crushedteeth

[crushedteeth]

fanfic recs similar to urs?? im so invested but i fully understand the slow updates :P

These are some of my favorites. Delirium and Origin both inspired my work heavily

-The Devil's Hand by ghenosmiles | I'm not usually a fan of OC's in fics but I loved it a lot and found it hard to put my phone down to stop reading it. However it's not a fic that features Hoodie, Masky or Toby very heavily.

-Delirium by i eat moss (Quotev) | Absolute favorite! I never thought I'd enjoy reading a reader insert story so much but this fic was a HUGE inspiration for my fic. Hoodie, Masky and Toby are wonderfully written and I try to emulate that in my work. Quotev is unconventional but the author may be uploading it to ao3 soon, their tumblr is @/mushr00mfriend

-⨂rigin: The Man Who Wasn't There by InkHero | Insanely long and srill not even finished, I haven't even fully read all the chapters yet. Very good though, basically a novel at this point. One of my main features I like about it is the characterization, especially Jeff, Liu, and Nina. Their scenes were creepy and chilling and very unique to any other interpretations I've seen of them.

I might come back and add more recommendations later if I can recall some other good ones, but I hope you enjoy at least one of these ^^

[crushedteeth]

Creepypasta fic WIP

(I’m not sure what direction I wanna take this in but the main gist is that it’s Toby’s pov joining the proxy gang and slowly losing his mind and fully becoming a killer. It might get a little introspective.)

About a week ago I burnt that house down with those bastards still inside. It doesn’t matter now, whether this is really what I wanted or not. All that matters is that I survived. That I escaped that wretched beast. I won’t ever go back. I wouldn’t go back not even if I knew Lyra was there waiting for me to get home, just like she would all those years ago when I would come home from school. Even if I wanted to.. the police were looking for me anyways.

It’s cold, not enough for it to snow but just enough that it’s clear autumn is ending. I walked, I hitchhiked, and rode buses all the way to Alabama. Once lush green trees lost all their leaves and it left the whole region looking dull and withered. I had finally stopped in some hick town. The roads lay dilapidated because the last time they’d been paved was when they were built.

At about 6 pm the sun was already down and I decided I should rest for the night because the next day I’d be traveling, as well as the next day, and the next day, and even the day after that. My life had just become one shitty road trip.

I walk into a filthy gas station restroom. It isn’t even attached to the main store and I had to make the embarrassing walk back out of the store and down the side of the building just to use those putrid bathrooms. I don’t even need to use the restroom. I just wanted to look in the mirror and pretend like nothing had changed at all. But things have changed. That’s apparent when I gaze up into the hazy smudged mirror to inspect the gash that now rests on the left side of my face. I’ve been shoddily covering it up with gauze and peeling medical tape. At first it upset me but now it doesn’t matter, I never felt it anyways. I never felt anything.

The gash is repellent, not just because it widened my mouth allowing view of my yellowed gnarly teeth, but because it was probably infected. It’s red and irritated creating the perfect spectacle of disreslish, and if anyone could see behind the gauze they shoot him an even worse expression than they already give.

I rub my eyes harshly until all I see is fuzzy grayness. I leave the restroom squashing a fat cockroach on the way out and I don’t even bother to gag or scrape my shoe off. I just don’t care anymore, about anything really, except surviving.

I realize that I’m walking with my head down so I look up. I stop for a moment, I look at those dreadful trees. They look ugly as ever, but just for a little I can pretend that I’m enjoying nature and maybe even the breeze if I could feel it.

I turn back to the gas station’s store. My eyes scan the posters plastered to the plexiglass, looking for any fleeting sense of amusement. I spot a flier for the town’s local bar which piques my interest. They never check ID’s in places like this and I could use a drink. I have 35 bucks left, I’ll probably only be able to afford a single crappy beer. A single crappy beer that will drain my minimal cash. Logically I should ditch the bar and find a motel, do something nice while the money lasts. But there’s a lot of things I don’t care about now and comfort is one of them.

There’s no sidewalks in the town and I stumble on roadside debris more than I’d like to admit but I make it to the bar after a crisp 5 minute walk. It’s not bustling but a familiar amount of people appear to be there. I imagine that they’re regulars and that most of them likely walk home because there are only two cars parked in the dirt lot.

As I walk up to the entrance I notice a man leaning against the bar’s wall. He’s a little over average height and he’s wearing a beige sort of jacket. He’s smoking a cigarette and two more burnt ends on the ground make me think the one he has in his mouth may not be his first. He doesn’t lift his head up or open his eyes to look at me but I still feel rude for staring and I look away quickly. I commit to my plan and waltz into the bar in a semi fluid motion.

Immediately eyes are on me, but as soon as they look at me they’re gone. No one in the bar seems to particularly care that they’ve clearly never seen me before so they go back to drinking and talking quietly.

All of the patrons are at various worn down tables scattered around the bar save for one man sitting directly at the bar. I sit two seats down from the man and I try not to look at him but I see his head turned towards me in my peripheral vision. He’s wearing a yellow hoodie and that’s just about all that I can tell from my limited view of him. He turns away and a tension lifts from my shoulders that I hadn’t even realized was there.

The bar’s staff doors swing open as a young woman walks out. Her hair is up in a bun and if I were to guess I’d say she’s probably the daughter of the owner. She makes her way towards me and asks me “Can I get you anything?” with a polite but disingenuous smile.

“Uh-a beer, please, cheapest kind you have”. I try to be as normal as possible, I try to sound like I’m actually allowed to be in here drinking beer. “Alright” she nods and turns around to the bar’s alcoholic supply and she begins to pour beer from a container that can’t be anything other than someone’s local craft. She swiftly turns back to me, placing the cup on the table.

“Holler if you need anything else” and then she’s off to attend to all the other likely more important customers. I look down into the amber liquid and I feel a little queasy, like I’m doing something I’m not supposed to. Well, I am, but I thought that being on my own for so long now would make me feel more independent. I’ve never felt more helpless and incompetent.