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Marble Hornets but instead of Hoody he's Nosey and it's just Brian wearing a pair of these and somehow nobody can tell that it's him the entire time

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WEEP FOR ME | EJ X FALLEN ANGEL!READER| 2.5

<<Part 2 - Part 2.5 - Part 3>>

A/N: this was supposed to be chapt 3 but I wanted the third one to be in jacks POV so here's this 😙

part 2.5 out of..... 2.5(SERIES NOT FINISHED YET)

“S-sorry,” you finally manage to stutter out, your voice thin and wobbly, cracking in your throat. Your head drops low, eyes fixed on the floor, and you pull your arms in tightly to your sides, instinctively trying to shrink yourself, to take up less space. He stands there, unmoving, the silence pressing down on you like a weight. You can feel his eyes crawling across your face, examining you, studying every flicker of emotion. He doesn't just look at you, he looks through you, like he’s deciphering a puzzle you never asked to be part of. You shut your eyes tight, every muscle in your body braced for pain, for a blow, for something sudden and sharp. But nothing comes. No slap, no shove, not even a cruel word. When you finally gather the courage to open your eyes, he’s already turning away, like the moment never mattered.

You stand frozen for a long time after he’s gone, the burn on your finger throbbing beneath the sting of cold water and the weight of your own fear. Your stomach knots and growls but you leave the pot on the stove untouched. The idea of food makes you nauseous now. You clean up in silence, discarding the contents in the pot and washing it with water. When he passes by again and mutters, “Get some rest,” without looking at you, you nod quickly, almost guiltily, and retreat up the stairs. The small room he showed you earlier is as empty as before. The walls are bare, the single window smudged with grime, and the bed is plain, stiff, but not metal-hard like the other bed.

You sit down carefully, uncertain if you’re even allowed to touch the bed, then lie back with slow, hesitant movements. The mattress gives a little beneath you, just enough to remind you that it isn’t meant to be comfortable. You stare at the ceiling, arms crossed over your stomach, legs pulled in slightly, your body still coiled with tension. Sleep feels impossible... your thoughts spinning, your pulse refusing to slow, but the quiet eventually dulls the edge of your fear. Your eyes drift closed, not because you feel safe, but because exhaustion wins. And somewhere in that bleak, unfamiliar room, you finally fall into a restless sleep.

[acecardexe]

🕊️ Please Take a Moment to Read Nadin’s Story

My name is Nadin. I never imagined I would write something like this. I’ve always been someone who kept her worries quiet, someone who believed that even the hardest days could be endured with patience and faith. But right now, I am reaching out — not because I want to, but because I need to.

I am a wife, a mother, and one of many women in Gaza trying to survive days that feel like they have no end. There was a short time — a brief ceasefire — where we thought things might start to heal. Where the sound of war faded for just long enough to let us breathe. But that moment is gone now, and the fear has returned louder than before.

My days are filled with uncertainty, and my nights with prayer. We have lost so much. Our home was damaged, our sense of safety taken from us. But through all of this, I try to keep going. I try to hold on to what little peace I can create with my hands, my words, and my love.

I am not asking for much. Just a little help to keep our lives from falling further apart. To fix the small things — a cracked wall, a leaking roof, the pieces of daily life that help us hold on to dignity.

This campaign isn’t just about survival. It’s about holding on to what makes us human in a place that keeps trying to take that away. It’s about showing my daughter — even though I won’t mention her name here — that the world didn’t forget us.

If you’ve ever felt powerless in the face of suffering, please know that even the smallest gesture can carry great meaning. A kind word. A shared post. A quiet donation. These things remind us that we’re not alone.

I am still here. Still holding on. Still believing that people out there — people like you — still care.

Please, if you feel moved, consider supporting or sharing this campaign.

[acecardexe]

you know what.

I am so fucking tired of rape fics. I am a sexual assault survivor and you sexulise rape. why. why do I work so hard to get better and it all get ruined by some horny asshole just like last time. THESE CHARATERS DONT WANT TO RAPE YOU. rape is horrible, its NOT sexy. its traumatizing. why do you keep talking about it and writing about it. STOP MINIMIZING MY PAIN WITH YOUR DERANGED FANTASIES.

Simon Riley isnt a rapist

Leon Kennedy isnt a rapist

and belive it or not Jonathan Crane ISNT A FUCKING RAPIST

dont tell me not to kink shame

do not tell me to skip it

you cannot tell me that my trauma doesn't matter

STOP WRITING RAPE FICS

[acecardexe]

(Request status: open)

I write:

-oneshots, -fluff -smut -fanfics e.t.c -poly relationships

What I WON'T write for:

-Incest -scat -smut for char under 18 -rape -your self-inserts

Fandoms I write for: (there's probably a lot more but I'm very forgetful) (if the characters in the fandom or the fandom isn't I the list you can js add in the request)

HUNTER X HUNTER ———

-Gon

-Killua

-Kurapika

-Leorio

-Illumi

BAT FAMILY ———

-Bruce

-Tim

-Jason

-Damian

-Dick

MAZE RUNNER (MOVIE) ———

-Minho

-Newt

-Thomas

-Theresa

-Gally

CREEPYPASTA ———

-Eyeless jack

-Nina the killer

-clockwork

-Jeff the killer

-Ben drowned

-Ticci toby

-marble hornet characters

-Jane the killer

Creepypasta masterlist

BNHA ———

-Izuku

-Bakugou

-Kirishima

-Shinso

-Tamaki

-Mina

-Todoroki

-Momo

-Denki

-Iida

SPIDER-VERSE ———

-Hobie/Spider-Punk

-Miguel

-Miles 42

ALICE IN BORDERLAND ———

-Chishiya

-Kuina

-Arisu

-Ann

-Usagi

-Niragi

-Banda

THE ROSEWOOD CHRONICLES ———

-Lottie

-Jamie

-Ellie

-Sayuri

-Haru

SLASHER ———

-Brahms

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WEEP FOR ME | EJ X FALLENANGEL!READER | 2

<< Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 2.5 >>

Summery: reader is trying her best to cook and clean around the house just like jack told them to do but unfortunately they're just making too many mistakes.. and jack notices.

part 2 out of..... 2.5(SERIES NOT FINISHED YET)

The demon doesn't speak, just walks ahead, his footsteps echoing against the bare wooden floors. You follow, heart pounding against your ribs like it wants out.

The house is dim. Not dark, but dim enough to make everything feel washed out and strange. You glance at the dust layering the shelves, the cobwebs clinging to the ceiling corners. He gestures once, curtly, toward a narrow hallway.

“This way.”

His voice is flat. No warmth, no curiosity. Just obligation. You nod and shuffle after him, hands tight around the dress life cloth he put on your body, replacing your torn silken clothes. Each room he shows you is empty, un-lived in with barely any furniture, the house was hardly a place one would call 'home'.

When he leads you to the supply closet, your chest tightens. He opens it, pulls out a faded yellow bucket, a pair of thin gloves, and a spray bottle without a label. One by one, he places them in your arms.

“You’ll start upstairs,” he says. “Windows, floors, bathrooms. You'll begin making lunch at one, you know where the kitchen is, there's a can of soup in the bottom left drawer.”

You want to ask something, anything, but the way his eyes don’t meet yours makes your voice catch in your throat. He turns away before you can speak, already walking off like your presence is just background noise.

You’re left alone with the weight of the cleaning supplies pressing into your arms.

You head upstairs, climbing the stairs slowly and stand in front of the tall window, the bucket at your feet and the spray bottle trembling slightly in your hand. The glass is cloudy with grime, and your reflection looks just as pale and uncertain as you feel. You’ve never done this before.

You tug on the gloves, the thin rubber was cold and too big for your fingers. You spray the glass once, twice, too much, thin trails of liquid start running down before you can figure out what to use next. You grab a cloth, or maybe it's a rag? It’s stiff and smells like old soap. You wipe in circles, then side to side, but the smudges just smear wider. The glass fogs with streaks.

You bite your lip. Try again. More spray. Faster wiping. But it only makes it worse. You’re doing something wrong, clearly, but you don’t know what. No one told you. It was not like you had to clean in paradise.

Behind you, the house creaks again, wood shifting under its weight, or maybe not. You freeze, listening, rag clutched in your hand like it could protect you.

He didn’t say where he’d be. And not knowing that scared you.

Your arm aches. The streaks on the glass look worse than when you started Your breath fogs the surface. You press the rag against it again, harder this time, but it just squeaks uselessly.

You let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I can’t,” you whisper. Maybe to yourself. Maybe to the window. Maybe to no one. The air feels heavier now, like the house is listening. Watching. You step back, peel off the gloves, and rub your eyes with the back of your hand. The quiet is unbearable.

You glance at the bucket. The floor, at least, is simpler. Has to be.

So you kneel. You pour some of the liquid into the bucket, unsure of the right amount. The scent hits you sharp again, chemical, bitter, burning your nostrils. You dip a cloth in, wring it out awkwardly, and begin to scrub.

At first, you go too gently. Then too hard. The cloth sticks to the grain of the floorboards, catching on splinters. Your hands are wet. Your knees hurt. But the act of scrubbing, the motion of it, gives you something to do. A rhythm. A reason not to think.

You scrub until the same spot is cleaner. Maybe. Or maybe just wetter. It’s hard to tell in the dim light.

Still, you keep going. Because the floor doesn't stare back. Because you don’t feel its disappointment. Because at least here, you’re low to the ground. Out of sight. Maybe even safe.

You’re not sure how long you spent on the floor, minutes, maybe? . Your knees are sore, your palms raw from the rough cloth, but the mindless work dulled the panic in your chest.

You sit back for a moment, eyes tracing the patch you cleaned. It’s not perfect, far from it, but it looks done. That’s enough. You tell yourself it is.

You stand, joints stiff, and collect the bucket and supplies again. The hallway feels longer now. You pass the window without looking at it. You don’t want to see the streaks. You don’t want to see your face.

The bathroom is at the end of the hall. The door groans when you push it open. The light flickers once before holding steady.

You step inside.

It’s cold. Unused. The mirror above the sink is dull with grime. The tub has a rust-stained ring around it. Something crusted and dark sits near the drain. The toilet’s lid is up. You avert your eyes.

You breathe through your mouth and kneel again. You dip the cloth in the bucket, but the water’s gone cloudy now, gray from the floor, smelling stronger than ever. Still, you use it. You don’t know if that’s what you’re supposed to do, but it’s what you have.

You start with the sink. The grime doesn’t come off easily. It clings, sticky and stubborn. You scrub harder, pressing until your hand cramps. It’s a battle. You don’t win, not really, but you do enough.

The tub is worse. The brown ring won’t lift. You spray the unlabeled bottle. Again. Again. The smell stings your nose and makes your eyes water. You cough and wipe your face with your sleeve.

Still you work.

Because if you stop, you’ll hear the house again. You’ll remember you're alone with him.

And you don’t want to know what happens if he checks and it isn’t good enough.

You stare at the round shape on the wall, the sound of the ticks echoing in the quiet bathroom. The small finger was pointed to 1. You know how a clock works at least.

Your stomach twists, hollow from hours of working and not eating. The kitchen is downstairs, tucked behind a narrow door you hadn’t noticed before. You push it open slowly, expecting to find him there, but it’s empty.

The kitchen is just like the rest of the house, bare, functional. Cold. There's a single can in the bottom drawer where he said it would be. Your uncertain on how to open it, at first you try and open it with your fingers, you fumble before giving up and opening a drawer and grabbing something sharp, it was like what the demon held in his hand but larger, you stab it into the can leaving a small horizontal line. The soup is thick, clumpy, pale red. You pour it into the pot and place it on the stove.

You stare at the dials, trying to figure out how they work. You turn one, hear a click, and a small flame bursts to life. You flinch back, yet mesmerized by the flames The pot sits there, quiet, the liquid inside barely moving. You watch it for what feels like forever. Should it bubble? Should it steam? You have no idea.

Eventually, you lean in. Carefully. Just a peek. You reach out and press your fingertip against the side of the pot.

The pain is instant. White-hot. You jerk your hand back with a sharp gasp, cradling your finger against your chest. It throbs, angry, red, a blister already blooming. Your first thought was to put it in something cold, it would make sense right? You run to the sink and yank the faucet on, and shove your hand beneath the icy stream. The cold water rushes over your burned fingertip, numbing the pain slightly, but it still pulses like it's beating with your heart.

And then—

A floorboard creaks behind you.

You freeze.

The faucet still runs. The cold still clings to your hand, the stove is still on. But the air in the kitchen has changed, gone still and sharp. You turn your head slowly.

Standing just inside the doorway, arms at his sides, eyes unreadable under the mask. Like he’s been there for a while. Like he heard everything.

You swallow hard. You don’t know what to say. Your hand trembles under the water.

He looks at the pot on the stove, then back at you. His gaze lingers on your wet sleeve, the redness in your face, the burn on your finger.

But his expression doesn’t change.

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay.

“You left the fire on,” he says flatly. You flinch. Turn off the stove with your free hand. The soup is probably ruined. You don’t even care. You expect him to yell. To lecture. To do something.

But he just stands there, silent, watching you like you’re an inconvenience. Like you're a crack in the wall he never wanted.

[acecardexe]

WEEP FOR ME- EYELESS JACK x FALLEN ANGEL!READER

Summary: falling from the heavens and having your wings ripped from your back was bad enough, and now you stumble upon a demon , of all things, a demon. And he doesn't seem like he wants to help..

Warning: mentions of blood and gorey-ish actions, kidnapping?, subtle hints of being drugged.

A/N: yes Ik ejs mask is probably white idgaf. also there are somethings R(reader) doesn't know since they live in 'heaven'

part 1 out of..... 2 (SERIES NOT FINISHED YET)

The ground is cold beneath you, the torn silk robes you were clothed in, feeling like the weight of the moon, just seemingly dragging you down. A trail of blood in your wake. Pain radiates from your shoulder blades, where deep wounds now replace the wings that once carried you. The air feels heavy, oppressive, as if the forest itself mourns your fall. Stripped of grace,and trembling under the weight of mortality.

With trembling legs, you rise from the bloodstained ground, the pain in your back a constant reminder of what you've lost. The forest looms around you, its towering trees whispering with the wind. You followed the path of the forest, your stomach grumbled, you aren't sure what it wants or why it's growling at you.

The quiet rhythm of your footsteps is interrupted by a faint, deliberate crunch of leaves behind you. You freeze, heart pounding in your chest, and the forest seems to hold its breath. The sound comes again; measured, purposeful, and far too human to belong to the forest's creatures. A cold shiver races down your spine, the ache in your back flaring as if in warning. You stopped moving, listening to the sounds, just as you stopped to listen so did the footsteps, your head ached too much to focus on the source of the sound. You hear a growl, and not from your stomach. Behind you.

You whirl around, breath hitching, and your eyes lock onto a figure emerging from the shadows. A face, no, a mask. It was a cerulean blue , with dried black goo that was 'dripping' from the eye hole. The air turns icy, your instincts screaming to flee, but your legs refuse to move, rooted in place by the sheer, primal dread of the presence before you.

It looked human... But it didn't feel like one. the figure stared at you, probably having the same thought you were having. He was holding something in his hand, something shiny, something sharp, he smelled, familiar. like something you had seen before, but you couldn't quite place why.

You stepped back, limping slightly, the pain of your fall evident. The figures presence suffocating, its unseen gaze piercing into your very soul. Your vision blurs, the edges of the world fading to black, and your knees buckle beneath you. The last thing you feel is the cold, damp earth rushing up to meet you and the faint, eerie whisper of the growl shifting into something almost like words. Then, nothing, only the void, heavy and silent, swallowing you whole.

.

Your eyes flutter open, and a dull, sterile light enters your vision. The air is heavy with the metallic tang of blood. You realize you're lying on a cold, hard surface, it seemed like a bed but it wasn't soft and plush like you're one up above. Is this what humans really sleep on? The thought bubbled up in your head. restrained by thick leather straps around your wrists and ankles. Shadows flicker across the dimly lit room, The ache in your back returns with a vengeance, the pain sharper now, raw and searing. Above you, a strange array of tools gleams ominously, you realise your back doesn't hurt that much anymore, but it feels hard to move like something is wrapped around your body where your shoulder blades were.

Panic rises in your chest as you struggle against the restraints, 'wait what are you doing here? Why are you in the mortal world? Why are you.. ' oh that's right, you're a mortal now aren't you? Memories flood your head, remembering what happened and the encounter with the figure wearing the blue mask. a shadow enters your vision, you turned your head and see the masked figure staring, at you, well you presumed, he was staring at you. "what do you want from me?!?" you mustered up the strength to say at him.

then you realize it, why he felt so familiar even though you never met him - he was a demon! you learnt about demons and you even saw one before! except that time the demon was big at around 8'0 and head horns at the front of his head that curled upwards, he was a beautifully tragic but you couldn't pity him, 'he did this to himself' but to think about it now you're a demon too. And no angel would care to look in your direction, thinking of you as nothing but traitor. The masked figure didn't have pretty horns and wasn't 8'0 tall, he probably around two foot shorter. his breathing sounding inhumane.

"You were in my territory" it spoke, it had a deep, raspy voice yet it sounded so calm. like the waves of the sea, thrashing around in the middle of a starry night.

you could guess he was of male gender, by its mannerisms but then again you havent visited earth in such a long time so you could be wrong. you tried to sit up but you had quite forgotten that you were strapped to the hard, rigid mattress of its bed. "why is your bed so firm?" you spoke without thinking, you're eyes widened, at being so blunt and rude. the figure chuckled in amusement, maybe he thought you were stupid? maybe sleeping on a plush bed was a privilege and maybe he thought you were posh or something? you looked nervous. and opened your mouth to apologise but he talked first "It's a hospital bed, I don't sleep there." he replied walking up to you, he looked like you, like how a person looks at a lost kitten , you didn't know what else to say, so you looked around the gloomy room, the light was flickering and beside me were sharp tools. oh deity, what was he going to do to me? maybe he is a fallen angel too and he is helping me? then what is the reason for the restraints around my foot and wrists? you think to yourself, panic flowing through you again. your thoughts trying to trust him and the other side, praying for your life. it wouldn't matter anyways, He wouldn't save you and there's nothing you can do, restricted to the bed after all.

so you try your hardest to think back to when you learnt about demons, and how to escape from them, especially when you couldn't use your wings. you remembered the number one rule for demons, do NOT make ANY deals with them, and not to indulge in the seven deadly sins, or else you would have been sent down.... but you have already been sent down, so it would be worth a try wouldn't it? the seven deadly sins..

pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth. now that you think of it how would that help you? being prideful might annoy him... being greedy might confuse and anger him... being lust full.. well, you've never done that before so you skip that thought, you would probably mess up anyways. being envious would, what? just confuse him? being wrathful would just anger him, being lazy would.. well, uh, you're restricted from movement anyways, so it doesn't matter. and asking for a lot of food.. he would just think that you're a plutocrat or something. so the best thing you thought about was to beg.

"please don't hurt me, I'm sorry I was in your territory! I just landed here.. I really didn't know it was yours!" you're stomach growled at you again, you were exactly a prideful person but begging was ideal either, he just stared at you for a couple of minutes before answering back. "I won't hurt you" he finally concluded "but you'll have to help me around"

what did he mean? what did he mean by that? oh no! is he trying to make a deal with me?? "what do you mean?" you asked, fear evident in your voice. "I wont hurt you.." he paused before thinking of compromises for not viciously attacking you or chopping you up for dinner. "...If you clean around the house and cook. you can do that can't you?". you bit your lip, you didn't know what to say because you didn't know how to do all of that. when you were an angel you didn't need to eat, or to cook. but you didn't want to die right after you fell from an inexplainable amount of metres up. "Y-Yes I can" you lie between your teeth, hoping it was convincing enough.

"good." He untied you and let you sit up "I bandaged the deep cut that you have on your back." he got a cup of water from the table with the strange looking objects and picked up a small white thing that was yellow halfway down t and gave it to you. "have this. it will..... stop some pain in your back if you still have any" you took the cup and the little white oval object and you didn't know what to do. so you just took the white thing and the water at the same time and they both went down you're throat easily, you were caught off guard because you didn't have time to chew it so you started coughing before settling down. "wh-what was that?" you cleared your throat, not getting any taste from it and you didn't feel like the pain was going away either.

"..it was a pill, now get up I'll show you where you can sleep" you stumbled getting of the 'hospital bed' due to you not used to your legs yet, and you half- expected to float out the room, as you leave the dimly lit room you felt much more calmy, relaxed, as if, if you were told to do something you would probably do it. how strange..

Part 2

Creepypasta Masterlist

[acecardexe]

Webbed Together

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader/ Spider-Punk x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3k

Author's Note: I HAVE FINALLY GOT THIS CHAPTER DONE!!! 😭 I'd like to thank @pinksugarscrub for being so patient with me and for beta reading for me! Credit goes to @the-kr8tor for their original characters Ramona and Billie.

Tags: Parent Trap!AU, Dad!Hobie AU, Twin!AU, Billie and Ramona!AU, Older!Hobie, Mom!Reader, Older!Reader

Chapter 4: Stand Up

<<< Chapter 3 Chapter 5>>>

Rubber soles slap against dirt as Annie sprints towards the infirmary. Fiery short locks whip against the momentum the faster she runs, thick frames bouncing against the bridge of her nose and sweat building up on her forehead.

The moment Annie heard that Billie went to the infirmary after her private clarinet lesson, she ran straight out their shared cabin and across the campgrounds to the infirmary, dodging any unsuspecting campers and counselors along the way. Her heart pounds against her ribcage as her feet propel her faster, her mind riddled with worry for her friend.

Annie’s feet then skids across the dirt, small gravel and dust flying everywhere, before she runs into the infirmary. Weaving around the bewildered elderly nurse through the doorway, she instantly spots a mane of dark curls in the corner of her eye, where before her is a familiar figure gently bobbing her head with an mp3 player in her hand with a boy lying in the infirmary bed.

“Billie!”

Annie storms into the room and grabs the girl from her chair, oblivious to the startled boy in the bed while standing on her tiptoes and shaking the tall girl by the shoulders.

“Billie, what the heck happened?!” Annie yells, her hands clamped onto skinny shoulders while she jostles the girl back and forth. “Cindy told me you went over here after playing volleyball with Benny and his friends! Did he hit you in the head or something? Do you have a concussion or–”

Annie continues to jabber on with her interrogation while shaking the poor girl, not noticing the lack of piercings on her ears nor the lack of punk flair in her clothes.

“But not only are you fine, but you’re just chilling here listening to music with a boy!” Annie huffs with her cheeks puffed out and her brows furrowed. “When the heck did that happen?! Who is he, and when were you planning on telling me?! What the heck is going–”

“Uh, Annie?”

Annie instantly freezes at the familiar British accent behind her. Her hands still clutching onto the girl’s shoulders, she slowly looks over her shoulder to see Billie standing under the doorway, staring at her with a confused tilt to the head. “What are you doing?...”

Annie’s eyes nearly break through her glasses when she sees her friend before turning her attention back to the disoriented Ramona, who quietly groans while her head lolls around from the sudden outburst from the shorter redhead.

A long silence lingers in the room as Annie looks back and forth between the two girls, the wave of disbelief washing over her face until–

“...WHO THE HELL IS THIS?!”

—

Annie’s face is frozen in a perplexed frown as she stares at the sight in front of her, ignoring the wary and injured Arnold as she sits on the edge of his bed.

Two Billies– or Billie and Ramona, as Billie reminds Annie. One in her familiar punk band-tee and with her cat-like smile, and the other smiling sheepishly at her in a white, cherry-decorated sweater. The sight of Annie’s perplexed stare elicits a snicker from Billie before she tries to speak.

“Oh c’mon, Annie–”

“Shut up.”

Billie presses her lips together and holds her hands up in surrender, but she struggles to stifle her snickers as Annie shoots a sharp glare at her. The latter then turns to Ramona, who flinches from the intense scrutiny of the redhead. Despite having more than half a foot on her, Ramona is instantly intimidated by the short redhead.

“...so you two don’t know each other?”

Ramona quickly shakes her head no.

“And you barely met each other when your friend–” Annie points her thumb over to the flitty Arnold– “got hit in the head by a volleyball?”

A quick shake yes.

“And all of this is just a coincidence for you guys?”

Another quick nod.

Annie stares at the shrinking Ramona, as if studying a new specimen in a science experiment, before she sighs in resignation. “Okay, I guess.”

“ ‘m sorry– what? Jus’ like ‘at?” 

Billie drops her smirk and squawks in indignation as her eyes narrow at her friend, her British accent briefly growing stronger. “You weren’t like ‘is when I told you!”

Annie instantly glares at Billie, her face scrunching up into a demon-like scowl as she stands up from poor Arnold’s bed. “Because she’s not laughing her ass off about it, unlike how you told me! I mean, wouldn’t you be freaking out about seeing somebody else with your face? Actually– why aren’t you freaking out more?!”

Arnold meekly backs away as much as he could against the headboard from the quick temper of the redhead, and Ramona looks between the two friends with worry, but Billie just barks up a carefree laugh before pulling Annie into a bear hug.

“Oh c’mon now, Annie! No need to throw a fit ‘bout ‘is,” Billie grins as she rocks Annie side-to-side, with the redhead scrambling but failing to get out of her embrace like an annoyed tabby cat. “Sure, ’s a little weird seeing someone looking like me if I was in those cheesy clothing ads–”

“Hey–”

“But we can’t just lose our marbles over it like a bunch of ninnies,” Billie continues with a goodhearted wave of a hand to Ramona. “ ‘sides, ‘s a small world! My dad always says to expect the unexpected and take things in stride–”

Annie finally yanks herself away from Billie’s grasp with a gasp, her glasses askew and her hair in a ruffled mess, before her face scrunches up into an annoyed glare. “I don’t think this is what your dad had in mind when he said that–”

“Either way, we’ on it like a car bonnet,” Billie reassures Annie with a cheeky grin. “We already went through the whole freakout session: pinching each other, yanking our hairs, waiting for the whole world to end, the whole nine yards–”

“With two of the three done one-sidedly–”

Billie playfully pouts at Ramona’s retort, who gives a deadpan in return. 

A quiet cough interrupts the three-way conversation, and all three turn to the forgotten boy in the room with a mix of exasperation (Annie), confusion (Ramona), and amusement (Billie). Arnold flushes sheepishly at their full attention as he pulls the covers over his body.

“C-can one of you g-guys get me– get me an icepack?...”

Ramona’s eyes soften as she crosses the room for the mini refrigerator to grab one, meanwhile Annie looks over at him with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that,” Annie adjusts herself on the edge of the bed to face Arnold. “You feeling okay, though? I heard from a lot of kids that Benny has a strong arm.”

Arnold shrugs just as Ramona approaches him with a Ziplock full of ice, which he gratefully takes from her before putting it on his forehead. “I think so. The nurse told me I don’t have a concussion, but the swelling will stay for a few days–”

“That guy was kinda being a jerk, though,” Ramona huffs out, her face scrunched up into a slight frown. “He didn’t even say sorry to Arnold or anything, just laughed about it.” Ramona then turns to Billie with her brows furrowed even more. “Can’t you talk to Benny or something? You’re his friend, aren’t you–”

“Now hang on, he ain’t my mate,” Billie holds her hands up in surrender, her cheeky grin dropping to a more solemn frown. “I was only there with him because I was on free time, ‘n I didn’t have anything else to do. Barely met the bloke today, but he was bein’ an arse the whole time we were playing. Thought everyone else was gonna tell him off, but they were actin’ like his lackeys or somethin’.”

Billie then crosses her arms and scrunches up her nose in annoyance. “By the time poor Arnie over here–”

“Arnie?”

“Yes, you, Arnie– anyway, by the time Arnie got hit in the head, I was already sick of being around those prats, so I just legged it with you guys.”

As Billie finishes, Ramona crosses her arms against her chest with a frustrated huff, her forehead wrinkling up while her face curls up into a deeper frown. “Still, someone has to tell him off. He can’t just do that and then laugh the whole thing off.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of an asshole move,” Annie adds on. “And the rest of the kids with him are no better, laughing it off with him instead of checking up on Arnie– it’s okay to call you Arnie, right?”

“I–”

“Anyway,” Annie cuts off the confused Arnold, “Benny shouldn’t get away with that. Did you guys talk to a counselor about this at least?”

“I tried earlier,” Ramona grumbles, her face pinching up into a frustrated frown, “but for some reason the counselors won’t listen. Like as soon as I say Benny’s name, they either brush me off or look like they just saw a monster and just run off…”

“Maybe he’s some rich trust fund kid, like in those old cheesy teen movies my Uncle James watches,” Billie mutters under her breath with a crinkle to her nose, now sitting down on a chair beside the infirmary bed while absently fidgeting with a small B-shaped charm on her chain bracelet. “His parents pro’lly donated a lot of money or sumthin’ to the camp, so the counselors look the other way when he causes trouble.” When her input is only met with silence, she glances up to the rest of the group staring at her with confusion and disbelief.

“... ‘m just sayin’, that could be it.”

Ramona only sighs before she turns back to the rest of the group. “Well either way, the counselors are no help, and Benny doesn’t seem like he’s sorry about it–”

“Maybe we should just drop it,” Arnold mumbles out as he pulls the makeshift ice pack from his forehead with a defeated face. “What if we make things worse–”

“Yeah, no, not an option, Artie,” Billie interrupts before she pushes herself up from her seat and rests her hands on his shoulders. “If you let anyone like Benny hurt ya and get away with it, then he gon’ keep doin’ it to ya. He gon’ t’ink it’s okay to take a piss at ya, slag off at ya–”

“I don’t like how either of those sound–”

“He gon’ keep bullying ya if ya don’ stand up fo’ yaself,” Billie shuts Arnold down with a stern frown. “Tha’s not sumthin’ ya should put up wit’ the whole time ya here. And not only he gon’ do it to ya, but he gon’ do it to other kids too at some point. And before he gon’ reach that point, we gotta nip that in the bud ‘n make sure that don’ happen.”

Arnold hesitantly stares up at Billie before turning to Ramona, who only shrugs in response. “I mean, Billie does have a point. It’ll just get worse if you don’t say anything…”

She then sits on the other side of the bed and gently bumps her shoulder against his, the corners of her lips quirking up into a small smile. “But you got us to help you. You don’t have to deal with Benny alone.”

Arnold glances between the two girls in front of him with uncertainty before darting his eyes down to his hands clutching onto the ice-filled ziplock bag. “Can one of you guys take a step back please? It’s still a little weird for me to see the two of you together…”

Billie’s eyes narrow as her face reverts to an annoyed deadpan, but she lets go of Arnold’s shoulders and steps back with her hands up. “Just know that you’re avoidin’ the subject, mate–”

“Billie–”

“ ‘m just sayin’, Mon-mon–”

“I’m sorry– Mon-mon?”

“Okay, you two,” Annie cuts in with a huff, “we’re losing track of what the actual issue is. We all want Benny to not act like an asshole and apologize to Arnie, but apparently he has some Regina George power over people here. How are we gonna deal with that?”

Everyone in the room grows silent for a moment, the sounds of children talking outside echoing into the infirmary room until–

“We could all go up to him and give him a piece of our minds–”

“I don’t think jumping him would do Arnie any good, Billie–”

“We’re not gon’ jump him!” Billie denies with an offended scowl as she narrows her eyes at Annie. “We’re jus’ gon’ make it known tha’ Arnie was miffed off and ain’t gon’ take any more of his crap–”

“Wait, I just said I don’t want to make things worse–”

“Letting him get away with it will make it worse, Arnold–”

“But–”

“C’mon, Arnie,” Billie groans as she flops down across the bed, making sure not to land on Arnold’s legs, “ya can’t just let Benny do tha’ ta ya ‘n then laugh at ya face. Ya gotta do sumthin’ to stop it from happenin’ again. Personally, I’d–”

A loud knock suddenly echoes in the room, and all four of the kids look over to the doorway, where an elderly woman with a white lab coat hobbles inside with her cane tapping along the tile flooring.

“Now, now, kiddies, you shouldn’t be crowding the poor boy like this,” the elderly nurse tuts at the girls as she slowly approaches Arnold, making all three of them get off the bed while the nurse gently presses her fingertips against the bump on Arnold’s head. “He may be fine in the head, but he still needs to rest and not get too excited while the swelling goes down. You girls should run off to your activities in the meantime.”

Billie’s face and shoulders drop at the nurse’s words. “But–”

A hand gently grasps on Billie’s shoulder, and she looks over to a sympathetic Ramona before she looks over to the nurse with an apologetic smile. “We’re sorry, ma’am. We’ll be on our way.”

Ramona then glances over to Arnold, concern and reluctance lingering in her eyes. “Get better soon, okay Arnold? Just meet up with us if you get cleared later.”

She then gently pushes a disgruntled Billie, who still tries to go back to talk to Arnold in vain, to the door while Annie hesitantly follows behind with a sheepish wave to him. “We’ll come back with some snacks or something, Arnie!” Annie calls out before she closes the door behind them.

—

“What the bloody hell, you two?!” Billie huffs out as she stomps out of the infirmary and onto the campgrounds, with a weary Ramona and a distracted Annie– who zips up her fanny pack and opens a granola bar– following her. “Why’d ya pull me outta there?! We’re not done talkin’ ‘bout this wit’ ‘im–”

“Calm down, Billie,” Ramona cuts her off with a sigh, scuffing her converses against the gravel. “Arnold’s still hurt, and if the nurse didn’t come in, we would’ve overwhelmed him too much. Besides, even if we did get Arnold to agree, we don’t know what could happen if we all went up to Benny and confronted him about it. That’ll just be too much stress for Arnold to deal with.”

“Yeah, but–”

Annie suddenly pops up by Billie’s side and shoves the granola bar into her mouth, effectively silencing the vexed punk girl as she drops her shoulders and reluctantly eats it with a grumble.

“And even if we did confront him, it just sounds like he and his goons will just brush us off,” Annie sighs with her arms crossing against her chest. “We’d probably have to figure out a way to get him to listen…”

Billie huffs out through her nose in annoyance as she begins to walk off and gobble up the granola bar, having the two girls follow her until they are side by side. “I’d personally like ta throw a ball at his head, see how he likes it.”

“Violence isn’t the answer, Bills–”

“Neither is sittin’ back and letting him do whatev’a he wants–”

As both girls continue to bicker, Ramona glances over to the side and spots a crowd of kids gathering at one of the benches near the boys’ cabins, her feet slowing down into a stop as she stares at the area with curiosity. Along the outskirts of the crowds Ramona’s eyes drift down to some of the kids’ hands– wallets, handfuls of bills, tied-up filled socks– and she slowly separates from Billie and Annie as she approaches the buzzing flock in front of her. The closer she gets to the cabin area, the clearer she hears the murmurings and familiar grating laughter from before. Once she finally joins the stragglers outside the crowd, she can easily see over the numerous kids clamoring to the center, where she spots Benny cackling and throwing a hand of five cards down the bench and shoveling a pile of bills and coins to himself to the groaning dismay of the people sitting on the table with him.

Ramona tilts her head to the side in confusion before turning to a short boy hopping next to her as he tries to peek over a taller kid’s shoulders.

“Uh, hey,” Ramona gently taps on the shorter kid’s shoulder, briefly stealing his attention away from the card game. “What’s going on here?”

The disgruntled boy strains his neck up to stare at her wide-eyed, briefly distracted by the tall girl in front of him, before shaking his head and struggling to peek over again. “There’s this older kid who’s playing a poker game tournament, and he said that whoever beats him in a game of poker can get whatever they want from him.”

A few kids start to make their way out of the crowd with disappointment painted on their faces while the mass of kids start to clamor closer to replace any empty spots in the middle. “So far none of the boys won against him yet,” the kid continues, “but the older kid Benny said anyone who thinks they can beat him can join in–”

“Oh, really?”

Ramona jolts up in surprise and turns her head to the side, only to see Billie draping her arm over her shoulder. A wickedly mischievous glint shines in the punk girl’s eyes while a Cheshire Cat-like grin curls up on her lips, sending a dreadful chill down Ramona’s spine.

“Anyone can play?”

----

British Phrase of the Chapter:

On it like a car bonnet - can be used by someone who thinks they are in control of a situation

Legged it - made a run for it

Take a piss - be sarcastic to or mock

Slag off - verbally make fun of someone

Miffed - confused or annoyed

References:

https://www.stgeorges.co.uk/23-typical-british-expressions-you-must-learn-to-understand-the-brits/

https://www.oxfordinternationalenglish.com/dictionary-of-british-slang/

https://tandem.net/blog/british-slang-words

[acecardexe]

as many of you know, i don’t really like konig. so i present to you this: tw, implied death

deadbeat dad!konig, a widower who spends his days drinking, hooking up, and working 12 hours a day night shifts to “provide for his kid” but also get away from her because she looks too much like his dead wife. he never thought he’ll settle down and when he did, his worst fears came true, and so did the past he was trying to escape

even with military pension and disability checks, it’s not enough so he keeps working. and his daughter keeps getting ignored “for good reasons”.

at 10, she stayed after school for hours before konig remembered he had to pick her up.

at 16, she got rear ended and konig was too drunk to get her. she cried until she the police came and they called her teacher to come get her.

things only started to change when you rushed into the house, finding your ass of a dad on his recliner, a beer in his hand. the papers in your hand splashed onto his lap.

“what the fuck?” he responded, gathering the papers and throwing at your face.

“i’m leaving for basic training in a month”

he looked furious. “no you’re not”

“yes i am. i’m going to find a fucking a family there, a real one.”

he looked at you as if you just poured cold water over him while he was asleep. he couldn’t believe it. “no you’re not.”

“i am. i signed. i leave in a month.”

he grumbled but looked away at you, not having enough courage to beg you to stay, beg you to stay right where he could protect you from the world that took your mother. he didn’t have the courage to say two simple words even as his chest tightened and his breathing staggered as you started packing in your room.

when the day came shortly after, he drove you to the airport. and to his surprised, he couldn’t control his own body as it took your bag out of the car and walked you to the gate. you look at him, almost waiting for him to fix things at the last minute.

he looked at you, thinking if he was just a bit more of a better man, this wouldn’t be how you say goodbye.

“i love you, mein liebling.”

you frown as tears fall from your face. “i love you too dad.”

…

“i’m sorry.” he whispered as a thumb caressed your dogtags

[acecardexe]

JOYRIDE- ROOMATE!JEFF.TK x FEM!READER

Summery: You and jeff had a compromise. Don't go to each other's side of the room. But the mess and smell in his side of the room was building up like mold and you've had enough.

Warnings: . cussing,implied nsfw, Jeff is a perv (he steals some clothes of yours..)

A/N: got severely lazy at the end (╯︵╰,)

You and jeff weren't exactly the best of friends, but you were roomed up with him so you both had to just suck it up. So you made a truce, don't go to his and he won't go to yours. It's simple. Very foolproof..

That is until his room started looking like a birds nest with the smell of dead raccoon, you told him to clean up but he would just ignore you, insult you or glare at you or just simply give you excuses

Today you have HAD enough. While he was out doing whatever he was doing. You made sure he would be out for a while, just so you can clean up his room, you weren't going to do too much of a deep clean, you were just going to clean up enough that it wouldn't feel like you lived next to a trash can.

After an hour you finished a quarter of his room and moved over to his bed, clothes stacked on top of it that smelt like blood and sweat, you put it in the laundry basket and stripped the sheets, when a small black fabric fell out the dirty pillow sheets.

"The fuck is this..?" You mumbled to yourself, and picked it up. To your ever surprising horror, you found your lacy black panties that you were looking for everywhere you even asked Jeff but he just made a disgusted face and asked why he would have it.

Suddenly the door opened and in came the devil himself, Jeff. He stopped seeing you on his side of the room, anger flashing on his eyes. Until he looked at the price of fabric you were holding and he gave you a weird look And was quick to give you and answer

"That's not yours."

"it has my name on it."

You could hear him swear under his breath, as he realized he couldn't get out of the situation. He grumbled "what are you doing on my side of the room anyways?!" You went quiet, but frankly in your head cleaning someones stinky ass room was better than stealing someones underwear and god knows whatever he does with it. "Cleaning." You simply responded as if it was the most obvious thing and that it didn't look like you were raiding his side at all.

"Right." He said not making eye contact with you, The tension and the awkwardness level was so thick you'd need an axe to cut it. If Jeff wasn't a psychopath he would be red at this point, but unfortunately, or fortunately he isn't. He couldn't even argue that you were on his side because he was on your side as well. How else would he have your panties.

You decide the best thing to do is leave, "anyways, I'm going to wash your shit since you won't", you picked up the laundry basket with the dirty clothes you found in his room and headed to the door.

"Hold on" he held out an arm to stop you from getting out. "What if you tell this to someone else huh?" He shut the door.

"I- excuse me? What?" I stopped putting the basket down and crossing my arms

"I can't have you doing that now." You furrow your brows, it's not like Jeff had the best reputation in the mansion, he was feared but people knew he was also disgusting. So why did it matter if I blabber that he did shit with my panties, I'll throw that out anyways now that I know where it's been.. Or probably been.

"I'm not going to say anything" you huffed, rolling your eyes, desperate to get out of the room that was getting hotter every second. He grabbed you by the waist and growled

"Yeah as if you can keep your mouth shut, I guess I'll just have to fix that"

"The hell does that-"

His lips crashed into yours in a forced aggressive way as he pulled you closer and pulled you up onto your bed. it was going to be a long night.

CP MASTERLIST

[acecardexe]

CANDY - BEN DROWNED WITH A DOUYIN STYLE S/O

;fluff, headcannons + short stories, BEN is a perv, also a bit of smut?(not really) (fanon-ish BEN) BEN is aged up

- At first when you met BEN he would mock you and make fun of your fashion choices, calling them childish and said your makeup made you look like a baby, which would just soon turn into silly teasing with him unable to process he may or may not like you.

- He would get extremely frustrating and toxic sometimes but he would try to make up for it by giving you clothes he saw in your shopping cart when he was hacking into your account.

; you were laying in your bed, trying to ignore Ben as stubbornly as you were. He entered the room without even knocking and you pulled the bed sheets over you

"Doll, I got you something" he said sitting at the edge of your bed "hmmm, no" you weren't going to take his crap anymore in fact-

"If you don't want these then okayy.. " 'these as in plural?' "And yes as in plural" what annoyed you the most about him was that he seemed to always read your mind. You peeked out of the bed sheets and caught a glimpse of a white fabric,

.. "Fine."

-sometimes, sometimes, he would let you test your makeup on him, most of the time it's when he's gaming and he's distracted, he would let you sit on his lap and put fake eyelashes on him and lipstick,

-he also knows you take pride in picking out your outfits everyday and what looks good and what doesn't so he asks you to spin around and ask to take pictures of your outfit, which, you excitedly always say yes, he crouch down, take pictures in all angles, find that good lighting, and still takes shitty pictures, (don't tell him though he has a large ass ego)

; "spin for me baby"

You spin around and show him all the cool extra accessories you have and the fashion hacks you used as well, he smiled as he watched you taking out his phone

"Pose" he told you, opening the camera app

And so you did, walking around the park, posing like a dress to impress character, sure that the photos would turn out like you deserve to be in the cover of a Vogue magazine

He sent you the photos and looked at you proud of himself "I should be a professional photographer" he told you, opening the messaging app and seeing the most rancid 25x25 pixel photos you have ever seen in your entire life.

"The pictures are lovely babe"

-sometimes he likes picking your outfits himself, but most of the time he picks something straight out of stellar blade, if steller blade was set in sanrio. Or he would pick out outfits that make no sense, or an umblanced outfit, like pink with olive green, it wouldn't of be that bad except you looked like a moldy strawberry.

-sometimes he actually picks out a good outfit but you don't want to say anything in case of boosting his ego again.

-he loves buying clothes for you but he especially loves buying dresses, and would get angry if you were shorts underneath since he loves it when he can see your white lacy panties when you pick something up and you forgot you were wearing a dress until you hear BEN's chuckle behind you

; "what are you laughing at now BEN?" You turned around facing him

"Nothing" he raised his hands up, feigning innocence "except the nice view I was graciously blessed with" he gave you a smirk, you made a confused face before you're cheeks started heating up

"You pervert!" You start hitting him with your handbag

"Ow! Hey! Can't I just be smitten with you for a second?" He gave you a sweet smile "yknow you should be lucky I'm even dating you in the first pla-"

he was cut off by the fact that you threw your bag right at his face,

[acecardexe]

CREEPYPASTA MASTERLIST-🫀

(Requests open)

TICCI TOBY

-

LOSER!YANDERE! TOBY WITH A PROSTITUTE 'S/O'

-

-

JEFF THE KILLER

-

ROOMATE!JTK (slight NSFW at the end)

-

-

EYELESS JACK

-

-

-

SERIES;

-

FALLEN ANGEL!READER

BEN DROWNED

-

BEN DROWNED WITH A DOUYIN/COQUETTE S/O

-

-

MASKY

-

-

-

HOODIE

-

-

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NINA THE KILLER

-

-

-

CLOCKWORK

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-

-

[acecardexe]

House of the rising sun -Loser!Yandere!Ticci Toby

Smut, prostitution, mentions of drugs, swearing, kidnapping and stalking, fluff maybe?

Synopsis- in which you work in a brothel and meet a poor guy you decide take pity on.

A/N- this is my first kinda smut work and it's also a bit short by anyways

working in a brothel is too repetitive, get fucked, get payed. Occasionally there's an interesting client but usually just the normal horny men come and go. literally.

You thought Toby would just be a normal guy, just like the others, he was tall and lanky but he looks a bit athletic at least. He wore a mask but you weren't one to question.

He was a regular, I guess you can say, sometimes he wouldn't be back for more than but he'd be back eventually, only requesting you specifically because somehow, he found out your real name.

He paid extra too, extra hours and gave you a large tip. He pleaded to cuddle after you were done, burying his head into your chest and sleeping safely, sometimes he would wake up from a nightmare but you weren't paid enough to handle that, unless he paid you to of course.

He wasn't bad at sex, he was just inexperienced, but he was quick to learn what you liked, in his spare time he liked watching you, stalking you to be more exact, looking through your window on your days off and stroking his poor twitching dick already full of pre-cum

Embarrassingly for him he came fast but he would try to make up for it by eating you out or using his fingers instead, he'd be insistent not to use a condom too because he 'didn't like the feel of it' but in reality be was just trying to baby trap you.

Sometimes he comes by only to give you a small gift like a necklace or a nice new lingerie he can fuck you in. He wants you to be on top too because he's usually too tired from his missions.

You'd leave before he wakes up but since you felt bad for the guy so you'd buy him some coffee.

One day he found out you were moving states because you found a different job so he found your address and kidnapped you.

He wouldn't exactly call it kidnapping he would call it keeping you safe, with him, now you get to spend time with him 24/7. And when he comes back from his missions he'd untie you, give you gifts and you can cuddle together! Like a perfect, very normal, couple.