CW: References to narcotics, dark humor, fanon dynamics
The Slendermansion is more of a fucked up dormitory than it is a “home”. A deeply dysfunctional, semi- voluntary co- op dormitory, crossed with a halfway house for the criminally insane and the supernaturally cursed. Everyone is so fucked up in their own special way that tolerance becomes less a virtue and more a survival mechanism. Existing as a tear in the fabric of reality, lies a sprawling, near impossible Victorian manor, half swallowed by the endless forest that surrounds it ever constantly. From the outside it looks condemned- black paint peeling in long, curling strips, windows cracked and boarded, roof hidden under moss and porch columns rugged as if the whole structure is slowly coming down. The front door hangs slightly ajar most days, creaking on rusted hinges with whatever direction the wind chooses. Smaller buildings are scattered about, reserved but otherwise functional like storage, armory’s, or rest areas.
Inside, the layout contradicts almost immediately. Hallways stretch longer than they should and rooms are packed in areas that aren’t visible from the exterior. Staircases gain or lose steps between landings, doors that led to the kitchen yesterday now to a disused bedroom or a corridor that dead- ends today. The mansion rearranges itself at random, but those that belong can find their way around it instinctively. Intruders rarely make it past the first treeline without getting caught.
The smells are layered and often varying between damp wood, mildew, cigarette smoke or the copper of drying blood, faint chemical bleach from hasty cleanups, the sour-sweet rot of whatever EJ is keeping in the basement fridge, and the faint tinges of dingy old furniture. Candles/wax warmers help lighten the smell in populated areas but the natural rot doesn’t leave.
Daily Life:
No strict schedule exists, but patterns emerge from necessity and Slenderman’s occasional psychic nudges.
Morning (8 am- 2 pm). This is when the residents start crawling out of their caves. The kitchen is the first neutral ground. Masky is usually the first one up, silently making a giant pot of black sludge and leaving it on the burner for whoever stumbles in next. Mismatched mugs usually cracked, stolen from gas stations and claimed by whoever reaches them first. No one speaks much- a grunt of “thanks” if someone passes the sugar. A middle finger when someone takes the last clean spoon.
Midday (2 pm- 8 pm). Chores are assigned by whoever’s in the worst mood that day(typically Masky). Tasks rotate on an unspoken wheel of resentment- mopping blood from the foyer tiles(again). Hauling bodies to the burn pit or the acid barrels in the back clearing. Checking the forest perimeter for intruders, rival entities, humans who wandered too far off trail. Laundry in the basement washer that shakes like it’s possessed from the huge load someone’s half hazardly shoved in(the tower of dirty jeans and bloody hoodies is never ending). Grocery runs with cash only, no receipts, usually Masky or Hoodie driving the beat- up pickup truck. Meals revolve around frozen foods and fruits/vegetables that are eaten quick or rot within days.
Training happens in the basement, a cold concrete room with beaten up punching bags, stolen equipment, weapon racks, and a worrying number of knives embedded in the far wall like trophies. Sparring is brutal but consensual, usually for proxies working on technique or independents blowing off steam. Anything goes so long it won’t interfere with the Operator.
Evening (8 pm- 2 am). Dinner is a negotiation between apathy and hunger, hence labeled the “chaos window”. On short occasion, usually during the winter months, someone throws together a giant pot of chili/stew in the main kitchen. Other days it’s week old takeout with towers of pizza boxes, wingstop bags leaking grease, and chinese food containers with chopsticks stabbed through the lids like anyone’s still gonna eat it days later.
EJ’s “special food” being kept in a padlocked mini- fridge in the basement labeled “EJ ONLY” in Sharpie. Everyone already knows what it is, they don’t bother.
Late Night (2 am 6 am). Peak activity for independents as the hunting/quiet hours. Jeff, Nina, sometimes Toby slip out to hunt or lurk in the night. Proxies run errands or missions/patrols. The mansion goes quiet save for the occasional insane laughter, argument, or thuds of someone practicing knife throws against the wall.
Tolerance. Everyone is broken in their own way, so personal beefs are tolerated so long as they don’t escalate to lethalality. You can hate someone’s guts and still pass them the salt. You can call them a “twitchy fuck” just to share a cigarette five minutes later. Pasta’s share cigarettes, lighters, snacks, and inside jokes over hugs and smiles. That affection is rare and usually hidden.
Faking civility. “Please” and “thank you” are said(sarcastically or not). Knocking before entering bedrooms is expected(and mostly ignored). No one talks about kills at the dinner table unless it’s funny. It’s a pitiful performance of “We’re not monsters, we’re just people who happen to murder.”
2000’s Humor. Jokes are dark, crude, self- deprecating and constant. Morally ambiguous punchlines, gore jokes, suicide jokes, slurs dropped casually because everyone’s too traumatized to be offended, much less have a diversity quota. It’s how they remind each other they’re still capable of feeling something, even if it’s only revulsion. You’ll hear South Park, Metalocalypse, Pickles the dog or Aqua teen hunger force coming from either Jeff or Ben’s room at unholy hours of the night. If you know what class of 09 is, think Jeff, Ben, Toby, Clockwork and Nina as the “it’s been 7 seconds” bit.
Relative Cleanliness. The place isn’t filthy, but it’s never clean. Blood gets wiped up(eventually). Holes in walls get covered with posters or paintings and skid marks covered with random rugs. Dust accumulates in corners because nobody cares. Everyone has their own mini- fridge/snack stash because sharing is theoretical.
3 a.m. gas station runs are a social event. Someone(Masky or Jane) announces they’re “going out,” and whoever’s awake piles into the van. Everyone gets their own snacks. Jeff, monster + cigarettes. Nina, sweet/sour candy + stupid cheap gas station toys. Toby, anything warm/filling food- wise. Ben always asks for mountain dew + rainbow sour candy. Someone buys Sally a new coloring book/markers. They argue over music the whole way, come back with bags of junk, then scatter to their rooms like roaches when the lights come on.
Group activities occur occasionally; movie nights in the living room (a range of horror or old Disney because if Sally picks, no one argues). Cards or bets for those who have the spare money to splurge and rage on. Video- game tournaments in Ben’s room(obnoxious yelling, controller- smashing, ends with Ben and Jeff beefing for a maximum of 3 hours). Smoking sessions on the porch or roof with cigarettes, weed, and whatever’s available to take the edge off. Basement fights, whether sparring or genuine grudges, where someone usually ends up with a black eye and a beer afterward.
The night owls(Jeff, Nina, Ben, Toby, sometimes Zero and Clockwork), congregate in the game room at 2- 4 am for Smash Bros, just dance, energy drinks, and bullying each other about who’s the biggest disaster.
The quiet ones(Masky, Hoodie, EJ, Cathunter, Bloody Painter or Kate), sit in the kitchen at odd hours drinking black coffee and sharing maybe five words total.
Sally and the “chaotic neutrals” (Laughing Jack when he visits, Grinny Cat, Smile Dog, Puppeteer or Kakegao) will turn any room into a circus of glitter, crayons, and property destruction mixed with mild debauchery.
Hierarchy:
Slenderman- Absolute authority. Doesn’t officially “live” in the mansion but is everpresent in many ways. Has his own manor levels that nobody can access unless teleported. Issues orders via static, written notes that appear on walls/trees, or simply appearing at will to wreck static chaos. His “desires” are never fully explained, but they usually involve fear generation, information gathering, sliming out threats to his existence, and collecting proxies. He holds clear favorites(Sally, Toby, occasionally Kate), but favoritism does not equal kindness.
Core/Marked Proxies- (Hoodie, Masky, Toby, Rouge, etc.). Wear the proxy symbol somewhere on their body. Highest loyalty tier, closest to fully possessed/indebted. Handle most of the “official” work like perimeter patrols, body disposal, proxy recruitment/recovery, enforcing mansion rules, running errands for Slenderman. They hold the least freedom and can’t easily leave for long periods with their minds more tightly leashed.
Affiliated/Semi- independent Residents- (Jeff, Nina, Ben, EJ, Clockwork, etc). No proxy symbol or only faint/optional marks. Come and go more freely (though the forest makes leaving difficult without prior experience). Do jobs when assigned, but mostly operate on their own agendas so long as they don’t interfere with Slenderman’s goals. Ben is kept around because he keeps the WiFi and electricity from imploding and thus, more tolerated for his childish behavior.
Protected/“Children”- (Sally, Lazari, Ben, more vulnerable entities, depending on fanon interpretation). Effectively off- limits for violence inside the mansion. Slenderman is strangely paternal toward them without showing affection. Hurting them is one of the few things that guarantees swift, merciless retaliation.
Premise: You work full-time as a housekeeper for a sketchy motel just to get by, barely enough to pay rent for your shitty one-bedroom apartment and care for you, and the cat you adopted when you found him out by the dumpsters. When you're unexpectedly fired from your job, a man in a yellow Carhart jacket offers you a deal, and tells you to think it over.
And, what other choice do you have?
Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, Female reader, Everyone's height is based off of your own, No hair description or skin description for reader, Everybody wants a piece of that, Swearing, Fandom-Typical dark themes such as; Blood, Kidnapping, Murder, Drugs/Alcohol, Classic Slender mansion AU, Y/N used for the vibes, this is purely for fun
Chapter Warnings: Swearing, brief panic, Mentions of death and Cannibalism, Reader freaking out a tiny bit, Cigarette usage, Nicknames used: Sweetheart, Bunny, Darlin', If I missed anything, let me know!
WC: 7.2k
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Tim was right, passing through 'Her' part of the woods was by far the strangest. Although, you can't be absolutely certain until you've actually left the seclusion of the forest. It took more than 30 minutes to reach a road, and another hour of driving later, Tim says you're 'nearing civilization'. You're not sure what his standards are for near, but it's another good 15 minutes until you see the first telephone pole amongst trees slowly beginning to grow sparse.
It dawns on you at some point that it would take days to make this trip by foot. It makes you wonder passively if anyone had tried to run away before, only to be met with endless trees and a stretch of road that seems to wait until you're already dead to bring you anywhere close to help.
Then, you remember you're allowed to ask questions. If Tim wants to answer, is another story.
"Has anyone ever run away?" You're leaning back against the seat, having gotten comfortable in your spot long ago, sinking further into the leather the longer time passes, and the more snacks you and Tim share. "Or like, try? I can't imagine anyone has succeeded."
"Ain't I tell you 'No questions'?" There's no animosity in his voice, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his eyes leave the road for a moment to meet yours. "What happened to that?"
"Slender told me I'm not allowed to ask what any of you do for work, and any other questions are up to who's answering." You keep your eyes on the side of his face as he turns back to the road ahead, a smug little smile settling itself on your features. "So, 'the one who's answering', what do you say?"
He hums, lips pursing to the side as he ponders how to phrase his answer. He takes so long you think he's decided to ignore the question, your eyes moving from having been tracing along the line of his facial hair, to the long road ahead of you.
"People have tried to run, yeah." He finally responds, something a little less playful in his tone, a new tightness in his jaw. "The last one that tried really fucked up Jeffery."
"Is that why he hates me so much?" You keep your voice soft when you pry for more info, unaccusatory in your tone, purely asking for curiosities sake.
"I think he hates us, not you." He shakes his head, a hand rubbing his beard as his eyes stick on the road like he's afraid to move them anywhere else. Your eyes catch a speed limit sign pass the car, the first one you've seen since the drive started. "Can't blame the kid for it, neither."
You hum, the guardrails studying themselves as the road turns to bridge, fleeting sights of a town peeking through the trees catching your attention long enough for the topic to pass by. The low beat of the radio dancing with the hum of the old engine replaces the space where you and Tim had been speaking, simply thinking so hard you forget to say anything at all.
More questions unallowed to form before flood your mind until they're all too jumbled to pick one out of the sea of wonders, floating and falling and cascading and crashing before you can hold onto one long enough to keep it afloat. Your brows stay knit together, a searing pain in your head muffled by the painkillers and amplified by your sudden internal conflict.
On one, very large hand, they took you from your home in your sleep and moved you to the middle of the woods. You have nowhere to go if your apartment is supposedly condemned, you're not actually sure if you're safe in the house, constant warnings and alarm bells ignored by something other than you through your body. Blood and gore caked into the walls and floor, strange meat in meals you don't want to think too hard about, an ungodly amount of people 'not making it very long' when in your exact position.
But, on the other hand, they went through the effort of bringing your belongings, of making sure your cat was happy and unharmed on the trip over, of making sure you're comfortable. Overall, everyone has been kind to you—Even Jeff, who always acts like someone just got done pissing in his cheerios, hasn't said anything rude to you, he just doesn't like you. And, he doesn't have to. In a house with more people than you can count, you're bound to annoy somebody somehow.
Your cat always seems just as relaxed as he felt at your apartment. But, you're not allowed to ask where any blood comes from. You're about to make more money than you could've ever dreamed of, but Viviana can see you with white pupils, and Jack can see you seemingly without any eyes at all.
There are too many knives, the trees are too tall, the house shifts and sleeps and—
"You doin' okay over there, Sweetheart?" Tim's voice breaks your spiral, glancing over at you with an expression you can't quite read, eyes scanning you in a way that's reminiscent of the way he was observing you when you first met. "Don't pass out on me, now. This supply run ain't meant for one person."
"What the fuck did I get myself into." You don't phrase it as a question, moreso stating aloud your thought process as you stare blankly at the road ahead, trees turning to town as you finally reach civilization. "What is wrong with me? I would kill one of my friends with my bare hands if they told me they were doing this."
Tim laughs, corners of his eyes crinkling as he tries to process what exactly you just said. He shakes his head, eyes darting over to you every couple seconds despite his seemingly amused demeanor.
"Well, try not to start running, I'm not sure I have the energy to chase after you." His words do absolutely nothing to ease your newfound panic, parking in front of a hardware store before he settles back in his seat to look at you, scanning over you in that particularly analytical way that should bother you far more than it ever has. "You've got a lot of willpower. Don't think I've ever seen someone shake off the house this quickly."
"Okay, number one, the first thing you said is terrible. Don't ever say that shit again." You shake your head at him, pointing at your fingers as you make a list. "And B, what?" You give him no time to answer your unspecific question, unbuckling your seatbelt to sit a little funkier in your spot, unsure of what the plan is from here. "Was Slender just trying to make me feel better by telling me I could leave at any time if I asked? What does—And, why can't I fucking remember what he looks like?"
"Whole 'lotta questions for the agreement we have." He's clearly teasing, an easy smile rested on unworried features, only growing when you look at him with something close to disdain. "Listen, Slender may not be the best guy out there, but the words he says are true. If he told you you can leave, then you can leave." He pauses before he answers the second question, eyes wondering as he tries to find the words to describe something impossible to see. "I think when your brain doesn't know what it's lookin' at, it just sees nothin' at all."
You don't respond, staring out the windshield at the old hardware store as you weigh all the options, all the logistics, trying to decide just exactly how dumb it would be to leave or to stay.
The house is beautiful, the work is balanced, you don't have any rent to pay, your cat is happy and safe and clearly loved by at least three members in the manor. And, fuck, the pay is almost unreal. But, you're in the middle of nowhere, and there's an unusual amount of blood, and you're pretty sure you ate—
"How 'bout this," Tim snaps you back out of the short spiral, seemingly unhappy about the words he's choosing to say. "You can ask me a question once every hour we're out, and I have to answer as best I can." He begrudgingly extends his best olive branch, meeting you somewhere near the middle in what seems like the best compromise you'll be able to get from him. "Within the normal guidelines, 'least."
"And then what?" Your words seem to catch him off guard, seemingly expecting you to take the offer without thinking about the end goal. Or, not having thought of the end goal himself. He raises his eyebrows in a silent urge to continue, waiting for you to specify what you mean. "Like, after I've asked my allotted questions and it's time to go back inside the mansion, then what? What's the point of that?"
"You think too damn much." He sighs, one hand resting on the steering wheel like it'll ground him somehow while he uses the other to rub his eyes. "Then, fuck, I don't know, you can decide if you wanna stay or not. Listen, I'm doin' my best here."
"Okay, okay." You lean your head back against the seat, closing your eyes and taking as deep of a breath as your lungs will let you, waiting until breathing in any more aches and burns and stretches your organs almost too far before you finally let it all out. You settle in your seat, muscles relaxed and head just barely dizzy enough to feel clear when you open your eyes again to nod, the plan as good as it's going to get. "Deal. Let's go."
The hardware store doesn't take all that long, and Tim knows exactly where to go and what to get. It barely takes 45 minutes to get the supplies you need from there, 15 minutes left in your timer before you're allowed to ask another question. It's harder to settle on one than you thought it would be, the chains and ropes and tubs you both pack into the back of the truck only leading to a million more.
You thought this was an area of town you didn't recognize, but as soon as the truck is away from the first stop and driving onto the second, you realize this isn't the town you're from at all. You don't bother using a possible question to ask Tim, your phone taking the place as tour guide in the moment as you use the device to figure out where you are.
Soon enough, your phone is telling you that you're in the middle of absolutely Nowhere Oregon, deep in the trees somewhere in an old town that has too few people and too many abandoned buildings. Or, at least the buildings look abandoned. You're not going to go around checking them all, that's for sure.
During the stretches of silence where you and Tim aren't crossing things off the list you've been given, you reason out the best options. You and Oatmeal are seemingly safe, being told no-one in the manor is allowed to hurt you, and so far not giving you any reason to think they would. Despite how eerie everything is, how unsettling it all seems, how dangerous you know it should feel, you don't feel like anyone intends to harm you.
Even with a clear head, even when you can see the warning signs uncovered by the rose colored glasses placed securely on you while in the presence of Slender and his Manor, you don't want to leave.
The grocery store Tim parks in front of is large for the small town, positioned across from a gas station that seems to be on a perfect stretch of road where people catch themselves running low on fuel for themselves and their vehicles. Fresh flowers sit in plastic pots all along the front of the store, puddles beneath them still drying out in the sun from when they had been watered.
Your eyes land on a rack of newspapers as you settle beside Tim with the shopping cart, the headline making you slow your walking speed just enough to read it as you pass by.
'BODY FOUND MUTILATED BY ANIMAL'
Tim moves around your frame to pick up a newspaper, shaking his head with a quiet scoff and a smile that holds a familiarity you can't place. Your eyes scan the paper as he opens it up to scan through, the father of a family found torn apart in his bed, his only daughter young and without a scratch, claiming she 'heard and saw nothing' the night her father was attacked.
You barely get through the part where investigators had found out how horrible her father was when Tim folds the paper back up and tosses it in it's place with the rest of the newspapers on the rack, shoving his hands in his pockets as he starts back on his mission toward the store.
"Looks like Viv is up to her shit again." Tim's voice is somewhere near the fondness of a disappointed parent, falling into pace beside you as he sets the list in the cart so you can both see it, everything neatly organized to each section of the store. "First question?"
"What is Viviana's…," Your words trail away as you figure out a way to form them, the previous question you had loaded and ready falling short of the new curiosity. "Whole deal? Like what is she about?"
"We don't really know, to be honest." He shrugs as he speaks, clearly trying to remember what he can as the two of you move through the isles and cross items off the list. "We found her chained to the bottom of the river nearby awhile back. She's just been…Like That since we found her."
"And you don't know why she was in there?" You hope to squeeze out another question without him realizing he's being asked, using his own confusion and curiosity against him to get more information for yourself.
"Ain't got a clue." He shakes his head, thankfully taking the easy bait as he answers to the best of his ability. Unfortunately, not knowing much about the colorless woman himself, your knowledge doesn't change all that much. "She said her village drowned her, or somethin'. You'll have to ask her and see what she can remember."
You hum, checking the time as you restart your mental timer for another question, trying your best not to push too many extra despite the endless curiosity. Instead, you make sure to tell yourself to ask Viviana what you can the next time the two of you happen to be alone.
Something else, you've realized, is having to put aside your own skepticism in order to ask any of these questions, or listen to the answers. You wouldn't believe more than half the words coming out of his mouth of you hadn't been living with these people the past couple of days, stuck in an endless loop of nothing making sense, and still being the truth regardless.
It almost makes your head hurt, growing quickly tired of the perpetual headache forced upon you since you woke up in that house.
The answer you need the most, is if you're safe. You know you've been told the members cannot hurt you, and, nobody has given you reason to think they would. But, it still nags at the back of your mind, the reality of being a lone woman living in the middle of the woods with roughly 14 people you've never met before this. If you break the situation down to it's most simple terms, You were removed from your bed in the middle of the night and told to work for people you had never met before, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, with people who trek in a suspicious amount of blood and gore.
But, the problem is, it isn't that simple.
They pay you better than you could've imagined, they feed you incredible meals, they made sure you have all of your sentimental nick-knacks and belongings, and kept your cat safe and happy on the trip over. You have a beautiful room, the house itself is probably the nicest you've ever even looked at, let alone been inside of. Plus, it's kinda nice to be around such wonderfully chaotic people.
You aren't trapped, you were interviewed and hired for a live-in position. If you had driven into the woods yourself, then you would simply be incredibly judgemental of people you haven't taken the time to get to know yet. Except, you didn't drive. You went to sleep and woke up in a new home.
How horribly complicated.
By the time the rest of the groceries have been gathered and placed into the cart, it's nearing the time you're able to ask another question, walking back to the front of the store while you sort through the best way to phrase the next wonder you're speaking into existence. If you're being entirely honest with yourself, you don't want to leave. Even if you think about it in the scariest, most terrifying version of events, you would simply rather stay in the manor, rather than going back out to fend for yourself in the outside world.
Without the cloud of the mansion or of Slender-If that's even a real possibility-Your logic is still the same. The people are kind to you and Oatmeal, the house is beautiful and a pleasure to live in, the work is reasonable and dependant on what you can manage day-by-day. Quite honestly, you really like it there.
So, even though you're still more than planning on participating in the hourly questions, your motivations are based more in curiosity, rather than decision making.
Tim insists on putting the groceries on the conveyor, and on bagging them, leaving you to converse with the cashier and pay with the money Slender had provided. He says you did all the work so far, and even though you don't consider pushing the cart around and finding things on a list to be a ton of work, you're more than happy to 'Leave something for him to do' if it makes him happy.
"That husband of yours is a catch, dear." The old woman scanning the groceries surprises you, a kind smile on her face as she spares Tim a glance, the man busy meticulously stacking ingredients into paper bags. "I remember when my husband and I were your age. Time flies by so quickly these days."
"Oh! uhm," Your initial instinct is to correct her. But, the love in her heart, the nostalgia in her eyes as she looks between you and Tim with a smile full of memories—It all makes it awfully hard to. So, instead, you smile back, adding very little to the conversation with a weak "Thank you, Ma'am."
By the time you and Tim are back out at the truck, you've mostly forgotten about the awkward interaction. Instead, your brain space has now occupied by the next question, or the bird that tweets overhead as it passes, and by fitting the groceries into the back and making sure not to squish the bread. Apparently though, despite you not having realized he heard the interaction in the first place, Tim is busy plotting.
He waits until you've both gotten into the truck, the slam of metal doors making the old thing shake and shift on it's tires, the newly familiar scent of worn leather filling the space as you settle in. That's when he looks over at you, an expression you can only describe as 'Mischievous' making you stop mid-way through buckling your seatbelt.
"What?" You hate to ask, but your curiosity is far stronger than your weariness.
"Oh, nothin'." He shrugs, fingers turning the key in the ignition with his eyes still on you. He sits back in his seat with leisure, like the two of you have all the time in the world, crossing his arms over his chest with a smile still plastered on his face. "Just happy to know I make such a good husband."
"Oh, shut up." You can't stop the laugh bubbling out of you, covering your face to muffle the sound in your palms, ears warm with embarrassment. "It looked like she was reliving her youth, I couldn't take that from her! Poor woman should be retired by now, anyway."
Tim laughs with you, full bellied and bright, the sound lighting up the musty truck as he finally puts the old thing in reverse and pulls out from the parking lot. With the cold groceries safely in coolers, and the rest meticulously stacked with the rather suspicious supplies, you've only got one stop left to go. In town, anyway.
"So, next question?" He glances toward you for a brief second as he drives, getting caught at one of the too-many traffic lights the town has considering it's size. "Unless you've run out of 'em."
"I don't think I could ever run out of questions." You stall a moment before asking, the thought you have far too heavy for the previously happy and light moment the two of you had shared seconds ago. "Are Oatmeal and I…Safe? Like, genuinely?"
"In the mansion? Sure, I'd say you two're pretty safe." The air shifts, something stilling as Tim ponders how to phrase what he wants to say next. He shifts in his seat, leather creaking beneath worn denim before he speaks again. "Once you're out in the woods, it's not a guarantee. But, we try to keep the area as safe as we can."
The first part of his sentence sounds so sure, that you and Oatmeal are safe and out of harms way inside the walls of the manor. It's his tone afterwards that makes you nervous, wondering what could be in the woods besides the normal threat of wildlife, the glint in his eye indicating something a little different than just a simple bear or wolf.
Silence lingers in the car after his answer, only the muffled staticky radio to fill the space where laughter was just moments ago.
The pharmacy in town is stocked up on the goods you need, a positive side effect to having so few people live in the town, and of Slenders foresight; Planning the shopping trips around when the stores receive new shipments. You and Tim separate to get through the stop faster, and thankfully he's been on this supply run enough times not to need the list.
You, however, are carefully reading every item before you place it in your basket, tasked with grabbing basic meds and bandages while Tim picks up a slew of prescriptions. You eye the pharmacist, weary as he hands Tim the paper bag rattling with pills.
"Haven't seen you around here before." The voice beside you makes you snap your head the other direction, Tim now out of sight as you face the stranger with a kind smile. You return the gesture, the man not much older than you, and cute enough that you really don't mind the obvious way he's looking at you. "At least, I think I'd remember seeing a face so pretty."
There's not much time to decide if you're going to laugh off the comment, or lean into it. Instead, a warm arm is plopped around your shoulders, the lack of plaid flannel confusing you before you even properly realize it isn't Tim standing beside you.
"Good try, buddy. But me and you both know you've got a lady waiting for you back home." You look to the rather sassy voice beside you, paying you no mind as he speaks to the man who was trying to flirt. A 'Death Proof' cap obscures most of his features in unnaturally dark shadow, unnerving smile poking through the only light allowed on his face. "So, put that ring back on your finger and scurry home now."
The whole interaction happens so quickly there's barely time to process, the apparently married man dropping his persona in an instant. He scowls, obscenities falling from taught lips as he turns around. He digs in his front pocket as he walks out of the pharmacy, silver ring glinting in the sun as he slips it back on his finger.
You pull away from the mans loose grasp, his face shifting up just enough to remove the shadow hiding his eyes. He grins at you, the way he's observing reminiscent of a hunter looking at a lost lone pup who had unwittingly made it's way into the yard of a cabin, naive as it seeks shelter from the very thing meant to kill it.
"Who the fuck are you?" Words fall from confused lips before you can stop them, watching the way he leans back to place his hands in his pockets, the opposite of a slouch in his posture while he grins at you like he's just won a prize.
"Gotta be more observant, Bunny." He ignores your question, leaning toward you so suddenly it makes you flinch, the unintended reaction making his smile grow impossibly. "Otherwise bad men with worse intentions could be just a couple feet away."
"Habit, leave the girl alone." Tim sounds tired before the interaction has begun, thankful you're at least more annoyed than uncomfortable with the unwelcome intrusion. "She's got enough to deal with already."
"Aw, is she yours? I thought something smelt familiar." The way he says it indicates he means something more like a cute little pet, and not in the way the old woman from the grocery store had assumed. "You've got to keep your eye on her, it seems like she attracts all kinds of weirdos."
"Fucking, tell me about it." You don't mean to say the thought aloud, voice muffled in an irritated grumble. Regardless of your intention to speak, it makes Habit laugh, busting into a quick fit so loud it makes the pharmacist pop his head out from behind the counter to see what had happened.
"Why are you here? I thought you were out runnin' errands for at least another couple weeks." Tim speaks like there's a sigh hiding behind his teeth, subtly shifting to stand just in front of you with his arms crosses over his chest like it'll block some of Habit's strange tendencies.
"Awe, Timmy boy, are you keeping tabs on me?" Habit puts a hand over where his heart should be, overly theatrical in his movements like he's doing it purely for the love of the game. "Actually, I finished early. Now, I'm on my way to pick up some meat from Mrs. River Lady at your very own humble abode."
"That's great, Hab—"
"If I'm not mistaken—Which, I'm not—That's exactly where you're headed, no?" He interrupts Tim with the boop of his nose, the action earning a hefty sigh and a heavier eye-roll, the ability he has to keep his composure going any further than irritation honestly impressive. "It seems to me like a kind offer is in order. Care to let me join, Masky?"
"Absolutely not." Tim is stern, arms only uncrossing to turn toward the counter, already starting on his way out of the unwanted interaction without sparing Habit another glance. "C'mon, let's go."
"See ya later!" The bell above the door chimes as Habit leaves, and you silently wonder what he came into the pharmacy for in the first place.
It feels strangely quiet after Habit is gone, dead air hanging still where a boisterous attitude had livened up the rather gloomy store. Even though he was rather silly, and bold in a way that was unnerving, it was a nice brief change from the people you've been around as of late. Tim is sweet, but he has the demeanor of a retired K-9; Inherently protective, and a little tired of being on edge all the time. And yet, still unable to turn off the paranoia from a turbulent life.
Luckily for you both, the rest of your time in the store is uneventful. Soon enough, the drugs and medical supplies are safe in the back of the truck, and you and Tim are buckling up your seatbelts, finally time to make your way back out of town. The last stop on the list simply says 'Cabin for charms', and quite frankly, you're not at all sure what that means. Tim does, however, and doesn't seem all too excited for the stop.
It's not long before you two are back on the road toward the woods, leaving the small town to shrink in the rearview mirror until you two are back in the trees, a small bag of chips placed between the two of you to share. You eye the clock on the radio, minutes ticking by until you can ask another question.
Well, you could ask a question at any time. It's an answer you're waiting for.
Silence with Tim is something you wish you had experienced sooner in life. Where the quiet would usually be unnerving, it's instead peaceful, almost refreshing. The air grows sweeter the further away from civilization you get, windows cracked just enough to feel the wind gracing your skin as you let your body relax in the passenger seat, silently hoping Tim isn't too tired of driving.
"Who is Habit?" You choose with no hesitation to break the silence once you can get another answer out of him, shifting in your seat towards Tim to give him your full attention while he speaks.
"Another employee, sometimes." He grumbles, clearly exhausted by the strange man and his seemingly constant antics. Tim takes a deep breath, attempting something besides a sigh, just to make the huff of air even larger than it would've been had he just committed. "He's not the body, he's just, Habit."
"That answers a ton," You give him a sly smile when he glances over at you, his expression blank, and bordering on irate. "Thank you for the in-depth explanation, Timmy boy."
"You get on my nerves, y'know that?" The fond smile breaking through false irritation betrays his words, turning his head to glance out his window for an excuse to compose himself, and rid of the unusually boyish grin he isn't quite used to anymore. "Alright, the kids name was Evan. He and his friends got themselves mixed up in some stuff they really shouldn't have. And, uh," He tsks, a sliver of remorse shining through newly stiff demeanor. "Mankind's Bad Habit got to him. Now, he doesn't get to be Evan too often."
A hum stands in place of a response, too many new wonders filling the space where speech should be. Instead, you take a chip from the bag between you, and Tim turns the radio up a couple notches to fill the air with something besides his own un-chosen regrets.
The drive into the woods seems to take less time than the drive out of it, keeping your eye on the clock confirming your suspicions. What took you nearly an hour of a never-ending stretch of road between forest and town, takes a breezy 25 minutes instead. Far sooner than you should be, you're back on old worn down pavement soon to turn into a tightly packed dirt path, trees becoming denser and taller until the very definition of 'nature' starts to become unnatural.
Soon enough, you're on that very path, and the silence has grown comfortable again.
Just as soon as the quiet rumble of the truck engine fills all the space you need it to, the darker the woods seem to become. The birds chirping few and far between, hum of insects becoming harder to hear, ears straining for any sound that should be plentiful around you. It starts to become a bother, shifting in your seat to eye the furthest edges of the trees for any movement, and hoping you don't see any.
In a snap so quick you think you may have imagined the stillness, the sounds all seem to come back at once. It's as if the wildlife is hiding in this circle of forest, safely tucked away from the horrors of being near the manor.
The whiplash of sound and environment makes you confused, a strange forceful clarity causing you to focus on things you normally wouldn't. Preoccupied with the passing deer freezing at the sound of the truck, you barely notice the little house in front of you until Tim parks and the engine shuts off.
It's a small cabin, made of deep woods and stone, situated amongst too many flowers and plants, tucked away deep in the forest where it's unlikely to ever be found. It's cute, albeit a little eccentric.
"Last stop, let's go." Tim's voice fades as he steps out of the truck and shuts the door with a loud slam, warped metal refusing to shut without the extra force.
Wind-chimes and bells line the small porch, with more above the arched front door resting with a mixture of dried herbs. Sun catchers hang and swing in the soft breeze, and there's just enough space on the deck between all the potted plants for a rocking chair to sit comfortably beside a little intricate metal table. It's warm and inviting, vines growing up the side of the house and keeping the air cool under the shade, blooming flowers making the air sticky sweet, almost heavy enough to make you sleepy.
Tim knocking on the door echoes though the trees, dissipating in soft repetition until all that's left is the bells and chimes twinkling around you. You wring your fingers together, trying to listen for any sounds coming from the other side of the door, and unable to hear anything besides faint music playing somewhere from inside.
The door opens so suddenly it's startling, a woman with deep brown hair and deeper eyes string back at the two of you. She blocks the way inside, standing with one hand on the doorknob, and the other on the frame, face twisting in displeasure up at Tim like he's already said something offensive.
"What are you doing here?" She scowls, barely sparing you a glance through her clear hostility. You nearly reel back, never having experienced the feeling of someone so viscerally willing you out of their space.
"I'm here for the—"
"No, what are you doing here." She interrupts Tim before he can even start, emphasizing her words to get the proper meaning across. "I know what you're here for. Why are you the one picking it up?"
"Slender sent the two of us out on a supply run." Tim shrugs, more than used to dealing with the feeling, and eager to get the encounter over with so he can get back home. "This counts as supplies."
"You and Slender are morons," She sighs, warm eyes spiked with irritation as she moves to cross her arms. It seems the more she speaks and moves, that she's irritated at the circumstance, not at either of you. "I was going to teach Viv how to do this so you don't have to keep—Whatever, it doesn't matter." The woman turns on her heel, leaving the door open for you and Tim to step inside. She barely glances behind her as the two of you pass the threshold of her doorway, waving a dismissive hand with her words. "Take your shoes off."
"Nice to see you too," Tim teases as he leans down to untie his boots, having a one-sided conversation with the questions this unnamed woman hasn't asked. He sets the boots aside, smile nearing mocking as he stands upright. "I'm doin' okay these days, thanks for askin' Sugar."
"Why did you bring her here?" She ignores him, looking away from the counter in front of her for just enough time to give you a look full of pity, turning away not a moment later to focus on her work. "I told you to stop bringing them around, I'm tired of making new friends for them to get—"
"C'mon, now. There's no need for that." He stops her before she can finish, definitive words hidden beneath a sweetened tone. He steps further into the house, footsteps silent on the too many plush rugs covering old hardwood flooring. "You know I ain't got any say in what Slender orders us to do."
The woman pauses, chewing the inside of her lip as she hesitates to lend the help she's required to. Eventually, she sighs, long skirt flowing at her feet as she moves from place to place near a large pot placed just a few feet in front of the small counter she seems to do her work at.
You glance around the space, deep purples and reds in the couches and rugs, too many lamps and plants filling any empty space, a constant soft breeze coming in through the wide-open window you're sure is never closed. It's peaceful, safe and soothing in a way the mansion just barely misses.
"Go get my black salt and the lemon balm from upstairs." Her voice brings you back to the present, waving Tim away before she strips the buds off of dried lavender and tosses them into a mixture to get crushed with a mortar and pestle. She glances behind her when he reaches the top of the steps, moving to open a drawer and dig something out. "Sorry about that."
"Not the worst interaction I've had, you're okay." You dismiss her worry, watching as she digs through the drawer for a moment before she pulls out a beautiful gold ring and turns to you, taking one of your hands in hers to place it carefully on your finger. "Uhm, what's this?"
"It'll help with the fog." She pats your hand before she lets it go, returning to her mixing and crushing like the quick interaction didn't happen at all. You look at the ring on your finger, detailed and intricate, your eyes drawn into the swirls and loops around sparkling gems.
Soon enough, Tim comes back with a bundle of dried herbs, and a bottle of dark salt. You watch as she mixes honey into her new mixture of crushed ground herbs, forming a paste that she scoops out and slaps down onto the counter with a wet schlop.
The paste is spread out thin and sprinkled with the salt, the woman mumbling to herself as she works. She traces something into the thin drying mixture before smoothing everything back out, leaving the layer alone while she leans down to open up the cupboard. You become a little lost in what she's doing, pulling out a case of memorial necklaces and standing to place them beside the now cracking concoction spread on the counter.
Whatever she made, some mixture you aren't sure you saw all the ingredients for, is now dry and brittle, turning to ash as she scrapes and chops it thin. She fills and caps six necklaces before dusting off her hands and turning back to the two of you, holding them by the chains to drop them into Tim's open palm.
"Tell Slender that I said next time, he does what we agreed to, or he doesn't get his half of the deal." She nods toward the door, urging the two of you out of her space.
"Yes, ma'am." Tim doesn't waste any time, turning in one swift movement to slip his boots back onto his feet and step outside. He calls out after you, something about wanting to get home before dinner, and you can hear the door to the truck open and shut.
You thank the woman before leaving, finding your place in the car beside Tim as the engine roars to life, surely disturbing the abundance of wildlife chosen to take refuge in this seclusion of woods.
The whole interaction barely took 15 minutes, and even though you're positive after driving for another 20 that you're more than close enough to the mansion, you don't seem to feel the strange dizzy out-of-body looseness you usually do. You glance at the new ring on your finger, glinting in the small beams of light straining to peak through thick trees, and wonder if the small accessary is actually doing anything to help.
You've got no real idea what the necklaces are for, or what the woman's intentions are. But, if the wildlife feels safe enough to stick around her little bubble of safety, it doesn't seem like an unwise decision to at least assume this ring isn't meant to harm you in any way. At least, you hope so.
Seeing the mansion is surprisingly relieving, not quite expecting the large imposing building to feel like home yet, and feeling that content relaxation anyways. A large part of you is happy to be back. Even with apparent clarity and less fog, with more information that makes the logical half of your brain on constant alert, parking for the final time of the day in front of the manor feels like a breath of fresh air.
You're excited to be home in time for dinner, for the banter and entertainment of watching the large mesh of people try and get along with one another. You're excited to be done working for the day, to lay your aching body on a plush bed and relax with your cat, to take a shower and lounge in your coziest clothes and wonder if a little voice will wake you up in the middle of the night for a treat.
It may be unconventional, but it's home.
Brian and Toby are tasked with bringing in the supplies you and Tim brought home, and it's a little more rewarding than you anticipated to see members of the mansion flock out in excitement for a refill on their favorite snacks. Sally gives you a picture she had drawn in crayon of you and Oatmeal, having apparently spent the whole time you were gone working hard on her project.
You stick around outside for a bit more fresh air under the guise of being helpful, answering which items are in what bags when eager voices and hands are poking around for food and trinkets. Eventually, the lot has moved themselves back inside to unload, and you're making your way up the front steps as Tim settles himself against the porch railing where you had found him this morning.
"Alright, darlin'." Tim speaks through a cigarette, pausing just long enough to flick open his zippo, golden light fanning across his features until it's put out in one quick snap. "Final question."
"What's in the woods?" You keep your voice low, eyes drifting to the never-ending series of trees forming a maze excusing itself as a forest. The curiosity gnaws at you, hair standing on end as you strain to see something you don't want to be there.
It takes him a moment to respond, gaze shifting somewhere behind you as he takes a long drag of his cigarette. He's careful to blow the smoke away from you, needlessly flicking the ash that hasn't formed into the tray beside him. His answer makes you wish you had chosen a different question, the unease you were trying to work through becoming nearly unbearable with just one sentence.
"The reason some of us don't think we should keep bringin' in you townsfolk."
.⋆♱ ⦻ ♱⋆. .⋆♱ ⦻ ♱⋆. ⦻ .⋆♱ ⦻ ♱⋆. .⋆♱ ⦻ ♱⋆.
AN: YAAYYY I FINALLY FINISHED THIS CHAPTER GUYS!!!! I added Habit last minute in the Pharmacy scene bcs I thought he fit there and bcs I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOR I simply do love that man. Witch in the woods is just Witch in the woods, she has no name because I do not know it, If any of you would like to suggest a name for her, lemmie know ദ്ദി(˵⎚ᴗ⎚ ˵ ) ✧
on May 31, 2014 two 12 year old's lured their friend Payton (Bella) Leutner into the woods and stabbed her 19 times.
Before the stabbing
Morgan Geyser and the victim Payton Isabella Leutner (went by Bella at the time) were childhood best friends. Bella said she befriended Morgan in grade 4 because Morgan seemed to have none. Morgan had an obsession with creepypasta especially slenderman Bella on the other hand, didn't like slenderman or horror stories and said she was scared of it.
They would later make friends with Anissa Weier. Morgan and Anissa happened to live in the same apartment building causing the girls to grow very close quickly. Bella said she did not like Anissa and that Anissa was openly rude/mean to Bella. She stated that she only hung out with her because of Morgan, Anissa seemingly was jealous of their longterm friendship.
Both Anissa and Morgan believed that slenderman was real. Morgan was stated to have schizophrenia and had supposedly talked to slenderman and various other fictional characters. Anissa told Morgan she once saw slenderman and that it meant that he put a mark on her.
Planning
The girls had planned the killing of their friends as a way to prove slenderman was real but later told the police it was because slenderman was going to hurt their family unless they scarified Bella.
Both Anissa and Morgan believed that by killing their friend they would become proxies to slenderman and he would invite them to his mansion which they referred to as "slender mansion"
They originally planned to take Bella out shopping before to give her a "great last day" then go back for a sleepover. One of them would then attack her while sleeping then they would leave for slender mansion. They did end up taking her shopping but found they were too tired and decided to postpone it till the morning.
When they woke up they had breakfast and the girls made the new plan of going to a near by park and attacking her in the bathroom. They picked the park bathroom due to the drain on floor for the blood to wash away. They eventually abandoned that plan due to Anissa's inability to knock out Bella.
The stabbing
They switched to playing hide and seek, telling Bella that Morgan will be the seeker and she would go with Anissa. Bella agreed and was lead into the forest area. Anissa told Bella to lay down and she would put twigs and leaves over her. Bella refused saying she wasn't going to lay in the mud and bugs, which annoyed Anissa who left to go get Morgan.
When they came back Anissa told Morgan to do it and Morgan proceeded to stab Bella with a 5 inch (12cm) kitchen knife. Morgan stabbed her friend 19 times in the torso, arms and legs. she was cut in her liver, stomach and other major organs.
When it was done the girls told Bella to wait and they will go call for help, Bella knew they weren't going to so she got up using the branches for support and walked to a grassy patch. she happened to fall on top of a path a local cyclist took, the man came across Bella and called 911
Bella was rushed to the hospital and given emergency surgery that lasted 6 hours which she survived. The girls were found walking on interstate 94 5 hours later having walked 4.9 miles (7.9km). The police found the weapon in one of their bags. They told the police they were walking to "slender mansion" in Chequamegon-Nicolet national forest which was 200 miles away.
Charges and Sentencing
The girls were put in confinement awaiting trials and given psychological evaluations where Morgan was diagnosed with early onset schizophrenia. They were both tried as adult due to the severity of the crime.
Anissa was charged with attempted second degree homicide she pleaded guilty but was later found not guilty by mental disease or defect by a jury. in 2021 at 19 years old she sent a letter to a judge stating she was sorry and deeply regretted her actions. She was then granted communal confinement where was given an 24 hour ankle monitor and sent to live with her father. in 2023 the ankle monitor was waived.
Anissa
Morgan was charged with attempted first degree homicide she took a plea deal to not undergo trial and pleaded guilty by default. She was later found not guilty due to mental disease or defect. That was due to her diagnoses of early onset schizophrenia. She was given the maximum years of 40 years in a state forensic psychiatric institute. in 2025 Morgan was transferred to a new institution where she cut off her monitor and escaped. She was found 200 miles away on interstate 57 sleeping at a gas station with another person. Morgan was taken back and the Wisconsin Department of Corrections sought out to revoke her conditional release.
Holy hell its been a bit! I'm not quite sure how I feel about this chapter but I really hope you guys enjoy! I lowkey lied in my last authors note about this one being more fun so... sorry lol. But trust shenanigans will ensue soon!
WARNINGS: Graphic depictions of violence, Blood/gore, Toby is mentally ill and an asshole!, slight harassment, as always lmk if there's anything else i missed!
The first night in that house was painfully long. Stagnant air polluted with dust coated your throat, leaving it scratchy and dry, eyes burning from the slew of tears that had spilled during your attempt to sleep. Signs of dawn never emerged, if anything it had only gotten darker. You’d have no way to check, there were no watches or clocks in your possession and any device that would’ve told you had been purposely left behind in your home. Tim had made it very clear that anything could be traced, and the laptop you were going to bring was promptly removed from your suitcase. There was nothing for you to focus on or distract yourself with, the ambience of the house settling was the only indication that time hadn’t somehow stopped.
The sun began to rise an eternity later, though you made no efforts to do anything but stare at the trees beyond the window. The next two days were spent much like this, though sleep finally found you in sporadic bursts. It was disorienting, you'd wake up in the darkness then the next moment it was light out again. Unwilling to step out of the room, the days started to blend into each other.
On what you guessed was the third night you awoke in the darkness of your room, mentally preparing yourself for the next few quiet hours just like you'd been doing every time sleep escaped you. The noises that grew somewhat familiar to you persisted, still dazed from your slumber you focus in on it, letting it lull you back into a strange sense of security. Just as you were exhaling a long sigh you paused, the faint shuffling of footsteps sounded out in the hallway. Since arriving you’ve heard the odd noises of the other residents-the occasional footsteps, scrapes of chairs, muffled voices. But never had you heard it so close.
Anxiety trickled through your limbs like pins and needled as the footsteps drew closer. All hope of being left alone went out the window when the scuff of shoes stopped right outside your door. A long beat of silence follows as you wait for whoever it is to knock, and sure enough they do, though it’s soft, almost hesitant. You have absolutely no intention of opening that door, so you waited with a bated breath, praying they would continue down the hallway when they realized you weren’t going to respond. But another long silence follows, then the door knob starts to turn.
The lack of a lock on the door completely slipped your mind, you quickly sit up and throw the covers to the side as the door slowly starts to creak open. You had one foot on the floor when the edges of hair began to peek through the crack, panicking you gripped the nearest thing you could throw, which happened to be a ceramic lamp that rested on the bedside table and chucked it at the door. The base shattered instantly on impact showering the floor with the broken shards. Whoever was on the other side of the door quickly slammed it shut letting out a rushed “jesus” before the lamp finished its arc, but swung the door fully open almost immediately after.
“W-what the fuck!” There standing in the doorway was none other than Toby, a very pissed Toby. His face was covered once again by the leather muzzle, and the same brown jacket with the striped sleeves he wore the first two times you met. The orange goggles he wore were pushed up, smushing his hair against his forehead, outlining his dark glowering eyes. He looked unfathomably tired, like he hadn’t slept a wink since the last time you’d seen him.
“What do you mean ‘what the fuck’! What are you doing!?” How he could possibly be mad is beyond you. You’ve been rehomed in the middle of the woods, in a house full of what you can only presume is crazy people, why wouldn’t you throw a lamp at his head.
“Uhhh I don't know, checking to s-see if you’re still alive.” He responds like the answer was so obvious.
“ You couldn't have asked through the door?”
“ You havent made a f-fucking peep since you got here, I d-didnt think you’d answer” He got you there, you absolutely wouldn’t have answered, not to him, not to Tim, not to…anyone. You fully planned on staying holed up in that room.
“Okay?? So what. You don’t just walk into people’s rooms like that!” You argue back.
“G-Good thing I didn't w-walk in then” he snarks. Before you could get a word out he turns on his heel and starts to walk away telling you to get dressed. Crossing to the doorway and over the glass to follow him you not so politely ask why, to which his only response before disappearing into a room a few doors down was:
“We got a job.” Unlike Toby you don’t walk into people’s rooms without permission so you wait patiently for him in the hallway. The moment he slips back out you ask what this ‘job’ entails.
He throws a pointed look while shuffling past you “You already know w-what”
“…killing people?”
He hums unamused and mutters “bingo” while continuing down the hall, leaving you slightly unsettled.
It's not like killing people has been exactly a problem, you had three bodies six feet under already. But it’s not like you meant to, it kind of just… happened. That desire within you always took hold when blood was spilled, but life wasn't wasted, it was necessary, you needed it to survive. But what was their reason? Was it for their own survival? Or is that just wishful thinking, maybe there was no good reason to kill. The encounter at the camp with Toby circles your mind, he had told you then that ‘he had to’ but he didn’t seem unhappy to kill people, in fact he was pretty mad when he couldn’t kill, or maybe that was a one time thing. Really he just seemed tired, tired beyond his years. Tim looked like that too, is that just a byproduct of this ‘work’? Will that happen to you?
With no clue what this job had in store, you got dressed in what you thought might be appropriate, something durable that could get messy. You almost looked like you fit it in with the two men as you approached them in the foyer. Though your jacket was too clean unlike Tim’s, pants untattered unlike Toby’s. And with a “you ready?” the three of you set off in the battered red truck.
…
Toby didn’t get it, what the fuck was her problem with him?
The first time he let it slide, she clearly was out of her mind and in no way aware that Toby was there. And well, she did have a knife poking out of her chest, it's not everyday you see something like that, even in his line of work . The second time he was pissed, not only did she know she got in the way of his hunt, but she threatened him over it, made him feel… lesser. After she apologized and explained he thought he understood, he even made her laugh, not a mocking one or anything like that, even after he spit so much venom at her. And she sat with him in front of the fire they built together.. He didn't scare her away, no, she stayed with him and asked his name. After that night he got giddy just thinking about it, did she scare him… well, yes. But she also excited him, he truly thought she was interested in him, not even in a romantic way. Well, until the party, before she knew it was him that is. He was too angry in the moment to fully process that she threw her drink in that dickwad’s face, for him, until she handed him that cup and apologized for the aforementioned dickwad’s behavior. And God when she flirted with him on that couch Toby swore he was dreaming, and then she led him BY THE HAND into an empty room upstairs. He could’ve exploded on the spot, it felt like he did when she finally said his name. His. name. Not his middle one like he told her, for a second there he was on cloud nine. A strange euphoric feeling he’d never quite felt before, the only thing he could equate it to is that of a successful hunt, but even then it wasn’t even close. But then it all came crashing down. She made a complete fool out of him, she knew the entire time what she was doing to him and it drove him fucking crazy. Her sad pleading face coupled with the fact that the entire upstairs of that party thinks he boned her somewhat made up for it. But not even that saved him from his self loathing thoughts, he should've known that nothing good ever happens to him, he doesn't deserve it. The lamp thrown at his head was evident of that.
And that’s why all he can think about while staring at the back of her head from the backseat of the truck is how much he wants to take the handle of his hatchet across her throat and choke her out against the headrest. Watch her pretty face contort in pain, claw at his hands until she takes her last breath, even though he knows she wouldn't be affected, she probably wouldn’t even feel it. She’s kinda like him in that way, that's what really peaked his interest when Toby first met her, all sorts of fucked up but walking around like it was nothing. He wants to know what she can feel.
Clutching his lower thighs in a death grip, Toby wills himself not to succumb to his imposing thoughts. He still hasn’t gotten the whole ‘self control’ thing down yet and this car ride has been the ultimate test of that. When she turns her head to face out the window he can see just how long her eyelashes are, and how soft the skin of her face looks under the moonlight. He wants to wrap his hands around her throat, just like she did to him, and make her say sorry.
…
The drive to wherever you were going didn’t last long. Only about an hour drive, most of it spent on that long dirt road that leads to the mansion, before spending the rest on winding backroads. The only light cutting through the darkness is that of the headlights, no streetlights in sight, and the moon and the stars consumed by the overcast sky. Tim pulling to the side of the road and cutting the engine, you eagerly jump out as soon as you can. The tension in the car was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You knew Toby was mad, you could feel his eyes glaring holes in the back of your head the entire ride. And if that didn’t tip you off then the near constant tics that wracked through his body did.
The leaves from the past autumn littering the side of the road crunch as you walk along with Tim and Toby- Tim leading, you in the middle, and Toby behind you, he’s been muttering under his breath and drumming his fingers against the handles of his hatchets in a frantic rhythm. Throwing a glance at him from over your shoulder you catch his gaze, or rather you catch his glare. A sharp, molten glare entirely directed at you. You scoff and turn your attention forward again. Whatever his problem is with you right now can wait, you've got bigger fish to try currently.
A short distance up the road from the truck comes a long gravel driveway, leading to a house. It’s in poor condition, the shingles half torn away, roof bowing in from the weight of a home that is structurally unsound. The paint -once white you suspect- is peeling in flakes that have gathered on the ground around the base of the house. A single two-door pickup truck rests in front of the home, years of tools and heavy loads wearing it away. The lawn is comparable to a junk yard, sheets of metal and the hollowed husks of cars used for scraps litter the poorly maintained property
Getting closer to the house you soften your footsteps, a single light in the home is on: the living room. Through the semi transparent curtains you can see an older man, who looks to be in his sixties, slumped on his couch watching late night TV, beer resting in his loose grip . It comes as a surprise to you, this random man who clearly keeps to himself- or at least his yard- is who you've come to kill.
Toby doesn’t stop, he without breaking his stride he walks to the side of the house, disappearing behind the corner. You look to Tim for guidance, not sure what to do with yourself.
“Go knock on the door” he murmurs, keeping his voice down.
“Me? Why me? I have no clue what I’m doing” You whisper frantically back to him as you both walk up closer to the house.
“Just do it.” He gruffs, leaving no time for you to argue as he takes his position at the corner of the house right next to the front door, hiding in the darkness. You can see he has a knife in hand and it dawns on you that maybe you should’ve brought one too, not like you really need it but still.
Hesitating for a second you watch Tim settling into place until he gestures at the door clearly annoyed you haven't moved yet. Shoes crunching softly on the gravel you walk up to the front steps, each board creaking under your weight as you ascend. The knock that reaches the door is tentative, fingers clammy with nerves. On the other side of the door you hear the man groan, the couch creaking as his weight is shifted off of it. The clink of the beer bottle being put down on the wooden side table next to the couch, and the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor. The small window next to the door spills out light as the man shifts the curtain to look out onto the porch, his eyes quickly finding yours. The curtain falls and you hear him shuffle closer. You count exactly three different locks clicking open, one sliding chain lock still in place as he opens the door as much as the chain allows.
“Whaddya want?” His hoarse, phlegmy voice bleeds through the silent night. His head is turned so one of his eyes can see you through the crack, that beady almost glassy looking eye, running up your form. Familiar tingles of disgust run up your body, though you push it down, putting on an innocent act.
“I’m so sorry to bother you sir” you fawn “but my car broke down and my phone died… do you have a phone I could borrow?” He lets out what you can only describe as a grunt. It is gross and scratchy, like he hasn't taken a single clear breath in decades before the door briefly closes, the chain lock sliding undone and the door opens again. He stands in the doorway, two beady eyes dragging up and down before he lets out a laugh, though it sounds more like a cough. You draw your jacket in closer, feeling uncomfortable under his stare. He is the epitome of those creepy old guys mothers would tell their children to steer clear of growing up. Straining against his sagging belly is a stained grey ‘wife beater’ tank top, and he simply wears only his loose cotton boxers.
“Fer a perddy girl like you, sure” He turns his body to the side allowing the smallest possible amount of space you can fit through to get inside. You don’t move immediately, not wanting to get near the man, but you know what you came here to do, so you start to take a step forward.
A loud crunching thud is heard and the man is hurtling towards the ground. You jump back before his body can crash into yours and once his body hits the ground everything gets very still for a moment. Your head reeling from the sudden movement, you look down at the old man. A wheeze stutters through his body as he raises his head to look up at you, meeting your eyes. A dark red stain blooms from the middle of his back and the smell hits you immediately. Blood. A creak in the floor and a hatchet arcs down hard and blunt into the man’s back. The sound is reminiscent of the way your bones crack into place when they're broken, the force of the hit breaks his spine, and possibly his ribs too, though in his case they won’t be fixed back in place.
Toby places a boot on the small of the man’s back prying the hatchet out of its place with a wet crack, blood splurting out of the wounds. You follow his movement from his arm holding the hatchet up to his face. He’s speckled and splattered with the man's blood. Eyes briefly meeting yours in the same glare he’s directed towards you all night, before turning and walking deeper into the home. The stairs groan and creak behind you as Tim walks up the porch, brushing past to enter the house. Stepping slowly over the soon to be corpse, he's still wheezing softly, or maybe it's the last of the air leaving his lungs, you can’t tell.
Tim stands in the living room, rummaging through the drawers and cabinets. Toby exits what is possibly the bathroom, towel in hand, cleaning the blood off the blade of his hatchet. Looking between the two men, you struggle to find the words.
“...was that it?” Strangely you were expecting more, maybe some kind of action or fight but no. Just a man that was alive, then a man that wasn’t. And now you stand in his home, watching as the other two occupy the space like normal, for them perhaps, it is normal.
“For now? Yes” Tim answers, crossing the room to another set of drawers, stuffing his pockets with shiny metals that you can’t quite identify from this angle. It rubs you wrong, if that’s all it took then why are you even here?
“Why the hell am I here then?” The murder of the man hasn’t exactly unsettled you, the manner in how fast everything just happened is what’s got your head trying to catch up. That and the fact they didn’t even seem to need your help has you a bit short.
“What? Th-Thought you were g-gonna get a buffet or somethin’?” Toby snarks at you.
“Whats your fucking problem?” you take a step towards Toby and he takes a step towards you as well, dropping the towel, gripping his hatchet tighter.
“My problem? You, y-you’re my fucking problem” He steps up even closer, about an arms length away. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in stuttered labored breaths, eyes wild with anger.
“Hey! Cut the shit- both of you” Tim has walked up besides you and Toby, ready to step in.
“This is a job, get over yourselves and do something” He holds his ground, looking between the both of you, expression sharp and utterly done with the bullshit. Unaware of what you’re even supposed to be doing you turn to Tim.
“What am I supposed to do! No one has told me a god-damn thing, why are we here? What the fuck does some random hick in the woods do to deserve being murdered in his own home? And why am I here? Just to be used as bait?” You’re waving your arms around as you vent out your thoughts. The secrecy and deliberate vagueness of these people is really starting to piss you off.
Toby huffs out a laugh, “ Yeah, like you d-don't like the attention” anger flares up through you at his words. A strangled frustrated noise escapes your throat as you turn back to him.
“You are such a fucking loser!” If he wants to hurt your feelings, well, so can you. Tim stepping in between the two of you points an angry finger at the door.
“Go get the truck. Now.” he fishes in his pocket and throws you the keys. Gladly taking the exit you storm out of the house. The gravel crunching aggressively under your stomping boots. The walk to the truck is entirely too short. Not enough time to give you even the slightest bit of a cool down. Driving the truck down the driveway and in front of the home, you slam the door as you get out, the truck rattling from the force. Toby is already dragging the guy down the stairs by the legs. You could do it yourself but Toby, the stubborn bastard he is won’t let go, so you grab the guy under the arms and help carry him to the truck, meeting Toby’s glare with your own.
…
And now here you are, alone with Toby, carrying the dead man in a random stretch of woods. Tim, tired of you both already, sent the two of you out to bury the body while he ‘takes care’ of the house, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. Leaving you and Toby to drive in a thick, incredibly uncomfortable silence. Obviously you don’t want to be alone with Toby, he’s erratic and angry, cutting down branches with needlessly hard swings of his hatchets, while you follow behind him with the body, and a pair of shovels tucked under your arm.
How he can see through the thick darkness of the woods is a mystery to you, but you don’t dare say a word. He stops at a small clearing in the woods, holsters his hatchets and turns to you.
“Why do you hate me?” he throws his arms up and lets them fall back down to his sides. A particularly sharp tic cracks through his body.
“What?” You drop the body and the shovels at your feet, giving him your full attention. “What are you talking about?”
“What the fu-fuck have I done” You stand there dumbfounded and in disbelief. Is he actually being serious right now? You search his eyes and come to the conclusion that yes. He is being serious.
A shocked laugh rings through the air, holding up your hand you punctuate every example with a count of your fingers. “Oh, I don't know. You stalked me, manipulated me and oh! The comment you made? ‘I like the attention?’ are you fucking serious? What? Is this about the party?” Toby’s buzzing with anger at this point, shaking his head at each point you make.
“I was nice to you and you tricked me” He emphasises with a sharp point aimed at you, though his hand is quivering.
“Yeah because you were stalking me. How is that not getting through to you?”
“You humiliated me” Embarrassment and scorn lining the edges of his words.
“Has it ever occurred to you that it isn't about you? My life was taken from me. I’ve been turned into this- this thing, I eat people. I never wanted this for myself. And everything I ever knew is gone. My life, my home, my humanity.” His glare softens as you continue to rant. The hopeless desperation bleeding into your voice “And- And now. I live in a murder house in the woods, run by some monster that doesn’t have a fucking face!”
At this point your voice has become shrill with emotions. Unshed tears of frustration line your eyes. Taking a second to breathe you run a hand through your hair, looking around at the forest like it'll give you any type of comfort.
“You can think whatever you want about me, I.don’t.care. But don't act like you're so innocent. I don’t hate you, I’m scared.” Fist curled tight you bring it to you chest in emphasis “Really fucking scared. I'm sorry. If that’s what you want to hear from me? Then there. I’m sorry.” A few tears threaten to run down your face but you don't let them. Furiously rubbing them away from your eyes you heave out a long stuttering sigh.
Refusing to look him in the eyes, you busy yourself by picking up a shovel and getting to work. If you have to finish this as fast as you can to get out of this situation, then so be it. A long awkward silence stretches between you two, except for the rhythmic thwack of the shovel piercing the dense forest floor.
“I didn’t really think-” he fumbles, the muzzle restricting your view, but his mouth seems to be opening then closing as he looks for the words. “I-I don't know. I'm so used to…” He shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable by the trajectory of the conversation.
“I don't know. I’m ugh... I’m sorry” His apology was hesitant but surprisingly sincere, voice soft but unsure. You get the feeling he doesn’t do that very often, even if it is a shitty apology.
It wasn’t the response you were expecting, but it was something.
as always lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!
My bestie @quensensei and I were just thinking about smells. You know, the idea that absolutely every creepypasta character probably stinks so bad it'll make you cry and vomit. And the urge to run away won't just be out of fear for your life.
So here's what we think:
•Jeff Woods stinks. Really. Like...really. You'll die if you go near him. The guy wears the same clothes 24/7, constantly messing with corpses. And the scars? They need a lot of attention, and Jeff hardly do a scar routine every morning. The scars could be infected, and that stinks. The fact that he's alive, let's be honest, is a miracle.
•Proxy is a different thing. They have a hut, but they don't always have access to water. Toby never sweats, but after a long, dirty mission, the smell will still be there. But I like to think they're civilized.
•Eyeless Jack inevitably smells like corpses and guts. No matter what headcanons you have for this guy, his hands will never be clean of the smell of other people's organs; it's simply impossible. And let's be honest, with a diet like his, his breath won't be the best. If you've ever seen a decomposing corpse at least once in your life, you can imagine the smell. It's not the smell of an open wound or just the iron smell of blood. It's flesh, rotting, and it's been rotting for a very long time.
•Laughing Jack smells like a circus, or so you might think. You'll immediately notice sweet notes of popcorn, cotton candy, and maybe a hint of rubber from the balloons and helium. But the longer you're around, the more pronounced the stench of blood and rot will be around him.
•I'd say Slenderman smells like nothing, but I imagine it as a slight damp smell, maybe a hint of swampy water or mold.
•Tenderman wouldn't let a bad smell happen. I'm thinking about this like a girl from 2K13, but he's very careful about his appearance, so yes, he smells good.
•Offenderman smells like men's cologne. You know, that typical super-masculine scent. But not in a sexy way. In an abusive way. This scent literally consumes you. It smells so strong that it suffocates you with its harshness, but if you stay around, you'll get used to it.
Maybe the fear was always there, sitting back in the dusty corners of your mind. Or perhaps it was in the dark corners of a circus tent? The old rickety bleachers? Or maybe it was your mother's incessant warning, "The circus is no place for a little girl, all alone, and nowhere to go." Were these her words? Her voice always sounding off as you try to remember her actual warning, but it always comes back different. Always distorted, always two voices blending into one.
The nightmares of the circus music and a hauntingly jolly voice filling your ears and mind had begun dripping into reality, becoming memories instead of fantasies crafted by the deepest parts of your mind. Perhaps a certain Jack in the box could rid you of your fears? All you do is enter the tent and wind the box... Who knows what you'll find...
Don't forget your ticket.
This will likely take a few days to be out; it is undecided where it will go and if I'm making it into chapters or just a single one. We shall see.
NONE OF MY WORK IS RAN THROUGH OR MADE FROM AI CHAT BOTS. EVERYTHING I'VE WRITTEN HAS BEEN FROM MY OWN HEAD AND TYPING SKILLS. PLEASE DO NOT USE MY WORK FOR ANY CHATBOTS OR AI.
If I remember correctly, in entry 2 part 2, you mentioned Jeff crushing and killing 33 people, and Lucia called him a serial killer. Was that a dark humor joke or was she serious? And does Lucia forgive her victims after taking their eyes? If so, is this forgiveness morally justifiable?
Uh.... yeah no he's still a serial killer. Jeff the Killer... is a killer.
The morality of these characters is... broken. All of their pre existing moral compasses were completely broken down and new weird... personal rules and preferences were built on top of them. Eyeless Jack is the best example of this. He USED to be a normal person, but after getting sacrificed for some ritual, he had to stop thinking about things like a human and start thinking like a demon. People are food. he needs to accept that.
Lazari... hasn't come to that conclusion yet.
Most of the residents of the hollow house have that way of thinking. Even Tim is having his own version of it. Its not about moral justification anymore... we're all well past that.
AAAAND then there's Jeff. Yeah he just doesn't care. He doesn't take anything he does seriously. He's kinda like Jax from TADC except he genuinely is what Jax wants to be. He doesn't care, he kills people for no reason other than he like to, sees all of his crimes as a hobby, and laughs at the people who genuinely do take it seriously. And since hes not using it as a cope like Jax, he can genuinely express himself emotionally. He can make bonds and sees no problem with presenting in anyway whatsoever. friendly or otherwise. He can actually be really considerate of a friend
This... actually could come off as pretty disturbing considering his crimes, and don't worry we'll GET TO THAT
But thats basically the deal when it comes to the morality of these characters. They are all murderers and criminals yeah. No sugarcoating it. They were eating people soup in the first entry. But... they live normally anyway. Some people might find comfort in that. Others might find if disturbing. And... yeah it is.
But some people could be comforted by the idea of getting to live a content life despite being completely broken and destained by the world.
Although... there is the mysterious Lucida
But thats a story that can't be unraveled in a mere ask.
Unfortunately, I can't format this the same way I did in Canva, where I have pictures and text, so I guess just use your imagination. Go to Pinterest; that's what I did.
WC: 2.8k
Warnings: Language, smoking, drinking, jail, scars + burns, disrespectful!Jeff, shameless!Jeff, gore, mentions of Mayhem, reckless driving, mentions of shotgunning.
...yeah, have fun.
Masterlist
There are some hot takes in here. Get ready.
Yeah, yeah. Jeff is a metalhead. Grew up an emo boy and blossomed into a moshing maniac. But what does he really listen to?Well, Slipknot. Duh. I mean, have you seen him? He likes Megadeth, maybe a little Anthrax, but he’s not much of a Slayer or Metallica guy. He respects Ozzy, but the music just isn’t for him. He’ll laugh if you put Motley Crue on. On a rare occasion, you might catch some Mayhem or Type O Negative. Rammstein is a frequent flier in his headphones.
Maybe this is too niche, but I think he’d absolutely love Shockwire.
Sometimes, he’ll go back to his roots. Falling in Reverse, Linkin Park, maybe even a little My Chemical Romance. He’d never admit it, but The Sharpest Lives will always have a special place in his heart.
“You ever heard of Linkin Park?” He asked, popping a bud out of ear and turning to Jane.
“No. Is that where the Lincoln Monument is?”
Jeff laughed, then shook his head. “Figures. Of course you’d think that’s what Linkin Park is. You’re so cute.”
~~~~~~~~
Raise your hand if you’re surprised that Jeff loves horror movies? You? How?
He’s not big into paranormal or psychological movies. But slashers? He’s seen them all. He thinks Ghostface is pretty stupid (and, let’s face it, overdone), but Chucky? He loves that freak. He’s funny, he’s crazy, plus his wife’s pretty hot. The only bad part about Child’s Play to him is the fact that someday, Brad Dourif will die, and the series won’t be right without him.
His all-time favorites are whatever Rob Zombie gets up to. They’re filthy, they’re bloody, and Sherri. God, he loves Sherri. Especially in the Firefly trilogy. Her laugh drives him up the wall, but everything else is just perfect.
“Isn’t she great?” Jeff asked, resting his chin on his fist. “Total babe.”
“What about the movie?”
“What about it? Sherri’s here. I don’t care about whatever they’re getting up to anymore.”
~~~~~~~~
Part of Jeff’s natural stink comes from the fact that he’s always got a carton of Marlboro Reds in his pocket. He’s not a chain smoker, but he still knocks out a couple every day-- more than he knows he should.
His favorite thing about smoking is shotgunning. It’s intimate, but still so hot to him. Just the idea of controlling how much he gets to share is enough to get him a little worked up. Unfortunately, shotgunning is a little hard, considering the gashes in his cheeks, but as long as they’re covered up by someone else’s hands, it’s his favorite part of a not-so-casual encounter.
“I don’t get how you like those things,” Jane grumbled, snatching the stick from between Jeff’s lips and stamping it out on the porch. “And you wonder why we’re always complaining about how you smell.”
He blew the residual smoke out in her face, smiling. Not like he had a choice. “The more I smoke, the less time I have to spend around you.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff was a boy scout. There’s simply no other option. He’s a total outdoorsman. He’s the guy at the bonfire with the big stick. But aside from the firepit, he can pitch tents, identify tracks, and navigate like it’s second nature.
His favorite thing about being outdoors? Trees. They supply the bonfire sticks, but they’re also fun to climb. He’s had his fair share of encouters where a seemingly-sturdy branch has given out under his weight, but that doesn’t stop him. Nothing will get between an insomniac in the woods and seeing the sunrise from twenty feet off the ground.
“How far up do you think I could get?” Jeff asked, pointing to a large spruce tree. “I reckon... all the way to the top.”
“I give you ten before you fall and break your ass,” Ben challeneged.
A boyish smirk crossed Jeff’s face. He was never one to back down from a challenge, especially not from the screenager.
“Oh, yeah? Check this out, then.”
~~~~~~~~
OOOH the side eye this man gives. Anytime, anywhere, he’s casting the most bombastic looks your way. If you pull a prank and you get that look? You’re cooked. Publicly roast his ass? Consider yourself spit-roasted.
He almost never acts right away. That side-eye is your warning. He’ll wait and let you stew on what he could do in return. He’ll strike when you least expect it, even if you’ve gotten all worked up about what he’s capable of. When you’re brushing your hair. When you’re eating. When you’re simply sitting on the couch, watching TV. He’ll get you. This side-glance is only the beginning, but it’s nasty.
“Really? Really?” He scoffed, his permanent smile twisting into a sadistic smirk. “I’ll get you for that one; just you wait.”
“Wha-- oh, come on, man; I didn’t--”
He clicked his tongue and shook his head in an almost demeaning manner. “No, you made your bed. Now lie in it.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff LOVES his alternative jewelry. Ear piercings galore, a lip ring, vertical piercing on the outer edge of an eyebrow; my man is bejeweled. Airport security is a total pain in the ass-- and jail, too. But he’s almost always got a ring or three on, just to be fancy.
And I know he’s got a whole collection of studded belts, from diamonds to rings. He’s the sort of guy to stand over his drawer and stroke his chin going, “Hmm, what to wear...” And he always makes the right choice.
“Aw, shit. Hey! Hey, can you help me?” He called.
When you glanced over, you noticed a man in a dire situation. One of his rings-- the one with the sterling antlers-- had gotten caught in his helix ring. If he hadn’t looked like he’d kill you if you coughed next to him, you would’ve laughed.
“Anytime now, would be great!”
“Let me take a picture first.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff and his tattoos... they’re something. There’s almost nothing with real meaning, other than “I thought it looked cool.” Tattooing over his skin is a challenge, considering all the scars and the burns. That’s part of the reason why he takes such good care of them, even after they’ve healed. His skin is bad enough; he doesn’t need his ink to look like shit, either.
They’re not always visible. Sometimes, the one on his neck peeks out from behind his hair. If he reaches for something up high, the intentionally illegible script on his ribs makes an appearance. His personal favorite are the ones on his collar bones. Barbed wire, twisting like vines until they taper off by his sternum.
“See something you like?” He taunted, reaching his arms over his head to prolong the exposure. “You’re sure giving my ribs an awful lot of attention for someone who claims to find me absolutely hideous, as you said.”
~~~~~~~~
Having a conversation with Jeff is damn near impossible, especially when he’s feeling playful. To him, flirting and messing around are the same thing, so he’ll end up flirting with little regard for the recipient.
His body language is the big tell. It’s closed off to the rest of the people around, but it’s locked in on his target. The remnants of his lips try to tug into a smirk, cracking at his scabbed-over scars. His eyes are always one of two ways, because he doesn’t blink: they’re either attentive and intrigued, or blank. That’s the only way to tell if he’s flirting. If he really wanted your attention, you could tell. Otherwise, they’re as cold and blank as ever.
“Is that so?” He hummed, folding his arms and leaning against the back of his chair. “Never would’ve taken you for someone like that.”
He tilted his head when you didn’t immediately respond. It didn’t take him long to figure out why. “Oh, is somebody flustered? What did I do?”
“You looked at me,” you muttered.
“Well, isn’t that pathetic.”
~~~~~~~~
Let’s talk about post-shower Jeff. He’s not that unhygienic. He stinks naturally, like everybody else, just a little more. Sure, there’s cologne, and it does smell nice, but Jeff after a shower is something different. There’s something so docile about that usually feral man, and it can’t be ignored.
He ties his hair back so it doesn’t stick to his neck. He hates that feeling more than he can describe. Yeah, it shows the full extent of the damage he did to his face, but it also shows off his jaw. He knows he has a nice jawline. He’s got nice features in general, aside from... well, the damage. For just a while, he doesn’t stink, he’s not as uncontrolled. He’s just Jeff. An older, more put together Jeff.
“I just think that maybe it’s a bad idea, leaving Sally alone for that long,” he opined, brushing the stray bangs behind his ears. When they didn’t stay, he huffed, reaching for his hair tie. “What do you think, kid? You want to be alone for six hours?”
"No."
"Case closed."
~~~~~~~~
Maybe it’s the instinctive urge to protect the innocent after what happened to Liu. Actually, it probably wasn’t that. More than likely, it was the fact that Jeff saw himself in the kids that didn’t know how to fit in. How to be loved. But with some select kids, Jeff is the softest person on the planet.
Usually, he’ll just spend time with Sally. He’s not big into playing pretend, but if he gets an invitation to a royal tea party, he’ll make an appearance. If she falls asleep on the couch and magically wakes up in her bed, it’s almost always Jeff that got her tucked in. You couldn’t waterboard it out of him, but he really does love Sally.
“Take your pick,” Jeff said, settling his hands around Sally’s ankles as they dangled off his shoulders. “They’ve got Captain Crunch, Apple Jacks, Honeycombs--”
“I want Lucky Charms.”
“Then get Lucky Charms. If that big octopus says no, we’ll just tell him they’re for me. He doesn’t need to know. Our little secret.”
Sally grinned, gripping the box like it was her most prized possession. “Thanks, Jeff.”
“Anytime, kid.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff absolutely knows Jane is a lesbian. He doesn’t have any interest in her whatsoever. But he’s an annoying jackass, so he still flirts with her. It’s purely for his own amusement, and the reactions he gets certainly amuse him.
Jane, however, doesn’t like.it. She’s definitely torn him a new one several times from his flirting alone. She doesn’t care about the audience, and neither does he. Even if he’s not flirting, he’ll do little things to piss her off-- snatch things from her hands, open cabinets in her face, change the channel she was so clearly watching. If it ruins Jane’s mood, he’s down. Anytime, anywhere.
“Aww, you wanna kiss me so bad,” Jeff taunted, patting the top of Jane’s head in an obviously demeaning manner. “Too bad you like women. I’m a total catch.”
“I do not want to kiss you! Not with that jacked-up mouth! And I’d rather get dinner with Ben, because he’s at least funny!”
~~~~~~~~
The thing that irks him the most is that people assume he’s dumb, just because he ditched his education to pursue his passions. But he’s not. Jeff was a smart kid. He’s a total history buff. Ask him anything about the Civil War, and he’ll give you every single battle in chronological order.
As for math, that’s a little harder. He made it through geometry, and he can do basic algebra, but he might explode if you showed him a unit circle.
“So, what-- why are there two different formulas for the one thing? And why are they called ‘quadratics’ if there’s only three figures?” He asked in a huff, brushing his hair out of his face for probably the fifth time.
“Because--”
“Actually, I don’t care.” He announced, rising to his feet. Get EJ to help you. I’m useless here. Come back when we’re doing American history.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff knows how to drive. Sort of. He knows how to operate a vehicle, but not safely. Or legally. He never got his license, but that doesn’t stop him.
Being in the car with him is genuinely terrifying. You’re going thirty over the limit, blowing through stop signs, taking turns at a speed that isn’t anywhere close to safe. The radio blares, and he’s just in his own world, jamming out and cutting through lanes. God forbid somebody else be a terrible driver, though. He’ll throw out insults like Clark Griswold and honk for about ten straight seconds. You’re convinced the only reason law enforcement hasn’t pulled him over is because they’re scared of him.
“Come on... You’re totally exhausted! Let me do you a favor, and you can just close your eyes. Please?” He reached for the keys on the table without waiting for permission.
“I’d rather drive tired than let you behind the wheel,” Masky snapped, slamming his hand down over the keys. “Get your ass in the trunk. I can’t have you anywhere near me when I drive.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff gets people flustered with a technique that has never once failed him. If it can be done from behind, he’s doing it from behind. Need something from the top shelf? You’re temporarily trapped between Jeff and the counter. In his way? He’ll move you by your hips, then slink past.
He’s not a hugger, but he loves the affect it has on people when he comes up from behind. Nobody knows how to behave when the freaky-looking murderer is suddenly clasping his hands in front of their abdomen, his chin settled on their scalp. If he feels bold, maybe he’ll tug the recipient right against him. It’s truly his worst trait, and he relishes in it.
He hummed, resting his forehead in the crook of your neck. His hands pressed against both iliac crests. “Hi,” he muttered, hot breath brushing your neck.
~~~~~~~~
Jeff doesn’t drink. Ever. If alcohol hadn’t been a part of his accident, he definitely would. But he gets grumbly whenever anyone even has a beer around him. He’ll never admit how nervous liquor makes him.
The only time he got drunk was the first time he had hard lemonade. He didn’t know what the “hard” part of it was. He just thought it was just really good lemonade. Of course, he learned the difference when he woke up feeling like he got hit by a truck, but aside from that one incident, Jeff will remain sober for the rest of his life.
“A bar, huh?” He mused, eyeing the table. “Kind of a lot for a birthday.”
“You’re just jealous that those people know how to have fun,” Hoodie taunted, taking a sip of his own cocktail.
“Yeah, right. Sure. Take a look at my back and tell me that alcohol’s fun.”
“That wasn’t just vodka. That was bleach and fire.”
“Two things that we don’t drink. They’re already unsafe. Alcohol is no different.”
~~~~~~~~
Jeff and Ben are too similar. That’s why they hate each other. They hold the same values, but are disgusted by the other. If Ben thinks that girl is pretty? Jeff thinks it’s a serious reflection of Ben’s mommy issues. Jeff makes this joke? Ben thinks it’s lame and that he could have done much better with the concept and Jeff’s never funny.
The biggest point of tension between them is privacy. Ben is always in Jeff’s business. He’ll sit right next to him, read over his shoulder, poke at him. He knows it irritates Jeff, but it’s basically the same thing that he does to Jane.
“Why are you always touching me?” Jeff groaned as Ben slid in right against his shoulder. “You stink! I don’t want to smell you all the damn time!”
“I think that’s just your breath you’re smelling,” Ben replied casually, snatching the phone from Jeff’s hands. “What are we looking at? Tinder?”
“Ben!”
“Ooh! Who’s this!”
“Ben!“
~~~~~~~~
We’ve seen this guy’s outfit. We know he’s filthy. But his mouth? Hide the whole church. He’s got the nastiest fucking mouth ever. He curses enough to put sailors to shame. No word, aside from slurs, are off limits. Suprisingly, that’s where he draws the line. Any swear, any insult. At the end of the day, he’s said them all at least twice.
Language aside, he’s a freak. He’s a flirt, but it goes way beyond that. He loves coming up behind people and whispering the most vulgar things before moving on casually, as if he didn’t just say things you wouldn’t dare repeat to your diary.
You dropped your glass as Jeff’s hot breath glazed over your ear. One hand braced himself against the countertop, the other finding its way to your hip. Your cheeks turned bright red as he briefly tugged the lobe between his teeth, then gave your hip a pat and reached over you.
“You dropped that, by the way,” he announced, shutting the upper cabinet. “Might want to pick that up.”
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And, yes, I have some JTK stuff in the works and a full-length fic started on my Wattpad.
