#creepypasta x reade

[the-s1lly-corner]

BEN Drowned with daughter of Zalgo! Y/N

Ben drowned x daughter of zalgo! reader! (platonic)

as per usual for ben and admins boundaries, this is platonic; sorry anon </3 starts giggling and cheering because this gives me an excuse to talk about my personal zalgo lore ehehehe writing this while my short bread is cooling down; im making homemade twix :3

oooooo so this on is interesting; since my version of zalgo is responsible for the creation of all monsters and is the reason for ghost like characters for existing; so in a weird way your dad is to blame for why ben is a spirit

which on one hand, allows for you to meet the guy but on the other hand opened the opportunity for ben to suffer and be trapped.. mixed feelings here..

but i think as a proper *child* of the creature grants you similar abilities, you know, corruption and creation that kind of stuff also bringing into the question of if you have another parent of if zalgo just. made you with his own hands all my himself

moving on... how would ben feel?

revisiting the idea of zalgo technically being to blame for his whole... "existing after death but in one of the worst ways possible" i think the dynamic between you and him might be a little tense... i mean youre the child of the one who was responsible, and he would unfairly take it out on you

ooooo angst idea imagine you guys were already friends when he finds out

also brings into question of how the other characters feel about zalgo, if theyre aware of his existence

old fandom usually portrayed zalgo as a rival or threat and honestly i think that would be an interesting thing to implement in some characters given my lore

ponders

so perhaps some of that bleeds into they (in this case ben) treat and view you

thinks

i would say you guys play video games together, but if you inherited zalgos media corruption thing it might not end well, usually breaking the game and changing it until its unrecognizable; which can be even worse since ben most of the time is within devices so that puts him at risk

but good news! sometimes he can manifest in the real world for brief periods of time so you guys can hang out through that; just need to be careful about stuff if you dont have a handle on your abilities yet

you guys probably get up to dumb stuff you'd expect teens would get into; staying out late, sneaking out, doing dumb stuff that ends up making you guys look like dummies.. you sneak him into places while hes hosting himself inside your phone... bonus, if youre going somewhere that requires payment (think like, a theatre where you need tickets) you only have to pay for yourself

though i guess thats assuming you pass as a human well enough to be wandering out in public...

lots of ideas and thoughts to be explored but very vague so i cant pinpoint many of my ideas my apologies

[cyberghouleo]

Any Tim content pls pls 🙏🙏

Maybe a sweet innocent reader 🫶🫶🫶

Would make jokes and innuendos that you don’t understand, he likes watching you stare back at him puzzled as you try to put it together.

SUPER protective over you. He knows others will see your kindness as a weakness and knows he has to be on guard when the two of you are around the others, proving that you are off limits. 

Will wrap an arm around your shoulder and bring you close to him while around others. Also will occasionally press a quick kiss into your hair when others aren’t looking, that’s as much pda as he’s willing to do. 

If you try to hold hands together around others, at first he moves his hand away. He thinks it’s too vulnerable and the other guys won’t take him as seriously as a leader. But if you are persistent with it, he will slowly start allowing it to happen and won’t inch away, wrapping his hand around yours. Then it turns into his hand slowly inching over to yours first, trying to subtly hold hands under a table. 

While your kindness is a big contrast from his brashness, he actually likes how kind you are. It reminds him of a part of his old self, the type of person he was before the Operator got involved with his life.

Deep down he wishes he could protect you from the life and job he has, but he knows he can’t. He’s too far under the Operator’s control to do so, and he finds himself resenting it when he watches you sleep peacefully next to him. You make him realize just how fragile normal life is, and he wishes he could have met you under different circumstances, before he lost his former life. 

NSFW

To him, it’s a turn on how innocent you are. He’s into corruption so it’s his goal to turn you from innocent into his personal whore. Also gives him an advantage in power over you, something he won’t complain about. At first you are shy, covering yourself up with your hands and hiding your face while he’s deep inside you. But slowly you start opening up to him, to the point you are laying down and spreading your legs wide open for him. He’s going to make you a complete slut for him sooner or later. 

He loves making you tell him what you want while he’s fucking you, stopping his thrusts until you tell him how badly you want him to fuck you. He’s obsessed with how sweet and innocent you are to everyone else and how pathetic you get as you beg him to fuck you senselessly. 

“Tell me exactly what you want” He will say as he bottoms out inside you, completely stopping his thrusting.

“I want you to fuck me,” you say sheepishly, hiding your face behind your hands.

He grabs your wrist, pinning them down to the bed before speaking. “Say it the way I taught you, baby”

If you're inexperienced it makes him fall ten times harder, he loves the idea of being the only one to have you and his dick being the only one you know. He will make you grind down onto his fingers, enjoying how embarrassed you are and how clumsy your movements are. He finds it hot to be able to teach you exactly how to touch yourself and watching you try to stuff all of him into your mouth. 

Uses your innocence and sweetness against you while degrading you, using fake pity against you whenever you act embarrassed. “Aw, can the poor baby not take it? Don’t tell me you’re fucked out already, hmm?”

[obscuremantisman]

this is regarding my romantic headcanons post about eyeless jack have these doodles as a treat while my mind is, in fact, being haunted by him once again.

[ruexvn]

𝙰 𝙺𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚢 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ

𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚢 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍. 𝙷𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚓𝚎𝚏𝚏 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚓𝚎𝚏𝚏 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜. 𝙷𝚎 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍.

"𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝚄𝙲𝙺?!"

𝙷𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚔. 𝙷𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖... 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜.

“…𝚠𝚑𝚘-"

"𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚗...𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊 𝚗𝚘..."

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘. 𝙱𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔'𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚑𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚞𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚏𝚢 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎. 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝚂𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚎

𝙷𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚓𝚎𝚏𝚏 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍

"𝚌𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚒 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚒𝚖 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚞𝚙!!"

"𝚗𝚘 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚝...𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚞𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞..."

𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍, 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍. 𝚃𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚍; 𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝....𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝, 𝚊𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎.

"𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝?..𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚏𝚝.."

"𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚐𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔..."

𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚓𝚊𝚛, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

"𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎", 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍.

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚜. 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜. 𝙷𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 '𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚜' 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚏 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚢. 𝙰 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝, 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍. 𝙷𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜.

"𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜?..."

"𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝...𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚒𝚝𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕?..."

𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 ����𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖. 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍

"𝚘𝚔...𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎..."

"𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈!? 𝚃𝙷-"

"𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘"

𝙷𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙱𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚗𝚘 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎. 𝙱𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚓𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍. 𝙰 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚢 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚜. 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚔, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝙷𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 ....𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗

"𝚎𝚛-....𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔.... 𝚞𝚑𝚖..𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚊𝚠....𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎?"

𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚍, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚊𝚛. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚝. 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜; 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚙 𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜. 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑.

"𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝...𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚑... 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚏 𝚓𝚎𝚛𝚔𝚢 𝚒 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜..."

𝙸𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢. 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚢, 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚎𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚝. 𝙷𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘.

"𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎... 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝?.."

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍. 𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚢..𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚜. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎, 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏. 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜. 𝙰 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚠𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚊𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖. 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜.

"𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎"

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ

[8-dermestid]

it's like as if somebody was gripping my throat

relationship: eyeless jack x reader

word count: 6.2k

links: available to read on ao3

warnings: canon-typical violence

M. Eerie National Park is one of the most boring places to work. You hike the trails to make sure nobody is trying to stay after hours, clean up garbage, and befriend the local cryptid.

Nobody knows about that last part except for you.

(like/reblogs are greatly appreciated, requests are open ✷)

“—Shocking news for M. Eerie National Park. Another victim, twenty-one-year-old Penn State student Ryan Sheppard, discovered on the property—”

You dig into your food, tuning out the broadcast as you scarf down your lunch and prepare for work. You rinse your bowl, toss it into the dishwasher, and move into the bedroom to change out of your pajamas and into your uniform. You pull up your cargo pants and pull on a green collared shirt with the M. Eerie National Park logo embroidered on the pocket. After deodorant, you pull on your hiking boots, grab your jacket and bag, and leave towards your car.

She’s a beat-up old thing, but she gets you to and from work without too much trouble. It’s a short, red, rust-damaged Honda Civic. Your car’s engine is strong, and it, other than the external imperfections and duct-taped-on mirror, has treated you well, and you’ve never felt the need to trade up.

(Nor the want, being a park ranger hardly gives you enough money to keep your head above the water, but you love it, and working an office job sounds worse than pulling all your toenails out at once with rusty pliers.)

The car sputters to life, rumbling beneath you in her comfortable and familiar way. You look down at the radio—the clock reads 14:37—you’ll be on time for the start of your shift. The drive isn’t exciting, and you’d take your boring drive over a three-hour drive to the office any day. Your job is so easy, too, a simple routine you follow every day—go in during the afternoon, hike the trails before closing, watch for lost folks and garbage, and close up the park. It’s easy, so easy that your job is almost dull. You walk into the break room, your lunch in your non-dominant hand, and stumble into a meeting.

“Oh. Hey guys.” You hesitate, creeping over to put your food in the fridge. Usually, the break room was empty, and Leslie, your superior in the standard uniform with her beat-up clipboard, was marching back and forth like a drill sergeant.

In the kindest way possible, you hope she retires. She’s been working here for so long and managing everything that she deserves some R-and-R. Leslie is the backbone of the team, and one would have to pry her position from her cold, dead hands (even then, it would still be a fight), but she should consider passing the job to someone else.

You plop down in one of the three empty chairs. Two of your coworkers transferred to another park (quite suddenly, too, no two-week notice or anything). It’s not good, especially considering they were the only other people working your shift.

“Alright, we can wrap up this meeting with a quick problem,” Leslie begins again, waving quietly to you. “Guests have been reporting stolen items more than usual, lots of jackets, gloves, boots, ooh—food, too,” Leslie jots something down on her clipboard, “To be honest, I think people are just misplacing things and blaming it on the wildlife, but if you see anything, just radio me, and I’ll come to help you sort it out.”

You nod. People leave things where they shouldn’t be all the time—you can't count the number of times families wake up with ransacked coolers because they leave them outside unprotected.

Leslie sighs, “And—look—there have been more than a few teens sneaking off into the woods before we close. Please, I don’t want another 24-hour challenge incident on our record. Keep an eye out for them. I mean it.”

Everyone affirms, whether with a nod or a “Yes, Leslie.”

The team filters out of the break room, and one of your coworkers (with wild, dark hair and stickers nearly smothering the Molly on her nametag) bounds to your side like a deer.

“You think it’s a bear?” She asks. She’s practically bouncing off the walls despite Park Ranger being the least thrilling job on the planet.

You shrug. You don’t carry the same energy that Molly does. She is just a wee sixteen-year-old at your side working her first big girl job, and any excitement at this middle-of-nowhere park is a godsend for her.

“Well, it could be a bear. But, I mean, a bear wouldn’t be stealing men’s jackets or boots.” she suggests, “Maybe not a bear, or maybe it’s those kids again… Remember the kids from a few weeks ago?”

Oh. Oh, of course, you remember those kids. Three of them, two girls and some in-between kid, all seventeen and seniors at the local high school (local being the closest high school, which was thirty miles away) that Leslie caught trying to stay overnight for some silly internet challenge. One of them, the in-between kid with the flattest hair you’ve seen in a while, brought an Ouija board because of some weird internet gossip about your park. It was strange—super, duper weird—because the couple (apparently, maybe? You aren’t sure) ditched the third girl to make out under an abandoned deck. Leslie only caught them because the third (a taller, more heavyset girl with colored hair) was terrified of some tall, slender man who scared her on the internet.

“God, don’t remind me.” You finally say. You still remember the three of them yelling at each other, Leslie dragging them out by the collars of their shirts like scruffed cats after they got caught (because one of the girls was a crybaby, their words, not yours).

Leaving the break room and finally feeling the sun this morning, Molly waves you goodbye and starts jogging down her favorite trail. She’s got energy for miles; if she were older and wiser, she could compete with Leslie.

Speaking of, Leslie pats your shoulder. Her grey hair shimmers in the sun, and she, with wrinkles showcasing her long and fulfilling life, smiles down at you.

“Afternoon, kiddo. You doing alright?”

You nod, more focused on the heavy workload you have in front of you.

Leslie pats your back like a coach would to her favorite player, “I know Josh and Ryan quitting hasn’t been easy on you.” Her voice is too solemn for a work transfer, “I’ll be working tonight, too, if that eases you.”

You perk up, half with relief and half because working with Leslie is the best. It’s comforting to have a superior like her around when people start getting wild in the woods; she’s good at grabbing people by the scruff and dragging them out, kicking and hollering.

“You can take care of the Southern Reach, yeah? You’re a big kid—you can handle it.”

You’re more than just a kid, but between her being near retirement age while you are fresh out of college—you are a kid in her eyes. You nod, already unhooking your heavy flashlight from its carabiner.

“That’s the ticket. I’ll take Northern. We’ll meet back up here for closing.”

“No, no, I’ll handle closing.” You persuade, “Come on, Leslie, I can handle closing a big gate. Just handle Northern and go home.”

She debates it, rolling the idea around in her mind before conceding. “Alright, kiddo. Just this once, though.”

At first, with the sun just touching the horizon, your checks go well, and you clean up a few empty beer cans along the southernmost trails. Your trash bag is light, which is a plus. You don’t need to pull your flashlight out until past seven in the evening when the moon peeks out behind you. You find an empty can of soup (chicken-noodle but with star-shaped pasta instead of noodles). The top looks messily cut, as if with a knife, which isn’t at all uncommon.

Except, well, this can has a pull tab disregarded by the previous user. You turn over the can in your palm, examining the shredded metal and paper label, and toss it into the bag with the rest of the trash.

Further, closer to the center of the trails, there is another disemboweled can. You pick up one, the lid is also ripped off, the pull-tab forgotten about, yet this soup can has more than half of it ripped off into a swirly shape, almost like someone was desperate for something to eat. It’s Campbell’s, not Grandma’s cooking.

There’s another can further into the woods, more shredded than the last, with a deep dent in the center; the can was clean, too clean, which is both weird and disgusting. Dogs shouldn’t eat this stuff concentrated—too much sodium.

Another one; there is a streaky, black substance marbling with some soup still sitting at the bottom of the can; another, and more of that black slime. You carefully pick up each one and add it to the bag. The next can has more of that substance—almost too much. The smell is putrid. It burns inside your nose, and you get a whiff of formaldehyde or something that reeks of death.

You keep traveling into the woods, finding more debris and litter, an old chewed-through sleeve, a jacket, and a glove smattered with that syrup-y oil. There’s something wet beneath your palm, and thank the stars you chose to bring your gloves this morning. It’s red, with a black slime marbled in it. It’s sticky between your fingers, and it smells awful. You follow the trail of red and black with your flashlight.

The source is the mangled carcass of a hiker wearing a high-vis vest. You suck in a breath and reach for your walkie-talkie. It’s sickening, and you can’t stop looking at the body as you radio for your superior.

“Leslie? Leslie, you there?” You plead, hands shaking and mind racing. Of all the people you want to pick up, it’s her. She’s been working here since before you were born—maybe she’s found a mutilated person in her time working the trails.

The silence stretches for an eternity until you hear a familiar voice on the other end.

“Hey, I’m here. What’s going on?” She asks.

“Uhm, I don’t know,” You make the mistake of looking at it, at the remnants of a man, at the carcass before you. “I don’t even know what could do something like this.” God, it makes you sick, but you can’t look away.

“Come on, talk to me,” She barks, her voice firm with years of seniority, “What are you seeing? Talk.”

You swallow. “Some hiker got attacked. They’re not responsive,” You mutter into your little plastic lifeline. “I’m off Trapper’s—I don’t know—Christ, I’m going to be sick.”

“...Okay,” Leslie replies quickly, “Are you safe?”

You don’t know the answer to that question. You swallow a lump in your throat as you look frantically for movement in the dark woods. Leslie says something, but you can’t hear it over the sound of your heart hammering away in your ears. You see movement between the trees, the primal part of your brain attempting to identify any immediate danger. Everything is spinning, it reeks of death, and Leslie’s voice is staticky because of the shitty speakers.

“Answer me! Come on, kiddo, where are you?” She shouted, her voice laced with harsh static.

Your flashlight flickers, and you hope whoever ordered these flashlights has something horrible happen to them. Something rustles in the bush. The only thing you have to protect yourself is a bag of loose garbage and your shitty flashlight. Leslie is shouting so loud you can only hear half of her words. Whatever emerges from that bush will eat you alive—you’re sure of it.

The stench of death gets heavier as a figure crawls out from beneath the foliage, wearing a dark hoodie and a blue mask. There’s blood and guts caked under their fingernails, and they look filthy and smell worse. They lock eyes with you and try to stand, stumbling and letting out a near-inhuman cry. You hold your heavy flashlight like a baton—all it’s useful for, considering the lightbulb works when it wants to—as the masked stranger lets out a wheezy breath and crawls towards you.

You grip the flashlight so hard your hands are shaking, taking careful steps back to maintain some distance between both of you. Their approach doesn’t stop. They reach and grab at your leg and pull you to the ground. Your head is spinning as it collides with the damp earth, and you feel two hands digging into your abdomen, sharp nails scratching and attempting to burrow into your stomach. You shout as their ice-cold hands scrape across your body, their claws raking across tender flesh.

You thrash and try to push them away, but they hold you down with one hand and remove their mask with the other.

You always said you’d know what to do if you were in a slasher flick. You always called the protagonists stupid for freezing up in front of certain death, never thinking about what it felt like, knowing you were probably going to die. You look them in the eye—more so what’s left of them, staring into two tar-filled sockets where their eyes would be—and unable to do anything.

You lay back, each breath barely making it in and out of your lungs. They stop, hands still pressed firmly against you. They crane their neck, probably just as surprised as you for simply giving up. They tug your shirt back down, pressing a palm over it and smoothing the fabric with their palm.

It reignites something in you because before either of you can register what’s happening, they’re squealing in pain as you hit them upside the head with your flashlight. You scramble away, pulling yourself to your feet and running blindly to the main trail.

You don’t stop, even after the demonic cries die out under the sound of the beginning storm. You push and push yourself until you nearly collide with Leslie.

“Stars—! Kid, where the hell were you? What the hell happened to you?”

She shines the light across your face, then brushes a leaf from your coat. It’s hard to think about speaking; Leslie knows you’re trying.

“Hey, it’s okay. Come on, I’ll drive you home, kiddo.”

“But the—”

“Don’t worry about it,” She says as softly as she can, “You’ve done all you can do. Anything about you that I should be worried about?”

You pat your abdomen, a few lines of brown blood staining the front. You shake your head, and Leslie holds off on grilling you for details.

✷𓃞 ✷

She drives you home in her big pickup truck (she even went through a drive-thru and got you something to eat on the way home). She pats your back as you dig through the bottom of the bag for scraps.

“Don’t think about coming back tomorrow—Partly because you’ve been through hell tonight—but also because there’s going to be an investigation. Look—take it easy, maybe go see your doctor, don’t come back until at least next Tuesday.”

Leslie pulls over to the side of your street and pulls out a box of cigarettes. “I mean it, take it easy. You do enough work while you’re on the clock; don’t worry about anything—I have people that can cover your shift if you need more time off.”

You nod, gathering your things and walking towards your house, digging your keys from your jacket to escape the rainy weather. You shut the door behind you, and Leslie walks towards her truck, a thin line of smoke trailing behind her.

You open the door, and a warm puff of air welcomes you home. It’s quiet and dark, leaving you on edge from tonight’s incident. Instead of relaxing—like Leslie practically ordered you to—you drop your bag at the front door and book it to your computer. It hums to life, and you punch in your password and open your web browser. Surprisingly, being attacked by a person-shaped thing did not perturb your furious web-searching.

Creature in the woods near me

Masked creature, person that tried to eat me?

Blue man— you hastily hit backspace as Blue Man Group auto-fills in your search bar.

You keep trying outrageous combinations of words, eventually finding a near-defunct blog with a picture of the freaky humanoid that almost killed you.

EYELESS JACK. Well, the name fits. At least you’ve finally got a name for that face. You read through this article, which recounts this woman—a hiker-slash-rock-climber, to be more specific—coming into contact with a human-ish guy. They had a few photos of deep claw wounds that scarred over pale on her dark skin. You jot down the name, continuing to dig into the incident recounted by this woman.

You pause and close all your curtains and turn off all the lights (and you get yourself a drink to keep yourself awake). Sinking into your chair again, you continue the deep dive into this Eyeless Jack fellow, feeling like a detective from some once-popular show that wasn’t that good. You keep searching—jotting down leads for your search—until the sun is peeking over the horizon, and you can hardly keep your eyes open. Eyeless Jack has been around for longer than you first believed—they’ve probably been terrorizing after-dark visitors of your park for years, right under your nose.

Are there more missing-person cases? Did any of your coworkers who quit unexpectedly actually have a reason? God, this journey to the weirdest parts of the internet has left you with more questions than answers.

You look down at the big sticky-note pad you used for notes. It looks like you fell off the deep end with your feverish scrawling, smeared ink, and lots of quick notes about disembowelment, kidney removal, and even cult activity. You think this may need another night of internet excavation to answer those (and inevitably, come up with more, even crazier, questions). Based on a few accounts of unwanted kidney removal in their sleep, you think about getting something to eat—

—and staying as far from your bed as possible.

✷𓃞 ✷

You can’t even eat breakfast without being tempted by your thirst for knowledge; it’s unbearable. You don’t even want to think of spending more than a few days at home. Hopefully, the police hurry up and finish so you can start your investigation.

You quickly rinse and dry your empty dish, filling a glass of water and flopping onto the couch. Surfing channels and finding something mindlessly entertaining will probably take your mind off things.

The news is boring—talking about the recent storm off the southern coast—and some cooking show. A history documentary—about someone you don’t care for—a jewelry channel, another news channel, and a kids’ show.

(Tempting, but no.)

The local news, though not mindless, is entertaining. There’s an over-top camera view of the park. Dozens of police cruisers and K-9 units are parked—and you can see your car, your old, rusty girl in the lot—Cops are infesting every corner of your TV, some moving into the woods toward Trapper’s, others lingering to talk in the view of the helicopter. It cuts to a news anchor recapping the incident from last night. They think it’s a bear attack. Leslie says it was a bear attack. Your coworkers say it was a bear attack, and Wildlife Removal will deal with it.

They don’t know anything—Jack tore into that hiker like a wild animal—and left the poor guy’s insides all over the forest floor.

You don’t stop watching the news until they start talking about the weather, where you only half-listen. There’s going to be a storm tonight. The teams at your job are probably going to try to recover the body and bring it to the morgue before it starts raining.

You turn off the TV after that. You examine your abdomen, five short lines across your belly where their claws made contact. You decide to go to the bathroom to clean and dress them.

“Better to be safe than sorry.” You tell yourself.

After a few cotton balls soaked in alcohol and big bandaids later, everything is clean enough and about as well-dressed as you can, considering your supplies.

There’s not much to do at home, and trying to take your mind off things with your usual hobbies isn’t working. You even try scrolling mindlessly online, but you can’t stop thinking about last night.

Why did they stop—and so suddenly?

You lift your shirt and brush your thumb over the bandaids on your belly, the skin still too hot and tender. Maybe you were just lucky, stupidly lucky. You pick up your home phone and dial Leslie’s number. She at least deserves a warning about what’s out there.

“...What are you doing?”

“Leslie,” there’s some strain in your tone, “Hey, Leslie. How are things?”

“You’re calling about work? You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

Yes. Yes, you are.

“I know, but—Look, it’s about last night. I know you specifically told me not to do any digging, but—”

“Kid,” She cuts you off. You can picture her frustration as she probably rubs at her temples, “Tell me you did not do that.”

Yes. Yes, you did.

She sighs dramatically. “You work too hard—even when I order you to stop thinking about work, you do it anyway.”

“Look, it wasn’t an animal. It was a guy.”

“...What.”

You pull the phone from your ear. You probably do sound crazy. And you will continue to sound crazy when you talk about what you found online from defunct blogs from 1999. No matter how you try to spin it—every time you start talking—you can not come up with the words to explain that the scary internet creature is real. Leslie will not believe you, and who the hell would?

“...Nevermind. I have to go. I have, uhh, laundry in the dryer.” You mutter.

“Well, feel better, and stop going on the internet—you’ll scare yourself out of your skin with stuff people make up for fun,” Leslie sighs, then her voice goes soft, “I mean it. Take care of yourself. We’re thinking of you, kiddo. Oh, and Molly says hi.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “...Well, let Molly know I said ‘Hi’ back.”

“Will do. Okay, see you next week.”

You hang up.

✷𓃞 ✷

It’s damp. The fallen leaves are starting to rot and turn mushy under their boots. Jack tears through another can with their claws and downs a mixture of soup and soaked-through chicken. They drink, grinding the sinewy chicken and too-soft between their teeth, swallowing harshly and curling up at the taste. Police swarming the woods like ants to fruit has been awful; Jack is tired. Everything burns, they’re tired of running, and they’re still so hungry.

Other foods are necessary to Jack’s diet—they can’t live off meat. They need carbs and stuff—but if Jack has to spend more time seeing faces, they will start digging for their kidneys. They collapse underneath a fallen tree, curling up like a woodlouse. If the police find them, Jack just hopes it’s quick.

They can hear men shouting somewhere nearby with their big, angry dogs.

Jack falls asleep there, eventually, and they don’t know what time it is when they wake up, just that it’s dark out again, and it’s so quiet.

They survive off stolen clothing and soup cans between stays at the manor. Though their vision is gone, Jack still lives with psychosis (one would figure getting their eyes melted with hot tar would prevent visual hallucinations). Eating human flesh, though a taboo solution to their symptoms, allowed Jack to clear their mind and function.

Jack sunk deeper under the heavy log when they heard footsteps and a whining dog.

“I know, boy.” A man says, coughing as the air smells of cigarettes.

Jack’s nose burns at the smell. The dog sniffs at the earth and knocks aside a pile of leaves with its nose, whining and howling. The officer kicks aside the leaves and sighs.

“...Alright,” He says, the metal bits of the dog’s vest clicking together as the dog grows restless, thrashing against it.

The man hunches down, the sound of a plastic bag crinkling in his palm, muttering something to the canine.

“Atta-boy. Come on, Chester, it’s damn creepy out here.” With the tug of the leash, the officer and his canine retreat out of the woods.

When the two are out of earshot, Jack squeezes out from under the log and feels around in the dirt, sniffing the air and only smelling wet earth. Their chest tugs in a sickened sort of way, and they sink back into their hiding place and curl up into a ball. The rain picks up again. Wind howls and thunder crackles in the sky, rattling the earth.

Their new jacket, which they snatched off an unsuspecting hiker, was Jack’s only protection from hypothermia stealing the heat from their digits. Jack breathes into their palms, hot air flowing across their stiff fingers (which Jack promptly stuffed into their underarms to warm them up).

The wind doesn't hesitate to rob Jack’s already-deprived body of what little it has. Jack can’t stop thinking about how hungry they are—and how they see faces melting in their periphery whenever their mind wanders. They pick at the raw edges of their sockets in a measly attempt to soothe. It doesn't work. Nothing works anymore, even when Jack can consume human meat. After only a few hours, Jack’s skin is already itching with the need to keep consuming, to keep eating, to stave off their psychosis by any means necessary. They tug—and tug, and tug, and tug until they’re shaking—at their raw skin, where hardened pitch meets seared flesh and patchy brows. It’s unbearably cold, it’s so fucking cold, and going back to that hellish manor sounds like paradise right about now.

But that’s not an option.

✷𓃞 ✷

Tuesday finally comes around, and you can return to work.

You pack two lunches today. Your bag is just leftovers in a takeaway container (dinner from yesterday), and the other is a sandwich with a few slices of Swiss cheese and meat (far more meat than you’ve ever used at once). It’s got other things on it; you aren't going to give some hungry person—who’s probably been living alone in the wilderness for who knows how long—a boring sandwich. Too bad if they don’t like mayo (Well, you hope they like mayo, lest they rip you in two for the offense of a condiment on real-people food).

You fill your water bottle, grab your keys, and head out the door.

Leslie’s truck is humming outside. Your car is still in the lot at work. You were not in any condition to drive after, and Leslie would not have let that happen. She moves her bags as you climb into the passenger seat. You set down your things on the floor, trying to conceal the second lunch you made.

“...Glad to have you back, got everything?” Leslie asks.

You nod, jingling your keys.

She flicks her turn signal to the left and drives onto the road, turning right onto the main road.

The car is quiet, except for the radio playing old 80s hits, thick with the tension that you almost died the last time you went to work.

“You can work wherever you want today. Molly’s willing to work with your plans. I can imagine not wanting to do trail walks after, well, you know what.”

“I’ll be okay,” You say, ”I’ll do trails today. Not a problem.”

Leslie grips the steering wheel tight. “You’re sure? After you know what, I figured you would want to quit,” She turns left, “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“No. I’m a little shaken up, but I’m okay.” You say, looking out the window.

Leslie makes some noise like she knows you’re lying. Your brush with death should have turned you off from any outdoorsy work, but here you are, making lunches for the thing that tried to rip you open like an orange. Maybe your too-empathetic and hopeful parts hope this sandwich helps them out. Everything you read about them was far from pleasant—Some of it didn’t seem real.

“A mixture of blood and hot tar poured into the eye sockets.” You recall.

This stuff about Eyeless Jack you read felt like fiction, but what you saw that night was real. God, it sends shivers down your spine, makes you feel ill—you don’t know what you would do if put in that scenario (blinded, abandoned, and left to die in the woods with an insatiable hunger for human flesh? Jack has been active for years, all alone, you think, you’re not sure how you would last even half as long).

“...Did they find anything?”

Leslie sighs. “No. But it’s an animal, so it’ll return next time it’s hungry. We’ve got more people on watch. Hopefully, we can get Wilderness Removal or Animal Control on it, maybe kill it if we have to.”

You hope not. Leave the critter that keeps eating people alone; they should just leave a plate of food out.

“Maybe don’t try to hunt down the wild critter-person like an animal.” You think. The rest of the ride is silent. You pull up to the park and see Molly chatting with a guest. She spots you looking out the window and waves, delighted to see you again.

“I wanted to give you this in case anyone tries giving you trouble.”

She passes you a black cylinder that’s roughly four inches tall. The button on top and the spray nozzle tells you it’s pepper spray.

“...Thanks, Leslie.”

“Anytime.”

You pull on your coat and leave your lunch in the fridge, taking the other out. Then, you jog over to your car and abandon the pepper spray in the cup holder; you hope that this choice won’t get you killed tonight, but you need to start on a good foot.

Your day-to-day rhythm comes back to you. You warmed yourself up on the more populated trails, picking up cans and directing folks about. It’s sparse, only seeing small groups unfazed by the recent killings (perhaps through ignorance or a belief that death is beneath them). The dread is heavier when you walk an empty trail that’s usually lively with people, even during the day, when dangers lurking in the bushes are more visible. As the sun creeps across the sky—and lower towards the horizon—fewer and fewer people choose to risk hiking after dark, lest they get disemboweled like the last guy who tried.

By 19:00, it’s empty. There’s nobody around other than you. But you know they’re still out there, listening to your every movement (and every breath and every hitch).

You scan the edge of the woods where they’re probably hiding, carefully stepping over the foliage while you intentionally stray from the carefully manicured path.

The trails are well-kept. The landscaping crew works diligently and takes pride in their work, keeping them free of debris and roots that would make the footpath a challenging terrain. Beyond the edges of the dirt roads, however, the forest is wild; vines writhe and twist along the floor, every plant fighting for sunlight in the undergrowth, with bigger-than-your-head leaves and trees wearing thick coats of creeping ivy. You witness the cycles of life and death within this delicate ecosystem—young trees climb higher and higher, growing larger and larger; insects feast upon the trees, rely on the trees, live and die by the trees; the trees, after centuries of life, die and rot; the lichen and insects feast on the rotting wood and refresh the cycle anew.

It makes you feel small and insignificant, as the world around you lives and dies without even noticing your existence. It’s like being surrounded by other people’s ideas in a museum, thousands of other people, forgotten by time, remembered by their art, or their shoes, or their stories through other people’s mouths.

Your boot slips on slick earth before you can continue your mental spiral about your insignificance as one among billions. Your boots squeal against pulpy mud and you nearly slip down into a strange recess; the earth is slick with that same slime, though it is more grainy and pus-like in texture. You follow the streaks in the muddy ground, where it slips underneath a large, rotten log.

You shine your light underneath, spotting a shivering, cobalt-blue mask underneath layers of jackets and stolen fabrics.

Maybe they’re sleeping, and waking them up (though with the promise of real people food) may upset them enough to maul you like a bear and eat you for lunch instead.

They shift and wiggle into the recess they carved out for themselves, hearing some shuffling outside of their burrowing. They suck in a deep breath through their nose, and the smell of human sears the insides of their lungs like smoke. They hunch a little bit, curling into a more upward sitting position, sniffing the air, inhaling once, twice, then a third time until they have that scent burned into their hindbrain. They can’t stop drooling, salivating at the thought of finally feeling okay again, having something to cut through the smoky, blurry feeling. They hear shuffling, their prey slinking back as they curled forward. They can’t suppress the growl that rumbles in their throat, teeth licked behind the mask. They don’t move like a person in preparation for a chase. Jack slips out of their nook, their body curled forward and arms hanging limp.

Jack reaches up and peels the mask like a second skin, revealing tar-filled sockets that bore down at your scent.

Jack lurches forward like they’re on a leash, sinking their claws into your arm and digging in, etching out five deep grooves, each weeping a stream of blood that makes Jack’s mind run wild. Without thinking entirely, Jack pulls your arm forward and sinks their teeth into your bicep, leaning their body weight against you, knocking you both to the floor. There’s kicking and screaming, high-pitched whining as Jack’s teeth tear through skin and sinew, coating your arm in blood and spit.

You cry out, trying to pull their steel trap of a jaw out of your arm—managing to loosen their upper jaw, and by shoving them away with the heel of your palm, you manage to rip out their lower jaw, too.

They shiver, licking their teeth over and over again. Feral, animalistic delight rattles their whole body; they’re giddy at the taste of your blood, but they hold some restraint at the sound of their name.

Your breathing is frantic, and your heart is hammering in your throat. Jack’s breathing slows, and they quit licking their teeth. You’re not sure where to start. You hold your breath as Jack’s tar-filled sockets bore down into yours. Their breathing is heavy, and there’s saliva dribbling down their chin. You squeeze your arm, your skin clammy with blood and sweat, while Jack stays still above you.

Your mouth is nailed and twisted shut like you’re at the morgue. Jack doesn’t finch as they, strangely again, don’t tear you to shreds like the last guy. You sigh, which comes out as an exasperated laugh, your chest squirming like a bucket of mealworms as Jack’s warm, blood-soaked breath enters your nose. Their hair is long and matted, greasy and cool-brown in color; their skin is a deep gray like the living dead, bulked up by layers of stolen sweaters and pants to keep warm.

“I, uhh…” You start, “I brought you a sandwich if you want it. I didn't know what you liked, so I just put a little bit of ever—”

Jack’s knee presses into your ribcage as they climb over you, feeling around on the ground for your bag. A wheeze rattles from your throat, and they dump your belongings onto the forest floor unceremoniously, sniffing the contents like a tracker hound.

They pinch the bag between their claws, disemboweling the brown paper bag, the contents hitting the floor with a wet thud.

You watch them eat, tearing through plastic and paper with their teeth, eating with no sensibility nor dignity. The sandwich is shoved into their mouth and swallowed in about fifteen seconds, and a crushed bag of potato chips you forgot at the bottom of your bag perishes, too. They crack open the plastic container full of your dinner and hesitate, neck craned in your direction. It takes a few moments to find them, but Jack finds the metal utensils you packed for yourself, showing the container to you.

“Oh, well, yeah. That’s mine. My dinner, I mean. You can have it if you want.”

They shake their head in a fit.

They push it in your direction, a flatly affective expression on the remainder of their face, but their body language pushes your cold leftovers on you with a lot of force. You gingerly take the container from their claws, crack it open, and eat. Jack listens attentively to you, sockets trained on you, on the sound of metal utensils clinking against your mouth, the sound of you swallowing your meal. Their hands squirm and play with the dirt and leaves, excited to share a meal of leftovers with somebody they nearly killed twice. Your arm is throbbing as you carefully feed yourself, your jacket’s sleeve shredded. Hopefully, your emergency fund can cover a trip to the hospital for however many stitches you’ll need, as well as the antibiotics you’ll be taking (or paying for amputation if this gets infected, but you try not to think about that as this demonic forest creature is enraptured by you eating supper with them). You scrape the bottom of the container, not missing a single morsel.

They move their hand under their chin, and you recognize what Jack is doing. You took a few classes in uni, so you pick up on the ASL as soon as their hand collides with the other in a neat thank you.

“Oh! You’re welcome,” You say, “Was it good? I was worried if you liked mayo or not.”

They grin. It’s small, subtle, and hard to do with the tar seared to their skin, but there’s a quiet peek of teeth as they chuckle at being understood. They like mayo.

You laugh, too, exhausted and relieved. After so many restless nights worrying about getting your organs surgically removed in your sleep, you’re looking forward to a restful night after the day you’ve had. At the hospital, because you’re arm is looking pretty ugly.

“Look, I think I have to go.”

They tense up.

“I won’t tell anyone about you, I promise,” You sigh, trying not to look down at your bloody limb, “They’re still looking for you, though, so be careful. If you need food, I can try to sneak you some from Lost & Found.”

Jack pats at their pocket, pulling out an old, beat-up phone. They pass it to you, and you type out your number and put it into a contact.

“I’ll, hopefully, see you soon?”

They shrug. It’s probably for the best that they don’t make any promises. Jack walks into the treeline, eventually disappearing from view.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Slenderman x SlendermansionMaid!Reader || Oneshot

Plots: You’re shocked to see your boss and sometimes fuck buddy, when things are stressful in the Mansion (nothing more!! he’s still a frustrating ass!!) completely sloshed. *This one is entirely inspired by a Quotev Book I wrote years ago with the same plot- ‘Diary of a Slender Mansion Maid’.

Warnings: Drunkenness (Not that you can really tell 😅 He's just kindof a little looser then usual) and sexual references.

Tagging: @microwavemadness , @miss-understood (Hey there are sexual references but no smut. I hope its okay!! Please tell me if in the future you would like to be tagged in strictly fluff and/or angst ^^), and I hope y'all like this!

“Wh- Slender!??”

You cannot believe this. You cannot believe what you are seeing right now. It’s not that you rely on the man in any way, he’s frustrating and dickish 100 percent of the time and a royal pain in your ass- but generally he is the only other person (Being?) in this damn woods who’s on the same page as you!! That’s why you do your *stress relieving* together!- as the Head and the Maid of the mansion, you both get stressed and pissed off over the same things! It certainly isn’t because you like eachother. The master of this household is a complete asshole.

… But he’s usually a stone-cold sober asshole. One of the few few few things you appreciate about him. Usually the rest of the house is acting insane, even his brothers (Even his brothers who are actually lovely and mean well), you and Slender are the only still ones. Sure, he rarely does the heavy lifting in dealing with the messes his Pastas leave behind, that’s all you, but at least you have a still-spot to look for in the chaos.

You two usually release your own insanity on eachother, alone, away from hearing ears.

… and yet here is your oh-so-sensible leader, sitting at the kitchen table with Offender and Zalgo half slouched over (Well, more than usual. Which is not saying much by regular standards considering his spine is usually akin to an iron rod but still… it’s saying something. For sure.), a full-size bottle of jack between them and 28 empty ones on the ground around them. His and Offender’s tentacles are out and laying lazily on the ground between the bottles, Slender’s shirt is wrinkled and loosened at the collar, and his jacket is placed over the back of his chair. Its almost going to fall off and onto the ground!

Offender chuckles, seeing your face. “Oh Slender… you’re in trouble.”

“She is my maid… she does not do the getting mad. I do.” When Slender turns to you, enflaming your frustrations with his words, you just want to reach over and choke the jerk with his own tie. “Y/N. What are all these bottles doing on the ground? Clean this up.”

… oh that old bastard better be drunk off his ass, saying that to you. “Offender, Zalgo… “Your eyes, hard and angry, flicker over the other two. “Time to go.”

“Haha, oh- yes ma’am.” Offender gets up first, actually pushing out of his chair and turning on his foot as if to walk out when he could just teleport so much easier. Zalgo seems a little more together, grinning mischievously at you for a few moments (Wondering what you’re going to do to Slender), before Offender grabs his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go find some real trouble to get into. Let’s let Slender play house.”

“Oh I do love trouble. Indeed, let’s go.”

Then they’re both gone, and Slender and you are stuck in a showdown. You’re staring at his smooth face, the worst greasy you have ever mustered in your eyes, and he’s not moving an inch. He almost looks bored in his body language. Languid.

You know it’s just a tactic to piss you off more, but damn does it work. “… okay just- what in the world are you doing??” You finally ask, shoulders dropping. Honestly, you’re just surprised. Slender?? Drunk?? Slender drinking with his brother who he calls a moron on the regular and a demon he hates?

Who blackmailed him? Who held a burning rod to his asshole and forced him?

“I am fully entitled to have a drink of this… “Picking it up, he looks to be reading the label- before putting it back down faced away from him. “vile moron juice, any time that I please Y/N.” He explains, destroying the validity in his own statement with his own basic inability to keep his true views to himself. “Tastes disgusting,… makes people into monkeys,... but it has its virtues.”

Sighing, you drop down to a crouch and start collecting bottles. “… so I have permission to call you an ape?” You mutter, knowing he heard you.

“Try it.”

You flash him a look, like ‘I just did’, before getting up to your feet again and setting the bottles in your arms on the bench. While he ignores you and sits there quietly for a good few moments, thinking whatever drunk-thoughts Slender has, you manage to wonder about - careful not to step on his tentacles or trip over his impossibly long legs stretched out under the table so far they stick out the other end, - and collect the rest of the bottles; putting them all up on the bench together. Then you turn to Slender and decide that has to be your next job.

Sighing, you wipe your hands together and approach him. “… coffee or a shower first?”

“… I want to stew, some more.” He says defiantly, and you immediately roll your eyes.

“I’m making you coffee.”

~

A couple of hours later and Slender is no more sober then when you found him. When you were on the opposite side of the kitchen, your arms full of bottles and on your way out to throw them away, Slender pointedly poured the rest of the Jack Daniels into the brewing pot of coffee. Then while you gradually cleaned up the rest of the wrecked kitchen, he sat at the table and drank it all out of a mug that says ‘World’s Best Tallest Dad’ which Jeff got him for Christmas one year.

For that bullshit you cursed him and told him you would never make him coffee again- and he ‘pfft’ at you. Pfft.

That is not the problem now, though. Now the problem is that not only is he smashed-- but he’s energetically smashed.

And you’re the only other one home right now. So, great.

You almost pray for Offender and Zalgo to come back here.

~

You’re just organising the trash (Compost, recycling and dump, plus Good Will which is a you-suggestion), trying to ignore Slender’s presence entirely, still stretched out at the kitchen table across from you- watching you- when he breaks the pleasant silence and make you groan. “You know a more efficient way to do that would be to utilise the organisational bins I had Jeff steal from a- what was it? Wall-Mart? Yes. And, also- listen to me- this is very important- that shirt is not your colour.”

Instead of truly dignifying Slender’s unnecessary nit-picking, you just turn with a terrible greasy and stick him with it. “Do you know that you’re insufferable?”

“I’ve heard- but even so, I’m rarely wrong.” Looking away momentarily, Slender releases a disturbing sound that you hear very very rarely that you can only describe as his version of a chuckle. Full of joy, and static. “And better yet, you know it~… “Dear lord. How can it be possible that this man can get even more frustrating and annoying. You are never letting this man touch a bottle ever again.

Rolling your eyes though, you turn back to what you’re doing. He returns to his staring, silently criticising you most definitely. You just sigh, and finish sorting. It gets done pretty fast, considering its just you two at home. No chaos, no insane teenagers creating new messes for you making you feel like you’re trying to empty a self-filling fountain with a bucket- just Slender and his occasional energetic-drunk commentary constantly in the room with you, whatever room you move to (The bastard follows you). You then finish the vacuuming, a good portion of the laundry and even get dinner started; it becomes a very productive day and you’re happy about it!

At least, you figure, when he’s not talking, then Slender’s presence can almost be construed as companionable. Which is probably why today was a relatively peaceful one. After all at least he’s not trying to touch you like Offender, or breaking things like Jeff, or making irritating noise with a videogame like BEN, or even asking you for things like sweet Sally. So once you’re all done with your to-do list, and the stew is on the stove slow-cooking- you go ahead and put on another pot of coffee.

Slender leans over your back, and he’s so tall he doesn’t touch you at all there but you can still feel his presence and you hang your head back on your neck; eyes closed and brows furrowed in frustration, knowing just what he’s going to start on now. “… I don’t want that.”

“Well you’re going to drink it.”

“No, no I don’t think I will, nope.”

“I swear to god you giant cranky turd you will drink this coffee or you’re not getting dinner.”

“Then I have some more bad news to break to you- that man does not exist. The only god here is me, and you aren’t allowed to swear at me.”

Here you just flash him a dangerous smile over your shoulder, so heavily venomous that you don’t need to swear at him. “I don’t know how you drink without a mouth, but I am gonna chuck this burning hot coffee at you and just hope for the best~ “

For a moment, Slender just watches the coffee boiling, over the top of your head. You crane your neck once again to look at him this time, wondering what drunk-Slender-thoughts he’s thinking now. When you’re just about to give up waiting for him to say something else and further the conversation (Or argument. Potato-potahto though with the two of you) you turn around to lean back into the edge of the bench and look at him straight-on for a moment instead, because your neck was hurting. Just then, the bottom of Slender’s mouth tears away from the top before your eyes and the jagged rip curls up at one corner- like a terrifying smirk. Albeit, an awkward and unsure one.

Your eyes bug out of your skull. “You can do that!?”

“I can~ “ Even if his 'facial expression' is awkward, the confidence of a thousand years and also 29 full size bottles of tennesee whiskey, give or take, is still stuck stubbornly in his voice.

No way. You're genuinely surprised and intrigued. "This whole time??"

"Since birth- err, or creation. Our beginning is rather unclear." Mhm.

Thoughtfully, curiously, you raise up onto your tip toes in order to take a better look. It's not the weirdest thing you've seen in this house, but it's new and intriguing even so. Especially since you regularly fuck this man. "... Do you have a- hm." You stop. Maybe you shouldn't ask that, you think, pressing your lips into a firm line.

"A tongue?" Slender finishes for you, never one to let something be when he knows he can use it to make someone else feel smaller. You just sigh, and nod. Yep, that is what you were thinking. When a thick, slimy, dexterous, terrifying-looking black creature-tongue makes a short appearance out the abyss inside his mouth and licks his bottom lip very quickly, your eyes fly open wide again. "I do." He tells you matter-o'-factly; no flirty or vulgar tone in his voice, but a definite pridefulness. A smugness. A teasing intrigue, in your line of questioning.

God you're truly starting to dislike drunk Slender. He's borderline creeping you out. This isn't him.

... Even so though- "Does it hurt?" You ask, reaching up (extending your arm almost as far as it'll go, he's so tall) to ghost your fingers over the tear in his usually-smooth face. There isn't any blood or anything, its just like if you ripped a piece of paper, but- surely- that cannot be comfortable!

"Its perfectly comfortable," He responds, having been listening to your thoughts which makes you sigh. Has he been doing that this whole time?? You hate when he does that- "Its a natural function of mine. And yes- I know you hate it. That's a bonus, thank you."

Now you give his chest a wack with the back of your hand. "So you're saying could've been using that on me this whole time??"

...

-He just sighs. "Such a vulgar human."

"Says the one that insists I wear no underwear when your brothers all come over so you have easier access- "

"That's just practical, Y/N." And dangerous, considering one his brothers is Offender. "You and I both know the mansion is at its most ridiculous when they dare to visit. You benefit just as much as I do."

"... pfft."

"Pfft? Did you just 'pfft' me??"

"You fuck me before they even arrive."

"I anticipate the chaos."

You open your mouth immediately to go 'ha' at him, but no sound comes out. Because... right. He's right. He's completely correct. You two don't do this because you like each other, or out of any actual desire for each other... you do it to relieve stress. You should stop this line of conversation now, before one of you says something silly and incorrect suggesting any different. "Oh yeah." For a moment theirs a silence between you, you retracting your hand from him while you both stop to just think for a second. Because that sure was close. You could have ruined what you have! And that would be a shame- because it works. "Well-- I'm still not the only vulgar one." You shrug, slipping out from where he still hangs over you and collecting the now-brewed coffee with you.

"... right." For a split second Slender seems too caught up in own thinking that he almost lets you win- before flicking immediately back to his senses, insulting you as easily as he breathes (However it is that he does that); heading to the table with a mug for the coffee he 'didn't want', anyhow. "Uh- I mean- you're mistaken, but that's okay. You're only, pathetically human. Its to be expected."

Instead of responding, you pour the coffee for him then step back against a bench and you both sit in silence for a few more painfully awkward moments. He's just sipping and you're just wondering if you can just leave-

when a horrid crash noise sounds from the living room as well as the smell of pot wafting in as well; BEN's high chuckling following shortly after, and your eyes slip slowly to Slender at the same time that his head turns your way. Neither of you move for a second but you can feel a gentle, heated throbbing beginning to rise in your underwear, thinking about the mess that you'll inevitably have to clean up when you go in there and find out the TV is smashed, and the yelling Slender's going to do because a new TV has to be stolen for the mansion now. Which means-

"Laundry room."

"I'll meet you there."

[justcallmeaubs-blog]

Warning slight nsfw

These are my headcanons for some creepypastas and what they would call you in a relationship

⁰ו°hehe! More headcanons!°•×⁰

Jeff

He would call you

-hottie

-bitch

-babe

My reasons are that he's an asshole but still wants to show you affection. He wouldn't really say these things by yourselves since he would just call you by your name but in public or around the other pastas he would.

Ben

He would call you

-baby

-princess/knight

-mommy/daddy

-babygirl/boy

The princess thing is because he plays the legend of zelda (duh) but the rest he just finds genuinely sweet and he likes calling you mommy/daddy in the bedroom he will call you these things to the point where you dont know if he knows your name anymore

Eyeless jack

He would call you

-love

-sweetie

-babe

Though he may not use these names often, whenever he does you do find it very endearing and like how he gets shy when he calls you these things until later on in the relationship.

Toby

He would call you

-literally any name (for couples) you can think of

He would call you any name because whether he is joking or he's not he wants you to know that he loves you, he will also call you by your name but there is a subtle difference in the way he says it that makes your heart flutter.

Masky/tim

He would call you

-your name

-darling

-hun

The nicknames are for when you two are alone mainly but he does enjoy saying the nicknames around the others every now and then just to see your reaction.

Hoodie/brian

-hun ABSOLUTELY

-babe

-darlin'

-___pie

The whole reason I'm picking such southern (in my opinion) names is because in my head he has a slight southern accent. (I don't know why) And you absolutely love it when he calls you these things (I'm like internally screaming as I imagine him holding you by the shoulders, let's say someone catcalled y/n and he'd just be like, "darlin', dont you worry your little head imma find him." With a kiss on the head and he leaves AHHH I'm kicking my feet Brian is one of my favorites if you couldn't tell)

(I spent too long on that I'm sorry)

Kate

FINALLY SOME WOMAN sorry this is what she'd say

-babe

-sweetheart

-sugar

I don't know why but I feel like she'd be extra sweet with you like getting you lil things anytime she found them and she'd be like "here you go" since she doesn't and does know how to interact with you. She just wants to love you.

Jane

This is what she'd say

-baby

-honey

-darling

-cutie

She sees herself as a badass or more accurately someone dangerous and scary so when she dates you it's pretty clear that she sees you as her cute thing. She doesn't pressure it on you but in her head you're her baby and will protect you, even if she knows you can protect yourself she won't stand down.

Nina

-again, she would call you any name that a couple would use

She LOVES you. Not so much to like, hurt you (like some yandere) but enough to where she's obsessed. She will call you pet names (even before dating) and she just wants to show you her love every. Single. Day.

Liu

(I'm gonna be completely honest I don't know much about liu or what all the hype about him is, please don't kill me)

-honey

-babe

-sugar

So basic I know but to me he looks like a basic book worm I'm sorry I'm not a liu fan I'll try to do more research for my liu simps :')

-Laughing jack

This is what he'd call you

-sugarcane

-candycane

-literally anything candy

He sees you as sweet so he will call you anything sweet, he genuinely loves you and doesn't understand names like "baby" or "darling". He just wants to call you as what he sees you as.

(also laughing Jane would be the same)

X-virus/cody

This is what he'd call you

-honestly I think he'd be a bit too shy or uncomfortable calling you anything

-once in a blue moon he'd call you love or say something cheesy like "if I'm the patient your my antidote" or something 💀

He's not like "UwU I'm shyyy" he's actually just genuinely scared to call you anything because he hasn't even figured out why he feels this way (this doesn't mean he'll fall out of love either he just needs to learn to accept things and eventually will adapt) he's a slow person in relationships so please be patient with Cody.

Clockwork/Natalie

-she would also be a bit shy in the beginning but would adapt faster than cody

This is what she'd call you

-love

-beautiful

-prettygirl/boy

She thinks your the most beautiful thing she's ever seen and she will tell you at least 3 times a week. It's not like Nina obsessed but it's her way of reassurance even if you don't need it. She simply just adores you.

This is all I'm gonna do because I've already spent an hour on it. If there's anyone I missed or you want I am able to take asks still for anything but I will warn you it might take a bit to actually answer. Please don't be afraid to suggest anything!!

[beelaboola]

selfshipping my medicine my cure 🫶🫶

[pinetrees-in-the-water]

could you write headcanons for father figure tim and brian with child ticci toby? i’m starved for content with them that isn’t a ship or with them all hating each other

ANON THIS IS SO PRECIOUS WAAAA😭😭💕

Im gonna create a bit of a backstory for this AU happening too, im invested in the concept.

(The same events in Toby's backstory happened with his sister dying had his father becoming abusive happen in this AU except, Toby is around 6 when all this happens, I tried making this into a bit of a scenario followed by headcanons so I hope you dont mind.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

◇Tim and Brian with Adoptive Child Toby◇

• If they didn't hate The Operator before they certainly did now. Recruiting a child was absolute bullshit.

• He appeared near their hideout in the woods, passed out with the mark of The Operator on his arm.

• At first Brian suggested trying to find Toby's parents, only to find the house going up in flames.

• "Brian we've got to keep him...who's gonna take him?

• He looked over to the boy now sleeping in Tim's arms. It had been hell to calm him down once he woke up, he was crying and thrashing so bad his tics were starting to hurt him.

• Brian knew their way of life was way too dangerous for a child, but with Toby's evident disabilities, trauma and him being marked now...foster care wasn't looking like an option either. The system would eat him alive.

• "Okay...okay yeah we're keeping him."

• They both divided their time taking care of him so they could not fall behind on The Operator's tasks, Tim took the mornings and afternoons while Brian took evening and nights.

• Toby himself never spoke unless it was his tics always choosing to gesture with his hands instead, but eventually he had slowly opened up to them, eating with them hugging them both goodnight. He even started climbing on Tim's Back and staying there while the man did tasks. It was rather cute, Brian had to admit.

• He''d gained back some energy since the incident, thankfully. He often listened to Tim's CDs and Brian's ramblings about Film-making intently. At some point they even started having movie nights together.

• On some level, they had become a little family.

• Until one day where Tim was late to come home. Brian paced the living room, it was 8am he was supposed to be back by now, hed left voicemail after voicemail and no response.

• Maybe the cops caught him, maybe The Operator grew tired of him, all manner of thoughts started swimming in his mind and he went over to Toby's room.

• The walls were lined with shelves of children's books which all stolen from here and there, Toby looked to be asleep in bed.

•Both Brian and Tim wanted to give Toby some semblance of a normal childhood. Games and Books were like escapism, except much better than the drugs and alcohol they both dabbled with in their past.

• Brian leaned down so that he was eye level with the mound under the blanket. "Hey buddy, Tim's not back yet so im gonna need you to stay in your room and lock the doors while I go look for him okay?"

• No response, Brian removed the blanket.

• Shit.

• He'd never run faster in his life, even qhen hia lunga threatened to give out stopping wasn't an option, thorned branches grazed his flesh as he searched wildly for his boys.

• Until he saw them.

• Tim was leaning against a tree as he held what looked like Toby's jacket to his bleeding head, Toby himself was hugging him tight.

• Brian let out a sigh of relief and ran up to them, leaning down to inspect Tim's injuries.

• "Christ Toby, don't ever do that again-" he cut off when Tim put a hand on his shoulder. He looked down to see a gauze wrapped around Tim's leg and the emergancy kit they usually kept back at the cabin.

• Toby was just as worried if not more, and for good reason too. He looked up at Brian, eyes filled with fear, as if exoecting to be punished but Brian's gaze only softened, he reached out an arm to ruffle Toby's hair.

• Tim beamed at them, then winced trying to get up. Noticing, Brian helped him to his feet. He rested his weight on Brian while his free hand held Toby's.

• "What do you say after you guys get me on the couch we have movie night ey kid?"

• "Y-Yeah, can...can we watch Star wars?"

• Of course, Star wars then became a new family favourite.

Headcanons:

• Brian's the usual cook of the house while Tim just buys food whenever he can. Toby really likes Brian's cooking but likes Tim sneaking him Mcdonalds nuggets a little more.

• Brian usually reads to Toby to help him sleep after a nightmare, sometimes ends up falling asleep near the bed because hes so exhausted.

• Tim and Brian have been confused for being a married couple in public like 7 times by now just because of Toby.

• Brian got Toby a small camera as a gift and he juat kinda..snaps pictures of anything and everything, the camera roll ranges from Tim sleeping to some random cat he saw outside.

• They started homeschooling him since getting the cash for Toby's schooling was proving too difficult, its going great except when Toby asks Brian for help with Math qhile Tim's gone and Brian sucks ASS at Math.

• Tim sometimes carries Toby on his hips because his back gets sore from carrying Toby or other work, Which has led to Brian joking about Tim being a mom (he lowkey is)

• Overall they're both amazing dads despite having to murder and steal for a living now.

[the-racoon-under-your-stairs]

I know my text posts never get any attention but Imma try anyway Marble hornets fandom I need you to be like, alive and receptive ok PLEASE

So, I'm a classical literature student, and we just got done studying and analysing Sophocles's Oedipus rex, which if you don't know, is like THE greek tragedy. And for the two/three weeks of studying, all I could think of each time we went over a different theme in the oedipus rex was FUCK!! ITS IN MARBLE HORNETS TOO!! So now im panickingly attempting to write down an essay kind of where it's just me yapping about how the same themes are found/portrayed in MH and the Oedipus Rex because to me it's just so cool and fun that a greek tragedy from 430-420 b.C. and a web series from 2009 have so much in common.

I'm thinking of submitting this to my Greek literature teacher when/if I get it done, and I was thinking of posting it too but it depends if anyone's gonna read it or not :(

[nixieisaloserr]

I know I know. This is my third one. But I just love your helen. But could you please do a yandere bloody painter where the reader has to be held to fall asleep. Also can the reader be gn. Thank you in advance

You don’t need any excuse to request for me! I’m just glad that you like my writing. It’s good to know that I’ve written Helen in a way that you enjoy. I love this concept and I have no idea why I didn’t think of it.

Thank you for requesting! <33

Yandere! Bloody Painter x GN! reader who needs to be held to sleep

Warnings: obsession, visibly unhinged characters, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mentions of violence/murder,

A relationship with Bloody Painter was not normal by any means.

Even after a few months of you two dating, you still didn’t tell him about your sleeping habits.

You would usually just take some melatonin and hug a pillow to sleep—with moderate difficulty, of course.

But, it only took him so long to find out. He always had his ways of finding things out; you didn’t know how he did it.

Eventually your melatonin disappeared all together. Every single bottle.

Sleeping became a rare occurrence. You had no choice but to bring it up to Helen.

He was surprisingly happy about it. You thought he would see you as clingy or annoying.

He could never <3

You were moderately embarrassed at first.

Well, you really had no idea just how much he was willing to do for you.

Sleeping in his arms was nothing compared to what he had done for you without your knowledge.

Just why did you think your ex stopped bothering you? What about their crazy new partner? You hadn’t heard from them at all.

All thanks to Helen.

He was just so giddy to have you in his arms every night.

And if you woke up—he would rock you gently back and forth while pecking your forehead lovingly.

His patience with you seemed never ending.

Even if you accidentally kneed him in the groin in your sleep sometimes…

He would kill to have you in his arms.

Any time of day, it didn’t matter. He would always have time for you.

Sometimes he wouldn’t let you get out of bed—pretending to sleep while caging you in his arms.

It was always so hard to get out of his grasp, he was stronger than he looked.

He just loved it when you slept in (even if he had to tamper with your alarm).

The way the sun would enhance your features was so, so beautiful for him.

He was just so obsessed with you while you slept.

The amount of paintings and sketches of you he had was insane.

You were just so irresistible <3

[paulmccartneyprostateorgasm]

Same anon that said John would be on 4chan I dunno if you’re actually interested but the context I feel is kinda important to what I was trying to imply about John. okay I haven’t been on there for a while so my memory is kinda hazy but to my memory /tttt/ was originally the lgbt forum but as time went on and became more Nazi-ish a lot of people left, leaving only the most self-hating trans people mostly trans women, and the forum mainly consists of trans women discouraging each other transitioning “because they’ll never pass” and pointing out each others insecurities. If you’ve never heard the term “hon” it’s a shortening of “oh honey” that’s usually used by trans women to shit on other trans women basically saying like “oh she’s so delusional she thinks she’s passing,” and if I remember correctly it originated on /tttt/.

I just think John would be really self-hating in her teenage years and take it out on others the same way 60s John was really insecure about being queer and took it out on others. But she’d mellow out more once she got on E and especially after she got all the surgeries she wanted but it would haunt her to have at one point been part of that community.

I have no idea in this universe if Paul is also trans because the idea of t4t lesbian McLennon is compelling for obvious reasons but I could also see Paul being like, one of those “trans inclusionary misogynists” where he’s really accepting of John but also immediately starts acting like she’s too weak to do anything, and in their teenage years it would probably be morbidly euphoria-inducing for John. Sorry long anon message but I’ve been thinking about this topic a lot.

What a fascinating world you've conjured here thank you for sharing. In my heart I need them to both girls for toxic yuri reasons but I do see your vision

[vaugarde]

i am really enjoying revisiting “i am princess X”, i’d say it holds up really well so far (as of chapter 18) but man i forgot how i dont like YA romance djdjdjdjdjdj

[spookcataloger]

The British Blackout of 2013

Storys too long; just listen to it

[vampiiu]

Depressed JTK x Reader

TW // CW: Depressive episode, poor hygiene, food refusal (from Jeff), next to no clothing

What to expect: Gender neutral reader, reader gives Jeff a bath when he can't care for himself.

（　♡　）

You knew something was wrong. Something or some feeling has been eating at him all week. All he would say when asked about it is “nothing, i’m fine” or “i’m okay.”

Now, you’re especially worried because he won’t even get out of bed.

“Jeff, please let me at least turn the lights on.”

“No”

“You want water? Some snacks?”

“Not hungry.”

“You know… You could sit in here and rot forever or-”

He shoots up, looking you dead in your eyes.

“And that’s what I’ll do.-”

“No. No, I’ll help you out of bed and we can make this right, okay? You can love me again.”

His heart shatters just from the thought that you don’t see how much he misses you. Tears spill from his eyes and his shoulders shake. Suddenly he’s caught in your embrace. You can smell the stench of dried blood on his clothing and the grime buildup on his body. You can feel his arms clenched around you holding on for dear love, and the tears soaking your shirt. It pains you to see the man you love like this.

“Help. Please help me.” He pleads.

“It’s alright, Jeff. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

You pull away smiling and hoping it’ll cheer him up a bit.

“Come on, bud, I’ll run a bath.”

He hesitantly nods and tries to stand up, immediately collapsing in your arms.

“Hey- Hey, deep breaths.” You set an example for him and he breathes in pursuit.

“Good boy.”

He melts at that. You know he does.

“Alright, now, can you walk?”

Your boyfriend looks ashamed, so you reassure him and guide him to your shared bathroom.

He sits on the toilet with his head hanging back, so you get a pillow for his head to rest on. Poor guy looks exhausted. The running water comes to a halt when the tub is about full, so you help your muse get undressed. He then crawls into the tank and sinks into the warm water. You notice a look of relief on his face when he pushes his greasy hair from his eyes.

You let him soak for a bit, and soon, you’re only left in your underwear. You step into the bath and sit behind Jeff. Love is all you feel when you pull his (now wet) hair behind his ears and press a kiss to his shoulder. A comfortable silence fills the air, the only sound being the water dripping from the faucet. Shampoo fills your palm and you rub your hands together, carefully raking his scalp as not to hurt him. He’s fragile. The washbasin scoops through the water and with your free hand, you cup Jeff’s forehead to assure no water gets in his eyes. It’s majestic how the water flows from his hair to the shared bath water to be recycled for other things. You grab a washrag and pour his favorite honey and cinnamon scented body wash into it. It’s warm and brown in contrast to his cold, pale skin. It drags along his body wiping the dirt from his pores. It almost feels like cleansing him of sin; assuring no thing can steal his soul from this very moment. The room is filled with comfortable intimacy as his back presses to your chest and your fingers dance abreast his torso. Somehow it feels like something is nagging the air.

“Y’know…” He starts. “I really do love you.” His head turns halfway towards you.

“I know.” You plant a long kiss on his lips. “I love you too.”

（　♡　）

i hope you enjoyed :)

[slashingdisneypasta]

Imagine

"When I win your heart (Name), and I will win it, it will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me." (- Captain Killian 'Hook' Jones, OUAT) they say, then give you a smirk that was almost warm, and leave.

^ This ^ with you & the following villains :

CreepyPasta; Eyeless Jack, Laughing Jill, Nurse Ann, Offenderman, Puppeteer, Zalgo, etc.

Disney/Pixar; Captain Hook (i mean-), Charles F Muntz, Dr Facilier, Horned King, Jafar, Long John Silver, Maleficent, Professor Ratigan, Randall Boggs, Scar, Shan Yu, Shere Khan, etc.

Gotham; Edward Nygma/The Riddler, Fish Mooney, the Scarecrow, Lazlo Valentin/Professor Pyg, Victor Fries/Mr Freeze, etc.

Misc: Black Hat, Captain Hook (2002), Damien Dalgaard, Deucalion, Don Falcone (2022), Eris (S;LOTSS), Jack Bass, Lucius Malfoy, Mal/The Malevolent One (TDI;AS), Merle Dixon, Napoleon Boneparte (NATM), Owen/Wolf (TWD), Peter Hale, Spike/William Pratt, etc.

Once Upon A Time; Cruella De Vil, Hades, etc.

Horror; Candyman, Harper Alexander, Inkubus, Jerry Dandridge, Kieran Wilcox, Leslie Vernon, Mental Manny, Kenneth Chase/Jeffrey Hawk, Caleb Quinn, the Djinn, Tiffany Valentine, etc.