hello everynyan... idk what to put tbh lmao. erm welcome to my stupid sideblog ^^ main is @vermillionmars so if you see it in ur notifs,, uhh that's me. hi. IF you know me no you don't thank you!!
notice that all of my reader inserts are nb/gender neutral unless specified otherwise :3 i will write and post once in a blue moon don't count on me for much. feel free to send or ask me things i do not mind!! okay byee
letting the world know that i am writing... very slowly but i will get there eventually lmao. anyway in the meantime if u wanna request smth feel free.... otherwise u will see me again in uhhh... an undisclosed amount of time
note: uhh mentions of violence and murder bc habit is The Worst
In the back of your mind, you are always aware that you should be scared of him. When he smiles it's all too wide, his canines too sharp for any human. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he went through the effort of shaving down his teeth to give them that sharp, dangerous look. His eyes seem to glow purple in the dark of the night, and his voice has an unnatural quality to it that you can't quite explain, but leaves you shaking in your boots nonetheless.
You've been warned of him before. Who you assume is his friend, or something of the sort, has advised you to keep your distance. He said you were unfortunate enough to get yourself dragged into this mess, and before you get any more involved you should run as far away as you can. But you didn't listen. It wasn't that you didn't believe him—sometimes, when the man who called himself HABIT would visit you at your house, he'd be covered in blood, and reeking of death. He'd never explain why, just grin and push through your door like he owned the place, and with your impassivity in regards to his behavior, hell, perhaps he did. When you called him on the phone you could often hear screams in the background, people begging and crying for their lives. His knife collection is a tad too alarming in quantity, and you don't think any normal person would name them all.
All that to say, it wouldn't be inaccurate to call you purposefully ignorant. He knows you're aware of him—that's why he doesn't hide it. Well, maybe he would never hide it in the first place. Regardless, he presents himself to you bloodied and raw, with no fabrications or made-up stories. If you honestly asked him what he's up to, you suspect he'd give you a clear cut answer, not even worrying you'd react negatively. And you wouldn't, is the worst part. Humans tend to have a "what's it matter if it's not happening to me?" mindset, and you're no different. After all, it's not your unconscious body HABIT's dragging down into the basement.
In truth you know that if the man—demon? Whatever he was—ever got bored of you, he'd cut you up and throw your body into a lake, or something along those lines. Sometimes when you're sitting on the couch and cozied up beside him, and his eyes meet yours, you get the feeling you're going to be eaten. His gaze is too sharp and hungry, akin to a predator sizing up his next meal. If he wanted to, he could very well end your life if an instant. You don't think he'll actually go through with it, though. He's joked (you hope it was just jokes, at least) and teased you with the idea several times before, but never once has he sunk his teeth into your skin and ripped out your flesh.
He must like your company to some degree. He doesn't shoo you away when he's sharpening his knives, or tie you to chairs while he goes and, assumedly, stabs some poor soul locked in another room of his house. He plays games with you and talks your ear off, like a normal human companion would do. Sure, his grip on your hands might be just a tad too tight, but the fact remains that he is still holding your hand and leaning closer to you. You think that counts for something.
You enjoy being around him, too. He's funny and he makes you laugh, and yes his idea of a fun time might be 'listen to the guy I have trapped in my basement scream' but when it brings such a charming—and scary—smile to his face who are you to disagree? You didn't know any of the people he tortured, so what did their deaths even matter? If anything, maybe it was their fault for pissing him off. Plus, he gives you little trinkets—looted from his victims, naturally, but finders keepers. He says they remind him of you, or another line similar to that, and against all better judgment you melt.
So no, you're not too scared of him, nor are you too worried for your safety at the moment. It's probable (and likely) that, come a few months time or even less, he'll change his tune and you'll be just another body added to his count (the deadly one, that is). When the monster with the pretty face grows bored of you, then you can allow yourself to be frightened of his sharp teeth and glowing eyes. But for now, as you watch him play some game on the TV, you find that you are perfectly okay with the situation.
short kate drabble that’s been in my head for a minute
Her body is cold, dead in every way except literally. She used to be so warm, enough so to act as your personal heater in the winter nights when you stayed over at her place. Now, she is almost cold to the touch.
You turn and snuggle closer to her, and she responds by pulling you into her. She makes some sort of hiss, which you interpret to mean she's content.
You remember how beautiful her voice was. The way she would call out to you as you and CR ventured through the woods and left her in the dust. She'd call you out for leaving her behind, but truthfully you just found her flustered face quite pretty. After that thing took her, she's been incapable of speech. She can try, but it never comes out as anything comprehensible.
She communicates in other ways. Though the both of you are trying (keyword) to learn sign, it's a challenge and it only seems to frustrate Kate when it fails. But she leaves you notes. Letters and drawings expressing her feelings or starting conversation. It's inconvenient, but it works.
You can't really take her out in public. Her mask is frankly terrifying to the average person, and her burned face under it would probably be even scarier to most. You don't agree with that, but you know no one else will find her as gorgeous as you do, with her scarring. It's nothing for her to be ashamed of, but still she is and shies away from showing herself in public.
You wish it were different. It isn't.
But despite her differences, she's still the same girl. She is still your best friend, and you still love her with all your heart. Even though she doesn't make as good of a cuddle partner anymore, and can't whisper sweet nothings in your ear, you don't think you'd have her any other way.
you meet a strange man at work. in other news, you get super sick and decide to do something about it.
A few days had passed since your journey to Rosswood Hospital. Though you had no further encounters with that faceless thing, you had begun experiencing semi-frequent memory loss.
Things started out small. It began with you unable to remember what you had ate yesterday, which wasn't that unusual. It's not like that was important, and you had more pressing matters occupying your brain—like Slenderman, for instance. So you paid it no mind.
But after that, you slowly started forgetting other things—things you shouldn't have simply forgotten. You couldn't remember several hours of your days, random chunks of time that seemingly had no connection to each other. Sometimes, you would 'wake up' in the middle of performing an action, only to discover you had no clue what you'd been doing for the past few hours. You'd find yourself in the middle of scribbling something on a paper, or frantically digging through your belongings like a madman. You knew it had all escalated to a severe point when you found yourself unable to recall entire days of your life.
You had read about this, though. Memory loss was common for those who had been in contact with the Slenderman, and you had been damn near face-to-face with it. Realistically, you knew there was probably nothing a doctor could do to treat you. It was tied to something supernatural, or whatever that thing counted as, after all. An illness like this didn't go away with a few pills and tonics.
But you obviously couldn't live like this. If you forgot an entire day, who's to say you wouldn't start forgetting weeks, or even months of your life? To call that incredibly concerning would be understating it. You needed a solution, something to combat your failing memory. Something that would show you all you couldn't remember. You glanced at your desk drawer and had an idea.
That would wait until later though. You had work today, which you were grateful was the morning shift. If you had to walk there at night, by yourself, you probably would've just called out and prayed you wouldn't get fired for it. You pocketed your phone and opened your desk drawer. You grabbed the little device inside it and shoved it into a bag to take care of it after your shift.
You made triple sure your doors and windows were locked before you left the house, although you weren't sure what exactly it was that you were scared of happening. Was Slenderman going to break into your house and steal your valuables? Unlikely. Still, the paranoia got to you.
It probably had cronies it could send after you. You wouldn't doubt it. And regardless, people were often scarier than evil creatures. You could deal with headaches and coughing, but someone stalking or attacking you was an entirely different story. So, better safe than sorry. You pulled at your doorknob and twisted a few times, and when the door didn't budge you knew it was for certain locked.
Being without a car was a truly awful feeling. Your poor feet hurt from having to walk everywhere, since more often that not, Max was at work all day and couldn't give you a ride. You had no one else to call on for help, really—the few friends you had besides him you weren't close to, and hadn't spoken to in weeks or months.
Regardless, you had a job to do and you were expected to be there at 7 AM sharp. Thankfully, the convenience store you worked at was just around the block, and you didn't have to walk too far to get there. It just meant your feet were sore by the time you got there, and would only get worse when you had to stand behind the counter all day and wait for customers.
Your shift would end at 3 PM, and your replacement would relieve you of your duties. That meant you had eight hours to spend on the clock, bored out of your mind. Typically, you'd get one or two customers at a time, in half hour intervals. Then, you'd be left to your lonesome until the next patron. It was dull and repetitive work, but it was easy. You got to work and opened up for the day. You checked that everything was in stock and there were no messes that didn't get cleaned last night. Honestly, you wished there were, so you'd have something to do, but alas everything was clean and sparkly.
The time passed as slowly as always. When you weren't selling older men alcohol or cigarettes, you were ringing up a child and their mom who was telling them to put their mountain of candy back in the shelves. You made light conversation with them all, as was expected of you. You recognized most everyone who stopped by. You'd lived here your entire life, and the general area wasn't too large. At some point, even if you didn't know their name, you'd probably remember just about everyone's faces.
Though the store was rather dead today, you were not allowed to sleep on the clock. To keep yourself awake for the last hour of your shift, you played some block puzzle game on your phone and tried not to focus on the agonizingly slow hands of the clock.
Oh, look at that—you'd beaten your highscore. You smiled at your small victory. Another round or three and the sound of the door opening got you out of your game. In walked a man, average in stature and slim. You gave him a friendly "hello!" in your best customer service voice, which he paid no mind to. He kept his head down, walking down the aisles like a man on a mission. You turned your attention back to your phone, tapping away at the screen. Soon, your shift would be over, so this was probably your last customer of the day.
The man threw his items onto the counter. He had a bag of chips and a small stick of beef jerky. "Will that be all?" You asked.
He shook his head. "A pack of Malboros."
"ID?" You prompted. The man grumbled but fished out his wallet. He showed you his driver's license. Tobias Robinson, born 04/28/2004. You hummed in acknowledgment and grabbed the cigarettes for him.
Scanning the items, you took in his appearance. He had a soft face, not quite circular but rounded in places. His eyes, however, were dark and sharp. They stared at you with an uncomfortable intensity. His dark brown hair fell into his eyes almost, in a side swept fringe. The lower half of his face was covered with a medical mask—the kind people wore to prevent getting themselves or other people sick. You noticed that in his ID photo, he was also wearing the mask.
You rang him up and gave him his total. He handed you a wad of cash, not even bothering to count the money. You grimaced but did your job and gave him the proper amount of change back. "Would you like a bag for that, sir?" He nodded and you packed his stuff up for him. You wished him a good day as he exited, though he didn't say anything in response.
You wondered if the guy was just rude or awkward. Regardless, he was gone now and you could go back to playing on your phone while you waited for the clock to change hours and free you from your duties.
You were right about him being your last customer. No one else came in, so it was just you all by your lonesome. You were somewhat tempted to steal some candy from the store, but you'd get caught with all of the surveillance cameras around. As much as you were bored, you also didn't want to get fired. Shame.
It was a joyous moment when you saw your coworker step through the door. You were quick to jump around the counter, slinging on your bag, and greet her. She teased you for being so eager to leave, but you could care less. You didn't want to be at this monotonous job for any longer.
You said goodbye to your coworker and stepped outside. Now that work was over with, you could go run your little errand for the day. You adjusted the strap of the bag you had slung around your shoulder, patting it down to ensure its contents was still inside. It would've been really annoying if you had to go back inside and grab it because you forgot it at work, or god forbid you'd lost it along the way. Thankfully, you hadn't, and all was well.
You nodded to yourself and turned the corner. Your destination in mind, you were intent on getting that as soon as possible. However, you stopped in your tracks before you could get far. Leaning against the wall of the convenience store, gaze to the ground and picking at his bag of potato chips, was the man from earlier. It hadn't actually been long since he purchased his items, so it wasn't too crazy to see him still hanging around, but most of the time customers didn't stand outside and eat their food like he was. If anything, they'd just loiter in their car for a few minutes.
You called out to the man—Tobias, was it?—and he somewhat startled, looking up at you curiously. "Hey! What are you doing out here?" Your tone was light, conversational, but with the way his narrow eyes grew wide, you'd think you'd just threatened him. His head twitched briefly. "I'm sorry for scaring you," you said in response, thinking he'd been frightened by your arrival.
The man was quiet. In the silence, you watched the way his hands shook periodically. Perhaps he was cold, but he was wearing a heavy jacket and it was seventy degrees out. "You didn't," he said. "S-scare me, I mean."
"Oh, alright."
Silence again. You were just about ready to leave him alone and go about your day, but then he spoke up again. "I'm just waiting for my ride," he answered your question.
"I see… Do you need to call someone?" You asked, noticing his lack of a phone. The only thing he seemed to be carrying with him was the chips, beef jerky, and cigarette box he bought, all of which were stuffed into his jacket's pockets. Really, he should've gotten a bag for it all.
The man declined your offer instantly. "No, I'm fine. He'll be here soon."
"Are you sure?" You prodded. "You've been out for a little while, haven't you? It's not really safe to be alone outside, kid." This street wasn't particularly known for its high crime-rate or anything, but for a guy like him, who was scrawny and didn't appear to be carrying any weapon, you worried he'd get jumped. Hell, you were always looking over your shoulders, worried someone would attack you, even while you were out in broad daylight, and in the busiest areas. That was likely caused by the newfound feeling of unease you got whenever you stepped outside your house, though.
The man's eye twitched, and in turn his head jerked to the side slightly before locking back in place. "Not a kid," he snarled. It was the first real emotion you'd heard from him. "You saw my ID. You suh–sold me cigs. And I can protect myself."
You blinked, a little off-put by his sudden hostility. "My bad. You're right, and I'm sure you can defend yourself—" you lied, "—but if you'd like I can stay with you until your ride gets here."
He stared at you, but didn't refuse. Truthfully, he wasn't that much younger than you, only a few years, but his behavior screamed angsty teen to you—even though he was apparently just old enough to smoke and drink. He had a vibe to him that made you feel sympathetic towards him somehow. You weren't sure what it was, but something about seeing him standing by himself, in the heat while probably sweating his ass off in that jacket made you almost pity him. It certainly helped that he was kind of cute, too. So, you kicked one foot up on the wall and crossed your hands behind your back, waiting patiently for the man's ride.
Minutes passed. The two of you stood without saying a word to each other. You checked the time on your phone every now and then, and eventually fifteen minutes had gone by since your shift ended. The man's ride had yet to arrive.
He groaned loudly, obviously frustrated. Then his eyes met yours, asking an unspoken question. You gave him a kind smile and handed your phone to him. He grumbled out a 'thanks' and dialed a number.
After a few rings, the person on the other end picked up. "Where the hell are you?" The boy beside you hissed. A moment went by. "Seriously? Ugh, whatever." You heard him whisper something like 'I got that beef jerky for you, asshole' under his breath and resisted the urge to laugh. After apparently getting into an argument with his presumed friend, he hung up and gave the phone back to you. "He said he couldn't get me anymore." He scowled, satisfying your nosy curiosity.
"I can walk you home," you said. "I've got things to do before I go back to my place, anyways."
He seemed to consider it for a minute. "'Walk?' You don't have a ca–car?"
You laughed stiltedly. "Ah, yeah. Well, I did but I lost it."
Luckily, he didn't question how one 'loses' a car. He huffed. "I guess you can come with me."
You smiled and stood next to him as he walked down the sidewalk. "So where do you live? Are you new here? I don't think I've seen you before, and this city's not that big."
"Uh, not too far," he looked away. "And–and yeah. I moved in with my uh—with my friends a bit ago."
"Cool," you chirped. You assumed that one of his housemates was the guy he called. "I've lived here my whole life. It gets kind of boring after a while, you know? It's nice to see new faces."
"Does it?" He asked. You blinked, not really expecting the question.
"Uh, yeah, I mean… there's not much to do around here and after a while you kinda get to know everyone, haha." He hummed. Changing the topic, you introduced yourself. "I'm [Y/n], by the way."
He stared at your outstretched hand. Hesitantly, he took it and gave it a shake. "…Toby." He replied, though you technically already knew that from his ID.
You talked with Toby as he led you to his place. He didn't speak much, and when he did his voice was barely above a whisper. You didn't think you were upsetting him or anything, you got the feeling that was just how he was. Toby's house was a bit of a walk from the convenience store. You asked him if he'd walked all the way here or if he'd hitched a ride, and he replied that he had. His friend was at work, apparently, but was supposed to have been getting off around the same time as you had. Evidently, something prevented that, hence why Toby was now standing with you, trudging down the streets to get back home.
The direction Toby was going in eventually ended up at the woods. You knew this, since it was your hometown, and you pointed this out. "Hey, I think you're going the wrong way," you said. "Don't worry, every street looks the same at first."
But Toby shook his head. "I know where I'm go–going," he claimed. You gave him a suspicious look. "That's where I live." He pointed past the trees.
"The woods?"
"No, i-in the woods," he clarified, "There's a cabin fur-further back."
"Oh, I see," you nodded. "Do you want me to walk you the rest of the way there…?"
He kept his head low, and it jerked to the side before he spoke again. "No, it's—" he cut himself off abruptly, leaving you confused. You went to ask him what was wrong, but then his voice came back higher, louder than you'd heard him for most of the day. "It's fine—" and before he could get the last word out, he made a high-pitched, almost chirping sound.
You blinked. He slapped his hand to his mouth—or, well, his mask—and briefly made eye contact with you. When he saw your taken aback expression, he turned tail and fled into the trees. He ran so fast you almost didn't even see him.
When you had spent enough time registering the scene you'd witnessed, you made an effort to call him back out. "Toby!" But he had already made it far enough out of your grasp.
You sighed. Well, you probably weren't going to be seeing him anytime soon. His reaction struck you as odd—sure, you hadn't been expecting the sudden noise, but you weren't going to judge him for it. He looked like he was expecting you to do something, though what was a mystery, and had vanished before you could possibly do that.
You decided to move on from that and run your little errand. Honestly, you shouldn't have went with Toby on his way home, and you probably wouldn't have if you'd known how far away it was. Regardless, your tired, aching feet would make the journey downtown.
The repair shop was nestled in-between a hardware store and an electronics shop, which was very convenient in some cases. You'd never honestly been here before—you liked tech and all, but you weren't the biggest geek about it, and you took well enough care of your devices that you didn't need to get anything repaired. Stepping inside, you felt almost like a fish out of water.
The man running the place greeted you. Devices and other electronics lined the walls, and the whole building had a bland, metallic sort-of look to it. You gave him an awkward wave and fished your camera out of your bag.
"Do you think you could fix this? The lens is all messed up."
The man held it in his hands carefully and looked it over. "Whoo," he whistled, "'messed up' is one way to put it. How'd you bust it up this bad?"
"I dropped it off a cliff while hiking. I didn't have it on its strap and then it just slipped out of my hands," you lied.
He nodded in sympathy. "It happens." After a few more minutes of inspecting the camera, he set it back down. "I can fix it, but it'll take a few weeks."
"A few weeks?" You parroted, biting your lips.
"Yeah. Gotta order the parts and all, you know how it goes." He clearly saw your troubled expression and frowned. "I mean, unless you have the parts yourself, all we can do is wait."
You needed that camera now though. If you could record your life, you'd know what happens to you while you're going through your bouts of memory loss. But you also couldn't really afford a new camera, and Max sure wouldn't let you have his other one knowing what had happened to the previous one he lent you. With no other option, you nodded and accepted your fate.
The man gave you a quote of a couple hundred dollars, which was ridiculous in your opinion, and you left, cameraless and downtrodden.
It was still daylight out, so you took a stroll around the street. You began to think of alternatives to the camera idea, something you could do in the meantime to help with your partial amnesia. You didn't have security cameras, although maybe you should get some installed, so that was out of the picture. Maybe you could record your day-to-day on your phone, but you'd run out of storage fast and it would die even sooner.
Perhaps you could keep some sort of log? If you wrote down your day, like a teenager writing in their diary, you could keep track of what you'd done whenever you started to forget. It wasn't ideal, but it would work for now.
Humming to yourself, you stopped by a store and picked up a journal and some pens. The journal was sleek black, with a lock. You set the four digit combination to your birthday. Admittedly, it was not the most secure password, but you figured it would be fine.
As soon as you had made your purchase, you took to recording the events of the day so far. There wasn't too much that had happened, but still. Today I went to work… blah blah blah… Met a guy named Toby. Walked him to his house (kind of). Sent my camera in for repairs. Bought this journal. You smiled, pleased.
Once you returned home, you stuffed the thing inside the drawer of your bedside table. You supposed if you wanted to, you could also use it as a dream journal, so having it so easily accessible was a good idea in your book. Before you allowed yourself to settle down for the rest of the day, you checked your house for anything strange. There was seemingly nothing, until you realized your bedroom window was slightly ajar. You never once opened it, since there was little reason to, and you knew you had ensured it was shut before you left the house.
You gulped, shut it back, and then proceeded to cough violently as static filled your head. You gasped and clutched your chest, but you continued to hack on the carpeted floor. Your hand instinctively went up to your mouth to wipe off the new liquid that dripped from it. Blood, of course—just your luck. You felt lightheaded. Maybe it was the blood loss, or the ringing in your ears. Either way, you were down and out in an instant.
