to how tightly she had been holding that pencil after she woke up, and who-knows-how-long before then. Does she have an illness? Is there medication to cure it? Should she go to a doctor and explain her symptoms? She’d prefer to wait and get medical attention, if it is necessary, once she returns home, so she won’t burden her grandparents with her problems and cause them to worry. 

She knows for a fact that her parents wouldn’t give it much thought if she told them she needed to go to the doctor, nor would they be very concerned. If she told them the reason, having hallucinations, nightmares, irrational and paranoid thoughts, insomnia, they’d probably call her behavior ridiculous and refuse to allow her to make an appointment. Or would they? She is still their daughter— surely they couldn’t just brush aside something like that, right? 

Then again, her father did it with the murder of his sister and the disappearance of his nephew, so she can’t ever be sure. But what about her mother? Isn’t the whole maternal instinct thing still there with her? If her child was hurt or scared, isn’t it natural to be worried? 

She glances over at her phone, still sat on the coffee table charging, unable to rid herself of the sudden thought that creeps into her mind. Somebody to talk to would be nice. But would she actually listen?

Sure, her grandparents are just upstairs, but not only does she not feel like making that trek all the way to the second floor, but both her Nana and Pops are likely fast asleep. They've done more than enough for her already, and they have enough stress on their shoulders as it is. She wants to avoid troubling them with anything else and make them unnecessarily frantic about her health, both physical and mental.

Reaching out a hesitant, mildly trembling hand, she unplugs her phone and unlocks it, scrolling to contacts and swiping her thumb along the screen until she sees 'Mom'. Should she really? What if she disturbs her? Or wakes her up? Even if she did, that shouldn't be an issue once she hears about her daughter possibly having some mental illness that needs to be fixed.

Mental illness is a strong way to word it. She shakes her head, continuing to stare at the call icon that pops up once she clicks her mother's contact. It's just... stressed hallucinations. Or... or strange coincidences. Yeah, that's all.

Letting out a soft sigh, she presses the green button and brings the small device to her ear, hearing it ring several times as the anticipation in her heart grows. Is this a mistake? Should she back out? Maybe she's making a big deal over nothing.

"Hello?" She sucks in a sudden breath, heart rate increasing as the familiar voice meets her ear. How should she start this?

"Um... hi, Mom." Clear anxiety is present in her tone, though she hopes that it isn't as noticeable as she thinks. 

"Y\n? What is it?" There's a hint of irritation hidden in that sentence, but the girl tries to ignore it and instead focuses on the reason she called her in the first place.

"Y-yeah, uh... I need to talk to you."

"About what? You know I'm busy. If it's more questions about your father, you know I—"

"No, Mom, it isn't about Dad." She's silent a moment as she hears her mother's soft breaths over the line, trying to collect her thoughts and put them into words. "It's... it's about me."

"...Well? Did you make another painting or something?"

She shakes her head, though she knows it can't be seen. "It's... weird things that have been happening to me. I-I don't know what's going on but it's really getting to me, and I feel sick and tired and stressed out. I don't know what to do."

"What exactly has been 'happening' to you, Y\n?" Her hand tightens slightly around her phone and she lets out an inaudible sigh. 

"It started out with bad dreams... really bad dreams. Of people being dead, or freaky voices, or strange markings in a tree. A-and I've been seeing things in the middle of the night, or even in the day. I can't sleep because it's so scary and I'm afraid that when I go to sleep I'll have another nightmare..."

"Y\n," An exasperated sigh erupts from the other end. "aren't you a little too old to be scared of bad dreams or the boogeyman?" It's as if a knife is shoved into her chest from the harsh words of her mother, and she fights the tears stinging her eyes, attempting to keep her voice steady. 

"Mom, it... i-it isn't like that."

"You used to complain to me all the time about bad dreams when you were a kid. You aren't a kid anymore, Y\n. You're almost seventeen."

"It's more serious than just dreams, Mom—"

"Grow up. You're a teenager, Y\n. Act like it." The girl swallows hard and lands her hard gaze on the floor, unable to stop the tears from slowly rolling down her cheeks. 

"You're not even listening to me!" She keeps her voice in a whisper but raises it slightly to make sure she gets the older woman's attention. "This isn't some stupid childhood fear. It's something bad, and it's really affecting me..."

"I don't have time for this. I have about a weeks' worth of papers stacked up on my desk and I have to do them. You'll get over yourself eventually and stop being so childish. Goodbye, Y\n." Before she can say anything else, a beep is heard before the line goes dead, signifying that her mother hung up. What else was she expecting? Sympathy? Concern? Reassurance? She should've known better. 

"Fine," she snaps, slamming her phone down on the couch beside her and releasing a huff, "who needs you anyway?" She plants her face into the palms of her hands to stifle the quiet whimpers emanating from between her lips. "I have myself and that's all I need. You're just a... a useless, irresponsible, incompetent piece of crap for a mom." Her fingers run through her h\c locks and she shakes her head, trying to compose herself. "Why are you even a mom..."

Of course her mother would blow her off. Her very own flesh and blood, brush her aside as if she means nothing to her. It's what she's been doing for years now, so why would she expect any different? I'm stupid. I'm stupid for assuming she would be worried. She doesn't care about me. She just doesn't care. She never does.

Soon, her shoulders are shaking as sobs wrack her body. She has to go through this alone, doesn't she? Her parents won't help her, her grandparents don't need that kind of pressure. None of her friends, if she can even call them that anymore, can help her. And they wouldn't. She's the one that left them behind, and they owe her nothing.

She shakily stands to her feet, wiping away the tears with the back of her hands in order to clear up her vision so she doesn't trip over anything, and begins her ascent up the stairs, not caring to bring her phone and instead only turns off the lamp as she passes it by. She walks warily up the staircase, doing her best to avoid looking anywhere but the ground for fear of seeing something lurking in the darkness until she reaches her bedroom, thankful that the light was left on previously.

She's unsure if Marshmallow will even follow her this time and bring her some kind of company, though, considering the aggressive way he was acting just minutes ago, she highly doubts it. Her gaze falls onto her bed, then onto the window that it's attached to, unable to quell the rush of anxiety that goes through her chest. The last time she was in here, she saw... something. What was it? A trick of the light? No, surely not. It was too... strange to be a trick of the light. Not to even mention the droning that formed in her mind while she looked at it. The same kind of droning that was present in her dreams, and at the river with Jack.

Is this normal? If it was, you'd think there would be more talk about it. In blogs, on the news, in books. But she's seen no such thing. Shaking her head in dismay, she steps farther inside, edging her way toward the window and anticipating what may be standing on the other side of the glass. She takes in a deep breath, hoping to calm her nerves a bit and brace herself before peering around the corner, over past her bed, and straight through to the dark woods across from the cottage. 

She scans the treeline, her heart rate slowing down when she doesn't find anything out-of-the-ordinary and releases a puff of air she didn't know she was holding in, her muscles relaxing slightly. Nothing. There's nothing, so maybe, she can actually go to sleep without having to worry about anything creeping around. She doesn't want to sleep, but she doesn't want to get sick, again, either. Although that may happen anyway if she has another unexplainably terrifying dream. She can only hope that she'll get lucky and her mind will give her a break, at least for the rest of the night.

She doesn't know what time it is, and she can't gather up the energy to check. It doesn't even matter, does it? She glances over at her lamp, silently debating on whether she should turn it off to both save electricity and hopefully hide her position to anything that may be waiting outside, or if she should leave it on to give her peace of mind. She hasn't really liked sleeping with the light on, not since she was a small child, but recently it's sounded a lot more comforting than being surrounded by pitch blackness, save for the moonbeams shining in through the window and spilling out onto the floor. 

What's better, hiding or feeling safer? Maybe there's a way she can compromise and do both. Her eyes avert around the room, eventually landing on the closet across from where she's facing. Could she do that...? Wouldn't that corner her? But it would be safer than sleeping in front of a window where some cryptic being can plainly see me. She remembers seeing a couple of spare blankets folded up on a shelf, and she could use her pillows as both a headrest and a weak attempt at a barrier. As unappealing as it sounds, staying in clear view of whatever is currently trying to get into her head sounds even less so. Closet it is.

She steps over and opens the door, switching on the light and glimpsing around for a good, somewhat comfortable spot to take shelter in. Under the clothes? No, too tight. In the little cabinet of old, stored things belonging to her aunt? Again, too tight. She decides on the opposite end of the closet, in-between a shelf and the wall, not too cramped but not too open either. And she'd be able to see the door clearly. That'll work. 

She grabs the two pillows from off of her bed, plus an oversized teddy bear that had been originally sitting in the corner of the room, untouched, and goes back into the walk-in storage room, placing all three items in her self-proclaimed area of safety, before also taking a folded-up blanket from the small stack and tossing it onto the pillows. She releases a yawn, blinking slowly afterward and shutting the door behind her prior to double-checking the room for anything else she may need, only finding her water bottle, and switches off the lamp. 

She sets it on the floor and shifts around everything until it meets her intentions, dimming the overhead light on the lowest setting, then walks back over and sits down, wrapping the blanket around her b\t frame, leaning against the wall, and tucking the large stuffed bear into her side. This is good. She feels secure here. There is nothing that can get in here without her knowing about it first... unless it's a hallucination. Then she can't escape. "I guess that's where you come in, Fuzzy," she mutters, hugging the bear half her size to earn some type of reassurance and consolation she had failed to get from her mother.

She stares ahead of her, at the closed door, waiting to hear something. Waiting to hear the creak of floorboards or the stamp of footsteps, or see the knob to the door slowly twist as it swings open. But one minute passes, then two, then five, then eight. Nothing of the sort happens. She just stays there, her breathing leveling out the more time passes, and she finds herself becoming relaxed. Maybe she should sleep in a closet more often...

She snuggles into the soft, though mildly dusty, coat of the bear, inhaling its old, washed-out scent of vanilla and allowing her eyes to droop. "Protect me if the 'boogeyman' comes in here, alright?" Her voice comes out as no more than a whisper, indirectly mocking her mother's previous choice of words to describe her state before fluttering her eyes closed and drifting off into a surprising, though thankfully peaceful, sleep.

___

His footsteps are almost inaudible as he walks through the darkened forest, his senses heightened due to the gloom around him. He's always more active at night, and it's been that way since... well, since the incident took place, all that long ago. Or was it even that long ago? He supposes it feels longer than what it actually is, probably because off of everything that's happened the past few years. But in reality, it's only been, what... eight, nine years ago? He was only seventeen at the time, and physically, he always will be. If he had been able to fulfill his career choice and live a normal life without meeting her, then he would be around twenty-six. 

Maybe he'd have a girlfriend, heck, maybe he'd have a wife, although becoming a doctor takes years of dedication so he doubts that he would have the time to put that much commitment into a relationship. Either way, he would be happy. He wouldn't have to worry about being hunted by some otherworldly entity, or stocking up on the less-than-desirable diet his body has unfortunately given him. He wishes he could have something normal for a change... like pizza. He would just about kill for some pizza, preferably supreme, but pepperoni would work, too. 

He shakes his head in disregard at his own thoughts, knowing more than anyone that pizza wouldn't ever happen, just like enchiladas wouldn't happen, or cheese sticks, or even something simple like cereal. It isn't possible, and though he accepted that long ago, he still gets certain cravings for things he used to enjoy. If he even tried eating them, now, he'd be sick for a week. One of the many disadvantages of being him. If only, right?

He checks the map on his phone that Ben had sent him about two hours prior, the direction he was supposed to go marked with bright red ink and making it pretty hard to miss. Let's see, he already passed the river, and he knows she took a certain trail to get to it. Just which trail did she take? He would follow footsteps but there's too much grass obscuring the actual dirt beneath, and even though he can see to a point, his vision has still been drastically altered, so he can't make out any pristine details. 

He makes a turn and comes across an overgrown area of the trail he's been sticking with, though it looks like it's already been walked through several times. Up ahead a few feet is what looks to be a dirt road and past that sits a quaint property with a white picket fence, a garden, and a gate. This is the place he's been searching for, right? Guess there's only one way to find out.

Will great stealth, he slinks out from behind the trees, creeping across the natural driveway and up to the house, where he hopes his target is currently resting inside. If she's awake, it would make his job quite a bit harder, and he doesn't want to take any lives if it's unnecessary. Once he's directly in front, he scans possible entry points that wouldn't draw attention. A window? Sure, if the front door isn't locked. He quietly jiggles the knob after opening the screen, only to find that yes, the door is locked. Just his luck, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't expecting it. 

He peers in through the first window he sees on the bottom floor, quickly realizing that it leads to the living room. All of the lights are off, and it doesn't look like anybody is currently active. Releasing a silent breath from his nose, though instantly being hit with a familiar bout of hot air thanks to his mask, he slips his fingers beneath the rim, briefly tugging upward and being grateful when the window slides up without much struggle. 

There's a table placed in front of it, but he can easily maneuver over that. Conquering obstacles is something that he's mastered over the years of breaking and entering other peoples' households, so one measly table shouldn't halt his process too much. With one hand, he holds the strap of his satchel that's been thrown over his shoulder in order to anchor it to his side to make sure it doesn't make any noise, and with the other, he grips the side of the wall, skillfully propping himself up and slipping through the now-open space lacking so much as a thud. 

Once his feet hit the carpet beneath them, he does a quick one-eighty of the room, wanting to make sure he isn't disturbing anything by making his appearance, and closing the window when he deems the coast clear. She never mentioned anything about having a dog, or any other kind of pet when he talked to her, then again he didn't exactly ask her about it, either. Maybe he got lucky this time.

Thought too soon, Jack, he thinks as he finally notices the fluffy white feline perching on the back of the couch, ears folded back as it quietly growls at him. Of course it's a cat. It couldn't have been a bunny, a gerbil, or even a ferret, no. It had to be a freaking cat. When he was still human, he was never particularly fond of them, but now he hates them with a passion. They get under his feet when he's trying to work and trips him, they scratch and bite him, they latch on and it takes a lot of force to get them off. Granted, he can and does get rid of them pretty easily, but they're still obnoxious little creatures.

But he has to admit, as bad as cats are, dogs are even worse in these types of situations. At least cats stay quiet. Dogs, however, he can't get dogs to shut up. Especially little ones, like Chihuahuas and Pomeranians. God, those things love barking. How could anyone want to put up with something that isn't even cute barking constantly? He isn't Smile's biggest fan, but he puts his barking to use. And he never gets in his way. At least he can respect bigger dogs for that very reason because they actually protect rather than just yap all the time.

He huffs, brushing the insignificant thoughts aside and walking farther into the living room, ignoring the growls of protest from the cat attempting to defend its territory and making it very clear to Jack who this place belongs to. Not that he cares, he just wants to get in and back out without much trouble. As he passes the couch, something catches his attention. Not only is there a phone lying discarded on the cushion, but there also seems to be a pencil, and beside it is a sketchbook. 

He leans down a bit to get a better look, seeing and instantly recognizing the large symbol drawn—or more like scribbled— on the piece of paper, completely overriding the original picture beneath it. Not much care seems to have been taken while it was being created, which is normal if it was made during the frantic state that he imagines it to have been made in. It's been apparent to him that Y\n was being greatly affected by him, but now she's to the point of drawing his symbol, his mark? That isn't good. His stomach does an uncomfortable flip, and he spins around, going up the staircase of the house after making sure there are no bedrooms down here with him. 

The hallway on the second floor likely leads to various rooms, his only problem is looking discreetly into each one and identifying his target. He chooses to check the first door on the left, the door inexplicably wide open, only to find a nicer than average girly room. He assumes this to be where Y\n is sleeping, but to his slight surprise, he doesn't see her in the bed. Well... maybe she's staying elsewhere? But why would there be bags on the floor if there was nobody staying inside? Is this someone else's room?

He peeks back out into the hallway, seeing what he recognizes as a bathroom unoccupied right beside a closed door, likely one leading to another bedroom. And at the very end of the corridor is a door also closed. Which one of these rooms leads to her grandparents? Is he even in the right house? He has to be. Unless he's just conveniently landed himself in the home of another individual that's being mentally tormented by the ominous creature, which is highly doubtful. They would know about it.

He hears the sudden squeak of a door as it opens, and just barely catches a glimpse of a masculine figure stepping out into the hallway before he darts back into the previous bedroom, ducking for cover inside of what he assumes is a closet. He closes the door softly behind him, being careful not to make any sound whatsoever, and takes a step back, only just starting to notice the dim lighting around him. He tilts his head up, seeing a light bulb attached to the ceiling, and confirming that it's the source of the light. The question is, why would the closet light be on when virtually every other light in the house is turned off?

Looking back and into the small walk-in closet, he sees a figure curled up in the corner, bundled up in a blanket and hidden behind the clothes hanging in front of her. She's holding tightly onto what looks like a large teddy bear, her eyes are closed, and her breathing is mellow and steady. She's asleep. Good. 

He's been getting to her. She must've thought the closet was safer than anywhere else. He eases closer to her, squatting down in front and making sure to not wake her up. Getting a better look at her face, he can tell that she most certainly is the girl he's been trying to find, and quietly opens his satchel, sticking his hand inside and pulling out a needle and a small, clear bottle of a powerful anesthetic. It isn't his go-to method, usually, he would use Midazolam or even Chloroform, but then again, he isn't currently trying to sedate one of his victims, he just wants to knock her out long enough to bring her back, all without harming her in the process.

He sticks the end of the needle into the lid of the glass container after properly sanitizing it, draws the correct amount needed for the injection, and puts the bottle back into the bag. He snaps his fingers in front of her face in order to test how deep of a sleep she's in. It would be hazardous if she woke up as the mediation was being given to her, it would also be mildly frustrating and make his job even more strenuous. Thankfully, her eyes don't even flutter, giving him the leeway he needs to lightly take her arm, twist it around, stretch it, and stick the end of the needle through her skin. 

He notices when she flinches, but only slightly, and he begins to inject the sedative into her system. He had no trouble locating a blood vein, as he could hear the blood coursing through her arm from several feet away; yet another ability he possesses that makes people fear him. Most could compare him to a vampire, what, with his unnaturally sharp teeth and his constant craving for human blood. It isn't his fault, it never has been. But he's learned to accept it, no matter how disgusting it may be to others.

His intention is that it will keep her knocked out for around two hours, preferably four or five, in case he runs into any delays. This particular bottle of medicine is the only one he has that causes longer-lasting unconsciousness without any life-threatening symptoms, and he got it by mixing Propofol with another mild, over-the-counter drug with lengthy repercussions. Perhaps not the best thing to use, but oh well, it's all he has at his grasp. He isn't actually a doctor, no matter how much he may be treated like one. 

He slides the needle out of her arm, places it into a Ziplock bag, and puts the bag into his satchel, looking down at her when he senses movement. She rubs the area that the drug was injected through, eyes only half-way open as she brings her arm up to her chest, likely wondering where the small twinge of pain came from so abruptly. He stays still, waiting to see if she'll notice his presence or just go back to sleep. It won't be too much of an inconvenience, either way, considering the medicine should be taking effect in the next couple of minutes.

She blinks slowly, shifting around in her position to get more comfortable, and landing her bleary gaze on the startling figure squatting directly in front of her. Letting out a strangled gasp, she tries to crawl backward, though the wall pressed up against her back prevents that and gives him the opportunity to reach out and force his hand against her mouth, muffling her yelps of protest. He can almost swear that her skin gets pale as she takes in his unusual features; a reaction he isn't phased by at all. He's a monster, right? It's only natural to fear him. 

She grabs at his wrists, attempting to push him away and twisting her legs out of the blanket covering her body to try and get a good kick in. Only when she frees her legs does he lunge forward and straddle her, stopping any attempts she may have made to harm him, and looks directly into her wide, panicked eyes with his black, tar-dripping sockets. 

"Calm down," he instructs in a quiet, yet authoritative voice, putting more of his weight on top of her as her striving to escape gradually increases. She thrashes, pulls at his arms, punches his chest, though he makes sure to keep his neck craned back to avoid getting hit in the face. Even with his mask on, offering a layer of protection, it wouldn't exactly feel good. He knows this from experience.

She tries screaming and yanking her head out of his strong grip, though fails, and can't stop her eyes from watering from the utter terror that rushes through her.

"You're okay, just calm down." He keeps his tone gentle, knowing the thoughts that must be racing through her mind at lightening speed and wanting to make this easier on himself. The faster the drug works, the quicker he can get out of here and go back to the base. She doesn't listen to him, either that, or she's physically incapable of listening with the erratic beating of her heart thumping in her ears and briefly deafening her. 

They both sit there for another couple of minutes, her struggling getting weaker the groggier she gets until eventually, her eyes hesitantly close and her body goes limp. Before he does anything, he needs to make sure that one guy—probably her grandfather— went back to bed after using the restroom. Jack knows he was, indeed, in the bathroom because he heard the toilet flush from the other side of the wall, though he didn't hear any footsteps. 

Stealthily, he stands to his feet, walks out of the closet, and looks out into the hall just in time to see the bedroom door close softly. Perfect. Now hopefully it will all continue going as smoothly as it has been so far. He returns to the closet, taking her hands and pulling her motionless body up, and wrapping his arms around her torso before she can fall back down. Making sure he has a firm hold on her waist, he bends down, allows her body to drop over his shoulder and across his back, before standing back up, tightening his grip around her and quickly adjusting to the extra body weight as he turns and steps out of the closet. 

Hoody never told him to grab any of her things, so he assumes that he'll take care of that himself, even though he's not sure how. Is he going to sneak into her house to take them, or just get one of the girls to pick up a whole new wardrobe? Those questions are meaningless right now, he supposes, and he doesn't let it take up too much of his time before dismissing them altogether and making his way cautiously down the staircase, the girl slung over his shoulder making it a little more difficult than it normally would be. 

His hand slides down to her thighs as he comes up in front of the door, and he uses his other one to soundlessly unlock it, not willing to go back through the window with the unconscious girl and take a chance on alerting the other members residing in the household of his presence, drop her, or both, so he opts to go harmlessly through the door. Twisting the knob, he eases the door open, then the screen, inwardly wincing when it lets out a rather loud and obnoxious squeak. 

Not wanting to stick around and take any chances on being heard, he hurries out onto the porch, softly shutting the door and screen behind him, and quickens his pace once he's out of the yard and through the gate. He scans the treeline, making sure there's nothing insidious waiting for him inside, before taking his original path and pulling out his phone. He clicks on Hoody's contact and presses the phone to his ear, waiting for the ringing to stop.

"Did you do it?"

"Yeah, I got her. I'm coming back now."

This is such a creative idea and I love it—

Toby - Trust In Me

I was listening to “Trust In Me” and this idea popped into my head so why not write it for a change! 

Curse you Scarlett Johansson for inspiring me with your beautiful voice.

Summary: Toby had gotten himself lost in the forest, nothing new to the boy, but also not something great. The forest was full of dangerous creatures of all different kinds, and, well, when one takes an interest in him, will Toby make the choice to escape, or will he have to submit to his fate?

Warnings: 16+, Naga!Reader, Yandere themes, Reader is very cunning and manipulative and can read Toby like a book, and Toby allows himself to fall for it, A very passionate makeout that leads to Toby getting excited but nothing sexual happens, This could be taken as hypnotizing or Toby fully consenting of sound mind, Whichever you prefer

Toby didn’t know how long it had been since he’d gotten lost. He had been on a mission and been interrupted by some enemy killers, and as he had darted off to escape them he had ended up wandering into an area of the forest he had never been in before. Here, he was surrounded by thick, dark foliage, with no vision of the sky; just the area surrounding him. He was thankful Tim had forced him to take a flashlight with him that night because if he hadn’t he surely would’ve been in pitch black darkness.

Despite the darkness of the forest around him, it was alive with the sounds of the night. Trees and their leaves rustling, the scampering of paws across the ground, the snapping of twigs, the whistle of the wind, and Toby’s own footsteps and bated breath. He mused that it had to have at least been an hour or so since he’d gotten lost, but in some parts of the Underworld time tended to flow differently, and so he wasn’t sure anymore with no sky to go off of for indication, all he could do was continue trudging forward.

Aside from the animals scampering along the ground, Toby figured that he’d have to be alone out here; after all, he couldn’t sense any other presences, and he hadn’t seen any indications of footprints. He’d hardly noticed the own heaving in his chest, being so focused on his surroundings, it wasn’t until he caught the smell of blood in the air that he had halted, looking around for any signs of life, and yet he didn’t see anything. It wasn’t until he glanced towards the ground that he noticed the blood was pouring out of him, vines tangled around his legs, thorns stabbing into him.

As he bent down to pull them off, he noticed nearly too late what the vines were; a breed of a poisonous plant common in the Underworld, one extremely deadly to humans, and Toby had been injected with said poison. It was then that he felt the throbbing in his head, and the tiredness of his eyes set in as he struggled to remove the vines coiled around him, yet as his hands weakly grabbed at the plant, he felt himself falling to the side, his body hitting the ground with a thud, his consciousness fading.

If he’d been awake any longer, he just might have noticed the other presence that had been there all along, so close to him, so observant, he might have heard the light and airy chuckles as the being approached him, felt the touch of their skin on his body as they carried him away.

…

Eventually, Toby felt his consciousness fading back in. He expected his body to feel heavy, for his head to throb, the sign of the pain he couldn’t feel, and yet; he felt perfectly fine, minus the heaviness that remained in his eyelids. He shifted around, and realized he was not on the forest floor, but instead resting on something soft, and as he finally forced his eyes open, he realized he was resting upon a hammock. He shifted, looking over his form, and noting that the once bleeding wounds on his legs were wrapped tightly in fresh bandages.

“Ah… So you’ve finally woken up, hm? I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake again.” Your voice echoed around the room, light and airy, and Toby found himself looking around, trying to locate you.

“Wh-where are you?? Who a-are you?” Toby’s voice was nowhere near as intimidating as he would have hoped, but he couldn’t help the nervousness coursing through his veins. He took in the surroundings of the room he was in better and realized he was in a large, open room, one with holes of different sizes in the walls, like a tunnel system.

“I assure you, I mean you no harm, little one. I just merely brought you back to my den to patch you up, to keep you safe.” It was then that Toby heard it, nearly covered up by the resounding melody of your voice; the slithering of scales along the interior of the surrounding area.

“Can you show y-yourself?” Toby’s voice was smaller, but more even now, and he curled in on himself in the hammock, still looking around, looking in the holes to try and spot you.

“Most people don’t always like looking at us, so I thought it would be more preferred to hide away, but if you wish…” Your voice was decadent and luscious, and Toby felt himself being tugged along with every word. It was then that he looked up, noticing you perching in a hole in the ceiling above him, a soft smile upon your face, a golden shine in your eyes that vanished just as soon as it appeared.

You moved down from your spot above him, sliding down the wall to reveal your tail, and Toby felt himself swallowing nervously as he watched you. He guessed that you had to be at least 20 feet long, if not more than that; the iridescent scales making up your tail shining in a way that was almost hypnotizing as you curled around the support of the hammock, placing yourself near Toby as he crept away from you, causing you to smile, revealing the fangs hidden within your mouth.

“Don’t be scared, little one, I won’t bite… Well, unless you want me to.” You chuckled, reaching a clawed hand out, delicately holding the side of his face. “I just wanted to make sure that you would be safe, cared for…” Toby felt himself being hypnotized by your words, and he didn’t know if it was you doing it or if it was just your natural allure, but he didn’t care.

“Why would you do that for me?” His question was genuine, and it made a smile bloom on your face, one that had his heart racing, even though he knew he didn’t want it to.

“Well, what kind of creature would I be if I just left you there to die, hm? And it’s not often that humans come to my part of the woods, and, well- after being so lonely for so long, I couldn’t help but offer a helping hand.” You tenderly stroked your thumb over his cheek, and it took every fiber of Toby’s being to not lean into your touch.

“I couldn’t just leave you all alone, you know?” You adjusted yourself so that you were resting in the hammock now as well, closer to Toby, and you leaned forward a bit to glance over him. “Do you by any chance have somewhere to return to? Someone to return to?” You drew out your words, and Toby felt himself swallowing again.

“I… I do have a place to return to.” Toby looked over you, and he could sense the sadness in your form, and he can’t tell if it’s faked or real.

“And… Someone?” You put more emphasis on the word this time, and he felt his cheeks burning red.

“I do-don’t have s-someone.” He shifted nervously, and you smiled at him again, happiness seeming to radiate off of you at his answer.

“You know, you could always stay here, keep me company… It’s comfortable here, you know? And I would always take care of you, always keep you safe…” You began to drag out the end of your sentences, using the allure of your voice to your advantage, and damn, as much as Toby hated to admit it, he could feel himself falling for it, and the half-lidded look you were giving him wasn’t helping anything.

“Oh… I don’t know..” Toby chuckled a bit at the end, but as you moved closer again, he didn’t move away either. Despite the general care he received at the mansion, it had been a while since someone had doted on him like this, and… He was enjoying it.

“Calm on… You can trust in me. If I had wanted to do anything to you, wouldn’t I have already done it? After all, I discovered you unconscious, and yet I brought you back here and fixed up your wounds, even taking care of that poison for you. Would I do that if I wanted to cause harm?” You fluttered your lashes, and Toby felt like he was losing himself in the sight of you.

“I suppose not…” He couldn’t disagree with you; he was very well aware of what you were, aware that you could have killed him in an instant if you wanted to, and you hadn’t, meaning he wasn’t prey.

That thought seemed to make a realization punch Toby directly in the face, and it clicked in his mind; you didn’t choose him as prey or for a quick meal, no, you were considering him a possible mate. That had him swallowing and turning red all over again. You smiled at him, and Toby knew that you understood why he turned red, that you were aware that he had finally realized what you were aiming for.

“So…? Will you stay..?” You were practically resting against him now, your upper body hovering just barely above him. He cleared his throat, although he made no motions to move, and he seemed to be considering your offer seriously, something that made you inwardly grin.

“Although, you know… If you do make the decision to stay, you won’t be getting away from me.” That golden shimmer appeared in your eyes again,  and Toby sucked in a deep breath, before asking something that would catch even you off guard.

“Can I kiss you?” His question was innocent, and it had your eyes widening in shock, although you chuckled deeply, fluttering your lashes at him again.

“Will that help you make your decision?” You teasingly asked him, and he nodded, face and ears flushed bright red as he struggled to not avert his eyes in embarrassment. You hummed, before closing the gap between the two of you, pressing your lips to his.

The kiss started off innocent enough, slow and filled with passion, but as you worked your fingers into Toby’s hair, tugging on the strands, you felt him shiver beneath you, and as he whined into the kiss you let out a chuckle, wanting to see how else he would react. You deepened the kiss, pushing your torso firmly into his, maneuvering your tail to coil around Toby. His arms found their way to your hips, and although he was aware he was being coiled, something that could end badly, he wanted to do as you said; he wanted to trust you.

You tightened and relaxed your grip around him with your tail, binding the two of you together and finding all of the sensitive areas along his body. As you continued to kiss him he continued to get more and more worked up, and when you slipped your tongue into his mouth he practically keened, his fingers digging into your scales. After a few moments, you began to slowly pull away from him, resting your arms on his shoulders as you leaned up to glance down at him, although keeping your tail coiled around him.

“You seemed to enjoy that.” You chuckled darkly, and it sent another shiver through Toby, but; he couldn’t deny it. His hair was messy and out of place, his skin was flushed red, and it was quite obvious to you that he had definitely enjoyed it a bit more than he should have, from the hardness pressing against the start of your tail. Toby hummed beneath you, trying to catch his breath and calm his racing heartbeat.

“So, little one,” You cooed at him, leaning down to whisper into his ear, “Will you stay?” Trembles raced through him as you scraped your fangs against the nape of his neck, and he nodded weakly against you.

“I’ll do it, I’ll stay.” He couldn’t believe the words coming from his mouth, that he had just decided such a thing, but at that moment the decision just felt so right, so natural, especially when he felt you smile against his neck.

When he felt you sink your fangs into him, marking him and claiming him as yours before running your tongue over the wound, Toby thought he just might faint from the pleasure you were giving him. If this was how he was going to die, he thought, well; that just might not be so bad.