Favorite Christmas Quotes

Favorite Christmas Quotes

Jeff: “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal. Gunshot And a Happy New Year.”

Sally: “I am a cotton-headed ninny muggins!”

Zero: “You’ll shoot your eye out, kid.”

Brian: “When Santa squeezes his fat ass down that chimney tonight, he’s gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.”

Tim: “I’m gonna deck your halls, bub.”

Cody: “Nobody sent me a Christmas card today. I almost wish there weren’t a holiday season. I know nobody likes me. Why do we have to have a holiday season to emphasize it?”

Liu: “You say you hate Washington’s Birthday or Thanksgiving, and nobody cares, but you say you hate Christmas, and people treat you like you’re a leper.” 

Sully: “I Have A Machine Gun. Ho Ho Ho.”

Toby: “It’s Christmas Eve. It’s the one night of the year when we all act a little nicer, we smile a little easier, we cheer a little more. For a couple of hours out of the whole year we are the people that we always hoped we would be.”

Jack: “I don’t know what to say, but it’s Christmas, and we’re all in misery.”

Natalie: “He’s an angry elf.”

Helen: “My balls are freezing. I never thought I’d say that with a smile on my face.”

Candy Pop: “Blast this Christmas music. It’s joyful and triumphant.” 

Jane: “I myself believe that when it comes to matters of the heart, the only sin is turning your back on love because of what other people think.” 

Kagekao: “If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart!”

BEN: “I’m going to buy them their Christmas turkey.” “Buy? Do you really mean ‘buy’?” “Yes, buy! In the Spirit of Christmas. The hard part’s going to be stealing the money to pay for it.”

Johnny: “You're skipping Christmas! Isn't that against the law?”

New Year’s Resolutions (OLD)

Jeff: Stop killing quite as many people. Maybe narrow it down to eight murders a week.

Liu: Get a stuffed koala bear that looks exactly like the one he had when he was a kid, and name her Kelly.

Sully: Find and insult Jeff at least 5 times a month.

Toby: Get his nightmares about Lyra under control.

Helen: Try out encaustic painting techniques.

Zero: Prank Kage without getting caught.

Jonathan: Dye his hair blond.

Kagekao: Prank Zero without drawing suspicion.

Cody: Find somebody who cares about him.

Natalie: Change up her wardrobe a bit.

Jane: Beat Sully at five or more chess matches in a row.

Brian: Try to convince Slenderman to give him fewer lethal (for other people) missions.

Tim: Become stronger mentally.

Sally: Save more children from abuse.

Jack: Hold off his cravings for as long as possible.

Candy Pop: Make as many hybrids as he can\Stop himself from making more hybrids.

Slenderman: He just wants to control and kill people.

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Sorry for being inactive... I’ve been busy this week and haven’t had much time nor inspiration to post any headcanons or anything else. Forgivesies?

Chapter 3- It’s Time To Begin

A sudden crack of thunder erupts throughout the sky, making her flinch and crane her neck backward to look up at the ever-darkening clouds. The atmosphere shifts from warm to damp in an instant as rain draws nearer. Oh great, she thinks, turning on her heel to walk the two miles back to her grandparents' cottage. That's what I need. Rain. She quickens her pace, being mindful not to trip over a stray root or run into a limb dangling lower to the ground, following the plant-ridden trail that she originally took to get this far out here.

She isn't exactly sure where she is, as she doesn't recognize the seemingly endless frondescence around her, but she knows that she has to be around thirty-five to forty minutes away from the cottage. This means she will likely get caught in the storm that just abruptly appeared out of nowhere. 

The air around her feels muggy and thick, and she can’t stop herself from sniffing. It grows steadily darker, though not enough to obstruct her vision any, for which she is exceedingly grateful. A bolt of lightning streaks through the sky, and following close behind is another startling clash of thunder. Forcing her legs to move at an even faster pace in an effort to get back before it starts to rain, she continuously avoids running into any plants or tripping over weeds sticking out of the ground and looping around each other.

It starts out as a small, almost unnoticeable droplet of water landing directly on her nose and slowly cascading down her skin, causing her to avert her gaze back up toward the sky anxiously. Another soon follows, this one stopping on the top of her head and dribbling down her h\c locks of hair. This is the moment that she wishes she would have brought a jacket. Well, how was I supposed to know it was going to storm?

The area around her now begins to seem more familiar, and she hopes that means she's getting closer. Maybe she can get back before it starts—

Another crackle of thunder erupts throughout the atmosphere, and not two seconds later, a shower of rain follows. She curses under her breath and now speeds up into a full-on run, desperately wanting to make it back home prior to being totally drenched. She'll need a shower at this point, anyway. 

Water blurs her vision as it leaves wet trails down her face, and she can feel it as it soaks her clothes and weighs her hair down. The cool drops send chills up her spine, and she dashes down the path, trying to step on the patches of grass to avoid slipping on mud and falling to the ground. Holding her hands above her eyes to act as a sort of shield from the rain, she navigates through the condensing fog and thick greenery surrounding her b\s frame. 

Every couple of minutes she steps under some branches housing abundant leaves, making a temporary shelter against the storm, though it only lasts about three or four steps before she's back underneath the mercy of the pounding rain. The nearer she gets to the cottage, the harder the rain seems to get, and it isn't long before her shoes and feet are slathered in mud and her hair is sticking to her neck. 

I'm gonna get a cold, aren't I? She can't stop the annoyed huff that exits her lips, her eyes squinted as she attempts to ward off the pouring water and stop it from irritating her senses even further. The deep rumbling of the constant thunder, the pitter-patter of rain splashing against the leaves and rising puddles of water, and the invigorating breeze gently blowing against her skin would be almost relaxing if she wasn't currently being saturated as she hurries back.

In her rush to get out of the weather, she stares ahead of her in an effort to see if she can find the tranquil little house, and just for an instant forgets to watch where she's stepping, and as a result, misses a particularly thick weed, causing her foot to get caught up in it which soon has her losing her balance and falling to the dirt floor with a grunt. 

She catches the majority of her body weight with her hands and allows her arms to take the brunt of the fall, though she still lands on her stomach and chest. The tips of her hair land in mud and she can feel pressure in the palm of her right hand, almost as if something was stabbing through the skin, but she doesn't pay much mind to it, too focused on returning before the weather has a chance to get even worse. Releasing an exasperated "crap", she slowly pushes herself to her feet, not taking time to look at the damage that had to have been caused, and makes sure to keep her eyes glued down to her feet and what's in front of them.

Finally, finally, after what feels like an hour, she comes upon the familiar driveway, and straight across from it, sits the quaint property that she calls her temporary home. Sighing in relief, she sprints toward the gate, hurriedly unlatching and opening it far enough so she can step through, closing it back behind her and moving to the, thankfully roofed, porch, where she meets the eyes of a very unhappy cat, who is also drenched in water, sitting on an old, wooden chair and looking at her in obvious contempt.

"Oh, you too, huh?" she mutters, brushing her hands off to the best of her ability and opening the screen door, hoping to God that her grandparents left the main one unlocked. To her luck, she grabs the knob and twists it without any trouble, and immediately steps inside, relishing in the warmth and dryness that it holds. 

Marshmallow nearly trips her as he tries to push past her legs and go through the door himself, though she puts her foot up in front of him and blocks his path before he can. 

"Sorry, little buddy. You'll get mud everywhere." She gently nudges him back outside, and he lets out a meow in protest, clearly not enthused about having to wait outside in the damp chill that the storm holds. Once he's out of the screen's path, she shuts it and gets a glimpse of the wet feline as he stands on his hind legs and pushes against the door with his paws, looking in pitifully and continuing to cry, even though it's mostly drowned out by the rain. She taps the glass in compassion and softens her voice just a tad. "Look, I'll dry off then I'll get a towel and dry you off, okay?" 

His calls raise in volume as if disagreeing, and she can't stop the laugh of sympathy that leaves her mouth. 

"It'll only be a few minutes, I promise—" 

"Sweetie! Oh, my goodness, are you okay?" She's cut off by the worried voice of her grandma, who appears by her side to examine her in concern. She meets her eyes and nods reassuringly, brushing a strand of wet hair stubbornly clinging to her forehead behind her ear. 

"Y-yeah, Nana, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? It's raining cats and dogs out there!" 

"I'm sure." She uses the back of her hand to wipe away a stray droplet of water as it runs down her cheek before shivering slightly. Farrah's eyebrows furrow. 

"My word, you're cold, aren't you?"

"Only a little," she replies, her gaze trailing down to the hardwood floor, or more specifically, the puddle that's quickly forming around her feet. "Um, will you bring a towel or something? I'd hate to get water and mud all over the floor."

"Oh, don't worry about that, hun. My biggest concern is you getting sick." She wraps her hand around her shoulder and lightly pushes her in the direction of the stairs. "Why don't you go and get cleaned up and I'll make some hot chocolate." The very sound of hot chocolate makes her heartbeat quicken, and she only nods and makes her way up the staircase, in a hurry to get the mud caking her skin off before it dries and becomes a pain to scrub. 

She tries to make the journey quick so she doesn't completely soak the carpet and cause mildew to grow, and soon enters the bathroom, where she flips the light on and shuts the door to grant herself some privacy. Grasping a piece of thoroughly-soaked clothing and prying it away from her body, she lets out a quiet scoff, not very pleased with the recent turn of events.

She looks at her hand after dumping her clothes on the floor beside the sink, noticing the color red mixed in with the minuscule pieces of gravel and mud coating her hand, and after rinsing it off under the faucet, she sees a hole around the size of a pinprick permanently indented into her flesh, along with two minor scrapes around it. 

A stick must've poked me, she thinks, remembering the moment she tripped and felt a sudden pressure in her palm. Sighing in discontent, she steps into the shower and turns the water on, having to wait a minute for it to get good and steamy. She rinses all of the mud from her skin and washes her hair, becoming irritated when she picks a couple of small twigs out of it and tossing them down the drain without a second thought. 

The hot water cascading down her body feels relaxing, and she finds herself almost wanting to go to sleep, though she shakes off the idea pretty quickly. Sure, the weather is perfect for it, but she needs to visit with her dear grandparents whom she hasn't seen in years. Perhaps she can show Nana some of her paintings like she was planning on doing originally. She highly doubts that she would be criticized; Farrah is too nice to do such a thing, and even so, she'd be doing it gently and out of love, hoping to help rather than condemn. 

Shutting the water off and stepping back out a moment after, she grabs at her arms in an effort to warm herself back up, as the temperature inside of the bathtub is much warmer than the temperature elsewhere. She wraps herself up in a towel and turns toward the fogged-up mirror, making a portrait of sorts with her arm to enable herself to see the reflection that it gives her and finding herself satisfied enough with it. 

After brushing her hair she cautiously makes her way to the room that she's occupying while she's staying here, making sure that nobody is making their way down the hall while she does so, and shuts the door, going to the closet to pick out yet again another pair of clothes to wear, since her first ones got wet and dirty.

She slips on her undergarments, a pair of sweatpants, a loose-fitting t-shirt, and a pair of socks before throwing her previous clothes into the laundry room and going back down the stairs, being sure to bring an old towel with her. The pleasant aroma of hot chocolate wafts up into her nose, and she licks her lips absentmindedly, glancing into the kitchen to see Farrah mixing the warm liquid into two separate mugs.

She seems to notice her granddaughter's presence and gives her a welcoming smile, one Y\n finds absolutely calming each time. "Hi, sweetheart! How are you feeling?" The h\c girl shrugs and moves over to the front door, where she knows a certain cat is likely still waiting in front of.

"A lot better, now that I'm not covered in rainwater and dirt."

"I understand. That's not a pleasant sensation by any means." As soon as Y\n opens the door, a gust of cool breeze hits her in the face, bringing drops of rain with it. Not wanting to confront this weather again, she looks around for Marshmallow and finds him curled up beside the door, a shivering lump of soaked fur, clearly attempting to create some form of heat to lay in. 

"Aw, little buddy," she coos, feeling bad that she couldn't have brought him in sooner. He lifts his head at her voice, and it's obvious that he's been trying to lick himself dry by the random tufts of fur sticking out here and there on his small body. He lets out a meow and she bends down and swaddles him in the large piece of cloth she brought with her, lifting him up in her arms and allowing the towel to soak up as much of the water as possible before she brings him back inside and closes the door. 

"Oh no, is that Marshmallow?" Farrah says, and Y\n hums in response and places him on the floor after wiping off the mud from his paws. "I totally forgot about him. I guess I was too distracted." She chuckles, and the girl rubs her damp hair, watching the grateful yet exasperated feline find a nice, cozy spot on the couch before starting the process of grooming himself, once more. 

"Well, he's okay, now." Her Nana hands her a mug of cocoa, and she sucks in a large whiff of it, looking around curiously. "Hey, where's Pops at?" 

"Oh, he laid down to take a nap. We old people don't have too much energy to spare, anymore." Both of them walk into the living room and find seats on the couch, thankfully not disturbing Marshmallow as they do so, as he's currently sitting on the back of it, seeming quite content at the moment. 

She blows on her drink, waiting for it to cool down enough to allow her to sip on it, and her eyes fall to the window, watching the drops of rain hit the glass pane and slide down the shutters. Farrah follows her gaze and flashes her a sympathetic look. 

“I really am sorry about the rain, Y\n.” The teen meets her caring brown orbs attentively. “If I would’ve known it was going to storm, I would’ve told you.”

“Nana, it’s fine,” she reassures, resting a hand on Farrah’s arm. “There’s no way you could’ve known what it was going to do. Besides, I’m inside and dry now, anyway. I don’t think I was out long enough to get a cold.”

“Lord, I hope not. I would hate for you to be sick on your vacation.” She pats Y\n’s hand and takes a small, cautious sip of her cocoa.

“Yeah, that would suck.” She agrees, and copies her grandmother’s actions, putting the rim of the mug to her lips and tilting it upward in order to get a tiny drink. She can feel it burn the tip of her tongue as a strong burst of flavor erupts through her mouth, and she swallows, holding back a peaceful sigh as it slips effortlessly down her throat and warms her insides. 

Haven’t had hot chocolate in forever, she thinks, savoring the smell and taste of the rich, chocolatey beverage. I forgot how good it was.

“So, hun,” Farrah starts, shifting her body around to have a better view of Y\n in her position on the couch, “what do you like to do? I mean, do you have any hobbies?”

She considers the question briefly, taking another thoughtful sip of her drink. “Well… I like to paint.”

“Oh, you do!” Her eyes seem to light up at the very thought, and she leans in closer. “I remember that. You were always giving us little art pieces that you did. There’s a drawer in our bedroom dedicated to that very thing.” Upon hearing this, Y\n glances away shyly as her cheeks glow a light shade of pink. 

“Heh, y-you didn’t have to keep them. They were all just meaningless stuff, anyway.” 

“Sweetheart.” Her expression morphs into one of seriousness, and her voice hardens slightly. “Nothing you do is meaningless.” She shrugs in response and bites the inside of her cheek. 

“If you say so…”

“Of course I say so.” She nudges her with her shoulder in a consoling manner, making Y\n avert her gaze back at her. “So what do you paint?” The genuine interest she holds within her tone almost surprises Y\n, as she isn’t used to somebody, much less a family member, being intrigued by what she does, and it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts and form a coherent reply. 

“Like… scenery, and stuff. Mountains, skylines, waterfalls. Gardens, sometimes people, though I’m not very good at that. I don’t know. It depends, really.” 

“Well, that sounds absolutely lovely. Did you bring some?” 

“I, uh, I brought one or two of the small ones. But I have most of the pictures on my phone."

“Can I see them?” Her eyebrows raise and her lips part a bit, attempting to contain the excitement quickly flooding into her chest as she glimpses at Farrah hesitantly. 

“...Really?”

“Yeah, really! I wanna see what my little girl has been up to all these years.” A bright smile etches itself across her face, and Y\n stares at her, perhaps a couple of seconds too long, before complying and slowly standing to her feet, setting her mug of hot chocolate on the frosted coffee table as she does so.

“Okay. Just, be warned that they’re not very good.” She, herself, is proud of some of them, especially the more recent ones, though when in the presence of someone she finds that she wants to impress, her confidence steadily dwindles down and shrinks into the back of her mind, plaguing her thoughts with doubt. What if she gets laughed at?

“Oh, stop criticizing yourself. I’m sure that they’re beautiful.” Her words offer the slightest bit of relief, and the girl nods slowly and makes her way up the steps and into her room. Grabbing her backpack and taking out the two canvases—one 6x6 inch and the other 9x12— she looks down at both for any mistakes. After all, she doesn’t want to embarrass herself in front of one of the only people in her life who actually seems to care about what she likes to keep herself busy with.

One of them is a painting using watercolors, and it shows a small stream glimmering in the moonlight alongside a meadow of vivid wildflowers of yellow, pink, blue, purple, and white. She remembers doing this one when she was bored, and she got inspiration from a photo she saw on Pinterest, although a few key details were changed when she created it.

The second painting is one of the ones she worked fairly hard on, one that took around a week to complete, and she was pretty happy about the result. It shows a beam of sunlight shining down into a forest of willow trees, capturing the life beneath them in a bright, cheerful embrace. A mother fox and her two kits sneak out of their burrow dug at the bottom of a small hill, a nest of robins lay up in a branch, away from danger, butterflies flutter their wings and land gracefully on a patch of lilies.

The project had been something she had wanted to start and complete ever since she began painting with acrylics, and once it was finished, she was proud of it. Before she left to go to her grandparents’ house, she had a mental debate about whether or not she should bring it. It may have gotten broke, after all, though she eventually decided, what the heck, why not. 

She made sure to pack it carefully, in a position where it couldn’t get crushed or torn easily. And it looks in perfect shape as of now, so she figures that she accomplished her goal. 

She tucks both of the paintings under her arm and grabs her phone from off of her bed before walking back down the stairs to present her work to Farrah, nervousness and slight hesitancy bubbling up and making itself apparent in her stomach, once again. What if Nana doesn’t like them? She’d feel ashamed and embarrassed for even mentioning her favored activity, in the first place. Shaking her head dismissively, she attempts to gather some form of confidence as she nears the living room. It’s only her grandma, not some popular judge from America’s Got Talent. It will be fine, she tells herself. It will be perfectly fine, there’s nothing to worry about.

A rumble of thunder tears her from her thoughts, and her eyes shift up toward the ceiling, almost expecting the house to shake, though nothing of the sort happens. Ignoring the second boom of noise as it seems to get more distant, she finishes her trek into the living room and takes her previous seat on the couch, beside Farrah, and puts her phone on the table in front of her.

“Okay, so, this isn’t one of my best ones. I did it about three months ago when I was bored.” She lifts up the painting with the pond and lays the other one beside her, handing it to Farrah and giving her a clear view. She subconsciously bites her bottom lip and glances in the between the painting and the elderly woman several times, trying to read her thoughts and anxiously awaiting her reaction.

An expression of pure revelation and pride appears across her face as she stares down at the work of art currently in her hands, taking in every, well-thought-out detail to the best of her ability, her mouth dropping in astonishment and her eyebrows raising. 

Y\n is unsure what to make of this; she’s never been great at reading other people’s emotions and sensing what they’re thinking. All she can do is wait for a verbal reply and hope that it isn’t one purely of criticism and distaste. 

“Sweetheart…” She speaks, and Y\n’s ears perk up in recognition. “Y\n, this is gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.” She turns to meet the girl’s e\c eyes and holds the canvas up in front of her face to better get her point across. “You did this?”

Y\n nods timidly, her cheeks raising in warmth as they flush a faint shade of pink at the compliment. “Uh, y-yes, ma’am. I did.”

“Hun, this is spectacular. Absolutely amazing. How am I just now finding out about this secret talent of yours?” It’s asked as mostly rhetorical, as they both know the reason and the answer to the question. “You said you had more?”

“I only brought two, but I have pictures of others I’ve done in my phone gallery.”

“Show me!” She gives her back the painting, and she takes it again, before handing her the second one, the larger one of the two. Her eyes scan the surface, where all of the shades blend together in a peaceful cadence of colors and a proper story, full of raw emotion and dedication. 

“This is one of my favorites,” Y\n comments quietly, reaching up and petting the fluffy feline laid behind her head affectionately and looking over Farrah’s shoulder at her creation. 

“My word… this is even better than the first!” She looks down in the bottom left corner, where the young girl’s signature rests, and clicks her tongue considerately. “Hun, you could have a business with these treasures.” 

“I actually do want to become a professional artist. Make paintings for a living.” She tenderly takes the canvas from Farrah’s grasp and lays it atop the previous one before leaning forward and grabbing her phone. “Maybe, if I can scrape up the money to go to AAU, I can make it a reality. I’ve already gone to art camp three summers in a row, so I have practice.”

“Well, that sounds lovely. I hope you stay on that track because I think you would make an excellent artist. People all over the world would want to buy your paintings if they looked like those do.” She releases a small chuckle and unlocks her phone, scrolling to the side until she finds her gallery and clicking on it.

“Yeah, well, people are really picky about what they do and do not buy, so I dunno. A girl can dream, I guess.” Farrah wraps her arm around Y\n’s shoulder reassuringly and pulls her closer. “One of my dreams is to be recognized by April Gornik, maybe even meet her someday. She’s, like, my inspiration for half the things I paint.”

“It’s great to have goals, Y\n. I’m sure she would love to meet you. Who knows, maybe she could even teach you a thing or two about being an artist.” She smiles at the very idea and nods slightly, her thumb swiping patiently through the many photos as they appear across the screen. 

“Maybe.” She clicks on one of the pictures, this one revealing an older painting based on Niagara Falls, the rainbow shooting through the sky and over the surging white water below, and shows it to Farrah, who looks at it proudly. 

"That's amazing. Where'd you get that artistic talent from? I know it wasn't your father." She breathes an amused laugh in response and shakes her head in the negative. 

"Yeah, it definitely wasn't him."

 ✭ ✭ ✭

For the past couple of hours, she had talked with her grandmother about various other things, ranging anywhere from her potential job to what else she plans on doing in the future. Does she want to get married, have a family? Where does she want to live? Is there another career she wants to pursue should the original fail?

It takes her a moment to answer each question without stumbling over her words, mainly due to the fact she isn't used to somebody being so invested in her personal life and interests as a whole. But she quickly finds that she enjoys being asked frequent questions about such things and that she's able to tell Farrah anything and everything about whatever she wants to. A bond seems to radiate between the two; Farrah is like a long-lost mother figure to Y\n, and it feels good to have finally recovered her, again. 

The rain outside eventually ceases, as does the storm, and the clouds slowly thin out until they're nothing but thin streaks of white floating through the now grey-blue sky. The plants outside are coated with thick drops of water, the soil surrounding them properly soaked and allowing the roots to suck in the moisture. The very air itself smells of life, feels damp, and holds a certain cleanness to it, as if the earth has just been cleansed of evil and is made pure, once again. 

The rest of the day goes by, for the most part, uneventfully, with Y\n helping and visiting with Farrah, and when he wakes up, Phil. The three stay inside of the house, neither of them wanting to go out when it could possibly start raining, again. 

They have dinner; a few simple chicken strips and some homemade gravy, along with biscuits to add a bit of variety. It fills Y\n up well, and by the time all of them are finished eating, it's nearing eight o'clock. Despite the late hour that she awoke this morning, she feels drowsiness seeping through her body and making her mind hazy. Perhaps it's the stress of everything finally weighing down on her and causing her to collapse, or maybe it's the lack of stress, at last, allowing her to get the rest that she greatly yearns for. 

Releasing a small yawn, despite how much she tries to fight against it, she stands from where she had been previously lying down on the soft, delicately-patterned sofa, and discreetly rubs at her eye. "You alright, hun?" Nana's voice erupts from behind her, and she glances back and gives a tired smile. 

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just feeling sleepy."

"Well, go on to bed. Get all the rest you need; that's why you're here, after all."

"I'm here to see you guys," she argues halfheartedly. "I'd hate to cut this time short just cause I'm tired."

"Y\n, you've been visiting with us all day. Besides, you've been through a lot. More than what a person should ever go through, especially someone of your age." She parts her lips to further proclaim her point, though when she sees the final expression formed across the woman's face, she huffs lightly in defeat and internally rolls her eyes. 

"Fine."

"That's more like it." 

"You going to sleep on us?" Phil interjects from his recliner, momentarily taking his attention off of the old sitcom that's playing on the small flatscreen TV sitting across the room and onto his granddaughter. Y\n shrugs hesitantly, holding back another yawn that tries to escape past her lips. 

"I guess so..."

"I see. You get here then you leave again." His voice sounds serious, though anyone who listened closely enough could hear the playfulness hidden inside. His wife lightly slaps his hand from where it's resting against the arm of the chair in a scolding manner.

"Oh, hush up, Phil. She's tired. You've been sleeping near about all day."

"I know, I know!" He puts his hands up in front of his face defensively. "I was just joking! Jeez, woman." Y\n watches the two bicker in amusement, unable to decide which person she ultimately agrees with. Just in case she's forced to take a side. Farrah only scoffs, and Y\n leans in to give both of them a warm, fleeting hug, trying to put all of her unending love for them in that one gesture. 

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, hummingbird," Phil says.

"We love you."

"I love you guys too, Nana." She begins to walk toward the staircase. "Call if you need anything."

"You, too!" Then she makes her exit, stopping by the bathroom to do her nightly routine before heading into the bedroom and changing into her pajamas. The world outside has yet to darken enough to allow stars to peak down, but the bright illumination of the moon can be seen far off into the sky, if only somewhat. To her, it's a relaxing scene to go to sleep to, and she crawls beneath her covers soon after turning off her light and plugging her phone in to charge. 

Something about it feels tranquil, and she finds herself wishing that her parents never come back to get her. She doesn't have many friends back home anymore, if she can even call it that, and her lifestyle is less than desirable, largely considering the fact that she can have a perfectly good, stable, loving environment right here, where she could continue to grow, and do it healthily, this time. 

Her eyes slowly flutter closed, and she lets out a relaxed sigh, allowing her consciousness to drift off into the deep, dark hollows known as sleep. 

___

"What are we going to tell her?" Phil, now sitting up fully in his chair and staring at the aged woman beside him, asks, concern showing in his crystal blue orbs. Farrah lets out a distressed breath, burdened by the confounding information her husband recently shared with her.

"I don't know, Phil. It would... it would crush her if she knew what happened."

"Well, obviously. But we can't keep her in the dark. She asked about them. It's only a matter of time before she asks, again." Farrah pinches the bridge of her nose in apprehension, finding it hard to focus on what they should do to solve this issue. Do the right thing. But what's the 'right' thing?

"We just got her back. I don't want to make her upset the rest of her trip..."

"Yeah, neither do I. But we have to do something."

"Okay, okay. We'll just... wait until she brings it up, again." Phil raises his brow at her suspiciously. "Then we'll figure it out from there." Thoughts of perturbation swarm her mind, and she clenches her fists in an effort to calm her jangled nerves. "Phil... we already lost three babies. I don't... I don't want to lose another." Her voice cracks, showing the strain that this whole event has had on her, and she buries her face in her hands to conceal the tears threatening to flow from her eyes. 

"Baby, hey, hey." His tone softens, and he moves over to the couch to sit beside her, wrapping his arms around her smaller, frail frame comfortingly. "We're not gonna lose this one. I promise." She leans into his embrace and quivers vaguely, shaking her head in doubt.

"You can't promise that."

___

Darkness. That's all she can make out at first, as she blindly stumbles around, desperately trying to find a way out of this soul-crushing gloom that surrounds her. She blinks, and blinks, and blinks, even rubbing at her eyes to rid herself of the dull, emotionless scenery, until eventually, her wish is granted, and instead of never-ending darkness, she figures out that she's standing in the middle of a forest. 

The trees are all dead, their leaves having fallen long ago and leaving their branches bare and sharp. The flowers, or what she assumes used to be flowers, litter the lifeless ground below her feet, their stems drooping low and petals losing all original shape and color as it becomes pitiful piles of what could have once been beautiful plants. A heavy, morbid breeze blows, ruffling the brown grass and sweeping through her hair in what she can only describe as a taunting way. 

Chills zip up her spine, and she suddenly gets the feeling that she isn't alone. Spinning around frantically to find someone, any form of life in this dead, empty place of horror, she spots a flash of color as it disappears behind the trees, out of her immediate sight. She feels a tug in her chest, an invisible force pulling at her heart and begging her to follow. 

She doesn't want to listen to it. She wants to ignore it and walk away, though something tells her that she can't simply just walk out of this place. At least not alive. So she complies, hesitantly, and begins her chase after the mysterious blur of color that made itself present in her vision for only a mere second, but it was enough to gain her attention. Draw her curiosity. Forcing her way through the dead trees, she notices a thick fog appearing steadily around her, altering her vision severely though not enough to force her off of the trail.

Determination strikes her body, and suddenly, she wants nothing more than to find that figure of color. Confront them, ask them what their problem is. Why she's here, force them to take her back. An ominous force wraps around her mind, so abruptly it's almost blinding, and she feels nausea gripping at her stomach and squeezing. It's fear. Pure, raw fear that she's never felt before in her entire life.

Her breathing becomes more labored as she quickens her pace, and no sooner than she does, her foot catches on an unknown object and she comes tumbling down to the ground with a pained grunt, her arms taking the majority of the impact and shielding her face from the dirt underneath her body. 

It takes but a moment to collect her bearings, and as she leisurely rises to her full height, she catches a whiff of a smell. A bitter, rotten smell. An odor that's so strong, so rank, it reminds her of the possum that crawled under their house that one time when she was seven years old and died. They had to call the exterminator to pull out its rotting, maggot-infested carcass and burn it. 

She crinkles up her nose in disgust at the distant memory and tries to pinpoint exactly where the smell is coming from. Stumbling to her feet, she glances around to the best of her ability but finds her efforts are fruitless. It seems so close, but yet so far away at the same time. 

She finally spots a lump right beside her feet; the very same lump that she tripped over not a minute earlier, and she bats away the fog with her hand and squats down to get a better look. She recognizes something. The color. A light, serene shade of green. That's what it's wearing. A green t-shirt.

The smell gets stronger, she just knows it's coming from this motionless figure lying on the ground. Nearly gagging though wanting to get a closer look, she leans nearer, noticing a mop of messy, platinum-blond hair covering his head. It's a 'he', she knows it is. She pinches her nose and nudges him with her foot, though he still doesn't make any move to signify he's conscious. Or even alive.

Her heart rate quickens, and she puts quite a bit of strength into the next push she gives him. His body is quite small, which is why it takes her off-guard when he's so difficult to move. As if he's being weighed down by an invisible force. His body is rolled over, enough to give her a clear look at his face, what he looks like.

What she identifies as blood leaks from a large wound in his forehead and dribbles down his face, causing her to let out an audible gasp and tumble backward from shock in an effort to get away. She knows this boy. She knows him all too well, even though she hasn't seen him for years on end. Wyatt.

Her mind is in a frenzy as she stares at his corpse, breathless, motionless. Dead. An expression of absolute terror is etched onto his ghostly pale features, and she feels hot tears pricking at her eyes. How did this happen?? Why-why did this- what happened!

Her breathing is fast and hard as she covers her mouth, trying to contain the sobs from spilling from her lips and alerting whatever else may be here, on the prowl. Waiting for her. Looking for her. No, this can't be happening. He's only a kid. He was only a kid...

That breeze once again flurries around her shaking frame, bringing a warning like no other with it. "Remember this," it whispers softly in her ear. "Remember what happens when you fail to listen."

～

Shooting up in the bed with a strangled gasp, she looks around her room frantically, doing a mental reality check, as if to make sure that she's still here. That he's gone. That it's gone. Tears freely stream down her warmed cheeks, and she shakily runs her hands through her hair and tries to slow her breathing and the rapid pace of her heart. She swallows, perhaps a bit too hard, because she ends up gagging herself and almost throws up in her own lap, right on her bed.

A squeak exits from between her parched lips, and she moves her frantic gaze out toward the window, hoping to find some form of comfort in knowing, confirming where she's currently at, rather than where she was just moments before. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. 

She sucks in a cooling breath and wraps her arms around herself, staring intently at the treeline on the other side of the natural driveway as she makes sense of everything around her. It's okay, it's okay, you're safe, you're safe. He's safe. He's okay. It doesn't exist, it's just in your head.

Something catches her eye, and she leans closer to the window, attempting to rid herself of the salty tears making her vision blur and get a clear image of what she's seeing. Or, at least, what she thinks she's seeing. After a failed attempt, she wipes her eyes on her arm and looks again. Something white, reflecting the moonlight where it shines down from the sky and gaining her attention even further. 

With her fast, shallow breaths and busy mind, she finds it hard to concentrate, so all she can make out is something beige. Its height isn't very intimidating, at least not from her distance. Is that... a man? With a mask? She blinks, processing her assumptions and praying that they aren't true. And he's... is he watching me?

Releasing an unsteady, nervous sigh, she stares at it for around thirty seconds, before it turns abruptly and disappears behind the trees and likely deep into the forest. She sniffles, keeping her gaze locked in that exact spot until her eyes begin to get heavy, again. 

No! No, I can't go to sleep... not again. She shakes her head, getting rid of the drowsiness to the best of her ability and turning to grab her phone. Gotta keep myself distracted. I can't go back to sleep. Otherwise...

Her e\c orbs anxiously shift back toward the woods, and she bites her lip. Who was that guy...?

Challenge: name 5 things Zero likes and 5 things she dislikes.

5 things Zero likes:

1- Pokémon cards.

2- Poodles.

3- Grinny Cat (she won’t ever admit this).

4- Sausage gravy.

5- The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit books.

5 things Zero dislikes:

1- BEN.

2- Video games.

3- Coffee.

4- Anything with mayonnaise in it.

5- People who doubt her.

Reblog reblog REBLOG. Women aren’t the only victims.

Just an experiment. Reblog if you actually give a fuck about male victims of domestic violence and rape.

Of fucking course

What sick bastard doesn’t

Challenge: name 5 things Sally likes and 5 things she dislikes.

5 things Sally likes:

1- Animals, especially Smile and Grinny, even though those two don’t get along for obvious reasons.

2- Mr. Death, aka her sweet (but deadly) teddy bear.

3- The children that she frees from abuse.

4- Milkshakes- strawberry is her favorite.

5- Bright, lemony shades of yellow.

5 things Sally dislikes:

1- Clowns.

2- Horror movies.

3- Child abuse.

4- Brocolli.

5- Being yelled at.