A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta X F. Reader]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 7 - I’m On My Way

With fatigue, she leans on the wall for support and stands, weakly stumbling to the sink, refusing to look at her reflection in the mirror as she bends over and turns the faucet on. She gets soap from the dispenser on her palm and rubs both of her hands together before holding them under the water to rinse them, and immediately after that, sticks her face underneath, hoping to rid herself of the foul taste still very present in her mouth. 

She spits minuscule pieces of undigested food into the sink, letting the cool water run over and wash them down the drain without another thought. The sickening stench of bile sitting in the porcelain bowl almost has her gagging once more, so she reaches over, pushes on the little silver lever, and flushes it down into the sewer pipes, never to be seen again. 

Only then does she look at herself in the reflecting glass hung over the sink, not surprised when she sees dark bags under her eyes and unnaturally pale skin, no doubt results from lack of sleep and getting hit by an extreme wave of nausea so suddenly. Her lip trembles from the exertion, her eyes distant, stressed wrinkles creasing her forehead. What is happening? Why is it happening? Why are such terrifying thoughts invading her subconscious each time she goes to sleep?

Perhaps she can blame this one on the news she received yesterday, but that doesn’t explain the strange symbol. Why would she draw such a thing? What does it even mean? And what about the buzzing noise? It’s accompanied each dream she’s had down here thus far, and it made itself apparent before and during she was heaving her lungs out yesterday. It also started when she saw that figure in the woods earlier. Is it connected to something?

She rubs at her eyes listlessly and pushes herself away from the sink at once, switching the light to the bathroom off and wandering back into the living room at a pace much slower than normal. Her eyes trail up from the floor to Marshmallow, who sits on the arm of the couch, eyes narrowed as he stares at her with dilated pupils. Maybe this should worry her; after all, animals can sense things that humans can’t. But she can’t bring herself to care very much. She just wants it all to stop. She doesn’t want to be sick 24\7, or have nightmares far worse than what’s considered healthy, or be on the look-out constantly for something that’s possibly hunting her down. 

She flops onto the couch rather sluggishly and runs her hands through her messy hair, gaining sight of the large symbol that she seemingly sketched onto the paper for unknown reasons. Come to think of it, her hand is beginning to cramp due to how tightly she had been holding that pencil after she woke up, and who-knows-how-long before then. Does she have an illness? Is there medication to cure it? Should she go to a doctor and explain her symptoms? She’d prefer to wait and get medical attention, if it is necessary, once she returns home, so she won’t burden her grandparents with her problems and cause them to worry. 

She knows for a fact that her parents wouldn’t give it much thought if she told them she needed to go to the doctor, nor would they be very concerned. If she told them the reason, having hallucinations, nightmares, irrational and paranoid thoughts, insomnia, they’d probably call her behavior ridiculous and refuse to allow her to make an appointment. Or would they? She is still their daughter— surely they couldn’t just brush aside something like that, right? 

Then again, her father did it with the murder of his sister and the disappearance of his nephew, so she can’t ever be sure. But what about her mother? Isn’t the whole maternal instinct thing still there with her? If her child was hurt or scared, isn’t it natural to be worried? 

She glances over at her phone, still sat on the coffee table charging, unable to rid herself of the sudden thought that creeps into her mind. Somebody to talk to would be nice. But would she actually listen?

Sure, her grandparents are just upstairs, but not only does she not feel like making that trek all the way to the second floor, but both her Nana and Pops are likely fast asleep. They've done more than enough for her already, and they have enough stress on their shoulders as it is. She wants to avoid troubling them with anything else and make them unnecessarily frantic about her health, both physical and mental.

Reaching out a hesitant, mildly trembling hand, she unplugs her phone and unlocks it, scrolling to contacts and swiping her thumb along the screen until she sees 'Mom'. Should she really? What if she disturbs her? Or wakes her up? Even if she did, that shouldn't be an issue once she hears about her daughter possibly having some mental illness that needs to be fixed.

Mental illness is a strong way to word it. She shakes her head, continuing to stare at the call icon that pops up once she clicks her mother's contact. It's just... stressed hallucinations. Or... or strange coincidences. Yeah, that's all.

Letting out a soft sigh, she presses the green button and brings the small device to her ear, hearing it ring several times as the anticipation in her heart grows. Is this a mistake? Should she back out? Maybe she's making a big deal over nothing.

"Hello?" She sucks in a sudden breath, heart rate increasing as the familiar voice meets her ear. How should she start this?

"Um... hi, Mom." Clear anxiety is present in her tone, though she hopes that it isn't as noticeable as she thinks. 

"Y\n? What is it?" There's a hint of irritation hidden in that sentence, but the girl tries to ignore it and instead focuses on the reason she called her in the first place.

"Y-yeah, uh... I need to talk to you."

"About what? You know I'm busy. If it's more questions about your father, you know I—"

"No, Mom, it isn't about Dad." She's silent a moment as she hears her mother's soft breaths over the line, trying to collect her thoughts and put them into words. "It's... it's about me."

"...Well? Did you make another painting or something?"

She shakes her head, though she knows it can't be seen. "It's... weird things that have been happening to me. I-I don't know what's going on but it's really getting to me, and I feel sick and tired and stressed out. I don't know what to do."

"What exactly has been 'happening' to you, Y\n?" Her hand tightens slightly around her phone and she lets out an inaudible sigh. 

"It started out with bad dreams... really bad dreams. Of people being dead, or freaky voices, or strange markings in a tree. A-and I've been seeing things in the middle of the night, or even in the day. I can't sleep because it's so scary and I'm afraid that when I go to sleep I'll have another nightmare..."

"Y\n," An exasperated sigh erupts from the other end. "aren't you a little too old to be scared of bad dreams or the boogeyman?" It's as if a knife is shoved into her chest from the harsh words of her mother, and she fights the tears stinging her eyes, attempting to keep her voice steady. 

"Mom, it... i-it isn't like that."

"You used to complain to me all the time about bad dreams when you were a kid. You aren't a kid anymore, Y\n. You're almost seventeen."

"It's more serious than just dreams, Mom—"

"Grow up. You're a teenager, Y\n. Act like it." The girl swallows hard and lands her hard gaze on the floor, unable to stop the tears from slowly rolling down her cheeks. 

"You're not even listening to me!" She keeps her voice in a whisper but raises it slightly to make sure she gets the older woman's attention. "This isn't some stupid childhood fear. It's something bad, and it's really affecting me..."

"I don't have time for this. I have about a weeks' worth of papers stacked up on my desk and I have to do them. You'll get over yourself eventually and stop being so childish. Goodbye, Y\n." Before she can say anything else, a beep is heard before the line goes dead, signifying that her mother hung up. What else was she expecting? Sympathy? Concern? Reassurance? She should've known better. 

"Fine," she snaps, slamming her phone down on the couch beside her and releasing a huff, "who needs you anyway?" She plants her face into the palms of her hands to stifle the quiet whimpers emanating from between her lips. "I have myself and that's all I need. You're just a... a useless, irresponsible, incompetent piece of crap for a mom." Her fingers run through her h\c locks and she shakes her head, trying to compose herself. "Why are you even a mom..."

Of course her mother would blow her off. Her very own flesh and blood, brush her aside as if she means nothing to her. It's what she's been doing for years now, so why would she expect any different? I'm stupid. I'm stupid for assuming she would be worried. She doesn't care about me. She just doesn't care. She never does.

Soon, her shoulders are shaking as sobs wrack her body. She has to go through this alone, doesn't she? Her parents won't help her, her grandparents don't need that kind of pressure. None of her friends, if she can even call them that anymore, can help her. And they wouldn't. She's the one that left them behind, and they owe her nothing.

She shakily stands to her feet, wiping away the tears with the back of her hands in order to clear up her vision so she doesn't trip over anything, and begins her ascent up the stairs, not caring to bring her phone and instead only turns off the lamp as she passes it by. She walks warily up the staircase, doing her best to avoid looking anywhere but the ground for fear of seeing something lurking in the darkness until she reaches her bedroom, thankful that the light was left on previously.

She's unsure if Marshmallow will even follow her this time and bring her some kind of company, though, considering the aggressive way he was acting just minutes ago, she highly doubts it. Her gaze falls onto her bed, then onto the window that it's attached to, unable to quell the rush of anxiety that goes through her chest. The last time she was in here, she saw... something. What was it? A trick of the light? No, surely not. It was too... strange to be a trick of the light. Not to even mention the droning that formed in her mind while she looked at it. The same kind of droning that was present in her dreams, and at the river with Jack.

Is this normal? If it was, you'd think there would be more talk about it. In blogs, on the news, in books. But she's seen no such thing. Shaking her head in dismay, she steps farther inside, edging her way toward the window and anticipating what may be standing on the other side of the glass. She takes in a deep breath, hoping to calm her nerves a bit and brace herself before peering around the corner, over past her bed, and straight through to the dark woods across from the cottage. 

She scans the treeline, her heart rate slowing down when she doesn't find anything out-of-the-ordinary and releases a puff of air she didn't know she was holding in, her muscles relaxing slightly. Nothing. There's nothing, so maybe, she can actually go to sleep without having to worry about anything creeping around. She doesn't want to sleep, but she doesn't want to get sick, again, either. Although that may happen anyway if she has another unexplainably terrifying dream. She can only hope that she'll get lucky and her mind will give her a break, at least for the rest of the night.

She doesn't know what time it is, and she can't gather up the energy to check. It doesn't even matter, does it? She glances over at her lamp, silently debating on whether she should turn it off to both save electricity and hopefully hide her position to anything that may be waiting outside, or if she should leave it on to give her peace of mind. She hasn't really liked sleeping with the light on, not since she was a small child, but recently it's sounded a lot more comforting than being surrounded by pitch blackness, save for the moonbeams shining in through the window and spilling out onto the floor. 

What's better, hiding or feeling safer? Maybe there's a way she can compromise and do both. Her eyes avert around the room, eventually landing on the closet across from where she's facing. Could she do that...? Wouldn't that corner her? But it would be safer than sleeping in front of a window where some cryptic being can plainly see me. She remembers seeing a couple of spare blankets folded up on a shelf, and she could use her pillows as both a headrest and a weak attempt at a barrier. As unappealing as it sounds, staying in clear view of whatever is currently trying to get into her head sounds even less so. Closet it is.

She steps over and opens the door, switching on the light and glimpsing around for a good, somewhat comfortable spot to take shelter in. Under the clothes? No, too tight. In the little cabinet of old, stored things belonging to her aunt? Again, too tight. She decides on the opposite end of the closet, in-between a shelf and the wall, not too cramped but not too open either. And she'd be able to see the door clearly. That'll work. 

She grabs the two pillows from off of her bed, plus an oversized teddy bear that had been originally sitting in the corner of the room, untouched, and goes back into the walk-in storage room, placing all three items in her self-proclaimed area of safety, before also taking a folded-up blanket from the small stack and tossing it onto the pillows. She releases a yawn, blinking slowly afterward and shutting the door behind her prior to double-checking the room for anything else she may need, only finding her water bottle, and switches off the lamp. 

She sets it on the floor and shifts around everything until it meets her intentions, dimming the overhead light on the lowest setting, then walks back over and sits down, wrapping the blanket around her b\t frame, leaning against the wall, and tucking the large stuffed bear into her side. This is good. She feels secure here. There is nothing that can get in here without her knowing about it first... unless it's a hallucination. Then she can't escape. "I guess that's where you come in, Fuzzy," she mutters, hugging the bear half her size to earn some type of reassurance and consolation she had failed to get from her mother.

She stares ahead of her, at the closed door, waiting to hear something. Waiting to hear the creak of floorboards or the stamp of footsteps, or see the knob to the door slowly twist as it swings open. But one minute passes, then two, then five, then eight. Nothing of the sort happens. She just stays there, her breathing leveling out the more time passes, and she finds herself becoming relaxed. Maybe she should sleep in a closet more often...

She snuggles into the soft, though mildly dusty, coat of the bear, inhaling its old, washed-out scent of vanilla and allowing her eyes to droop. "Protect me if the 'boogeyman' comes in here, alright?" Her voice comes out as no more than a whisper, indirectly mocking her mother's previous choice of words to describe her state before fluttering her eyes closed and drifting off into a surprising, though thankfully peaceful, sleep.

___

His footsteps are almost inaudible as he walks through the darkened forest, his senses heightened due to the gloom around him. He's always more active at night, and it's been that way since... well, since the incident took place, all that long ago. Or was it even that long ago? He supposes it feels longer than what it actually is, probably because off of everything that's happened the past few years. But in reality, it's only been, what... eight, nine years ago? He was only seventeen at the time, and physically, he always will be. If he had been able to fulfill his career choice and live a normal life without meeting her, then he would be around twenty-six. 

Maybe he'd have a girlfriend, heck, maybe he'd have a wife, although becoming a doctor takes years of dedication so he doubts that he would have the time to put that much commitment into a relationship. Either way, he would be happy. He wouldn't have to worry about being hunted by some otherworldly entity, or stocking up on the less-than-desirable diet his body has unfortunately given him. He wishes he could have something normal for a change... like pizza. He would just about kill for some pizza, preferably supreme, but pepperoni would work, too. 

He shakes his head in disregard at his own thoughts, knowing more than anyone that pizza wouldn't ever happen, just like enchiladas wouldn't happen, or cheese sticks, or even something simple like cereal. It isn't possible, and though he accepted that long ago, he still gets certain cravings for things he used to enjoy. If he even tried eating them, now, he'd be sick for a week. One of the many disadvantages of being him. If only, right?

He checks the map on his phone that Ben had sent him about two hours prior, the direction he was supposed to go marked with bright red ink and making it pretty hard to miss. Let's see, he already passed the river, and he knows she took a certain trail to get to it. Just which trail did she take? He would follow footsteps but there's too much grass obscuring the actual dirt beneath, and even though he can see to a point, his vision has still been drastically altered, so he can't make out any pristine details. 

He makes a turn and comes across an overgrown area of the trail he's been sticking with, though it looks like it's already been walked through several times. Up ahead a few feet is what looks to be a dirt road and past that sits a quaint property with a white picket fence, a garden, and a gate. This is the place he's been searching for, right? Guess there's only one way to find out.

Will great stealth, he slinks out from behind the trees, creeping across the natural driveway and up to the house, where he hopes his target is currently resting inside. If she's awake, it would make his job quite a bit harder, and he doesn't want to take any lives if it's unnecessary. Once he's directly in front, he scans possible entry points that wouldn't draw attention. A window? Sure, if the front door isn't locked. He quietly jiggles the knob after opening the screen, only to find that yes, the door is locked. Just his luck, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't expecting it. 

He peers in through the first window he sees on the bottom floor, quickly realizing that it leads to the living room. All of the lights are off, and it doesn't look like anybody is currently active. Releasing a silent breath from his nose, though instantly being hit with a familiar bout of hot air thanks to his mask, he slips his fingers beneath the rim, briefly tugging upward and being grateful when the window slides up without much struggle. 

There's a table placed in front of it, but he can easily maneuver over that. Conquering obstacles is something that he's mastered over the years of breaking and entering other peoples' households, so one measly table shouldn't halt his process too much. With one hand, he holds the strap of his satchel that's been thrown over his shoulder in order to anchor it to his side to make sure it doesn't make any noise, and with the other, he grips the side of the wall, skillfully propping himself up and slipping through the now-open space lacking so much as a thud. 

Once his feet hit the carpet beneath them, he does a quick one-eighty of the room, wanting to make sure he isn't disturbing anything by making his appearance, and closing the window when he deems the coast clear. She never mentioned anything about having a dog, or any other kind of pet when he talked to her, then again he didn't exactly ask her about it, either. Maybe he got lucky this time.

Thought too soon, Jack, he thinks as he finally notices the fluffy white feline perching on the back of the couch, ears folded back as it quietly growls at him. Of course it's a cat. It couldn't have been a bunny, a gerbil, or even a ferret, no. It had to be a freaking cat. When he was still human, he was never particularly fond of them, but now he hates them with a passion. They get under his feet when he's trying to work and trips him, they scratch and bite him, they latch on and it takes a lot of force to get them off. Granted, he can and does get rid of them pretty easily, but they're still obnoxious little creatures.

But he has to admit, as bad as cats are, dogs are even worse in these types of situations. At least cats stay quiet. Dogs, however, he can't get dogs to shut up. Especially little ones, like Chihuahuas and Pomeranians. God, those things love barking. How could anyone want to put up with something that isn't even cute barking constantly? He isn't Smile's biggest fan, but he puts his barking to use. And he never gets in his way. At least he can respect bigger dogs for that very reason because they actually protect rather than just yap all the time.

He huffs, brushing the insignificant thoughts aside and walking farther into the living room, ignoring the growls of protest from the cat attempting to defend its territory and making it very clear to Jack who this place belongs to. Not that he cares, he just wants to get in and back out without much trouble. As he passes the couch, something catches his attention. Not only is there a phone lying discarded on the cushion, but there also seems to be a pencil, and beside it is a sketchbook. 

He leans down a bit to get a better look, seeing and instantly recognizing the large symbol drawn—or more like scribbled— on the piece of paper, completely overriding the original picture beneath it. Not much care seems to have been taken while it was being created, which is normal if it was made during the frantic state that he imagines it to have been made in. It's been apparent to him that Y\n was being greatly affected by him, but now she's to the point of drawing his symbol, his mark? That isn't good. His stomach does an uncomfortable flip, and he spins around, going up the staircase of the house after making sure there are no bedrooms down here with him. 

The hallway on the second floor likely leads to various rooms, his only problem is looking discreetly into each one and identifying his target. He chooses to check the first door on the left, the door inexplicably wide open, only to find a nicer than average girly room. He assumes this to be where Y\n is sleeping, but to his slight surprise, he doesn't see her in the bed. Well... maybe she's staying elsewhere? But why would there be bags on the floor if there was nobody staying inside? Is this someone else's room?

He peeks back out into the hallway, seeing what he recognizes as a bathroom unoccupied right beside a closed door, likely one leading to another bedroom. And at the very end of the corridor is a door also closed. Which one of these rooms leads to her grandparents? Is he even in the right house? He has to be. Unless he's just conveniently landed himself in the home of another individual that's being mentally tormented by the ominous creature, which is highly doubtful. They would know about it.

He hears the sudden squeak of a door as it opens, and just barely catches a glimpse of a masculine figure stepping out into the hallway before he darts back into the previous bedroom, ducking for cover inside of what he assumes is a closet. He closes the door softly behind him, being careful not to make any sound whatsoever, and takes a step back, only just starting to notice the dim lighting around him. He tilts his head up, seeing a light bulb attached to the ceiling, and confirming that it's the source of the light. The question is, why would the closet light be on when virtually every other light in the house is turned off?

Looking back and into the small walk-in closet, he sees a figure curled up in the corner, bundled up in a blanket and hidden behind the clothes hanging in front of her. She's holding tightly onto what looks like a large teddy bear, her eyes are closed, and her breathing is mellow and steady. She's asleep. Good. 

He's been getting to her. She must've thought the closet was safer than anywhere else. He eases closer to her, squatting down in front and making sure to not wake her up. Getting a better look at her face, he can tell that she most certainly is the girl he's been trying to find, and quietly opens his satchel, sticking his hand inside and pulling out a needle and a small, clear bottle of a powerful anesthetic. It isn't his go-to method, usually, he would use Midazolam or even Chloroform, but then again, he isn't currently trying to sedate one of his victims, he just wants to knock her out long enough to bring her back, all without harming her in the process.

He sticks the end of the needle into the lid of the glass container after properly sanitizing it, draws the correct amount needed for the injection, and puts the bottle back into the bag. He snaps his fingers in front of her face in order to test how deep of a sleep she's in. It would be hazardous if she woke up as the mediation was being given to her, it would also be mildly frustrating and make his job even more strenuous. Thankfully, her eyes don't even flutter, giving him the leeway he needs to lightly take her arm, twist it around, stretch it, and stick the end of the needle through her skin. 

He notices when she flinches, but only slightly, and he begins to inject the sedative into her system. He had no trouble locating a blood vein, as he could hear the blood coursing through her arm from several feet away; yet another ability he possesses that makes people fear him. Most could compare him to a vampire, what, with his unnaturally sharp teeth and his constant craving for human blood. It isn't his fault, it never has been. But he's learned to accept it, no matter how disgusting it may be to others.

His intention is that it will keep her knocked out for around two hours, preferably four or five, in case he runs into any delays. This particular bottle of medicine is the only one he has that causes longer-lasting unconsciousness without any life-threatening symptoms, and he got it by mixing Propofol with another mild, over-the-counter drug with lengthy repercussions. Perhaps not the best thing to use, but oh well, it's all he has at his grasp. He isn't actually a doctor, no matter how much he may be treated like one. 

He slides the needle out of her arm, places it into a Ziplock bag, and puts the bag into his satchel, looking down at her when he senses movement. She rubs the area that the drug was injected through, eyes only half-way open as she brings her arm up to her chest, likely wondering where the small twinge of pain came from so abruptly. He stays still, waiting to see if she'll notice his presence or just go back to sleep. It won't be too much of an inconvenience, either way, considering the medicine should be taking effect in the next couple of minutes.

She blinks slowly, shifting around in her position to get more comfortable, and landing her bleary gaze on the startling figure squatting directly in front of her. Letting out a strangled gasp, she tries to crawl backward, though the wall pressed up against her back prevents that and gives him the opportunity to reach out and force his hand against her mouth, muffling her yelps of protest. He can almost swear that her skin gets pale as she takes in his unusual features; a reaction he isn't phased by at all. He's a monster, right? It's only natural to fear him. 

She grabs at his wrists, attempting to push him away and twisting her legs out of the blanket covering her body to try and get a good kick in. Only when she frees her legs does he lunge forward and straddle her, stopping any attempts she may have made to harm him, and looks directly into her wide, panicked eyes with his black, tar-dripping sockets. 

"Calm down," he instructs in a quiet, yet authoritative voice, putting more of his weight on top of her as her striving to escape gradually increases. She thrashes, pulls at his arms, punches his chest, though he makes sure to keep his neck craned back to avoid getting hit in the face. Even with his mask on, offering a layer of protection, it wouldn't exactly feel good. He knows this from experience.

She tries screaming and yanking her head out of his strong grip, though fails, and can't stop her eyes from watering from the utter terror that rushes through her.

"You're okay, just calm down." He keeps his tone gentle, knowing the thoughts that must be racing through her mind at lightening speed and wanting to make this easier on himself. The faster the drug works, the quicker he can get out of here and go back to the base. She doesn't listen to him, either that, or she's physically incapable of listening with the erratic beating of her heart thumping in her ears and briefly deafening her. 

They both sit there for another couple of minutes, her struggling getting weaker the groggier she gets until eventually, her eyes hesitantly close and her body goes limp. Before he does anything, he needs to make sure that one guy—probably her grandfather— went back to bed after using the restroom. Jack knows he was, indeed, in the bathroom because he heard the toilet flush from the other side of the wall, though he didn't hear any footsteps. 

Stealthily, he stands to his feet, walks out of the closet, and looks out into the hall just in time to see the bedroom door close softly. Perfect. Now hopefully it will all continue going as smoothly as it has been so far. He returns to the closet, taking her hands and pulling her motionless body up, and wrapping his arms around her torso before she can fall back down. Making sure he has a firm hold on her waist, he bends down, allows her body to drop over his shoulder and across his back, before standing back up, tightening his grip around her and quickly adjusting to the extra body weight as he turns and steps out of the closet. 

Hoody never told him to grab any of her things, so he assumes that he'll take care of that himself, even though he's not sure how. Is he going to sneak into her house to take them, or just get one of the girls to pick up a whole new wardrobe? Those questions are meaningless right now, he supposes, and he doesn't let it take up too much of his time before dismissing them altogether and making his way cautiously down the staircase, the girl slung over his shoulder making it a little more difficult than it normally would be. 

His hand slides down to her thighs as he comes up in front of the door, and he uses his other one to soundlessly unlock it, not willing to go back through the window with the unconscious girl and take a chance on alerting the other members residing in the household of his presence, drop her, or both, so he opts to go harmlessly through the door. Twisting the knob, he eases the door open, then the screen, inwardly wincing when it lets out a rather loud and obnoxious squeak. 

Not wanting to stick around and take any chances on being heard, he hurries out onto the porch, softly shutting the door and screen behind him, and quickens his pace once he's out of the yard and through the gate. He scans the treeline, making sure there's nothing insidious waiting for him inside, before taking his original path and pulling out his phone. He clicks on Hoody's contact and presses the phone to his ear, waiting for the ringing to stop.

"Did you do it?"

"Yeah, I got her. I'm coming back now."

[Zero]: What do you call a clown-faced freak with ugly hair and a lack of charm?

[Jeff]: Don’t you dare.

[Y\n, grinning]: I don’t know, Z. What do you call a clown-faced freak with ugly hair and a lack of charm?

[Jeff]: Glares

[Zero]: Jeffery Woods. 

[Jeff]:

[Jeff]: When you don’t wake up tomorrow, assume that it’s my fault.

This should be illegal (OLD)

[Hoody]: Walks into the kitchen

[Cody]: Pouring orange juice over dry Frosted Flakes

[Hoody]: Freezes What... what the actual hell are you doing.

[Cody]: Looks up innocently What do you mean?

[Hoody]: Are you... are you pouring orange juice into your cereal?

[Cody]: Blinks Yes...?

[Hoody]: ...

[Cody]: ...

[Hoody]: You sick freak.

[Cody]: But—

[Hoody]: Don’t. Turns away 

[Hoody]: I can’t even look at you.

[Cody]: You’re too sensitive.

[Hoody]: No, I have common sense.

[Cody]: At least I don’t eat kidneys and other human organs!

[Hoody]: I would rather eat kidneys.

[Cody]: Now that’s just gross.

[Hoody]: And dumping orange juice on cereal isn’t?

[Cody]: Nope! You should actually try it sometime.

[Hoody]: Over my dead body.

[Cody]: Now you’re just being negative.

[Hoody]: I don’t have time for your disturbing idiocy. Leaves kitchen

[Cody]: Rolls eyes What a drama queen.

[Cody]: Proceeds to eat his orange juice-Frosted Flakes combination without a care in the world

At Your Service (OLD)

[Ben]: Yo Masky, make me a sandwich, will ya?

[Masky]: Yo Ben, get your lazy ass up and make one yourself.

[Ben]: Well, geez, you don’t have to be rude about it.

[Y\n, literally a minute later]: Tim... I’m hungry.

[Masky]: Already rushing to the kitchen Of course, Y\n.

[Ben]: ... Scoffs

[Ben]: Now that’s favoritism.

Hi! I'm new to your blog and I love your writing already! I was wondering (if you haven't already done so) can you write a scenario where your favorite creepypasta goes after a victim, but finds out the victim is immortal? I thought it'd be a fun scenario to play with, with the confusion of not being able to off the victim, the surprise of finding that they can't actually die, and the possible relatable feeling of being alive so long that the world blends together? I also say to use your favorite cp because I'd love to see who your favorite is and how you depict them in this scenario!

Oh wow, this is indeed an interesting scenario. I’m glad you like the blog, and I hope this meets your standards! Also, I decided to use Homicidal Liu for this because I haven’t written a lot about him yet and he’s pretty underrated I think. Plus he’s just a cool character ^^ Thanks for the request!

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(OLD)

Liu peers through the window, gazing at the sleeping individual currently residing in their bed, blissfully unaware of the stitched-up teenager hovering just outside their room. Their chest rises and falls peacefully, a sight that Liu will, unfortunately, have to put an end to. It isn’t his fault he serves a faceless entity with a vengeance for mankind - if he ever tried to leave, he’d be wiped off the face of the earth.

He slides the window open, internally thanking them for leaving it unlocked the afternoon prior, as it makes it all the easier on him. Sure, he’s had to pick locks before and he generally doesn’t have a problem with it, but he’d rather just get in and get the job done without having any delays if at all possible. 

Slinking through the now open window and silently stepping onto the floor below, he pulls his machete from the sheath hanging from his back and grips the handle as he draws closer to their sleeping frame. It’s fairly normal for Sully to come out during kills and take the lead, though it seems for tonight, Liu’s out of luck. He’ll have to do it by himself.

Slenderman didn’t give specific instructions, he just said, “Take them out and destroy any remaining evidence”, and he plans to do just that. Creeping to the bed, he raises his machete over his head, focusing on where their neck is sticking out from beneath the covers and readying himself for what he inevitably has to do. 

After an encouraging breath, he brings the blade down onto their neck, one, two, three times, their blood splattering onto his face and across the surface of the machete. After the fourth time, their head comes clean off, and he stops, attempting to catch his breath from the exertion. His gaze travels down to the floor as he feels the warm liquid slowly trickle down his face, and he shakes his head disapprovingly. This is not the lifestyle he wanted to have, and in all reality, he’ll probably never get completely used to it.

He isn’t like his brother. He can’t just kill, and kill, and kill without a care in the world, no. He still has something that Jeff severely lacks; compassion. Empathy for other people, which is a rare thing to come across in the manor holding some of the deadliest killers in the world.

It’s one of the reasons he gets along with Jane so well. She doesn’t like what she does, either, and together they can find a common enemy; Jeff. He ruined both of their lives, and even though he is still his biological brother, he doesn’t really see him as his brother, anymore. He stopped having familial emotions for him the night that he tried to murder him in cold blood, all without batting an eye.

Liu is drawn, or more like, yanked harshly, out of his thoughts of self-reflection when the person he thought he beheaded just seconds ago suddenly sits up, rubbing at their neck and letting out a pained grown. Holy shit. Their head is still attached. But that’s impossible—how the hell are they still alive? He just murdered them, he saw it, he’s covered in the blood to prove it.

Their eyes avert up from their lap to the person looming over them, thick blood obscuring most of his features and the silver moon shining in through the windowpane making him look even more ominous. Bonus points for the menacing-looking machete still grasped tightly within his hand.

They flinch away, muscles tensing and eyes widening as they comprehend what just happened. They stare at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time, Liu trying to figure out how exactly it’s possible to come back alive after being clearly decapitated and Y\n merely observing him before they break the unsettling silence. 

“Did...did you just try to kill me?” Instead of replying, Liu continues to gaze down at them with unsure green eyes before swiftly bringing his machete back down, this time slicing through their head, with as much strength as he can muster up. They let out a squeak, pain shooting through their skull and temporarily rendering them immobile. 

Liu pulls the blade out of their head only to force it back down, this time much deeper than it was previously. He’ll be sure and kill them this time. Allowing the blood-spattered weapon to dangle at his side after he once again pulls it from the fresh, and undoubtedly fatal wound, he stares at the limp body sitting hunched over in front of him, completely unmoving.

Yes, he seems to have done it this time. Due to the dim lighting, he doesn’t notice how the inflicted area quickly seals itself back up, nor how the person whom he just presumed dead begins to breathe once more. Only when they stir and meet his gaze does he stumble back from surprise, nearly dropping his machete in the process.

They rub at their head, wincing at the aching currently taking place there and sending an annoyed glance at Liu. “Dude, again? Seriously?”

“H-how are you—“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head in disbelief and sucking in a breath in order to compose himself. Liu isn’t one to get surprised often, but when he does his reactions are more than notable. 

“How am I...what?” They spin around and place their feet on the floor, tilting their head up at Liu in mild vexation, a knowing expression forming across their face. “Not dying? Yeah, quite a shocker, huh?”

He blinks, comprehending the situation and trying not to be too startled. He didn’t expect this, when you kill someone they’re actually supposed to, ya know, be dead and stay dead. They aren’t supposed to rise again, not once, but twice. 

“This isn’t the first time someone’s tried to kill me.” Liu narrows his eyes at them incredulously, straightening his posture and collecting his bearings enough to form a coherent sentence.

“So you just...you just can’t die?” 

“Nope!” they say, popping the ‘p’ and shaking their head, eyebrows furrowing. “Doesn’t mean it hurts any less when someone tries, though.” 

“But...but how?” Had he known beforehand that the person he had been sent to eliminate couldn’t be eliminated then he wouldn’t have even gone, and he’s sure that if his boss would have had that information at hand then he wouldn’t have sent Liu in the first place.

But how wouldn’t he have known that? He’s the most powerful cryptid being that Liu has ever come across, it wouldn’t make sense for him to somehow not know of one of his workers’ victims to be...well, immortal. 

They shrug, rubbing at their arms lightly as the chilly breeze blows in from the still-open window. “I’m not really sure, myself. Not even my family knows.” They glance up at him with questioning e\c eyes. “Why did you try to kill me?”

“I...uh...” 

“Lemme guess. Someone sent you here?” Liu can’t do anything but hesitantly nod, shoulders loosening up slightly as he attempts to figure out what he’s supposed to do, now. “But you didn’t know that I couldn’t die?” Again, he nods. “And I’m guessing your boss or whatever didn’t, either.”

“You’re acting so casual about this,” he says, voice low as he tightens his grip on the deadly weapon still clutched in his palm. 

“I mean, what else am I supposed to do? Run and scream for my life?” A bland chuckle exits their mouth and they shake their head thoughtfully. “You can hurt me all you want but inevitably, it does nothing.”

He blinks, wiping the blood from his machete off onto his jeans before slipping it back into its sheath. “So you’re not gonna tell anyone?”

“Well, why would I? It would do no good.” They shuffle a bit on the bed, attempting to get more comfortable as they run a hand through their hair. “So what’s your name, anyway?”

“I’m not disclosing that information,” is all he says, causing Y\n to let out a small laugh of amusement.

“Okay, I get it. But I’m sure you already know mine.” 

“Maybe I do.”

“So what harm would it do in you telling me yours? You’re probably gonna kidnap me or somethin’ anyway, right?” Hmm...kidnapping isn’t too bad of an idea. Although, his boss told him to eliminate the subject, not kidnap them. To be fair though, he also didn’t tell him that the ‘subject’ in question couldn’t be killed so, he supposes that there are some exceptions to this...peculiar situation.

He releases a quiet sigh, sticking his hands deep inside the pockets of his leather jacket and ultimately deciding what the hell, why not. “...Liu. I’m Liu.”

“Nice name, ‘Liu’. I’m Y\n.” They lean backward, their arms supporting their weight as they tilt their head up at the brown-haired male. “Too bad we couldn’t be meeting under better circumstances.”

This person is so chill toward the guy who just tried to kill them—

“So are you gonna try to behead me again or what?” They brush their fingers over their neck and huff. “That didn’t feel very good, just so you know.”

“Well in my defense, you weren’t really supposed to be alive to feel it.”

“True, true. And for future reference, make the cut diagonal.” Liu raises an eyebrow. “You’ll slice the head off quicker that way. I mean, assuming you’re gonna try to kill, again.”

“Okay…why are you telling me this?” They shrug.

“Why wouldn’t I tell you this?”

He parts his lips to respond, though eventually just closes them back and shakes his head in defeat. “I...don’t know.”

“Alright, look dude, if you’re gonna do something else then just go ahead and do it. If not,” they release a yawn and begin to climb back underneath the covers of their bed, “then leave so I can go back to sleep.”

Liu isn’t sure what to do other than just stand there and watch them, thoughts swarming his mind. Should he leave them? They made it pretty clear that they weren’t intimidated by him, and he’s almost positive that they won’t blab about this encounter should he let them go. His boss might be mad, but oh well, he can always come back and kidnap them later. For now, he just needs to tell Slenderman that they legit can’t die, or even if they can, they seem to recover rather quickly and is always able to come back to life afterward.

Deciding that there isn’t a better option, he slowly starts walking backward, wiping some blood off of his face with the back of his hand and exiting through the window before softly shutting it behind him. This was a strange encounter, indeed. Maybe he can talk to Jack or Kagekao about being immortal and get some of his many questions answered since he himself can actually die so he doesn’t know what it’s like. 

With a slightly confused sigh, he begins his trek back to the Manor. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder...

The Card Swipe

This has nothing to do with Creepypasta or Marble Hornets, but I just thought of what I think is a hilarious scenario. If you watch Corpse Husband and his Among Us live streams with other YouTubers, then you’ll likely know what I’m talking about.

Imagine this: You’re walking through the grocery store, going towards checkout, and you see a man standing ahead of you, the cashier checking his items out and putting them in bags. He gets his wallet and pulls out a card, swiping it through the machine. Except, soon after, it beeps and says ‘Card not read. Please try again.’

So, he does. It beeps once more, repeating what flashed across the screen a mere two seconds ago. He tries again. And again, and again, and again. He seems to be getting both agitated and embarrassed, and the cashier says, “Sir, maybe you need to try a different card?”

And he replies, “No, no, this one’s good. I’m just not doing it right.” He tries a total of three more times, failing, and meanwhile you’re just looking on in amusement, recognizing both his deep voice and how he can’t even swipe a card correctly. 

So, grinning, you take a step forward. “Hey, Corpse.” He glances over at you, seemingly confused, which only makes your smile grow wider. “Still terrible at those card swipes, I see.”

A look of realization dawns across his features before his cheeks explode into multiple shades of red, and he stumbles over his words, unable to get a proper sentence out of his mouth, while you just stand there and giggle.

This is really random, but I’ve been binging Corpse’s Among Us videos and couldn’t help but think of this as I watched his “I Failed Card Swipe 30+ Times” video, the link can be found here, go check it out cause it’s absolutely hysterical. Poor Corpse sounded so embarrassed but it’s like the most adorable thing xD