Types Of Hugs They Give...

Types of hugs they give...

Jeff: More often than not, he’ll try to break every bone in your body when he hugs you.

Liu: He appreciates hugs that envelope your entire form in his warmth. It’s very wholesome.

Sully: Mostly he’ll just grab the back of your neck and pull you into his chest. He isn’t extremely affectionate, at least not physically.

Brian: The dude’s a simple man. He’s content just wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you close.

Tim: Ever since he was a kid, he’s been a bit touchy, so a common thing he does is he snakes his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side briefly.

Toby: This guy is soooo touch-starved, which means that he is extremely affectionate. He loves any kind of hug, really - but his favorite is the classic pick-you-up-and-spin-you-around kind.

Cody: He pretty much just embraces you tightly and buries his face into your neck. If you want something adorably romantic, Cody is the one to call.

Jane: She isn’t big on physical contact either, so you rarely get a hug. She does like to hold your hand and swing it around though.

Ben: He likes sneaking up behind you and then hugging you from behind, while he rests his face against your back. It’s very cute.

Zero: She will literally use up every single ounce of her energy just to squeeze the life out of you.

Clockwork: She’s the kind of person that is afraid to show you her soft side, so the only time she’ll hug you is when you’re alone. When this moment comes, she’ll simply lay on top of you, cheek pressed against your chest, and listen to your heartbeat.

Helen: He’ll tangle his fingers in your hair and sway back and forth when you hug, holding you gently yet passionately.

Jonathan: There are no textbook “normal” hugs with this guy, nope. He’s very unique with the way he initiates any kind of contact, but the most common tactic is that he’ll lift you up bridle-style and nuzzle your face with his own.

Kagekao: It’s true; Kage is considerably small compared to the average male, but he has demon strength so he uses it to his advantage. This means he wraps his arms around your waist, lifts you into the air, throws you onto the couch or bed (whatever you’re nearest to), then proceeds to jump on you and trap you in a flurry of cuddles.

Jack: Oh, when he hugs, he really puts emotion into it. By this I mean that he always keeps a firm yet tender grip on you, bends over a little so the height difference isn’t so awkward, and sometimes picks you up to get a better hold on you.

"If I ever see a real-life Brony, I swear the only 'magic' they'll be experiencing is how many times I can stab them within a five-second period."

~Jeff the Killer

Eyeless Jack Headcanons

I have no idea how I’ve had this blog for a whole freakin’ year and I have yet to write any headcanons exclusively for Jack, aka one of my favorite Creepypastas.

Let me change that now~

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ 

Jack is no doubt a tragic character, though for much different reasons than the others.

He’s isn’t open and emotionally vulnerable with anyone, like at all. After all, him trusting people was what ultimately turned him into what he is now.

He tends to hang around in his infirmary most of the time, and when he isn’t he’s being sent on missions or out gathering food.

I think you know what I mean when I say “food”.

He isn’t happy with himself, he hates what he was forced to become, and he hates his entire situation. But there’s simply nothing that he can do about it. 

He sees himself as a monster. It makes him feel terrible when he goes into somebody’s home and they look up at him with absolute horror. If he still has a heart, it’s been shattered to kingdom come.

He doesn’t want to scare anyone, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. It may sound surprising because he’s a cannibalistic demon, but really, he’s just an insecure, broken guy pushed into awful circumstances. 

Because of this, he tries to make his “collection” process as simple and painless as possible. When he sneaks into someone’s house, he’s sure to knock them out with drugs, take a kidney from each person, sew them up, then leave them behind. He couldn’t handle killing them.

He stays far away from children. When he was a normal person, he loved kids, especially since he had a little sister that he always took care of when his mom wasn’t around to do so. He would take whatever punishment Slenderman gave him before he’d ever lay a finger on a child.

He doesn’t bond with anyone in the Manor. He’s friendly with certain people, but he doesn’t consider anyone his “friend”. Not even Sally.

He just sticks to himself, and only speaks when the moment calls for it. He doesn’t get annoyed very easily, but obnoxious people like Jeff, Ben, and Kagekao absolutely drive him crazy.

When he was human, he was 5′10″, but when he got reincarnated, he gained quite a bit of height. At 6′4″, he’s one of the tallest ones living in the Manor.

Despite being quite slim, he’s abnormally strong - a side effect of being an otherworldly entity. It does come in handy at times, but it doesn’t mean that he enjoys having it. 

When he was in college, he was studying to become a pediatrician, or more specifically, a hematologist/oncologist. He wanted to make a difference in young peoples’ lives, be their hero, work hard to save them, since he couldn’t save his own sister. 

Of course, that plan got flipped upside-down when Jenny and her idiotic cult decided to use Jack as their human sacrifice.

Jack cannot eat anything but organs, no matter how much he may try. He can’t go more than two weeks without eating anything, and if he tries to consume normal food, he’ll be so sick he can’t even walk properly, and this could last for days. 

This makes him very miserable, because the thought of eating literal pieces of people is just so repulsive. He can eat animal organs, but they aren’t nearly as filling. 

However, when he starts eating, a darker, more animalistic side of him surfaces. He blacks out for a time and can’t seem to remember anything about it. The only thing he knows when he comes to is that his mask is lying across the room, his stomach is full, and his clothes, hands, and face is slathered in blood and other bodily fluids.

Thankfully, nobody ever sees him in this state because he does it in secret, inside of a room found in the basement, that only he and Brian have the keys to. 

If anyone were to disturb him during his feasting, there would not be good consequences. He’s very aggressive when his demonic instincts kick in, so if somebody showed their faces, they might just end up six feet under.

Even though Jack doesn’t have his eyes anymore, he can still see. Sure, it’s mostly a colorless world with vague shapes, but it makes his job as a whole easier, as he can rely on his sight and not just his other senses.

He’s a very quiet individual, and he’s good at creeping others out, even if it’s unintentionally. This is due to the fact that he remains eerily silent and just stares. Because of his unblinking gaze, it isn’t received well. Ever.

If he’s feeling particularly distressed, lonely, or sad, he likes to lock himself inside of a dark closet, tuck his knees into his chest, and listen to calm, relaxing music until he settles down. The other residents of the household can go hours without seeing a single trace of him, and then he’ll just randomly reappear and get back to work as if nothing happened.

Since he’s so mysterious and secretive, they have no clue as to where he vanished to and they can’t even begin to imagine what he was doing during that period of time.

He wants more than anything to be able to go back to a normal life with his friends and family, but he knows that’s impossible. Even if he somehow escaped Slenderman’s evil grasp, he wouldn’t be accepted into society. People would be scared of him. They would see him as a threat, a monster.

In a way, he knows they would be right.

okk first off i just found your blog and i love your work! ^^

i was wondering if you could do tim/masky with a girlfriend?

Aw, I appreciate that! ^^

Headcanons coming right up~

Tim\Masky with a S\O

Let's just establish something really quick. Tim and Masky are two separate people. They have separate thoughts, separate opinions, and most of all, separate personalities.

Tim is a nervous wreck with anxiety but is, for the most part, polite and pleasant to talk to.

Masky, on the other hand?

This dude will not hesitate to slit your throat if you so much as roll your eyes at him.

It's only natural, considering Masky was created for the sole purpose of being Slenderman's puppet, whereas Tim tried his best to avoid that.

Because of this, they treat you very, very differently.

You want to have a cuddle sesh with Tim?

He's a bit hesitant but, sure! He'll let you sit on his lap and gradually relax as the minutes tick on.

You wanna do the same with Masky?

Bish, he will slap your hand away before you can even say, "Can we cuddle?"

Then stomp off with the declaration, "That stuff is bullshit."

He is not the most lovable guy, lemme just say.

In fact, he's borderline abusive.

Masky sees the idea of "love" as something for wimps and wants no part in it.

That doesn't stop Tim from dating you, though.

He's so happy to have you be a part of his life. After everything that went down between him and Brian, after everything that he did, all of the mistakes he's made, he's convinced himself that he isn't worthy of affection. That he deserves this and couldn't even escape if he tried.

Tim enjoys listening to your voice, and he'll quickly fall asleep to it if given the chance. Especially if you run your fingers through his hair.

On a day that Masky isn't entirely royally pissed off at the world and everyone in it, maybe you can get him to stand beside you without flinching away as if you carry some kind of deadly disease.

At the height of his affection, he might encourage you on something you're doing, or give your back a rough pat.

Don't expect anything more, though.

Tim adores you, Masky lowkey despises you. He views you as incapable and a liability.

Good luck getting that to change.

𝒜 𝐻𝒶𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝐸𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

2 — 𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒟𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝒜𝓇𝑒 𝑀𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈It's hard to make sense of anything around her. The static making itself ever-present in her mind is almost crippling. It blocks out all of her thoughts. Distant whispers erupt throughout the endless greys and blacks. It's like she's fallen into a void. Like she can't escape.

A breeze suddenly blows past her. It's burning hot but somehow ice-cold at the same time. It gives her a feeling of terror; utter, raw fear that grips at her heart and compresses her lungs. She finds it hard to breathe. She looks around frantically. It's the same. Everything is the same. She can't even see a floor beneath her feet, but she knows it's there. It has to be there. What else would she be standing on?

The static grows stronger, louder, overwhelming her senses and making her grab at her head in a desperate effort to make it stop. The breeze billows and the voices become more distinct. But she still can't hear what they're saying. Are they even saying anything? Or are they just murmurs of agony riding the wind and reaching her ears?

"Y\n..."

That voice. Something about that voice sends shivers down her spine, forces her heart to speed up to an unhealthy rate. Her gaze averts around, trying to find a source, but she ultimately fails.

"Child...come."

"Come"? Come where? The static in her mind seems to thicken and still at the same time, greatly confusing her, and she furrows her eyebrows. A fog graces her feet as it rolls across the seemingly invisible ground, bringing a sensation of dread and impending doom with it. She backs away, though finds it does nothing, as the area surrounding her goes nowhere.

"Come to us..."

"Who are you?!" she yells, but immediately tenses. She can't hear herself. Her voice has been...muted. The static continues to get stronger, and she hits the side of her head, trying to make it stop. It cancels out her thoughts, makes her feel helpless. All while a suffocating feeling settles in her chest and it becomes more and more difficult to collect oxygen.

"Join me... Come..."

～

Her grip on the sheets covering her torso tightens as she shoots up in bed, instantly being greeted by light from the morning sun shining in through the window and making her squint her eyes and turn her head. She takes deep breaths, savoring the air finally invading her lungs as she tries to calm her rapid heartbeat.

She has had a lot of weird dreams before, but none compare to the one she just woke up from. She stares at nothing, in particular, blinking away the tears that formed in her eyes and refusing to cry. Taking notice of the fluffy feline curled up on her thighs and looking up at her with startled eyes, clearly not happy about being woken up, she lets out a soft sigh and strokes his back, finally able to steady her nerves and focus on more positive things.

"Sorry I disturbed your precious beauty sleep," she mutters sarcastically, wiping her eyes to get herself awake. She tries to brush the dream off as nothing, just stress creeping its way into her head and giving her freaky thoughts. But something about it just...unnerves her. Like it is much more serious than what she'll allow herself to think.

Leaning her back against the wall of her bed, she runs her hands through her messy hair and releases a yawn, rubbing her eyes before grabbing her phone off of the stool that she had pushed up beside her bed the previous night and turning it on, curious to see if anybody sent her a message and wanting to get her mind off of the nightmare.

None. She drops her phone by her side and slumps down, disheartened. I guess nobody cares anymore. Then again, who can blame them? I'm just an inconvenience, anyway.

She managed to catch a glimpse of the time in the top right corner of her phone before she turned it off, discovering that it's around 9:40 in the morning. "Sorry, buddy. I've gotta get up," she says, looking down at the cat in her lap that just got settled and is now trying to go back to sleep. His ear twitches in recognition, and she runs her fingers through his thick fur before gently sliding him off of her and standing up.

When her bare feet touch the chilled, hard-wood floor, she flinches and jumps onto the fluffy rug in the room's center, trying to get used to the surface in her mind's still hazy state. She glances back at the bed, and her e\c eyes land on Marshmallow, who is looking at her in obvious distaste. She narrows them.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. It's not like you can't sleep any other time of the day." He blinks and stands, stretching for a moment before turning away from her and lying back down. "Okay, fine, be that way. I bet you won't be mad when I give you some beef jerky later."

With that, she looks at the closet, then down at the floor, knowing what needs to be done and mentally preparing herself for it. C'mon Y\n, it's just a floor. A floor made of ice...but a floor, nonetheless. Quit being a wuss and go.

Sucking in a breath of encouragement, she steps onto the wood and lets out a squeak, her pace quickening the closer she gets to the closed door. "Right about now would be a good time to have slippers," she murmurs to herself, opening the door and stepping inside. She sifts through the different clothes, contemplating what she wants to wear though not having to look for long.

She throws on some shorts and a t-shirt, socks, and a pair of tennis shoes before stepping back out and heading toward the bathroom, hoping that nobody else is occupying it at the moment. To her luck, once she's out of her room, she finds it empty and strolls inside, closing the door behind her and flicking the light switch up.

After flushing the toilet and washing her hands, she does everything in her morning routine before walking out into the hall and heading down the stairs, instantly catching the whiff of a pleasant scent wafting from the kitchen. Farrah takes notice of her granddaughter entering the doorway and sends her a welcoming smile as she takes a pan of biscuits out of the oven.

"Good morning, hun," she chirps, removing her oven mitts and turning to face her. "How did you sleep?" Y\n walks closer and shrugs, remembering the endless, dull scenery and the eerie voice whispering those words to her in her head.

"I mean...I had a pretty unsettling dream but, other than that, I slept fine." Farrah hums and tilts her head slightly. "What about you, Nana?"

"A lot more peacefully now that I know you're here under the same roof," she replies, giving her a brief hug, which Y\n gladly returns. "So, you hungry? I made breakfast!" She glances over at the stovetop and nearly drools when she sees freshly-cooked bacon resting on a plate, scrambled eggs in a skillet, and the same pan of biscuits placed beside them. She can feel her stomach start to rumble the more she stares at it, so she just nods over-enthusiastically and goes to retrieve a plate and fork from where they were set on the island in preparation.

"This all looks delicious, Nana," she comments, scooping some eggs onto her plate after getting several pieces of fried pork. Her eyes meet Farrah's, and she sends her a grateful look. "Thanks for making it all."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all, just like you, my dear, are no trouble at all." She pats her affectionately on the head before sliding her hand down to cup her cheek and smiling. "Now go eat your food and enjoy it." Y\n nods, taking a step back and laying the plate full of food on the counter, aiming to get butter and jelly out of the fridge. She also grabs a spoon and butter knife afterward, using them to smear the two substances across the soft inside of her biscuits before grabbing her plate once again and strolling through the living area and into the dining room.

She pulls a chair out from under the table and takes her seat, anxious to get some food in her stomach and finally start her day. Farrah soon appears with her own platter of breakfast and sits beside her, the two chatting about various things as they eat, and time seems to fly by. At around 10:25, Y\n rises from the chair and heads back to the kitchen, feeling properly filled up as she rinses her dishes.

Her gaze shifts to the window behind the sink, being greeted by the bright morning sunlight and the colorful scenery that she doesn't get the advantage of seeing in the city, where she, unfortunately, was born and raised. She spots her grandfather, sitting in an old chair out on the lawn and admiring nature at its finest, seemingly lost in thought.

Allowing a fond smile to stretch across her face, she dries her hands on a towel hanging from a rack before poking her head back into the living room. "Hey, Nana..."

"Yes, hun?" She twists her body around slightly to meet Y\n's eyes in curiosity, and the h\c grips the door frame with her hand and leans forward, letting her arm keep her stabilized so she doesn't fall over.

"I think I'm gonna go outside for a while if you don't need me here for anything." Farrah nods.

"That's a good idea. Marshmallow needs to be let out, anyway." As if on cue, the fluffy feline walks down the stairs, tail high in the air and head raised as he jumps to the floor and stops in front of the closed door, sitting down and looking at Y\n expectantly. "Where are you gonna go?"

"I dunno." She shrugs, glancing down at Marshmallow and meeting his blue-grey eyes. "I was just thinking about going on a walk or something."

"Yes, some fresh air will do you good after breathing all of that polluted city stuff." She takes a sip of her coffee thoughtfully. "Just be careful and keep an eye out for bears. Or anything dangerous, for that matter."

"Yes, ma'am." She nods in understanding and steps over to the door, opening both it and the screen and allowing Marshmallow to prance through and onto the porch, likely eager to go about his daily hunt and roam. Following him and shutting the door behind her, a warm, familiar breeze hits her in the face as she does so, and she once again averts her eyes over to Phil. "Good morning, Pops." Her voice raises just enough to get his attention, and sure enough, his head turns her direction before the corner of his lips quirk upward in a cheery smile.

"Hey, hummingbird! Did you sleep okay?" She bites the inside of her cheek and leisurely makes her way down the stone path leading toward the gate. Thinking back to her eldritch dream, she stuffs her hands in her pockets and answers quietly.

"As well as I could, I guess..." Though when he doesn't seem to hear her, she rephrases her sentence and speaks up. "I slept fine. What about you?"

"Ah, well. You know how it is with all these old joints and bones. They never give you a break."

"Sorry." She breathes a sympathetic laugh. "But I can't say I have any experience in that field." He releases a snort in response and leans back in the old patio chair, raising a thick, bushy eyebrow.

"Yeah, that's 'cause you're a spring chicken. Trust me darlin', the years will catch up to you eventually. And then you'll look like me." He pats his rotund belly for emphasis, and she rolls her eyes playfully and can't stop the amused huff from exiting her lips.

"I'm sure I will, Pops."

"Where are ya going?" She unlatches the gate and glances at him before nodding her head in the direction of the opaque forest surrounding the quaint property.

"Walking. I thought I'd try to get a better feel for this place, again." She notices his face seems to soften ever so slightly, and he briefly looks past the many tall trees, into the shaded woods, and lets a breath out of his nose before meeting her gaze once more.

"I'm sorry you haven't been here to visit, Y\n." Her chest constricts and she shifts her eyes down to the ground uncomfortably. "It's not right for your dad - your parents - to put themselves before you. They shouldn't treat you the way they do. I wish you'd let me do something about it." She shrugs solemnly, her mood doing a one-eighty and dropping to the floor, though she tries to mask it and instead forces a smile on her face that she hopes is reassuring.

"It's isn't your fault. Dad's just...just a jerk and Mom is..." She concludes that it's difficult to find correct words to describe her mother, and after a moment to think, shakes her head dismissively. "They-they have issues. But yeah, don't be sorry, I'm okay. Two more years and I'll be outta there, anyway."

"Well...you're more than welcome to stay here, for as long as you need. It gets lonely around here without anyone visiting us." She brushes a strand of h\c hair out of her eyes and tilts her head curiously.

"Nobody visits you? Not even Aunt Darcy?" Her stomach does a concerned flip when she sees his facial expression turn from mildly sympathetic to alarmed in an instant, and her eyebrows furrow, questions zipping through her mind at lightning speed. His hands, she notices, clench the arms of the chair and his breathing seems to have quickened, if only slightly. "Pops...?"

"I-I, uh..." He lets an anxious breath flow out of his mouth as he runs his wrinkled fingers through his hair. "Yeah, no, your aunt doesn't come. She hasn't, not in a while..." Y\n can sense the tension in this conversation, and how strange Phil's sudden change in behavior is. Hesitantly, she speaks, her voice low.

"Why? Did you guys fight or something?" Although she hasn't seen her aunt in over five years, she still remembers her clearly, and she knows that she wouldn't ever willingly avoid Phil and Farrah. Unlike Darcy's brother, she isn't a sour person and wouldn't let something as ridiculous as a disagreement get in the way of their relationship, especially since her son Wyatt always loved hanging around here.

"No." He shakes his head lightly and refuses to meet the e\c eyes of the girl as he collects his thoughts and forms them into words. "Look...we'll talk about it later, alright? You just go and enjoy your walk." He dismisses her with a wave of his hand, though she doesn't move, and instead stares at him with an obscured expression painted across her face.

"What's wrong, Pops? Did something bad happen?"

"It's fine, sweetheart," he reassures, his tone vagarious. "Be careful out there. Don't want to get mauled by a wild dog, do ya?"

Gee, what a pleasant thought, she thinks sarcastically, but figures that he isn't going to give her the answers that she so desperately craves at this point. I'll try my luck with Nana when I get back. She lets out a dismayed sigh before stepping through the gate and locking it back. "No, sir. I'll be careful."

When she receives no response, she turns on her heel and heads toward where she remembers the old trail used to be, the previous subject heavy on her mind. That was weird. Has Darcy really not come to visit her parents at all? For how long? She supposes that she has been gone for a very prolonged amount of time and she's sure to have missed some things, but just how important are these "things"? Something obviously happened between her grandparents and her aunt. But what? Hopefully, she'll get a logical answer when she comes back.

She walks under the willow tree beside the cottage and is unable to stop herself from glancing down the road, where her mom and dad disappeared a mere day ago and left her behind with the parents that her father absolutely refuses to talk to, reconnect with in any way, all because of a petty argument.

Nah. She narrows her eyes in indignation. He's just always been selfish. And unfair. And a terrible person. That "argument" was just what pushed him over the edge. What even was their argument about? She racks her mind but can't seem to recall any moment where her dad actually explained what was going on, not to her, anyway. In fact, the only time he graced her with an answer at all was when she gathered up the courage to ask him why they hadn't visited Nana and Pops in so long. She believes that she had just turned twelve a few weeks prior when she became curious about it and walked up to him one day in the living room.

"Hey, Dad?" He hadn't even looked up at her. Didn't give any indication that he acknowledged his only child. "Daddy?"

"What do you want." It came out as more of a demand than it was an actual question. Still, he didn't look up at her, and she had taken a seat beside him on the couch.

"Um, I was just wondering, well... We haven't seen Nana and Pops in a while—" She cut herself off when she was met with the sharp, threatening glare of her father, becoming instantly uncomfortable as she stared back uncertainly. It had taken her off-guard, as she had never seen her dad's eyes as cold as they were at that moment. Especially when they were looking at her.

"I don't want to hear anything about them." The way he had said that sentence made her heart drop in concern, and she flashed him a bewildered look.

"...What? Wh-why?"

"Don't ask questions. Just don't mention them." Puzzled would have been a good word for how Y\n was feeling at that moment. Thoughts were swarming her mind, and despite the hard, final tone of voice her father had, she continued.

"But...they're your parents? A-and I miss them. Don't you miss them, too? It's been almost a year..."

"What'd I say?" He snapped at her, his lips pressed together into a firm, angered line. "Don't. Mention. Them."

"Dad—"

"My God, you're more persistent than your mother." He shot her a disappointed look, though she only craned her neck to the side.

"What's wrong...?"

"Arguments, Y\n. Arguments about crap that doesn't concern you." She couldn't stop herself from flinching slightly at the harshness of his words.

"Dad..."

"Stop talking and go to your room." When she stayed still, looking at him with wide, questioning eyes, he released a huff of irritation. "Now."

Shaking her head disapprovingly at the distant memory, she eventually rediscovers the path that she traversed down so many times, back when she was merely a child; before she had so many problems in her life. It appears to have not been used in quite a while, as there are weeds growing up from the ground, low-hanging branches swooping down and entangling together, making a sort of archway. The grass is extremely overgrown, and just by looking at it, she would guess that each blade would have to be around three feet high.

She suddenly looks down at her bare legs, a little nervous about stepping through the tall grass likely housing ticks and traced with thorns. Maybe I should've worn jeans instead... Letting out a defeated sigh, she cautiously steps through the tall, twisty foliage, trying her best to avoid getting scratched by a briar or catching her foot in a weed and tripping.

She glances ahead of her, feeling relieved that the shrubbery thins out just a few feet down the path and should be easily manageable. She just has to get there in one piece. Carefully, she takes several slow steps forward, the grass tickling her legs each time she moves, though she ignores it and focuses on making it through.

Should've asked if they have branch cutters or something. After a couple of minutes, she arrives in a less hazardous area, and instinctively reaches down to brush her legs and feet off, just in case there are some bugs that may have been taking refuge on them, though to her ease, finds none. She places her hands into her pockets and continues her stroll through the peaceful forest, savoring the natural sounds erupting from all around her.

The chirps of the birds and rustling of leaves create a relaxing cadence; a sound that she rarely ever gets the pleasure of hearing. She only just realizes how much she missed being here, able to roam around, enjoy the area without the interruption of her parents, city life, or just drama in general. Letting out a tranquil sigh, she wonders how long she can stay here. How long will her parents be gone? It isn't like they care about her absence anyway, that much is apparent. The only reason they'd come back is because of their work, their fancy jobs working for some billion-dollar company that Y\n could care less about. Sure, they make a good living off of it, and it isn't the worst job in the world, but it takes up all of their life. At least when she was little they made time for her, but now? They don't even bat an eye in her direction.

Do they even still love me? It's a question she's asked herself a multitude of times throughout the last few months, but the answer was always too painful to accept. They haven't said it since...since I was fourteen. She remembers it clearly. It was her fourteenth birthday, they had a cool party, her best friends came - back when she still had some, that is - and her parents took a little time to make her feel special, which, even at that point, was a rare trait to exhibit. But they did it.

Her father had hugged her and told her that he was proud of the young woman she was becoming, her mother had stroked her hair, explaining to her how much she meant to her. That she loved her. It was the last wholesome moment they ever shared together, and thinking about that makes her chest ache with loneliness. Although she wants to think that she still holds a special place in their hearts, she knows that the odds aren't in her favor.

She allows a sad chuckle to exit her lips as she shakes her head. Oh, well. A girl can dream, right?

___

The masked male walks swiftly through the dense forest, staying attentive as he listens to everything around him. The quiet tweets of blue jays, the rustling of leaves, the flow of a nearby stream - all normal, which is good. That means nothing out-of-the-ordinary is lurking around, following him. At least, nothing that isn't remaining silent. But he's grown accustomed to his surroundings and is confident that he'd be able to recognize a threat, whatever form it may take, from wherever it may have been hiding at.

He feels his phone vibrate from within the confines of his pocket and inwardly rolls his eyes. That's the fifth time in the last three minutes that Ben has texted him. He's sure that he's still going on about how something is "urgent" and that he has to "get here ASAP". What does he think he's doing? Moving at a snail's pace? Ben's house is almost half a mile away from his own, and he's only been walking for about five minutes. No matter how speedy and agile he can be, he still isn't Superman. Shouldn't Ben know that? Moving from one place to another takes time.

After around two more minutes, he finally sees the old cabin come into view, shrouded by vines, weeds, and various other greenery. To oblivious, inexperienced eyes, it's nearly undetectable, which is perfect. It doesn't draw attention, which is something that Brian, among others, greatly prefers. Any poor soul that may wander this far into the woods and see it, or any of the others, will be taken care of. Immediately. They can't take a risk; it would be too dangerous.

By the time the phone buzzes a sixth time, he's already coming to a stop in front of the rustic-looking door that's made of the same taupe ash wood as the rest of the house, with some minor improvements to better ensure safety. The whole place, whether one's standing from afar or looking at it close-up, seems like it would be very insubstantial and a hazard to be around, much less live in. But in all reality, it makes quite a good home for the two that take residence there, and it's most definitely safer than it may first appear to be, thanks to a couple of key individuals and their useful carpenter abilities.

He knocks quietly on the hard surface, stuffing his hands inside of his pockets and waiting patiently for Ben to stop hounding him with text messages, notice that he's right outside, and allow him in. Shouldn't he already know where he is? That's why he installed one hundred cameras around the area, right? To observe what's happening without having to leave the comfort of his chair? Or perhaps that's what he wants to see Brian about; complain that his cameras are malfunctioning and ask for assistance. He doesn't know how much he'll be able to assist him because he doesn't have half the knowledge that Ben has regarding electronics, but he'll do what he can if it means getting one of their main lines of defense up and running again.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when yet another message comes through his phone it vibrates against his leg, a feeling he's really beginning to get irritated by. Releasing a muffled sigh and deciding it would be better to just check whatever text he received instead of ignoring it altogether, he pulls out the small device and swipes down on the notification tab, seeing not six, but ten unread messages from the teenager himself, all of which consist of either "where are you?", "you gotta get here quickly", or "hurry up, you depressed son of a cracker". 

"Ah, screw you, too," he mutters to the screen, knowing well that its target won't be able to hear him unless he has the audio turned on and is secretly listening to him talk. The little creep, he can't help but think before he finally reaches the last and most recent message.

Just come in, the door's unlocked

Complying with the message, he grips the knob of the door with his gloved hand and gives it one swift turn, pushing once he hears a quiet click and entering the cozy-looking household while shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans where it rightfully belongs. The interior is nothing special; a kitchen with a small bar and plenty of counter space to spare to the right, a living room with an old, dingy-looking sofa, a recliner, a small table in front of the said sofa, and a narrow hallway straight ahead that has five different doors leading to five different places. Two of them lead to bedrooms, one a bathroom, one a laundry room, and the one at the very end is an entrance into the basement, also known as Ben's honorary office.

Shutting the door behind him, he ventures farther into the familiar area, counting on the sunbeams currently shining through the dirty blankets covering the windows to light his path and take him to his destination. Where is his destination? Not able to see Ben nor his roommate anywhere, he assumes that one is in the basement and the other is out patrolling or gathering supplies, so he begins his trek through the darkened hall until he reaches the closed door, once again wrapping his hand around the metal knob and giving it a firm twist before it creaks open, giving him access into the electronically-lit room below.

He can hear faint voices getting louder; one reasonably deep and the other a pitch or so higher as he calmly walks down the staircase. He descends until reaching the ground, glancing to his left and being met with two easily-recognizable figures due to their odd features.

One of them is sitting rather comfortably in a computer chair that he no doubt stole from Amazon, his blond hair swept to the side in a messy, boyish style. He sports a pair of converse, black skinny jeans, a green Halo 5 t-shirt worn over a long-sleeved collared shirt, and a beanie. His appearance would be startlingly normal if he lacked the glowing, red eyes and the tears of blood that slowly cascade down his deathly pale cheeks.

Standing leaned against the wall next to him is someone many feet taller than Ben, body clothed in all black save for the navy blue mask that covers his face and the strands of copper-brown hair sticking out from under his hood. His eyes are nothing but soulless, empty pits that replace where his once chestnut ones used to be, the sockets constantly leaking a thick black substance similar to that of tar and leaving sticky trails down his mask.

Both heads turn to look at Brian when he appears behind them, and Ben instantly jumps up, his shorter-than-average height noticeable, especially when compared to tall people, like Jack. "It's about time you get here, slowpoke!"

Ignoring the comment, the man clad in a mustard-brown hoodie crosses his arms impatiently and eyes the one in the corner of the room for a moment before turning his attention back on the blond in front of him. "Now, what exactly was so important that it couldn't wait a couple of hours?" His voice is low and calm, but authoritative, and Ben glances at Jack anxiously.

"We think that egg head is going after someone else to make his slave." Brian raises a brow beneath his makeshift ski mask and gazes down at the boy curiously.

"How do you know?"

"Cause Jack's been getting all these funky feelings again for a while, I think. And he walked by somebody after ya know, stocking up on his...diet, and he said they emitted a really strong, like, odor? Or something? And then—"

"Ben," Brian says, cutting the boy off in the middle of his sentence and ultimately silencing him, "just let Jack explain it." His lips part to say something, though he only lets out a quiet huff after a moment before plopping back down in front of the multiple monitors of different areas in the forest and leaning backward in a sulking manner. "Right." He sighs and signals for Jack to begin speaking, to which he nods and obliges.

"I've been feeling a bit...strange, lately," he says, his voice deep and muffled though decipherable nonetheless. His hands are stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as he lightly boosts himself off of the wall with his foot and stands at his full height. "A weird, ominous kind of...tingling, almost, in my chest and mind. I feel like something bad is about to happen, or someone's fixing to get hurt. But I don't know who."

Brian processes this newly-received information and listens with keen ears, inquisitively waiting for Jack to continue.

"Earlier today, after lunch, this feeling got a lot stronger. And it was really sudden; it just hit me without any warning. I looked around a bit and noticed someone walking down a grown-out path. And right when I saw her, I knew that she was the one in danger."

"Wait, wait, wait," Ben interrupts, holding out his hands in a silencing gesture. "It was a girl? You didn't tell me that."

"Because I was waiting to inform the more mature ones who actually focus on the situation rather than something as ridiculous as gender," he remarks, making Ben scoff. Brian, ignoring Ben altogether, turns to completely face Jack in order to further question him about the somewhat surprising matter, neck craned to the side slightly.

"Okay, but why does this mean that it's connected somehow to it? Did she cough? Did you hear any static?" He merely shakes his head in the negative.

"No. I just know that something sinister is going on and that feeling I've been getting the past couple of days is definitely coming from her. Just an evil, dangerous aura surrounded her, which is why I'm sure that he's involved." Brian rubs at his head, finding it hard to doubt a word that Jack's saying. He's never been one to lie, after all, and being a reincarnated version of his former self gives him certain...supernatural abilities that others don't have. Not even the two ghosts of their group have access to such instincts.

He stands there a moment, still and quiet as his mind swarms with questions, before looking at the navy blue mask but having to avoid direct eye contact with the empty sockets in his face due to it making him feel uncomfortable - not that it can be seen, anyway. "Um...alright, well. What do you suggest we do about it?" He earns an unsure shrug in response.

"I guess we could just...eliminate her. It would throw off whatever his plan is and get her out of the cycle before she inevitably gets hurt."

"Unless it brings her back," he points out, the idea of murdering someone who's not at fault for anything leaving a foul taste on his tongue. "Then she'd be more powerful and we'd have another one to fight against."

"That...does make sense. But we can't just leave her there to become a victim. Either she'll accept him or he kills her. Which would just be one more innocent wiped out by his hands."

"We could bring her back here!" Ben suddenly speaks up, once again rising out of his seat and painting a confident look across his ghostly features. "I mean, she wouldn't be in immediate danger and we could tell her what's going on so she knows what to do and what to avoid."

"But then she'd be endangering us." He shoves his hands back into his pockets and takes a step closer. "And what if she's already under its influence, huh? We'd be leading it straight toward us and there's no way we're strong enough nor do we have the numbers to fight it and its group of freaks."

"Yeah, but what if she's not? I mean, it isn't like we haven't let outsiders in before, and they turned out to be trustworthy! We need the extra set of hands, anyway. She could prove to be useful!"

"Firstly, those situations were much different—"

"Not really. We all needed a safe place to hide away from the powered-sugar palm tree - I was one of those people, if you remember correctly. How is that any different from this?"

"Because..." Brian stares at him thoughtfully, trying to come up with a decent argument, though fails to. "...Fine. You've made your point." Grinning proudly like he just won the World Cup, Ben opens his mouth to respond, though Brian beats him to it. "But we would at least need to search her background for anything suspicious because she could easily cost everyone here their lives and freedom. It would be foolish to invite her in without knowing anything about her. You can't tell me that it wouldn't."

"Jack!" Ben turns his attention to the tall, lanky man standing silent, hoping to get somewhere with him. "You're the all-knowing demon here, so is she dangerous?" He plants his masked face in the palm of his hand in the universal sign of "wow, you're an idiot" before answering, his voice low.

"I don't know, Ben. She seemed normal, but I didn't get a very good look."

"There ya go, boomer." His red pupils shift back up to look at Brian, his eyebrows raised. "She's not dangerous, and therefore, isn't a risk to our safety."

"For the record, I'm only a few years older than you," he starts, attempting to bite down his exasperation with the teenager and speaking with a level tone, to which he receives an eye roll, "and Jack didn't say she wasn't dangerous, he just said she looked normal. They're two totally different things."

"Whatever." He places his hands behind his head carelessly. "I still vote that we bring her here."

"We'll ask the others and get their opinions. Jack," His head turns to look at the mentioned boy, "is there anything else I should know about these feelings or the girl you saw?"

"I don't think so."

"Okay then. Ben, call everyone and tell them to meet up at my place within the next thirty minutes." The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, and without question, Ben whips out his, now slightly outdated, cellphone and begins to text each person in his contacts exactly what Brian told him to say.

"Oh, by the way, I fixed your phone." He pulls out a small flip phone from his pocket and tosses it to Jack, and he effortlessly catches it and slides it into his pocket, muttering a "thanks" while he does so. Brian turns to leave, though before he starts climbing the stairs he speaks once more.

"You both need to come, too. We all need to discuss this and figure something out before tomorrow." They nod in reply, and he disappears from their sight.

𝒜 𝐻𝒶𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝐸𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

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 immensely 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 move 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 before 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 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 exasperated 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 to see if she can find the tranquil little house, just for an instant forgetting to watch where she's stepping, and as a result, misses a particularly thick weed, prompting 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 lower strands of her hair land in mud and she can feel pressure in the palm of her right hand, almost as if something was sticking 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 a peeved "dang it", 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 clean up 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.

"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. 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 drench 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.

A stick must've got 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 streaming 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 her arms in an effort to warm herself back up, as the temperature behind the safety of the shower curtain is much warmer than the temperature in the rest of the bathroom. 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 finds 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 walking 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. "Hi, sweetheart! How are you feeling?" The s\t girl shrugs and moves over to the front door, where she knows a certain cat is likely still waiting behind.

"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 grabs a few strands of 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 a sip, 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 eyes attentively. "If I would've known it was going to storm, I would've told you."

"Nana, it's fine," she assures, 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. 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 b\c.

"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 shift 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 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 could have 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 condition 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; she values her grandmother's opinion much more than a random celebrity, anyway. 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 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. "N\n, this is gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous." She turns to meet the girl's clear eyes and holds the canvas up in front of her face to better get her point across. "You did this?"

She nods timidly, her cheeks raising in warmth as they flush 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 convince Mom and Dad to let me 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 clicks 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 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 because 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 reconnected with 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 cleanliness 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 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 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 flat-screen 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 nearly all day."

"I know, I know!" He puts his hands up in front of his face defensively. "I was just joking! Jeez, woman." She watches the two bicker in amusement, unable to decide which person she ultimately agrees with. Just in case she's forced to take somebody's 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 peek 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 sleep in, 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 eyes. 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 upset her for 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 about, desperate to find a way out of this soul-crushing gloom that surrounds her. She blinks, she blinks, and she blinks, even rubs 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 already 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 they become 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 when 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, 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 squeezing her stomach. 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 old 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 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 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, 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 and 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 in years. 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, it was 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 yard 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. I gotta keep myself distracted. I can't go back to sleep. Otherwise...

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