Antes que nada tengo que decir que esto sera un collab con la bella de @beesunflowerr y yo, vamos hacer este beta de nuestro ship creepypastero de Toby y Masky đâš (aunque con full calma por que no somos robots y tenemos una vida por fuera, asĂ que no presionen o algo asĂ), primer dĂa del #ticcimaskweek2025 uvuâš
đŹ English đ§
First of all, I have to say that this will be a collab with the lovely @beesunflowerr and me. We're going to do this beta version of our creepypasta ship, Toby and Masky đâš (though we're taking it easy because we're not robots and we have lives outside of this, so don't pressure us or anything like that). First day of #ticcimaskweek2025 uvuâš
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I'M GOING TO ENTER MY UNI đŁïžâŒïžâŒïžâŒïž
CĂłmo voy a entrar a la universidad,no dibujare mucho,Pero ya tengo unos dibujos hechos que ya subĂ a tik tok, asĂ que los ire subiendo por aquĂ con el paso del tiempo
â...Saw a dog out there last week but-â Heâs right outside your door, agitation growing in his voice by the second. âThingâs face was all fucked up. Like it was smilinâ at me. You ever heard aâ that?â
You try to imagine it- a smiling dog- but all that comes to mind is some poor mutt casting a wrong glance at your father. Wrong place, wrong time. Thatâs all it takes after all, and you know your father isnât above shooting things he considers vermin.
. word count: 3.8k
. tags: slenderverse, horror romance, themes of abuse and loss, violence, good old fashioned creepypasta fic
. characters: eyeless jack, jeff the killer, BEN, slenderman, masky + hoodie (ments
-ËËâââââ You didnât think a year could roll by so fast.
But there you are, in your same bed, looking out your foggy window into the woods that haven't changed a bit. Your dad still drunk as a skunk in the vacant living room, and the house still sighed with every settle as day bled into night- all quieter than the last. All the same routine, the same clockwork that would drive anyone to the brink of insanity.Â
Even the grief had stayed, a cold hand gripping hard onto your shoulder. A presence that seems to fill every corner and gap.. With an abundance of love nowhere else to go, it lingered, and it haunted every inch of your room.Â
When everything would fall into silence and youâd be left with nothing but your thoughts, you would revisit that night. Either to cope, or because the alternative was far more frightening than youâd like to give thought, you told yourself itâd all be some dream. A hallucination- a break in your psyche when youâd been pushed too far. Thatâs why youâd made it home that evening, under the watchful eyes of the moon.Â
That and nothing more.Â
Now a year later you could barely even remember all the finer details. Every now and then your gaze seemed to wander on its own accord out to that treeline as if expecting something more than trees, but each time you were met with simply all the same. Perhaps itâd been nothing at all. Just a shadow, or a trick of your tired, blurry eyes.Â
If not that, then you would be faced with wondering just what kind of creature would walk away from prey.Â
-
Town was just as empty as you thought it was going to be. A few smaller shops that catered to farmers and hunters, maybe three or four tiny restaurants. None of which were hiring, youâd learned, almost all them equally struggling to stay afloat with the staff they already had. That, and you found pretty quickly that this small town was the epitome of close knit. Generation after generation grew up, lived and died quiet lives, all known by name and by the features their parents had passed down to their kin.Â
âYou ainât from around here.â You heard more than youâd heard âhelloâ. âHow did you end up in a place like this?âÂ
Place like this was certainly right. Of course you knew money was tight, and the options were far more than just limited, but you think it truly was impossible to be further off the map. People were strange here. Off in a way that made you look over your shoulder, or avoid the hard stare of those wondering where youâd came from. Your dad certainly wasnât doing you any favors for sure- causing scenes wherever he went, an outspokenly bitter man that found it easier to make enemies than friends.Â
Odd jobs became your one and only sauce of income, because thankfully, there were plenty of older folks who really did not want to bother themselves with lawn care or washing their cars anymore. It was little pay, but it was good honest work. Which was more than you could say for your father. They always made sure to tell you that as they handed over a few bucks.
Youâd take your meager pay and use it to buy whatever canned goods were on clearance, and with your leftovers youâd visit that little arcade thatâd piqued your interest.Â
From what you could tell, despite the way they eyeâd you like some sort of alien, the older people were kind enough. They always appreciated your work ethic, and that youâd always get the job done, rain or shine. The younger generations⊠Weâre another story. They ran like wild dogs, always itching for something violent to do, like they never had a good solid smack across the cheek before. They liked that you were quiet, and closer to timid than anything otherwise. Liked how when theyâd tug on your shoulders or your hood on the bus youâd simply let them.
And they really liked how you were always alone.Â
When you werenât in town, and you couldnât stomach another moment in that decrepit house of yours, you were in that long stretch of woods barricading your home from the rest of town. In the daytime it was lovely- all colors and a swift breeze carrying only the freshest of nature's scent. It became your safe place, out there. All alone with nothing more to worry about than the sun falling down behind the horizon.Â
Headphones on, a book tucked under your arm, your world collapsed into a narrow tunnel of peace. Youâd even found about a half mile in a giant apple tree had been flourishing, bearing the brightest, ripest apples youâd ever seen. Tart, crisp, and the only things that felt alive among everything else.Â
The path to it was worn now, a long track of flattened grass and wet leaves youâd made with every trip until that pale trunk would emerge from the thick. Craned, leaning heavier on one side than the other, with great twisting branches that dipped down just within your reach. Always heavy with fruit, as if nature had pitied your empty belly.Â
Today is no different. The tree extends its hand out to you, offers its labors, and youâre grateful to receive.Â
Wind carries the scent of pine and sap, a chill littering your skin with goosebumps. Sitting on a log without a care in the world, you chomp into the apple youâd picked and split your book open in your lap.Â
For a time, it helps you paint a picture that seems⊠Normal.Â
If it were like this all the time youâd find yourself to feel at home. City life was as loud as it was chaotic, but your mother taught you to navigate it well. But in your soul you knew you belonged somewhere quieter- somewhere like these woods, surrounded by life and colors. Isolation became bandages over your injured heart. So what, you felt lonelier than an island miles from the mainland. At least you could hear your own thoughts, now.Â
So what sometimes you swore you heard the faint shuffling of footsteps through the loose leaves. And so what other times youâd feel the weight of a long, hidden stare through the trees.Â
As long as you had your music, a good book to read, and something fresh to snack on, you told yourself you were happy.
But all good things come to an end, of course, and long before you were content to go the sun disappeared behind the trees while darkness crept in where rays of light once had been. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you could squeeze another twenty minutes or so, but then you feel that familiar thrum of anxiety sinking into your gut and you decide otherwise. Best to head back now, while thereâs still sun to guide your way.Â
Your father pulls into the drive the same time as you breach the treeline, coming from god knows where, and you make a point to slither in before he does so you donât have to pass him by. When he stumbles through the front door, youâre already tucked away into the solitude of your bedroom with your headphones beating rhythms into your eardrums. His voice drifts through the wood walls, low and slurred. Talking to someone on his phone, you realize, and you turn your music volume down to listen in.
â...Donât like these damn woods,â You make out, his words running together, a stream of incoherent thoughts. â...Tellinâ you somethings out there watchinâŠâ
A frown graces your features, a tight draw of your brows. You canât help but get up and press your ear to the door, removing your headphones all together.Â
â...Saw a dog out there last week but-â Heâs right outside your door, agitation growing in his voice by the second. âThingâs face was all fucked up. Like it was smilinâ at me. You ever heard aâ that?â
You try to imagine it- a smiling dog- but all that comes to mind is some poor mutt casting a wrong glance at your father. Wrong place, wrong time. Thatâs all it takes after all, and you know your father isnât above shooting things he considers vermin. A glass clinks, and you can audibly hear him chugging down his drink before he sputters out a wet burp.Â
The last thing you make out before he slams his bedroom door shut is equal parts manic and chilling.Â
âGoinâ intaâ town to grab myself a sawed off. Like taâ see that thing come sniffin roundâ my yard again. Or, hell⊠Iâve still got my olâ bow. Thatâll do.â
And then youâre stuck there, glued with your ear to the door, terrified at the thought of him lugging home some big ass gun heâd definitely use to throw his weight around. A feeling grows in your belly, a low churn of apprehension that plants seeds of fear.Â
-
Tomorrow heâs no better. Worse, even. Angry from the moment he rose all the way into the later afternoon, and you were careful to stay out of his way during it all. The sky mimics his rage- fat, dark clouds in the distance floating towards your little town like an omen of death. A promise of rain lingers in the scent, something in the wind cold and sharp.Â
When he finally sinks into a nap in the living room, only then do you saunter out and decide itâs about time to eat something. Empty cabinets are all youâre met with. Spider webs in the corners, as hollow as you felt. If anything though, you were almost grateful at the excuse to head into town and escape the tension of existing beside your father.Â
You donât plan to wake him when you leave, nor do you intend to lock the door on your way out. But the second the latch clicks and you twist the knob, you hear his voice creeping down the hall from the other room.Â
âNâ where thaâ hell are you goinâ?â Alcohol speaks for him, hardly processable if you weren't already fluent in the language.Â
You chew your cheek. âIâm gonna grab us something to eat.â
âWe got food.â
Your fingers still clutch the knob, wondering if you should just leave anyways. âWe donât. Fridge is empty. Pantries empty. Youâre not hungry?â
âGettinâ too dark for you to be runninâ round. Nâ I donât like that tone. Whatâre you up to, really?â
âI just wanna go to the corner mart on Birch road.â The agitation in his words makes you nervy, but the slur of his intoxication brings forth something angrier. Something ugly, and bitter. For a moment, he doesnât answer, as if considering.Â
But then he speaks again- lower now.Â
âNah. Get back to yerâ room, is whatyaââ gonna do.â
Hunger rolls in your belly. Your jaw ticks. âWhy?â
With a sudden shift of movement in the living room, your blood runs cold, whipping around, expecting to see him come barreling down the hall.Â
He doesnât.Â
Instead, he peeks around the bend, looking just as flushed as he sounded.Â
âNo needtaâ be pokinâ around out there.â
You shift your weight, struggling to meet his eyeline, the fire in your eye dying away. â...Iâm hungry.â
He grinds his teeth and watches you.Â
âFine,â he starts, disappearing entirely back into the living room. You hear his weight meet the couch, but youâre not out of the woods yet. When he speaks again, itâs quiet, dripping in a disdain you canât quite place the source from. âI ainât gonnaâ fight yaâ. You go nâ stay out there tonight. Like a damn dog.â
Your mouth opens, and then it snaps itself shut on instinct. Between his phases of insisting you stay locked inside at all hours and then not caring if you would disappear at all, the changes always give you a whiplash thatâs impossible to keep up with.Â
You tell yourself itâs because heâs drunk. And because just like you, heâs still grieving too. The ghost of your momâs memory wraps long, spindly fingers around both of your throats in tandem. But truly you canât help but wonder if he simply just likes scolding you. Likes having something real and tangible to funnel all that anguish towards.Â
Heâs giving you the okay, you tell yourself. Just go.Â
So, you do, pulling your headphones over your ears. You make sure to leave the door unlocked as you go.Â
The trip to the bus stop is uneventful, the ride to the only market not so much. With a brain already pressed taut under stress, your senses go ablaze, aware of every stare as you settle in at the end of the bus. Some more than others- particularly a group of guys roughly the same age as you that seem to snicker among their not-so-subtle glances.Â
Music only blurred the edges so much, and did little for the pit of dread growing within you.
You arenât well versed in this. Despite still lacking a good solid friendship you were always surrounded by brightness, or at the very least, smiling faces. Even those you didnât know knew your mother and her reputation often bled onto you: her precious daughter. Even if you felt invisible sometimes, you loved it. Bathed in that bright light of hers all the way until chirpy conversations became quiet, hushed condolences.Â
Now, you were the outlier. An intruder. And an easy target.
Though they donât act as if they arenât talking about you, when you get up and pass them by at your exit, they do nothing. Itâs enough to allow you breathe out a sigh when the bus pulls off the stop and youâre properly left alone.Â
At checkout, an armfull of cans you didn't even bother you check the labels of sprawled out on the counter top, the cashier eyes you up and down while someone in line behind you chatters about the woods at the edge of town. The one that kisses the line of your backyard. You canât help but tune in- itâs practically your property, after all.
Something about disappearances in the town, and how the police wonât search deeper than a mile or so into that great darkness.Â
âIâll never go there again after, well.. you know.â One of them remarked, a dramatic fall to the end of her sentence. âI canât believe they wonât even check the woods again.â
âI can. Itâs crazy out there. I saw a husky out in the woods one time and it tried to attack me.â The other harped. âIt was smiling at me the whole time! Like actually smiling.â
Huh. That dog, again.Â
For just the briefest of moments, and for the very first time, you think, you wonder if maybe your dads eyes hadnât deceived him.Â
âI heard someoneâs living in the house at the end of Willow now. Canât imagine looking out my window and seeing those woods.âÂ
âJeez, Iâd never sleep again. I give emâ a month, tops.â
You almost spin around and demand an explanation.Â
But then reality checks you as the cashier clicks her tongue at your vacant state, out stretching a palm for payment. You pay with whatever money you had left and she sends you on your way, waiting once again for the bus to come round.Â
The entire ride home, you replay their conversation in your head.Â
By the time you get home, the clouds had gathered above thicker than fleece. Rain poured down hard enough to soak you in seconds flat, hair stuck to your face in ribbons and your paper bag of cans sagging in your arms. Dadâs car is in the driveway, and nerves rise up in your chest. Try as you might to preserve your headphones by tucking them around your neck, youâre sure theyâre fried under all the wetness.
You hope heâs asleep. Or too drunk to remember your last conversation, at least. He usually is.
Before you make it to the front door the paper bag gives away in a slurry of brown tatters and tumbling cans. Most of them exceed your clutches and thud onto the gravel before rolling away, cracking open at the seams and landing in gathering puddles of water amidst the rain. One splits and blossoms what would have been a mouthful of stew.Â
And all you can do is watch it. It chases the stream of water through the pebbles, a torrent of chunks and brown, feeding the dirt. Defeat would be an understatement- something almost entirely empty hollowing you from the inside out. A feeling that makes you wonder why you even bother bending down to pick up the few that survived.
It takes only one arm now to carry them up to the door, so with your head hung low you reach out to twist the knob to welcome shelter.Â
The knob doesn't twist. You try again- it doesnât budge an inch. Your heart falls.Â
You go nâ stay out there tonight. Like a damn dog.
As if laughing, a roll of thunder echoes among the heaven-high clouds, harbored in a sheet of despair that put in effort to rain even harder. Every droplet stung your skin, a reminder of what your father had said. For some reason, a naive reason, you hadnât believed heâd truly leave you out tonight.Â
Not with that strange dog. Not with these strange woods looming only a backyard away.Â
Youâre sure heâs asleep somewhere inside, warm and cozied up with a beer bottle at his side. His one and only companion. As for you, not so much.
Turning around, nothing opens its arms to you. If anything the world grows claws and fangs, threatens to close in at all sides and tear you apart right there. A sky darkening by the second, trees that bend forward with spindly arms. The long winding driveway and thenâŠÂ
Your fathers car.Â
Without giving it a second thought, you step through the wet gravel and jiggle the handle of his front door. It pops open, revealing the interior, a flash of relief drooping your tormented shoulders.Â
This will do.
After unlocking the entire car and tossing the cans onto the passenger, you crawl into the backs and let your aching muscles sprawl out over the fake leather. The whole ride reeks of cigarettes and beer, tiny holes of ashes burnt into the fabric roof and car seats.Â
Your headphones did not, in fact, survive the storm. But thankfully you will- albeit hungry enough for your belly to fold in on itself. The thought occurs to you that you should have just stayed inside like your father had said in the first place. Sure youâd be just as hungry, but youâd be inside, warm and buried under the weight of your blankets.Â
But then that meant conceding to him yet again. And for some reason within the latest weeks, that was becoming harder and harder. With every new rot of the wooden floors, and with every day spent scrounging for food hardly worth the effort it took to acquire it, the scorn you felt in your chest only grew worse.Â
Everything was coming down around you with no future in sight. If only your momâs passing could have meant something- could have brought you two together, or maybe opened his damn eyes. But no. He was content to drink away his woes and watch you turn to dust an arms length away. The word love became a memory. Family became a curse.Â
You roll onto your back, staring up at the roof.Â
This couldn't be your life. There had to be something else out there for you, just out of sight. Waiting for the right moment. As your breathing slows into something languid, you force yourself to imagine it- whatever it even is.Â
What your brain comes up with is simple, lovely. Long days, longer nights. Clouds of gold that stretch into deep blues and a sky full of stars. A moon that always seems to smile back.Â
Running through an endless sea of trees surrounded by laughter and the undeniable feeling of belonging.Â
Now that brings a smile to your face.Â
And strangely enough, all alone in that back seat with nothing but the rain to sing you off, sleep comes swiftly. With it, comes a dream fresh off the burners of your mind.Â
The car full of quiet, windows fogged as the rain dies down. For just a second in your haze your eyes crack open to reveal nothing but deep, blue, darkness. Then, though itâs a blur too hard to make out entirely, you see the shape of something at the window. When your eyes adjust you make out only the biggest details- the roundness of a pulled hood. A mask of blue catches a sliver of light and reveals eyes of inky black tar.Â
Recognition comes quickly. That night a year ago, among the trees and the brush, watching you cry yourself silly.
You know itâs a dream because you should be afraid. Downright terrified, actually, like cornered prey shaking before its predator. But that fear doesnât come. Not even when they tilt their head in that same curiosity. Thereâs something about them that doesnât frighten you this time around, like you know in your very soul that this⊠Stranger isnât a threat to you this time around. If they even were, in the first place.Â
For some reason you canât help but stare right back. The two of you just watching, studying. Understanding.Â
The dream carries on until the dead of night turns into the earliest hours of the morning. Only when the sky fades into a shade light enough to color him does he leave, and you watch that dark shape shift out of view.Â
Somehow, when they go, the emptiness that arrived with them left only the softest of peace. Protection, your brain tried to reason. So desperate for it that your mind had forced itself to concoct some sad, pitiful dream to lull you into a state of comfort.Â
It works. So well, in fact, that even when the dream changes and that moment is long forgotten into the remainder of your slumber, you rest better than you had in weeks.
.ty for reading <3 i hope you enjoyed! comments and reblogs are always appreciated! .enjoy my work? consider leaving me a tip! <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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(don't use or repost without credits/arts ok, but tag/credit me in your drawing)
Meet my proxy oc! I'm still working on her story.
Two important points are that she would probably fit into the big group of berserkers or sleepers, I imagine she is still between the two because she doesn't remember exactly how she became a proxy but she still knows she works for Slender.
Second point, one of her missions is to destroy the cameras, she causes a certain interference when she is close, there are often cases of them being completely destroyed or simply disappearing during the night. KyĆki was an animal hunter, so the blame for animals killed at her door or in the forest may be hers. About her first mission, "keep an eye out and shoot", says it all, she's watching and don't be surprised if someone dies from a silent bullet coming from her sniper.
So, that's all I have about her so far, I have the story ready but I imagine I'll still make a lot of other changes until I like it!