jk jk, i’m a writer, more so on ao3 but im not really into the fandoms i used to write for (#orphan-account lol) so im switching over to tumblr!!!!
i’ll write for creepypasta/marble hornets, mha, bandom, … yeah that’s really it but i’m not against suggestions, i may be familiar with some ships you recommend! don’t be shy to reach out i swear i won’t eat you.
i am completely comfortable writing rpf, angst, blah blah blah, but i will not write incest or age gap stuff, like 8 x 20… eugh..
however if i happen to be slipped a doordash gift card in my pocket i’m not necessarily against writing dubious consent… maybe even noncon.. 👀
but anyways, thanks for reading and i will get to writing soon!!!
divider by thecutestgrotto
MASTERLIST
Creepypasta/MH
When the Fog Settles (Ticci Toby x Fem!Reader) ONGOING SERIES
This is Part 2 of an ongoing series. Click here for the first! Ticci Toby x fem!reader — established relationship. And again, barely proofread </3
Word Count: 3.9k
After meeting an almost familiar boy in the woods, you find yourself unexpectedly following him through town
You couldn’t speak, you were almost shocked by the way you reacted. You had to convince yourself of normalcy. This is just some random guy, it’s a coincidence you met, this is nothing other than an ordinary interaction between two ordinary people.
Your throat had tightened before you even realized it, words piling together in your head with nowhere to go.
The stranger shifted his weight, glancing toward the stream as though giving you an opportunity to leave if you wanted to. The sunlight caught his eyes, they looked soft this way, yet he almost seemed scared in the way he suddenly avoided your gaze.
“I…” he started again, rubbing the back of his neck. “S-Sorry. I didn’t mean t-t-to f-fr-f-f….” he cut himself off. “I didn’t mean to s-scare you.”
There it was again. That voice. Soft, hesitant, like every sentence had to fight its way out. You searched his face, hoping recognition would suddenly strike you. It didn’t, not completely.
Instead, it came in fragments. A laugh carried across a summer field. Mud caked on a pair of worn sneakers. The sound of someone calling your name from somewhere between the trees.
Your head began to ache.
“…Do I know you?” you finally managed.
His eyes met yours for only a moment before dropping to the ground. “I don’t think…” He frowned. “I think we juh-just met.” Silence settled between you.
The stream gurgled over smooth stones, blissfully unaware of the tension hanging in the air. You folded your arms, more for comfort than anything.
“I used to come here every summer,” you said carefully. “When I was little.”
A small nod. “I know.” Your stomach tightened.
“…What?”
He looked almost surprised by the question. “O-oh I meant th-that I un-understood what you s-s… Sorry. I know I’m being ruh-really weird. I just… You…” his sentence ended frustrated, his voice almost lost beneath the rustling leaves.
A breeze stirred the branches overhead, sending flecks of sunlight dancing across the creek. Somewhere farther into the woods, a crow called once before everything fell quiet again.
Too quiet. You glanced around the trail, there should’ve been birds. Squirrels. Something.
Instead, it felt as though the forest itself had paused to listen. When you looked back, the stranger had noticed it too. His shoulders stiffened. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, he was staring somewhere over your shoulder.
“…We should probably get off the trail.”
You turned instinctively, but nothing stood behind you. Just the winding path disappearing into the trees.
When you faced him again, his expression had changed. It wasn’t quite fearful, more… worried?
As though he’d noticed something he desperately hoped you hadn’t.
“What? Why?” You started before coming to a realization, “I don’t even know you, not your name or where you’re from.” You were cut off before you could continue.
His eyes widened as you spoke, stumbling over his previous words in his mind. “No, wait, tha-that’s not what I meant. Well ih-i-it is what I meant, I worded it wrong—I meant, I’d l-like to…” He paused, as if he didn’t know what he was going to say before he blurted something out. “…to… bring you s-somewhere—no, wait, fuck! th-that s-s-sounds worse.”
He groaned in frustration, covering his eyes with his right hand and waiting for you to tell him he’s a creep, that he should get away from you, and that—
“Uh-I would like that. To go out, I mean.” You offered a reassuring smile after having cut him off from his spiraling thoughts, taking a half step forward, still a decent distance between you two.
His hands dropped slowly from his face. For a moment, he just stared at you like he hadn’t processed what you said correctly.
“…W-what?”
You gave a small shrug, suddenly more aware of how loud the forest had gotten again. The birds had started up somewhere in the distance, uneven and scattered, like they were unsure whether it was safe to return.
“I said yeah,” you repeated, quieter this time. “I would… like to go out.”
His mouth opened slightly, Tthen closed, then opened again like his brain was trying to catch up to reality.
“…You’re not—” he started, then immediately shook his head. “N-never mind. Sorry. I just—” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair in a way that looked more like confusion than relief. “I didn’t think you’d say yes.” That part came out more honest than anything else.
You shifted your weight, watching him carefully.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
He hesitated again.
And for a second, something flickered across his face—something you couldn’t quite place. Not fear exactly. More like warning, like he’d stepped too close to something fragile and wasn’t sure how to stand without breaking it.
“People usually d-don’t indulge.” he said simply.
The words sat between you for a moment longer than they should’ve, than you’d have liked them to. But of course awkwardness is part of human nature, you supposed.
You glanced past him, toward the trees. The trail looked normal again. Almost annoyingly normal. Sunlight filtering through leaves, wind moving through tall grass, a world that didn’t feel like it had just shifted under your feet.
When you looked back, he was still watching you. Like he was waiting for you to change your mind.
“…Okay,” you said slowly, trying to soften the silence. “Then where were you going to take me?”
That seemed to catch him off guard again. He blinked.
“I—uh.” He faltered. “…There’s a place,” he said finally. “Not far. Just… suhh-suh-somewhere I go sometimes.”
You studied him for a second. “You’re really bad at explaining things.”
That earned a small, breathless laugh from him—short, surprised, almost disbelieving. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I know.”
The tension between you loosened slightly after that, not gone, but less sharp. He glanced toward the trees again, then back to you. “Are you—are you sure y-you still wuh-want to?” he asked, quieter now.
You should’ve said no. Some part of you, deep and instinctive, knew that. But instead, you stepped forward again, not close, just closer than before.
“Yeah,” you said. “I’m sure.”
He went quiet. For a long moment, he just looked at you like he was trying to memorize the answer before it disappeared. He swallowed, watching you stare back at him quietly for a few beats too long.
Then he nodded once.
“…Okay.”
He turned slightly, gesturing down the trail. “This way.”
And you followed. At first, it was easy. Footsteps against dirt, the sound of leaves shifting overhead. Normal things. Safe things. But the further you walked, the quieter everything else became. No birds. No wind. Even the creek you had been sitting by earlier sounded like it was miles away now, instead of minutes.
You noticed he wasn’t talking anymore. Just walking, straight ahead. Despite familiarizing yourself with him briefly along the way, sharing names, making small talk and telling him about yourself, you felt this pestering unease looming over you.
After a while, you couldn’t help but ask him something, he wasn’t one to talk much about himself.
“…Do you come out here a lot?” you asked.
He didn’t answer immediately. “Sometimes.”
“Why?” You hummed, just mindlessly letting conversation flow.
“Well. Err.. I guess it quiets my head.” He responded softly, like he was letting you in on a secret you weren’t supposed to know.
You brushed it off as nervousness, now matching his pace as you walked side by side. Remembering landmarks as you did so, ‘just incase’ you told yourself. Though you knew you were walking out of the trail, toward the town.
“So.. How long h-hah-have you b-been here? I say ‘been’ because I don’t r-recognize you, guh-guessing you’re n-new to town.” He elaborated, glancing once or twice at you, his right arm jerking up sharply. You didn’t comment on it, but the motion oddly resonated with your memory of this place.
“You guess right, I’m visiting family.” For whatever reason, you felt more inclined to keep talking, “Well, okay, I once lived here, I was a kid. Moved away probably during… Middle school? I dunno, it’s all a blur now.”
Toby’s step faltered—just barely, just enough that you noticed the rhythm of his shoes on gravel skip a beat.
“Middle school,” he repeated, like he was testing the words in his mouth. “That’s… that’s a while ago.”
“Yeah. Feels like a different life.” You laughed a little, though it came out thinner than you meant it to. “I barely remember most of it, honestly. Just flashes. This town, though—it’s weird. Walking through it again, it’s like my body remembers before my brain does. I keep looking at street corners expecting things to be there that aren’t.”
“Like what?”
You glanced at him. He was staring straight ahead again, jaw tight, that same stillness from before settling over him like a held breath.
“I don’t know. I mean it’s… There’s this specific dream I have. A blue house. There was a blue house somewhere around here, with this crooked mailbox. Stupid, right?”
Toby didn’t answer for a few seconds.
“It got repainted,” he said finally. “Couple years back. It’s yellow now.”
You slowed your walking pace.
He kept going for two more steps before he realized, then turned, and even with his back turned to you, you swore you could feel him wince, like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to.
“How would you know that?” you asked. Not accusing, honestly, genuinely confused. “I didn’t even tell you which street.”
“I—” His arm jerked, hard this time, elbow cracking against his side. “I j-just meant, uh. Small town. Everyone kind of knows everyone’s houses. Th-That’s all.”
It was a reasonable enough explanation. You almost let it go, almost.
But there was something in the way he’d said it. Too fast, too smooth on the words themselves even with the stutter riding underneath them, like he’d had the sentence ready before you’d even finished asking. Like he’d rehearsed being unbothered.
You decided not to push it. Not out here, anyway, on a dirt path with trees pressing in on either side and nobody around for what might’ve been miles. You weren’t scared, exactly. Toby didn’t feel dangerous—if anything he felt familiar, like something that would provide comfort, not something that would hurt you on purpose. But that unease was still there, curled low in your stomach, and it didn’t loosen even when the tree line broke and the first buildings of downtown came into view.
“Hey,” you said, mostly to fill the silence, somewhat to watch his reaction. “You hungry? I still want take up that offer of yours.”
He looked at you like you’d offered him something he hadn’t let himself want in a long time. “There’s a diner,” he said. “Uh, Rosie’s. It’s still—it’s still there. If you wanted.”
“Rosie’s.” The name landed somewhere familiar, tugging at the edge of memory like a fishhook. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I remember that.”
“You would,” he murmured, so quiet you almost missed it, and when you looked at him he was already walking again, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pocket, refusing to meet your eyes.
The diner hadn’t changed much from memory—that was the first thing you noticed. The same cracked red vinyl booths, the same bell over the door that gave a tired little jingle when Toby held it open for you. There was a warmth to the place that had nothing to do with the kitchen oven being on high, something worn-in and lived-in, and for a second the unease in your chest loosened just slightly.
Toby picked the booth in the back corner, the one half-hidden from the windows. You didn’t think much of it until you sat down across from him and realized he’d angled himself so his back was to the wall, eyes on the door. Habit, maybe. Or something else.
A waitress came by—older woman, tired eyes, name tag that said “DEB”—and took your orders without much fuss. Coffee for both of you. Pancakes for you, eggs for him, though he barely glanced at the menu before ordering, like he already knew what he wanted before he sat down.
“You come here a lot too?” you asked, tracing a finger along a scratch in the table’s laminate.
“Sometimes.” Same answer as before, same quiet, careful way of saying it. “It’s good. The pancakes. You’ll like ’em.”
“How do you know I like pancakes?” You mused, trying to break down the wall of awkwardness between you two.
He froze. Just for a second, just a flicker, but you caught it—the way his fork stilled halfway to rearranging the napkin dispenser, the way his shoulders went rigid under his hoodie.
“Lucky guess,” he said. “Everyone likes pancakes.”
You let it sit between you, watching him not-quite-look at you, and decided to try something different.
“So what’s your deal, Toby?” You said it light, teasing, the kind of question you’d ask any stranger to keep a conversation moving. “You live here your whole life?”
“Pretty much.” A beat. “Never really left. Guh—guess I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
“No family somewhere else? No reason to get out of this town?”
Something crossed his face—you couldn’t place it, gone too fast, but it looked almost like grief. “Nah. Just me. Just… this place.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“It is.” He said it so plainly, so immediately, that it surprised you both. He blinked, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, and busied himself with the napkin dispenser again, straightening it for the third time. “S-sorry. That’s—that was a depressing thing to say.”
“No, it’s okay.” You meant it. There was something disarming about the honesty, raw and unguarded in a way that didn’t match the careful, clipped way he’d been talking before. “I get it. I mean—not exactly, but. I moved around a lot after we left here. Never really stuck anywhere long enough to call it home again.”
“You didn’t st-stay in contact with anyone? From before?”
“No.” You frowned, turning your coffee cup slowly on its saucer. “It’s actually kind of a sore spot, honestly. My parents just—packed up and left. Didn’t really give me a chance to say bye to anyone, or get numbers, addresses, anything. One day I just wasn’t here anymore. I used to wonder about it a lot. If anyone even noticed I was gone.”You said it lightly, like an old joke you’d worn smooth with retelling, but when you looked up, Toby wasn’t looking at you like it was a joke at all.
He was looking at you like you’d said something that hurt him.
“I’m sure people noticed,” he said, voice low, rough at the edges. “I’m sure someone… noticed.” The way he said it, the weight he put behind the word someone, made the hair on your arms stand up. You opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but Deb arrived with the food just then, sliding plates across the table, and the moment slipped away before you could catch it.
You ate in a strange sort of quiet after that. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but heavy, like there was a conversation happening underneath the one you were actually having, one you weren’t quite privy to. Toby picked at his eggs more than he ate them, watching you in glances he probably thought you didn’t notice—the way your hands moved when you talked, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, small things, things a stranger wouldn’t care to catalogue.
“This is really good, actually,” you said around a mouthful of pancake, trying to break the strange tension. “You were right.”
“Told you.” A ghost of a smile, there and gone. “You used to—” He stopped himself, jaw working like he was chewing on the rest of the sentence, deciding whether to let it out.
“Used to what?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“No, come on, you can’t just stop there.” You leaned forward slightly, more curious than annoyed. “Used to what, Toby?”
He was quiet for a long moment, staring down at his eggs like they held the answer to a question far bigger than the one you’d asked.
“You just—you seem like someone who’d like maple syrup more than butter,” he finally said. Clumsy. Obviously not what he’d meant to say. “That’s all.”
You didn’t believe him. Not even a little. But you also didn’t know how to call it out without sounding paranoid, without turning a nice breakfast… technically brunch, into an interrogation over a feeling you couldn’t even name yet. So you let it go again, filing it away with the yellow house and the pancakes and the way he said someone noticed like it meant something specific.
The rest of the meal passed easier, at least on the surface. You told him more about your life now—college, your major, the roommate who left dishes in the sink for weeks at a time. He listened with a kind of rapt attention that most people didn’t bother giving strangers, nodding along, asking small questions, careful questions, like he was trying to map something in his head. In turn, he told you little pieces of himself—that he liked finding things, that he didn’t sleep much, that he’d been the one to save this diner from a rumor of closing down a few years back by “just, uh, m-making sure some stuff worked out.” He was vague about that last part, and ofcourse, you didn’t push.
By the time Deb came around with the check, the sun outside had shifted, afternoon leaning into evening, gray clouds thickening along the horizon like a held breath.
“I should probably head back,” you said, digging in your bag for your wallet. “My aunt’s gonna wonder where I ran off to.”
“Yeah. ‘Course.” Toby’s voice had gone quieter again, that careful stillness returning to his shoulders. He insisted on paying, waving off your protests with a jerky motion of his hand, and you let him, mostly because arguing felt like more effort than it was worth. Though you did slip a ten dollar bill along with his cash, snagging his own before he could notice.
Outside, the air had turned colder, damp with the promise of fog rolling in off the fields at the edge of town. Toby walked you as far as the corner where the road split, his hands back in his pockets, looking, for the first time all day, like he didn’t want the conversation to end.
You paused, smirking softly as you reached your hand between the two of you, silently asking for his. He swallowed hesitantly, eyes widened briefly and softly as he lifted his palm out to you. You placed the ten dollar bill in his hand, the one you snuck from the diner table.
“I felt bad about not paying for myself, so here’s my guilt money.” You laughed softly, waiting for his reaction to settle. He took the bill carefully, like wrinkling it was sin; he placed the bill in his wallet and shoved it into his pocket.
His voice was hushed, like he was confessing his worst sins in a quiet church. “Than-Thank you.”
“It was nice,” you said, and meant it despite everything. “Meeting you, I mean. Talking. It’s weird, you’re kind of easy to talk to.”
“Yeah. You too.” A pause, then, quieter: “It was nice seeing you again.”
You froze. “Again?”
His whole body went rigid, like the word had slipped out of some crack in him he hadn’t meant to leave open.
“I mean—today. Just. Nice seeing you. Today. That’s what I m-meant.” He was already backing away, arm twitching hard once, twice, three times. “I gotta—I should go. It’s getting dark.”
“Toby—”
“See you around,” he said, too fast, and then he was walking, quick, clipped steps carrying him back down the road the way you’d come, and you stood there on the corner watching him go until the fog swallowed him up whole.
By the time you made it back to your aunt’s house, a dull throb had settled behind your eyes, pulsing in time with your footsteps, the kind of headache that came from thinking too hard about something you couldn’t quite grasp. You chalked it up to the walk, the cold, the two cups of diner coffee on an empty stomach before the pancakes arrived. You told your aunt you’d gone for a walk, met someone from town, kept it vague, and she didn’t push, too absorbed in her crossword to ask more than a passing question.
You went up to your room early, the ache in your skull sharpening into something that made the lamplight feel too bright, too loud somehow, wrong in a way you didn’t have words for. You sat on the edge of the bed for a while, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to chase down the thought that kept slipping out of reach every time you almost caught it.
It was nice seeing you again.
Again. Not meeting. Seeing. Again
You knew—you knew—that shouldn’t mean anything. People misspoke all the time. It was a small word, an easy slip, nothing worth losing sleep over. But it sat wrong in your chest anyway, lodged somewhere behind your ribs, refusing to be reasoned away.
You got up to close the curtains, headache thick enough now that even the streetlight outside felt like it was pressing against your skull. The window looked out over the field behind the house—a wide stretch of dead grass and old fence posts that your aunt always meant to do something with and never did. Fog had rolled in thick while you weren’t looking, low and heavy, swallowing the tree line whole, turning the whole field into a soft gray nothing.
You reached for the curtain.
And stopped.
There was that figure standing out there, from last night. Across the field, right at the edge where the fog thinned just enough to make out a shape—tall, still, facing the house. Facing your window.
You couldn’t make out a face. Couldn’t make out much of anything beyond the silhouette, dark against the gray, unmoving in a way that made your stomach twist cold and tight. Your first thought was deer, some trick of shadow and mist playing games with a bent fence post. But deer didn’t stand like that. Didn’t stand so straight, so deliberately still, like they were waiting for something.
Like they were watching.
Your headache spiked, sharp enough that you flinched, pressing a hand to your temple, and when you looked back up—The field was empty.
Just fog, and grass, and the old crooked fence, nothing standing where the shape had been. You stood there a long moment, heart thudding hard against your ribs, scanning the gray for any hint of movement, any proof you hadn’t imagined it. Nothing. Just the wind picking up, rattling the old glass in its frame.
You pulled the curtains shut, hands not quite steady, and told yourself it was nothing.
Told yourself it was the headache, the exhaustion, the strange unmooring feeling of being back in a town that remembered you better than you remembered it.
You didn’t fully believe it. Not with the way Toby’s voice kept echoing in your head—I’m sure someone noticed—not with the itch under your skin that felt less like paranoia and more like memory, trying, desperately, to surface.
You climbed into bed without turning off the lamp, and it was a long time before your headache finally let you sleep.
AN: AGHHh sorry i lowkey have a life now, i didn’t expect this especially because every other summer i’ve ever had has been the most boring lackadaisical shit ever. but here i am! still posting anyways despite being disgusting late to my own schedule! also……. thinking i might post an MHA oneshot… lmk who you’d want it to be of 👀👀 ideas so far, aizawa, mirio, that’s kinda it!
omg. thank you all so much for the feedback i’m so fricking happy oml oml. because of the positive response i’ll get started on the next few chapters early!!!! expect an update soon 👀
also also, i have a song reccomendation that loosely inspired the storyline i have out rn (subject to change): Finest Little Space by Unbelievable Truth - give it a listen while you wait! or don’t i don’t really give a gaf i love u either way <3
Ticci Toby x Fem!Reader — childhood friends, eerie old town, finding yourself, slow burn-sorta, etc etc just read ts bro </3
Not proofread, I hate myself
Word Count: 1.4k (Getting into the swing of a series, chapters will progressively get longer.) PART 2 HERE
After moving away from everything you once knew, growing up, hating where you moved, and now spending as much time as you can away from home, you indefinitely find yourself right back where you left your childhood. Right back where you left him.
It was barely midnight. Your eyes stuttered and fluttered open, looking around the old creaky room you once visited as a kid. The light from the farm across the street echoed onto the wall with a greyish blue hue.
You sat up, almost immediately shivering in the brisk room, wrapping the comforter on your lap over yourself as a last hope to warm yourself before getting up for water to sate your antsy energy.
For the past few days you’ve needed to get up in the middle of the night, for reasons unknown even to yourself. Something about this once familiar town left your unconscious mind unsettled, so much so you had to wake up every damn night you spent here.
Sighing into the darkness, you let go of the warm blanket and stood, cringing at the abrupt cool air. In that same breath you noticed something off, what looked like a figure in the field just past the road across from your—the guest—room. You squinted, trying to piece together the blur into something coherent.
You swore it was human, or human adjacent. You blinked harder and harder until it seemingly disappeared, writing it off with a swat of your hand. Surely you were just tired and disoriented, your mind seeing things oddly before you could process what was infront of you.
The creak of the dark hallway was like a siren alerting your aunt and uncle of your whereabouts, which of course they had probably heard four times each night consecutively since your arrival. You hoped they had already fallen asleep and wouldn’t wake too easily as you pattered down the stairs quietly as you could. You silently willed those stupid steps to just be quiet for a change.
After finally reaching the landing you shuffled toward the kitchen and swiftly pulled a glass from the dishwasher, as swift as you could be from the rusty old thing. Pouring quite a large sum of water into the glass, you couldn’t help this churning feeling of being watched. ‘You’re just being paranoid’, you reasoned with yourself. ‘It’s just the change of scenery that’s messing with you’, you muttered.
Then as quickly as you were to reassure yourself, a twig snapped outside the window nearest to you. You froze, telling yourself not to look at it, as if looking at the window would then allow whatever was outside to come in.
After what felt like an hour of staring at the countertop you sheepishly turned your head to look over at the window. Nothing.
Of course there was nothing, why would there be anything?
Taking one large gulp for the trip, you cradled your glass in your hand, shoulders tense as you walked back upstairs into the guest room.
First you placed the glass on your nightstand and looked outside just for good measure. You can never be too sure.
When you looked, there was nothing. Just the wheat field as it’d always been, covered with fog as it always seemed to be. Trees lined the field except for where they’d been cut off by the road. Where you had a perfect view of the land.
It was nice to have such a peaceful view, as a kid you’d dare your friend to run through it. Christ, you really need to stop thinking about him. He’s probably long gone from this place by now anyways.
Oh, but how you missed him, Tobias. Toby. Without him you’d have been alone all those years, him vice versa. Growing up an outcast wasn’t exactly nice, not as the movies romanticized it. You never really had that turn around, where after you leave high school you “find your people” in college. Why couldn’t you just be alone? You were comfortable that way.
At least, you think.
You huffed, having frustrated yourself with the same thoughts you tormented yourself with for years. This so called vacation was supposed to be—and going to be peaceful.
Slumping back onto the plush bed, you wrapped yourself in the still-warm blanket and prayed for sleep to take you sooner than later.
By the time morning came you were already tired. As if you had really been awake all that time, you groggily rolled over hoping to somehow fix the exhaustion behind your eyes.
Reluctant to get up, you looked outside. The fog had lifted, leaving morning dew in its wake, the sun’s light perfectly reflecting off of the stalks of wheat just for you.
Getting up and attempting to fix your hair neatly in the mirror you immediately gave up and huffed. A later problem. Walking downstairs the house was quiet, your aunt and uncle must have already left for work. Good for you, their kitchen is at your mercy.
Your stomach rumbled with a plea. In response you grabbed a pan and placed it on the old gas burner. Wracking your brain for where the baking bowls were, you swore you saw a shadow move past the window.
Strange. You never really hallucinated during the daytime. Or ever. Dismissing such a thing as a rabbit—or—something, you prepared breakfast, pancakes.
A few hours later you finally convinced yourself to get dressed to go out and do something. A dark blue and white flannel you bought on a whim a few months back now hanging from your shoulders. Buttoning it you admired the soft lace of your tank top underneath it. You never really found yourself wearing what you wanted, but now you seemed to be more yourself. Slipping on some dark wash jeans you hummed, carelessly brushing your hair out and hoping it wouldn’t look like shit.
You ended with a ponytail, which thankfully fit with your outfit at least.
You grabbed your jacket, an old leather one you found thrifting but never wore after trying it on in the changing room. Taking your bag with you, you hummed your way to the front door, slipping on your aunt’s hiking boots.
The walk to the nature trail wasn’t far, being in a rural area there wasn’t much traffic to worry about.
Once at the head of the trail, you pushed your earbud into your ear, pressing play on your favorite playlist and walking along the dirt. It was days like this where you could breathe and not immediately choke that made the rest seem not so bad.
After walking for quite a while you stopped at a little stream. Sitting on the ground before it you just watched as the water filed through the indent in the ground. It was peaceful you had to admit.
Was peaceful, until your eye caught an almost eerily, once-familiar silhouette. You were immediately frightened, freezing in place.
The figure must have noticed your stillness, because they then proceeded to speak up.
“H-Hel—“
You stood up fast, backing away hastily, in the process nearly tripping over yourself but catching a nearby tree for stability, for whatever reason though… you stayed to look at them. As your eyes focused, you learned it was him.
He had short dusty brown hair, choppy and un-styled. Hazel-brown eyes, wide but looked like they had seen too much. Of what, you were unsure. The thing that most caught your eye was a large bandage pasted to the right side of his face made of medical tape and a sqaure of cotton. He wasn’t particularly tall, but you had to tilt your head to look up at him a bit.
The stranger hesitated, fingers flexing awkwardly at his side as though he’d forgotten what people were supposed to do when they met one another.
“…H-Hello.”
His voice was quieter than you’d expected, though it struck you from your haze of fright nonetheless. You hesitated to reply.
Heart still beating hard enough to drown out the stream beside you, every instinct screaming at you to leave, yet your feet stayed rooted where they were. The man seemed to notice your hesitation.
“…Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “D-Didn’t muh-mean to sch-scare you.”
Something about him tugged at the back of your mind. Not his face, not entirely. It was the way he stood, shoulders drawn tight, like he was waiting for someone to tell him he’d done something wrong.
You frowned before you could stop yourself.
“Have we met?” muttering softly as if you would spook him right back, as if you were both deer, yet both wolves simultaneously.
His eyes flickered toward yours for just a second. Long enough for something uncertain, something eager to find out, cross his expression.
“I…” He hesitated. “I d-don’t know. Well, we hah-have now.”
The breeze stirred the leaves overhead, carrying the scent of damp earth through the clearing. Neither of you spoke. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you should know him. Equally, he looked as though he was trying just as hard to place you.
It was unsettling.
Almost familiar.
PART TWO ALSO HERE
A/N:
THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING!!! this is my first fic on tumblr ever—yes, yes… oh you shouldn’t have, ah, chocolate? for me? oh you’re so sweet. kidding kidding, i know this chapter is poop from a butt, but (haha) i haven’t written anything in a BIT. i’ll edit and update later on once i get into the swing of thangs. ALSO very aware this chapter is short as fuck, don’t forget that the next chapters will be longer i sware..
also also, very aware that tourette’s ≠ stutter, but for consistency’s sake, toby has a stutter. after reading so many fics where he does would feel wrong writing him without one sooo….
jk jk, will be creating a masterlist soon but i’m a writer, more so on ao3 but im not really into the fandoms i used to write for (#orphan-account lol) so im switching over to tumblr!!!!
i’ll write for creepypasta/marble hornets, mha, bandom, … yeah that’s really it but i’m not against suggestions, i may be familiar with some ships you recommend! don’t be shy to reach out i swear i won’t eat you.
i am completely comfortable writing rpf, angst, blah blah blah, but i will not write incest or age gap stuff, like 8 x 20… eugh..
however if i happen to be slipped a doordash gift card in my pocket i’m not necessarily against writing dubious consent… maybe even noncon.. 👀
but anyways, thanks for reading and i will get to writing soon!!!
