🩶🌊🌫️

are we all trapped on the stage of forgetting, acting out memories?

[velvettfog]

Hello!

My name is Della, and I write creepypasta fanfics! I am a d1 eyeless jack fan, as well as a couple others! My requests are open!

I will write;

*smut

*angst (with maybe a happy ending. maybe)

*fluff

*etc!

I will NOT write;

*super duper gross kinky dtuff

*anything I don't want

I am mostly inspired by @cryingintheclubdhmu. A lot of my ideas are pinballing off of theirs, so please read their amazing writing!

[velvettfog]

Doodles are on the way .

Aww he grocery shop

[cryingintheclubdhmu]

Hello. It i. I write southern eyeless jack. (So jarring to see someone say "hey have you seen this" and it's MY headcanon and they're mentioning me to my favorite writer🤯)

Your mind.

I’m so fucking moved rn. Do you mind if I did something with that……..

[velvettfog]

Southern Medic Jack arc is best arc

[velvettfog]

Eyeless Jack smut is IN THE DRAFTS. I REPEAT IN THE DRAFTS.

[velvettfog]

Eyeless Jack smut is IN THE DRAFTS. I REPEAT IN THE DRAFTS.

[velvettfog]

Thank You, Baby||Southern Eyeless Jack HCs.

NSWF under the cut!

(in my head, some of the residents are directly connected to the mansion. Jack can come and go as he please. He's more his own lil guy. He has a garden bc he's in the middle of fuckin nowhere, ok? The mansion isn't in a static place either, go into any heavily wooded area. You'll find it<3 Jack himself exists somewhere between Kentucky, Michigan, and Maine.)

Southern! Eyeless Jack who sits on the porch of his clinic, running through both his kit of medicines and bandages, as well as his garden of whatever medicinal plants the forest provides. Yarrow for bleeds, Wild Bergamont for Colds.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who WILL drop in a "Bless Your Heart" when you've gone and done something that makes him genuinely question your intelligence or respect for him.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, with his big medical book he's had since college, alongside the notebook full of records of various injuries creeps have come to him with. The book is overdue from his college library (He owes a LOT in overdue fees).

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who was a Boy Scout, and learned sutures from sewing patches on his vest. He's better now, but you'll still find a proxy with an oddly-healed scar now and again. (He keeps the jacket in his bedroom).

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who can't get to the ACTUAL store to buy rubbing alcohol to sanitize, so he sanitizes his surgical tools in moonshine.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who doesn't accept cash or modern payments for his work. He'll take whatever cuts of raw meat aren't wanted, medicine stolen from local pharmacies or hospitals, or any medicinal plants you can get in the woods that he might not have.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who does NOT appreciate filth being dragged into his clinic. You'll be dragged in on a tarp by your shirt collar before your muddy boots touch the floor. "Boots on the porch, please."

Southern! Eyeless Jack who knows EXACTLY when the rain is coming, and has a running guess on how many creeps will come back with colds, sniffles, and the flu.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who's interpretation of language is stuck just a little vintage. He's not about to call you something rude intentionally, and he knows what words not to say, but you will hear him mutter "groovy" on the rare occasion. He's also has the horrible habit of calling all medications or antibiotics penicillin.

Southern! Eyeless Jack who takes walks through old mineshafts and ridges.

(NSFW below)

NSFW from here on out! (NSFW note; I don't personally write about him being in a rut, as I tend to categorize him more human in his mind. This is also a warning for mentions of alcohol and knife play)

Southern! Eyeless Jack, raised to use his manners. Pleases and thank yous, yes ma'am and no sir. It's why he'll always politely ask to do anything with you, and mumble "thank you, baby" while his face is buried between your legs.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who DOES have a truck and he HAS fucked you in the back of it. Truck also functions as a makeshift ambulance!

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who's really good at tying knots. Tourniquets, bandages, and tying you up so you can't go nowhere. They're nice knots too, all fancy. He leans down, quietly telling you, "Now, don't you go tearin' any of these stitches, darlin'. Stay still now."

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who runs extremely warm, so sleeping completely bare next to him in the winter is a common occurrence. He won't let you get frostbite, externally OR internally (It's why he'll sleep pressed up against your crotch, can't have his baby getting too cold).

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who's all whispers and warm hands with you, but he'll chase you down if you decide to get any sort of attitude with him. He knows the mountains and forests much better than you, and dare it be said he knows you better than you know yourself.

"Swear to fuckin God darlin'. You keep running and I'll have to sew you to this mattress. Won't you just let me tie you down all pretty?"

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who's not the type to drink, but wouldn't mind making you swallow the whiskey in his mouth. He'll kiss you before he swallows every time, before he tilts your head back and lets the burn of the alchohol drip down the back of your throat.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who touches your body to memorize it. He knows every rib, every freckle, every hair on your head. Knows exactly where to put his hands to make you gasp, but really, he prefers to put them where he knows you'll scream.

"C'mon, baby. You don't gotta be quiet, there's nobody else out here. I want you screaming my name loud enough you wake up everything living and dead on this side of the ridge."

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who's fucking you in the same hardwood bed he built right when he turned into what he is. It creaks and groans under the weight of both of you, never breaking. Only thing that's ever need replaced is the headboard.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who's not opposed to dragging a pocket knife or scalpel across the surface of your skin. He'll never cut you, no. He does however love when you're all wide eyed and silent.

Southern Eyeless Jack, who will spend his nights on the porch on the porch swing, with you in his lap. One hand creeping up your shirt, the other mindlessly tapping a rhythm on the arm rest.

Southern! Eyeless Jack giving you a good dicking down for medical purposes<3

I need him like I need water

[velvettfog]

You guys should read this he's SEXY

[velvettfog]

My requests ARE open btw. Send asks. Should I wrote more creeps.

[velvettfog]

southern eyeless jack smut drabble. context: attends to readers wounds. they fuck. you are now his yeah.

HELL YEAH

HELL NAH

Voting ended on11h

[velvettfog]

Thank You, Baby||Southern Eyeless Jack HCs.

NSWF under the cut!

(in my head, some of the residents are directly connected to the mansion. Jack can come and go as he please. He's more his own lil guy. He has a garden bc he's in the middle of fuckin nowhere, ok? The mansion isn't in a static place either, go into any heavily wooded area. You'll find it<3 Jack himself exists somewhere between Kentucky, Michigan, and Maine.)

Southern! Eyeless Jack who sits on the porch of his clinic, running through both his kit of medicines and bandages, as well as his garden of whatever medicinal plants the forest provides. Yarrow for bleeds, Wild Bergamont for Colds.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who WILL drop in a "Bless Your Heart" when you've gone and done something that makes him genuinely question your intelligence or respect for him.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, with his big medical book he's had since college, alongside the notebook full of records of various injuries creeps have come to him with. The book is overdue from his college library (He owes a LOT in overdue fees).

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who was a Boy Scout, and learned sutures from sewing patches on his vest. He's better now, but you'll still find a proxy with an oddly-healed scar now and again. (He keeps the jacket in his bedroom).

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who can't get to the ACTUAL store to buy rubbing alcohol to sanitize, so he sanitizes his surgical tools in moonshine.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who doesn't accept cash or modern payments for his work. He'll take whatever cuts of raw meat aren't wanted, medicine stolen from local pharmacies or hospitals, or any medicinal plants you can get in the woods that he might not have.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who does NOT appreciate filth being dragged into his clinic. You'll be dragged in on a tarp by your shirt collar before your muddy boots touch the floor. "Boots on the porch, please."

Southern! Eyeless Jack who knows EXACTLY when the rain is coming, and has a running guess on how many creeps will come back with colds, sniffles, and the flu.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who's interpretation of language is stuck just a little vintage. He's not about to call you something rude intentionally, and he knows what words not to say, but you will hear him mutter "groovy" on the rare occasion. He's also has the horrible habit of calling all medications or antibiotics penicillin.

Southern! Eyeless Jack who takes walks through old mineshafts and ridges.

(NSFW below)

NSFW from here on out! (NSFW note; I don't personally write about him being in a rut, as I tend to categorize him more human in his mind. This is also a warning for mentions of alcohol and knife play)

Southern! Eyeless Jack, raised to use his manners. Pleases and thank yous, yes ma'am and no sir. It's why he'll always politely ask to do anything with you, and mumble "thank you, baby" while his face is buried between your legs.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who DOES have a truck and he HAS fucked you in the back of it. Truck also functions as a makeshift ambulance!

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who's really good at tying knots. Tourniquets, bandages, and tying you up so you can't go nowhere. They're nice knots too, all fancy. He leans down, quietly telling you, "Now, don't you go tearin' any of these stitches, darlin'. Stay still now."

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who runs extremely warm, so sleeping completely bare next to him in the winter is a common occurrence. He won't let you get frostbite, externally OR internally (It's why he'll sleep pressed up against your crotch, can't have his baby getting too cold).

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who's all whispers and warm hands with you, but he'll chase you down if you decide to get any sort of attitude with him. He knows the mountains and forests much better than you, and dare it be said he knows you better than you know yourself.

"Swear to fuckin God darlin'. You keep running and I'll have to sew you to this mattress. Won't you just let me tie you down all pretty?"

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who's not the type to drink, but wouldn't mind making you swallow the whiskey in his mouth. He'll kiss you before he swallows every time, before he tilts your head back and lets the burn of the alchohol drip down the back of your throat.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who touches your body to memorize it. He knows every rib, every freckle, every hair on your head. Knows exactly where to put his hands to make you gasp, but really, he prefers to put them where he knows you'll scream.

"C'mon, baby. You don't gotta be quiet, there's nobody else out here. I want you screaming my name loud enough you wake up everything living and dead on this side of the ridge."

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who's fucking you in the same hardwood bed he built right when he turned into what he is. It creaks and groans under the weight of both of you, never breaking. Only thing that's ever need replaced is the headboard.

Southern! Eyeless Jack, who's not opposed to dragging a pocket knife or scalpel across the surface of your skin. He'll never cut you, no. He does however love when you're all wide eyed and silent.

Southern Eyeless Jack, who will spend his nights on the porch on the porch swing, with you in his lap. One hand creeping up your shirt, the other mindlessly tapping a rhythm on the arm rest.

Southern! Eyeless Jack giving you a good dicking down for medical purposes<3

I need him like I need water

[velvettfog]

Southern Eyeless Jack to come within the next few days lads. The food service industry I regrettably work for calls me. (I love my job)

[velvettfog]

Do we want more southern eyeless jack...Tennessee Kentucky raised eyeless jack...mm.

[velvettfog]

Welcome Home.

A semblance of home.

You found him first.

October 12th, 1994.

Nine Years.

Nine years since your beloved had gone missing. Nine.

You were in your early 30s now, and you'd never given up searching. You nagged the police department, the county sherrifs, the state troopers. Whoever it took to bring your husband boyfriend home.

You'd kept the ring. Never moved on, despite everyone else's pleas. Cries amany, and years of begging. Family gently trying to nudge you into new dating circles, new friend groups. Suggesting apartments closer to home. You never listened, though. You stayed in your dwelling, far out of state. You weren't sure where his body was, but at least his soul felt closer.

On the anniversary of his death. No, his murder. His rebirth. his disappearance, you walked the college campus you'd known only with him. Walked by where the memorial used to be, a fainted mural on brick walls the only semblance of his existence (besides the permenant pit you felt in your stomach). The paint was faded and chipping, leaving brick-red bruises under his eyes. You shuddered.

Nobody could understand your need to come back. Nobody could understand why you'd want to stay in the same place your lover was slaughtered he killed them first he wouldn't let them take him from you.

You reached the edge of campus.

Heavily wooded and dark. Once a place where the underclassmen partied, drank underage, and generally had the cops called on them. Now? It stood silent, with the whistling wind serving as the only party song.

You stood, silent. It's not like you could yell and he'd hear you. You were grieving, not stupid. Yet you stood, thinking. It was nice in a way. You could think all the thoughts you wanted to tell him, every detail of every day he missed. It usually made you feel better to think, yet today it worsened your mood. You really didn't want to think out loud, didn't want to look crazy. It was a tad late for that though. Walking in the same routine to hang out with your dead lover wasn't really normal behavior.

Slowly, you walked further into the forest, and began to ramble, a low whisper.

"Hi baby. I miss you. It's colder now, I remember you like the cold. It used to feel warm, now it doesn't."

You choked on a sob. You weren't going to go on. That was enough. Maybe somewhere far beyond he'd heard anyways. He always talked about how much he wanted to hear you talk, no matter if it was a lot or a little.

You turned to leave, to walk back to campus. You heard a rustle.

You whipped around, startled. You were frozen.

"...Hello?"

Nobody answered. Right.

You started to walk again. Yet again , you heard a sound. You stopped walking all together, and stood still. You turned around, and took all of three seconds to whip back around and start running.

Whatever had been making that sound was tall, and staring directly at you about a hundred feet off. You sprinted, and screamed, calling out for anyone who might hear. Campers, forest rangers. Nobody. Anybody?

You tripped, too focused on screeching your lungs to death that you didn't look down. In an instant, whatever was chasing you was upon you, and stood over you like a reaper.

It wore a blue mask, with tar dripping down from the eye sockets. Seven feet tall, tail whipping behind. You silently began to plead for your life and whatever afterlife was beyond that.

The creature bent down, you shut your eyes. You felt it reach down, towards your side, into your pocket, then quickly pull back.

What the fuck?

You slowly cranked open an eye. It was holding the ring box. You shook, and your mouth moved before your brain could warn it.

"MY DEAD LOVER BOUGHT THAT FOR ME. DROP IT. PUT IT DOWN."

It turned to look at you once more, and you cursed yourself. Silence, then what could've been considered a whisper? A growl? Whatever it was, it was spoken from this entity.

"i bought this," it pointed towards itself, then gestured back at your form on the ground, "for you."

You sat silent. It continued, "You may not look the same, or feel the same. But you are you. Despite everything, it is still you."

Nine years later, your lover stood. Not the same, different.

It didn't even matter.

Years went by. The forest was your home. You never left. You wouldn't. It took nine years to find your love, your groom. You wouldn't be separated now.

Jack loved you until you died in the forest, passing at his side. Nine years was nothing, only now with an eternity to face without you. Yet, like you staying on campus, he stayed in the forest. Your body may have been gone, skeleton buried. Your soul was still there.

Welcome Home, Jack Nyras and his Bride.

(is now a good time to say I have a creepypasta OC for Jack's spouse...)

[velvettfog]

The world has spoken.

They will reunite.

[velvettfog]

The masses requested to be held after being hurt emotionally (understandable)

Options:

fluff options!!

Reunite + Fluffy dtuff

They're both demons (reader for diff reasons

secret 3rd option.

Voting ended onJun 6

[velvettfog]

500 miles.

he really is far from home.

Jack Nyras, born December 18, 1962.

Lord I'm one.

09/27/1970.

An eight year old Jack, alone again on the playground. One lone child. It saddened him. Was it really so hard for someone to come around? I mean, he was a little shy, a little off putting. He just wants a friend is all. Looking up to see everyone else. Sometimes he wished he wasn't able to see what it looked like to have people in your corner.

Lord I'm two.

01/31/1978.

His other half. You.

Gone were the days of being alone, a solitary confinement for no crime. Once there was one, now there were two. Sixteen years old, full of love. He'd never been more grateful for his eyes. He no longer wanted to embrace the blindness of being alone. He wanted to be able to gaze upon the one he loved most.

Lord I'm three, lord I'm four.

06/01/1981.

Three important things in his life; College, the future, and you. Technically, the future was both of those things. Did he count as part of that? He must. To go to college, there must be a him. There must be a you, and there must be a college. All of those things make a future. Yes, four things. Four things to keep him grounded.

Lord I'm 500 miles.

08/26/19??

He is dead. Jack Nyras, the brilliant, beautiful love of your life. Is dead. Or missing. They can't decide, only estimate from the massacre in the woods, with bodies identified as the people he was with. Was this your lover? Gone?

Did he do this?

...from my home.

03/27/20??

He can't go home. He's never wanted to go home more in his life. He wants to see you. All he can feel is the sorry excuse of tears in his eyes. More of a sap, or a tar. A tar indeed. Hot, burning to skin. A reminder that, despite his original goals, he'll never do more than harm to humanity.

He sits on a rock on the edge of your property. It took him months to walk, to not be spotted. Years have passed by. You've moved on, your spouse wearing the ring Jack saved all of his goddamned money for. Late payments on student loans, begging the landlord for an extension just one more time. He won't make those payments back. Won't be the one dancing with you in your kitchen, coming home after work. Not the one cooking with you, or sleeping next to you. You're an adult now. With a functioning job, household, life. What has he got, besides being a monster?

You'd be disgusted by him, and it made him feel ill.

You'd forgotten.

[velvettfog]

Thinking about writing something...

"lord im 1, lord im 2, lord im 3, lord I'm 4, lord im 500 miles from my home" but it's eyeless jack.

yes...

[velvettfog]

eyeless jack but before the incident.

Jack Nyras, who grew up in a rural town, I like to think Kentucky or Tennessee.

Jack Nyras, who grew up and loved people.

Jack Nyras, who swore he wouldn't leave Reader's side, even after graduation. He follows them to college.

Jack and Reader in their tiny apartment. Reader is doing their work, Jack does his. An artist and scientist. A tiny apartment, with two college kids who hoped for a better life.

Jack Nyras, who left a pot of coffee untouched. Left his breakfast half eaten on the table, laundry on the bed. Letters partially written, med school acceptance letter held to the fridge with a magnet.

Jack Nyras, who promise he'd come back soon, and that he loved you.

Jack Nyras, who didn't come back.

Eyeless Jack, hungry and alone. Surrounded by the wounded. Wounds he'd caused, when the letter on the fridge said he'd swear to heal.

Eyeless Jack, lost by himself. Little idea of who or what he is, but not the same as before.

Eyeless Jack, who knows he can't go home to you.

Eyeless Jack, when all he can see is carnage.

All he can think about is the engagement ring sitting in his nightstand drawer.

The engagement ring you'll find, pocket, and use to propose to your spouse after you've moved on. Tried to, at least.