CREEPJECTS IN CREEPED PT. 1: APPEARANCE

i love her she's so girl power

I am a terminal Nina enjoyer can I just ask for like,, general headcanons about her? It's ok if not!

Have A lovely rest of your day!

nina general hcs👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

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A/N: my babygirl. no jeff mentions cause its GIRL TIME!!!!!!!!''!!!!

CW: mentions of someone eating her pet cat (this is so funny out of context wait)

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-nina is a total girly girls girl. constantly tries to rally up the girls in the manor to hang out together (has been hissed at by kate). offers to paint nails, help with makeup, gives out period products with 0 embarrassment.

-knows literally every braiding style ever. this bitch is every girl scouts dream.

-is constantly giggling about anything and everything and literally NO ONE can figure out what this bitch is up to.

-keeps trying to befriend toby. constantly asks him if he's free to hang out or what he's doing later. doesn't seem to get that his wordless empty gaze back means "literally get the fuck away from me". in her pov she thinks they're best friends. toby literally cannot remember her name.

-10000000% delirious. i love her but she absolutely thinks super highly of herself. she thinks everyone has a crush on her, that she has a shot with anyone, that she can do no wrong, etc.

-SO. LOUD. everything about her is loud. from her music volume to her actual voice to the colors she wears. you hear her before you see her.

-ayesha erotica defender and stan. im so sorry.

-bounces when she walks. ray of sunshine.

-doesn't kill, but is quite obviously deranged. says just the most out of pocket shit sometimes it'll even have L. jack looking at her weird.

-CAT PERSON!!!!! nina is fucking obsessed with cats. on multiple occasions has tried to keep a pet cat... it usually ends up as someones snack cause she picks the LOUDEST and most OBNOXIOUS cats to bring in.

-i don't usually categorize any characters by race cause anyone can think whatever- but- hispanic 🫡🫡🫡 can't speak spanish for SHIT though.

-nina has the cutest little dimples in the world!!!! most people are too busy getting distracted by the literal gouges in her cheeks but they're there!!

-5'2 and has big huge brown eyes so she constantly looks like this

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i have homosexual feelings for her

MORE jeff hc's!!!!!!

thank u for the love on the last one i love writing these sm ^___^

•can fit like 11 cigarettes in his wide ass mouth at once

•half asian (his mom is chinese)

•his hair is really thin because it never grew back properly after being burned

•hates being wrong more than anything else on the planet. sometimes he knows hes wrong but will NEVER admit it and fight to the death over it

•bpd representation 💯💯💯

•something in my brain tells me he cant die. kind of like a johnny the homicidal maniac situation. he never gets caught and he never dies (he can still get seriously injured but he will always come back when u least expect it)

•always has to be in control of the aux in every vehicle hes in and is so obnoxious when his favorite songs come on

•also yells "I SAW THIS LIVE" every time a band he saw live comes on

•barks at random unsuspecting people through the open passenger window

•always stealing shit off his victims after killing. he has a whole ring collection because of it, and of course he steals wallets for weed money

•also steals from slenderman but you didnt hear that from me

•"saying jeff is a douchebag is like saying the sky is blue." -toby

•kind of guy that takes out his bottled up emotions on everyone around him and then hates himself for it

•wears the same gross outfit all the time. just grabs one of the 3 pairs of crusty skinny jeans from off his floor and of course the musty ass dirty ass torn apart ass hoodie

•smile dog is truly his best friend. he feels like nobody understands him like smile does. he loves taking him for walks in the woods while smoking a cigarette and having deep conversations with him (not that he actually responds but jeff knows smile can understand what hes saying)

•horror movie enthusiast, from obscure fucked up ones to super cheesy ones. he has a whole shelf dedicated to his horror movie collection

•has an addictive personality, which is partially why he has a drug and alcohol abuse problem and struggles with self harm

•rarely goes out in public because hes known to have violent outbursts. he once committed mass murder at a burger king because people were looking at him weird and EJ had to drag him out of there before the cops showed up

•HATES the light he literally duct taped over his windows so the light couldn’t get in (he forgot blackout curtains exist)

•his room smells like pennies, skunk weed, and foot stank

•is actually an incredible artist but acts like hes not. literally everyone loves his work except for him

•secretly loves cartoons. he loves taking bong rips and watching scooby-doo to escape reality :)

•has never had a healthy relationship with anyone in his life, usually just sticks to hookups

•its a miracle this man is still alive considering he survives off gas station snacks and week old sodas that have been sitting on his nightstand

•speaking of he once drank an old dr pepper after he forgot he put out a cigarette in it

•got a tramp stamp when he was blackout wasted

•writes random thoughts and draws little doodles all over his bedroom walls; it kind of looks like a mental asylum in there

•also his bed is literally just a blood stained mattress on the floor with no sheet and a singular pillow and blanket

•so fucking broke he will do anything for a hundred bucks

•writes the most foul hate comments under every post he disagrees with

•he loves video games, his favorite being postal 2 (hes OBSESSED)

🪓 — Teenagers. Ticci Toby

“you’re never gonna fit in much kid” / “make ‘em pay for the things that they did”

- toby rogers was an angry boy. angry at the world, at everyone. his rage was violent and loud, like his fathers was. it moved him.

- there was a biblical righteousness in his wrath, his calloused hands pridefully gripping the bloody axe as he stands tall over his pretty victim. what a mess he made. this was a typical scene for the boy, it was his desperate attempt at finding a sliver of control in his powerless life.

- one evening, he found himself mingling in a sketchy, broken down apartment with two familiar men he knew as tim wright and brian thomas, alongside some other faces he never cared to remember. it was the type of place heavy with past of brutality and crime. the type of place most normal people would be too scared to go near, fearing they would only become a victim to guys like him.

- though he was typically ignored in conversation, the rough boy forced himself into the world that constantly rejected him, intruding on any space he could. there was a loud, but subtle, desperate attempt to be something bigger than himself.

- volatility run coarse through him. for one moment he was sitting on a raggedy, stained old couch in the dank apartment living room chatting with his colleagues as they talked over beers, and the next he was storming angrily out of the building at a comment someone had made.

- he was always the runt of the group, the butt of a joke. the people around him would pick on him like predator to prey, and laughed as they watched him squirm between their teeth.

- when he left, slamming the front door behind him, the conversations and dark chatter continued on as normal. it was if he was never there, and nobody cared. there was a cruel indifference to the boys suffering, as god turns a blind eye.

- not until he returned with a metal baseball bat in his hand did they understand the extent of his rage. one look into his darkened eyes and they knew better than to try to restrain a rabid dog.

- with quick motion, he raised the bat up high and began smashing every bottle, window, tv screen and table in the room. he ignored the angry shouts for him to ‘calm the fuck down’ and to ‘put the fucking bat away’. he hit the weapon furiously at anything he could. “you think its fucking funny now?”

- sharp exhales escaped his grimacing mouth as his chest raised and fell in an attempt to catch his breath. he stood victorious amongst the destruction he had caused, shards of glass and splintered wood cluttered the dirty carpeted floor. through gritted teeth, he muttered “do not fuck with me”.

- the metal bat clattered to the ground as he let out a final frustrated sigh before taking his leave. he didn’t say another word. he had done enough.

crahses into ur inbox what kind of music do u thrink toby would listen 2

I JUST LISTED A WHOLE 20+ ARTIST LIST WITH LINKS AND EVERYTHING AND THEN MY PHONE JUST EXITED OUT OF THE APP WITHOUT SAVING???????

i gibe up. you get my midwest emo daily mix cause that was the answrr anyways.

give me more 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Natalie Ouellette (Clockwork)

🧺 — Laundry And Taxes

chapter 1. // (prologue)

“Oh darling, please believe me~”

Toby’s dark eyes fluttered open as he jolted up, his hand pressing over his chest as he caught his breath. He could hear The Beatles blaring from an old boombox stereo in the room next to him. He could hear a familiar voice humming alongside in a pretty tune.

“I’ll never do you no harm~”

The soft sun shone through the bedroom window as his hands dropped and gripped the sheets of the bed he sat on. The boy eyed his surroundings, a sick feeling bubbling up in his stomach as he nearly threw up.

What was he doing in his childhood room?

He raised a shaking hand up to his face and let his fingers run over the gash that once scarred his cheek, quickly noticing it was no longer there. He was now once again seventeen years old, and everything was fine.

A million thoughts raced through his mind, paralyzing the boy's trembling body as he struggled to breathe. The warm rays of sunshine danced on his pale skin, and the chirping birds outside accompanied the muffled music. The same records his sister would always play.

His sister.

Toby suddenly threw his body out of his bed and scampered down the hall, almost breaking down the door as he forced himself into his sister's room.

“Lyra-”

“What are you doing?” The girl scolded her little brother, she had been cleaning her room while singing along to her favorite album.

Hesitantly, Toby collided his body against his sisters, gripping mindlessly onto her as though he was desperately seeking confirmation she was real, and not another hallucination. She smelt like peach juice and beach. She felt warm, and alive. Her arms cradled the boy who was overcome by dizziness, he felt as if he was about to faint. As he stared into her familiar green eyes, he ignored her confused gaze. She was as beautiful as he remembered. It took everything in him to fight back a sob, to collapse into her arms and weep. All he could do was stare, take in her entire presence that had been so cruelly taken from him all those years ago. He was here, and so was she, and for now, everything was fine. For once in his tortured life, he seemed to be having a good dream.

“Seriously, what's wrong with you?” Lyra grumbled, pushing off her clingy brother, “are you going to get out of my room now? I’m sort of busy here, nutjob.”

He couldn’t move, as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t muster up the courage to look away. A part of him was terrified that if he did, she would disappear again. In response to her brother's difficult attitude, she shouted out, “Mooom, Toby won't leave me alone!”

A faint voice from the kitchen called out in response, “Toby, stop bothering your sister.”

His mothers voice, he recognized. It sounded almost angelic. For a moment, he thought he must have died in that godless forest and ended up in heaven. He scoffed to himself at the idea as he made his way to the kitchen to see his mother as well. Toby knew better than to entertain the idea of being freed from his sin, he knew he would never see the pearly gates when he died. Not all dogs go to heaven.

He first noticed how lively his mother looked as she scrubbed away at the dishes, compared to all those years he witnessed her carrying such heavy grief in her bones as she moved. Toby only watched from a distance, lingering quietly at the entrance of the kitchen.

“Do you need something?” Connie called out to her son. Her awareness of his presence took the boy off guard, he stammered for a moment. She never noticed him watching all the times he had done it before. Back when everyone told her that Toby had died in that forest fire long ago.

Toby made his way cautiously to his mothers side and embraced her in a tight hug, causing her to let out a surprised gasp at the sudden affection of her troubled boy.

“I’m sorry mom,” he dug his face into the nape of her neck, “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh- Toby, it’s not a big deal,” she hushed as she ran her overworked fingers through the messy, chestnut hair of her son. As Toby pulled away, he allowed himself to get a good look at her face. She looked healthy, happy. Better than he remembered.

As a proxy, he would occasionally check in on his mother, from a distance. Or drop off flowers for mothers day in the dead of night. Only tragedy had gotten this close to her in years. Only tragedy. He inhaled the sun and sound from the nostalgic world around him as though he were living in a mere memory. He breathed in his mothers perfume.

“Why don’t you go clean up your room while I finish making dinner, sweetheart,” Connie suggested, pinching his cheek. His hands, no longer scarred, lingered over hers before he let out a deep breath and made his way back to his childhood room.

Toby sat down on his creaky, small, old bed and embraced the afternoon environment for a moment. His sister was still blasting her music from her room, his room still smelt like teenage musk and a summer long lost. He was years away from the battlefield, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling like something bad was going to happen. The boy grew frustrated at the hopeless situation, to be thrown into a happy memory only to realize he must have to be stolen back from it soon. To wake up on the ground of that dreadful forest.

Standing up, he peered over at the family portrait perched on his tiny dresser. The photo of his family he knew, with his sister, his mother, him, and his father. To his shock, it was now replaced with a new photo which no longer included his dear old dad. Only Toby, Lyra, and their mother. They looked happier, Toby’s smile was more genuine, Lyra was beaming, Connie looked peaceful. They looked like a normal family.

A few hours had passed before Connie called her children to the dinner table, bringing spaghetti and meatballs to their plates. This was the same table where he would so often sit across from his father who would spend the evening ranting and raving, berating his son for being a useless burden. A haunting feeling creeped up behind him, smothering him, stealing his breath. Toby picked at his food, trying to choke down the anger at the idea that his father could still be alive. All of that fight, that effort, went to waste. He had gotten his family back, but he couldn’t shake the idea that he must have gotten that monster back as well. It burnt holes in his gut when he thought about it.

“When's dad coming home?” He spoke up, breaking the soft silence.

As soon as he finished his question, it was as if a wave of tension choked up his family. Lyra glanced worriedly over to Connie, her body sitting still, waiting for her mother to speak up. Connie looked up quickly at her boy, shock and a hint of guilt mingled on the cracks of her face, dancing in her green-blue eyes.

“I’ve promised you this, Toby, he isn’t coming back.” She smiled as she continued to work at the food on her plate, but anyone could see she was fighting back a sorrow too heavy for one woman to carry.

Toby’s heart dropped, he felt uneasy for a moment. And then he felt relieved, and then angry. In what world did his mother gain the courage to kick that man out? In what world did everything turn out fine? That was when the realization drowned him, suffocated him. Toby wasn’t sent back in time. He was in an entirely different world. One where things work out for the best. One with no war.

Memories from before he woke up in this place flooded his mind like a wave pool. Crimson skies, the shrieks, the desperate attempts to flee. His desperate attempts to find that girl. If he ended up in this strange world, he wondered who else wound up here as well. His tired brown eyes glanced down to his hands. They had no callous, no scar. Innocent. He curled his clean fingers into a fist and squeezed. It was far too quiet, far too peaceful.

That night, Toby laid in bed and stared up at his ceiling decorated with dinosaur-shaped glow in the dark stickers that had long worn out. He thought back to how small he was when they had first stuck them there, his father had to lift him up so he could reach. Everytime Toby thought about his dad, he felt a burning sensation consume him. He gritted his teeth down to metal and ash, he clenched his fists so tight they whitened. Toby sat up in bed, he couldn’t sleep. His brow furrowed as he tried to control the rage that took him over. There was something unfed within him, begging to devour like a hungry dog.

His gaze turned towards his bedroom window to meet the trees wrapping around the flickering street lamp illuminating the night outside. Something about that sight overtook him, and he couldn’t help but stare out into the endless void of the midnight hour. Call it desperation, frustration. As his body fell back onto his bed with an irritated groan escaping his mouth, Toby let himself fall into a deep slumber, hoping he would wake up back into the world he knew. Back where he knew himself. Back where he knew he didn’t have to feel as powerless as he did confined in the walls of his childhood home.

Toby softly awoke as he took in a deep breath of morning sunshine and August breeze. He rubbed his tired eyes and examined the area around him, heart beating fast as it typically did when he woke up, readying itself for tragedy. There was a bed underneath him, carpet under that, and a horribly familiar house that surrounded. To his complicated feelings of dismay, he was still in his childhood home. He sniffled to himself as he sat up and let his feet hit the ground. The boy thought back to all the times he would wake up in strange, unknown places with no recollection of what he had been doing before. He thought back to the times he would wake up with blood on his hands, and how he never knew if it was his or not.

The lanky boy, still in his pajamas, shuffled out of his room and down the hallway which led to the living room. His hands traced over the walls he grew up with, gliding over patched holes in the wall, listening to his sister talk to one of her friends on the phone in her room. As Toby made his way to the blaring TV, he stared at the infomercial for a long while, waiting for the image to turn to static, or to distort as it typically did where he was from. The longer he waited for something to happen, the more he realized it never would. Like awaiting the arrival of a friend who he hadn’t met yet. Everything was normal.

Toby made his way out of the house and into the outdoors. The boy had no regard for his appearance, no shame. He had the belief that he shouldn’t waste his breath trying to please a world that endlessly rejected him. The summer heat embraced his body as he eyed his surroundings. Toby made note of every car, house, neighbor mowing their lawn. He twitched and turned to every bird flying, tree swaying. Every stranger he passed as he walked down the sidewalk of the neighborhood he had walked a thousand times made his fist clench in preparation. His hand would make its way down to his side, ready to grab a hatchet that no longer resided on the belt he was no longer wearing.

As he looked at the large, overbearing forest that he was approaching at the end of the street, Toby could only think back to the last time he had witnessed it in all its mightiness and size. When he entered the woods, all he thought about was the fire. The heat that scorched him, the ash that choked him, the smoke that scraped at his lungs. The blood of his father that he wore like a glove on his hands. Compared to the night Toby Rogers died, the now once again seventeen year old boy felt odd standing alongside the tall trees he had once burnt to ash. The boy looked out at the vastness of the wide green forest, taking it all in, as he did last time he was there. This time, there was no fire, no blood, no tragedy. There was no static. No faceless entity.

“Are you listening?” Toby called out to the endless nothingness. In reply, there was a harmony of birds chirping. A warm summer breeze danced past him. He stood silently, eagerly awaiting a response from the eldritch being who tortured him for years. A masochistic desperation for a sign that he wasn’t left behind. He felt healthy, clean. A cleanliness that drove him mad. It stripped him from all he was. Toby was left bare and small standing directionless in the midst of the woods. He choked back his frustration and turned to make his way back home. There was nothing there for him.

tim masky as tobys dad is my favorite headcanon ,,,

IDEA FROM @cupid-la-beaux LAWL

she's googling cheap shows in her area

What’s she googling…?

You can only REBLOG THIS TODAY

🪓 — Heart to Unbeating Heart

a boy who lost everything sits in the pews of an abandoned church with a beast who feasts on man.

- jack sat silently in the pews of an abandoned church he would visit on a particularly hard day. he remained still as the cool air was only accompanied by the soft pattering of the rain outside. the shower leaked its way through the rotting rooftop and onto the decaying wooden floors.

- the occasional roar of thunder bellowed out across the dark late evening skies, causing jack to hold his breath for a moment in fear that god had found him. he knew he had no place in a holy house of the father, he had been stripped of that right when he had lost his humanity.

- with another crack of thunder, the beast heard the sound of the church doors slamming open. yet still, he remained. an unfortunately familiar voice echoed through the nave, characteristically loud and intrusive.

- “ive been looking for you, you sneaky fucker.”

- a frustrated sigh escaped through the sharp teeth of the demonic once-man as he stood up and faced the noise. though his sight had long been replaced with thick black tar, his sharp senses allowed him to see in many other ways. the boy at the entrance smelt of death and ash, a perfect example of the person he was. it seemed everything he touched turned to char and all he knew was how to burn down everything around him. all he knew was that when the world got rough, he had to get rougher to match.

- “its toby, blind fuck.” the boy spoke in a strained, harsh tone, as if he were injured. jack knew this to be true as the putrid smell of blood overcame the calming scent of wet wood and divinity of the church.

- “i know.” jack replied, not moving from where he stood. “well then help me out here! fuck!” toby snapped and limped his weak, nearly mangled body towards the larger being who was known for his impressive anatomical knowledge. on occasion, jack would do medical check-ins for the reckless boy who endured a condition that wouldn’t let him feel, or understand injurious pain responses.

- toby pushed past jack and threw himself onto the pew, his frame was significantly smaller and lankier than the beasts, but jack knew he was no match in combat with the experienced younger. in the house of god, during the storm, he had no choice but to assist in patching his wounds.

- as the grey-tinted claws of his made their way around the open wounds, he came to realize how severe the injuries truly were. multiple deep cuts that desperately needed stitches were etched into tobys arm and torso, as if he was mauled. hearing a bag unzipping, he felt medical supplies being placed into his once-hands.

- “this… this is all i got, can you work with it?” toby spoke through a hitched breath, and jack heard the strength escape the lively boy with the blood he was losing.

- “needle and thread…? and…” he took a deep breath in, “homebrew.”

- “listen, if you cant help me… ill go fu.. fucking find someone else.”

- hostility was second nature to the human. toby had war tearing through his teeth and he wore his anger like a badge of honour. this was in contrast to jack who was a rather passive being. the two had their differences.

-“no, i can work with this. sit still.”

- his sharp, thick once-hands steadily stuck the piece of thread through the sewing needle, and placed it to the side. he then opened the bottle of liquor which immediately filled the cold, rainy air with a strong almost sour smell. jacks sensitive nose scrunched as he poured the alcohol onto tobys open wounds to clean them as much as it could.

- as the creature worked at the injuries beside the boy joining him in the pews, toby stared up at a decaying crucifix statue up at the collapsing altar ahead. he took a deep breath in as all time escaped his perception. in this moment, it was him and a demon in a place they shouldn’t have been in, all long forgotten by civilization.

- jack noticed the unusual silence in the boy, and made awkward conversation.

- “what happened to you..?”

- “you know me, always disobeying. got into a fight, thats all.”

- “with masky?”

- “with brian.”

- a sudden twitch from the tourettes ridden juvenile stopped jack for a moment as he allowed the other to collect himself again. to hear he had been fighting with brian thomas of all people, a man he thought toby had at least a semblance of respect for, was a small surprise. or possibly no surprise at all.

- the wounded continued, breaking the heavy silence. “i did what i had to do.” the air began to grow suffocating.

- “no, toby. there are lines you shouldn’t cross,” the beast scolded softly.

-“there are lines i cross to survive. you know all ‘bout that don’t you?” toby spoke lowly.

-“you seem to have lost your humanity, then.”

- toby silently mouthed off, knowing jack couldn't see the mocking expressions he made. a whisper of frustration escaped the elders mouth for a moment as he scrambled to patch up a reopened wound that was now gushing blood.

- in attempts to distract, jack continued. “have you ever heard the story of icarus?”

- “what? the fucking idiot who flew too close to the sun?”

- “they say that on his way down, he was cheering and hollering. died with hunger in his eyes.” jack worked his stitches tighter this time, learning from his mistake. he never once looked up to meet the boys gaze as he spoke.

- “and your point is?”

- “have you ever tried praying?”

- toby scoffed at the question, turning his head away from looking at jack to glare at the statue ahead. “i have. but no matter what forgiveness i get for the shit i do, i know ill do it again.” the younger spoke, quietly this time. he did not break his stare at christ.

- there was a long pause of silence that lingered for a moment, and the conversation between the two stood still in the doorway as though it did not want to make its leave yet. as jack worked on the deep gashes, and toby looked up at the son of god, both of them kept their thoughts to themselves for the moment. only the rain filled the room, and the smell of blood.

- finally, toby spoke.

- “i wonder if jesus ever hated his father.”

- the sudden change in tone from a harsh one, to one that was soft, meaningful, made jacks unbeating heart sink for a moment.

- “jesus was not human enough for that.” jack responded.

- toby smirked at the irony, eyeing the demonic figure patching him up.

- “thats a rich judgment coming from you,” he teased.

- “call it an educated guess.”

- “do you ever miss your father?” toby spoke softly once again. he looked at the scars and blood that littered his body. some of which existed long before he had became a proxy.

- “no, i dont think of those things anymore,” jack paused for a moment before continuing, “… do you?”

- another pause.

- “i do. i do, and i dont know why,” the wounded replied.

- the beast questioned him, “do you miss your father, or do you need a father?”

- toby stared up again in the eyes of jesus and thought about it for a moment.

- “i want to be something great, something so biblical theres statues of me up in buildings made in my honour,” the boy painted a picture of virtuous suffering, “i want to be so great i dont need a father.”

- “even christ needed a father.”

- “so then what will become of me?” toby questioned with soft concern.

- jack let out a low chuckle to himself as he poked another needle through the pale skin of the bleeding boy.

- “icarus.”

- toby stared for a second, taken aback by the witty reply.

- “youre too smart for your own good jack.”

- “you sound like my mother”

- the sound of the two mens chuckling escaped their smile-twisted mouths like an intertwined dance of companionship and further beneath, a mutual understanding.

- passing casual chatter that opened the weight of the air came to a close as the medic creature finished the last of the stitches. he instructed toby to sit still for awhile and allow himself to recover, knowing fully well the boy wasn’t going to listen. to his surprise, though, toby remained seated. he had a slight smile on his face as he looked forward.

- “never thought i’d catch myself in one of these places,” he spoke with a hint of nostalgia for what could’ve been on his tongue.

- “i used to frequent church, until my transformation. i have long stopped going since i have done what ive done,” jack opened up, sitting still beside the other.

- “god doesn’t care what you have done.”

- “i do. i care.”

- the church was silent. the tall, crumbling statue of jesus stood before the two men.

- “you know you need to be more careful. you throw yourself around recklessly and get others to clean up your mess. what if one day nobody comes to save you?” the tar-eyed once-man spoke in a lecture that coated concern.

- “thats fine. i know im going to end up dying like a dog. ive known this for awhile now.”

- “and you think fighting for your place in this world will make you any more deserving? you act as if you need to earn your right to exist.”

- “you know nothing of war,” toby sneered.

- “you know nothing of mercy,” jack replied.

- “who needs mercy?”

- “you do, toby.”

- toby fiddled with his thumbs, he swallowed, but never did he break his stare from that forsaken statue.

- “god knows what you’ve done, and he still loves you,” jack reassured, speaking words only known to him in his religious past. he knew nothing better than to speak words of faith, its all the tragic creature had left of his humanity.

- “is that supposed to make shit better? he’s still god, and i’m still a killer. his love wont scrub the blood from my hands.”

- “you’re only human.”

- the words that escaped jacks mouth made toby turn his head to face the beast. for a moment, he had forgotten him and the demon weren’t one in the same. he stared.

- “you know, i always seem to forget that. i was just a boy once, before i became this”

- jack stared back through black sockets.

- “you still are. just a boy, i mean.”

- a deep sigh escaped toby, and he noticed the rain had stopped. the night was young and his wounds were patched. he was done here, and it was time to make his leave.

- steadily, he stood up and began to repack his bag as jack stood and watched through his black, dripping sockets. toby weakenly lifted his hatchet from the floor and dragged it behind him as he made his way to the church doors, stepping through the blood-mixed water puddles on the damaged floors.

- “your kind, the proxies. you have always treated me as if i wasnt an abomination. ive always appreciated that,” jack confessed, stopping the leaving boy in his tracks. distance between them was now large, but after tonight, they knew the connection they developed would stay.

- “well, we know another human being when we see one.”

- toby swung his dragging hatchet over his shoulder and made his leave out of the decaying church doors, pushing his limping body.

- jack stood in silence for a moment before he turned around to face that familiar crucifix statue of jesus that stared down at him in disdain. he reached down and picked up a piece of rubble off of the ground, reeling his arm back and chucking it at the head of christ.

- despite everything, jack was still alive. and despite god, he held humanity in his veins.