uncannydevotion - Tumblr blog

uncannydevotion · 24 days ago

Note

hello! i apologise if i make any mistakes while writing this english is not my first language 🥲

yan!proxies if their s/o was in a depressive episode? like, if they stopped talking, eating, showering after they've been kidnapped by them, how would they react?

a/n: your english was great dw!! thank you for sending in the request, i had fun writing it <3 it's def on the shorter side bc i'm trying to get back into writing after being sick for like two weeks nd falling into a mini-depressive episode, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless!

includes: masky, hoodie, ticci toby, kate the chaser, and rouge the proxy.

warnings: yandere content, gn!reader. not dark yan but not soft yan either, kidnapping, unhealthy and toxic relationships, mentioned murder, forced proximity, mentions of starvation, very very brief mention of self-harm, vague and brief mention of thoughts of harm against the reader in toby's part.

MASKY

He wasn't really shocked by this turn of events. He should've been a bit more patient to learn more about you, sure, but he just had to have you. You being in such a state wasn't shocking, but...

It's annoying. That is the conclusion he comes to, a week into you being in this state. Masky has no problems with taking care of you, but it gets a bit tedious at times, and he's not a patient man.

For a good week or two with you in this state, he'll just think this is a temporary thing and that you're bound to snap out of it soon enough.

But the longer this goes on, the more annoyed he starts to get. It's not your fault; that's something he's aware of, but it doesn't change the fact that he's starting to get frustrated.

He tries not to take his frustration out on you, but there are times when he's just a bit colder than usual, barely speaking a word as he feeds you or bathes you.

He doesn't need you to speak to him, but he's not around all the time to take care of you, and it makes him sick thinking about being away on a mission and you just... starving yourself. So he'll definitely try getting you out of this state.

HOODIE

Out of everyone here, Hoodie is the one who takes his time before actually kidnapping you. He's an incredibly patient man, and is usually the one who stalks his targets before actually killing them.

So when he developed an interest in you, it was only natural that he learn everything he could about you before even thinking about making you his. He assumed that something like this would happen when he kidnapped you, so he's a bit more prepared than the others.

He's got all of your favorite snacks prepared, and the room he keeps you locked away in is almost an exact replica of your own. Anything that you could use to hurt yourself has been removed, of course.

If you take medication of any kind, then he's made sure to stock up on that and has a very strict schedule on when you take your meds. If you can't swallow your meds, he's crushing them up and mixing them with the food he feeds you.

And if you have any comfort shows or movies, then he'll make sure to play them often so that you're not in complete and total silence. Even though it doesn't show, Hoodie does want you to interact with him.

But no matter how long you're in this depressive state of yours, he'll never get upset. He knew this would happen, and he's prepared to take care of you for as long as he must until you're ready to exist again.

TICCI TOBY

Oh no, he can't handle that. He's not a caretaker. He isn't gentle, he isn't patient, and he isn't the type of person who knows how to take care of someone. There are days when he forgets to take care of himself, really.

How could he possibly take care of another person, especially one who won't even speak to him? It frustrates him, angers him to his core, really.

There are times when he just wants to scream at you, to demand that you speak and take care of yourself, and to stop acting so childish, because your situation could be so much worse if he were just a bit meaner. Toby makes sure he gets Natalie or Cody to take care of you when he gets those thoughts in his head.

Your voice is one of the things he longs to hear from you the most. He doesn't care what you say to him at this point, all he wants is for you to speak, because he can't be the only one to fill the silence. He can't.

He tries really hard to be patient with you, he does. But it's just not possible. Almost every other week he's having to disappear for a few days just to keep himself from hurting you. It's not your fault.

Out of everyone else, he's the most desperate to get you out of your depressive state. He'll bring random gifts, and anything that gets even the smallest reaction out of you is seen as positive and he latches onto that.

KATE THE CHASER

Kidnapping you was more of an impulsive move than something planned out, so she's almost as out of it as you are when she finds you in her little cabin in the woods, absolutely scared out of your mind to the point of shutting down.

She tries taking care of you, but she struggles to even take care of herself, so it's definitely a struggle in the beginning.

She doesn't know the stuff you like, so when you don't eat something she gets you, she spends a good hour pacing around the cabin because she does not feel good about forcing you to eat.

She's way in over her head with you, and she's well aware of that. But she can't let you go, even though it's so clear that you don't want to be anywhere near her. You flinch every time she's around, for crying out loud.

You're a small speck of light in her world of darkness, and that's not something she's willing to give up.

Kate has been through her fair share of depressive episodes, so she'll definitely do everything she can to help you out of that state while taking care of you. She doesn't want you like this. She'd rather you scream and yell at her, not look so... lifeless.

ROUGE THE PROXY

Honestly, I don't think Rouge would care as much as the others might. She's a caretaker; she thrives off having people rely on her, so the fact that you've shut down so much feeds into that aspect of her.

She's more than happy to feed you, bathe you, get you out of bed to take short walks, literally anything you'd need help to do in this state, she is going to do.

Unlike the others, she won't try getting you out of this state you're in. It's easier this way, she thinks. You don't fight back, you don't push her away. You don't call her names or glare at her.

You just sit there and let her take care of you, staring off into space like she's not even there. Sure, it would be nice if you at least spoke to her, but that's okay.

Rouge is more than willing to fill the silence with her own voice, telling you everything she could about herself and the stuff she does. She only gets a reaction out of you when she makes an offhand comment about an old friend of yours that she killed, or something like that.

While she hopes that you'll start speaking to her one day, Rouge finds herself much more attached to you in this state, if she's being honest. She hopes you stay like this, just a little longer.

180 notes · View notes

uncannydevotion · 3 months ago

Text

“ the man in the woods. ” [ticci toby x reader]

a/n: ignore the bad title i suck at those. as voted for on this poll! i will be honest, this wasn't meant to be longer than like 2k words at most, but the idea started to run away from me and i kinda panicked so it's a bit messy and i'll more than likely end up making another part if you guys want bc there's like.... no romance in this, actually.... but thank you for 200 followers!!! here's your gift!! i hope you enjoy it, and i'm super thankful that you guys like my blog enough to interact with it. love you all <3 also i made a playlist based on the story nd the silly thoughts that came from it if anyone is interested lol

premise: an injured man ends up on your doorstep one night, and what else can you do but help to save his life?

wc: 3.6k, also cross-posted on quotev.

warnings: gn!reader. implied stalking, blood and injury, medical stuff that i dont understand and am probably making up, i watched a lot of vids of people w tourettes while writing this so hopefully i was able to portray it accurately, unnatural healing capabilities provided by slenderman, pre-relationship.

The woods that surround the cabin you call home were scary. How could they not be? It felt as if you were being watched whenever you went outside, and there have been far too many nights when you'd wake up to the sound of people screaming.

Not to mention the random bursts of static that come and go every few days. That's the thing you found most concerning, though it only ever left you feeling mildly nauseous with a headache, so you never tried to investigate the source.

There have been a few times when you've caught someone watching you, just through the trees. A gleam of orange when you'd shine your light over there, and then it would be gone.

All that to say... the forest is a scary place.

But not scary enough to make you leave. You've lived in this little cabin for years now, and you doubt you'd find anything better than this place. Scary nature aside, the place was your home, and you were very serious about taking care of the plants and occasional animal that came across your property.

Every few months, on very rare occasions, an injured animal like a bird or a deer, maybe a fox if you were lucky, would end up on the doorstep of your cabin. It made you feel a bit like some odd version of Snow White, the way injured animals flocked to you for treatment.

The first time an injured animal appeared, you had panicked. You didn't know what you were doing, and the closest town you went to for groceries didn't have a vet clinic. But you were determined to make sure the little bird lived, and even though you were an anxious, nauseous mess, you succeeded.

That experience is what led to you researching animal anatomy and how to properly treat them should another one wind up on your porch. The knowledge came in handy, but...

You're not sure how to apply it to a human. You didn't think you would ever have to, really.

But as you hop out of your beat-up truck, returning home from a grocery run, you were shocked to see a man passed out on your porch.

There was blood everywhere.

His hands, his arms, his torso. You weren't sure if it was his blood or not, but you could only hope that it wasn't. Because no human could ever possibly survive losing that much blood.

Your hands shook as you dropped your groceries and quickly dug your key out of your back pocket, unlocking and pushing your cabin door open. Realistically, you should call the cops. This man was clearly in serious need of proper medical attention, something you could not provide.

But it would take them over an hour to actually get here, no doubt, and he'd be dead by the time they arrived. Even though you were shaking, stepping over the unconscious man to flip the lights on, you hurry into your bedroom to strip it of its covers, tossing everything onto the floor without much care until the bed was bare.

Hurrying back outside, you had to take a moment to mentally prepare yourself for the task you had been given. You don't know if you can save his life. You've never treated a human before. But you couldn't let him die.

A few deep breaths and a silent prayer to whatever higher being may be listening, you carefully hook your arms under his shoulders and drag him into your home. Were he awake, this would probably be an easier task. Instead, you had to deal with the dead weight of dragging him to your room while also trying to be mindful of his injuries that you still hadn't checked the full extent of.

But once he was on your bed, you got to work immediately.

You scurry around your home to gather things you might need. A bowl of warm water with a rag to wipe the blood from his skin, some alcohol to disinfect the wounds, and a needle and thread in case you needed to give the man stitches. You really hoped you wouldn't need to do that.

His shirt was caked in so much blood that it was sticking to his skin, so you had no choice but to take a pair of scissors and cut it off, cringing a bit as you catch a glimpse of one of the wounds he had. You wouldn't know how bad it was until you cleaned the blood off him, but it still made your stomach lurch.

Dipping the rag into the warm water and wringing it out, you start to wipe off the blood on his skin.

Most of it was still fresh, so you could only assume it was his blood. It makes you wonder just how he was still alive. Sure, he's barely clinging onto life, but he's still breathing.

With how much blood he seemingly lost, he should not be living.

That single thought echoes in your mind even after you've wiped the blood off his torso. It stayed in your mind when you cleaned his wounds, and when you had no choice but to stitch up a few of them. It stayed in your mind even after you were done treating his wounds, and you were finishing cleaning him up a bit.

You tried to keep your touch gentle as you pulled down the face mask the man had been wearing, wanting to clean the blood off his face and wash the mask. To be honest, you weren't sure what you were expecting to see.

But the sight of the scar on his mouth, exposing his teeth, had you flinching just a bit. It was an old wound, and probably the reason why he wore this mask. But it didn't look like it healed properly, and it had you wondering just what this man had gone through.

You couldn't just leave the bloodied mask on him, but you also couldn't leave him without something to cover his mouth. Guess you should consider yourself lucky that you had some pretty decent-sized band-aids in your first-aid kit, so you used one to cover the scarred wound on his cheek.

Only when you were certain that there was nothing else you could do to make the man feel more comfortable did you actually leave him to rest.

Instead, you went to get your abandoned groceries just chilling outside. Luckily, no animals had come around to steal anything, so you quickly gathered everything, double-checked to make sure you had locked your truck before you hurried back inside, pausing only long enough to pick up the two hatchets left lying on your porch.

They weren't yours. The blood on them was a dead giveaway to that, really. It's safe to assume they belonged to the mystery man, and since you were already cleaning his mask, you might as well clean his hatchets, too.

You end up dozing off on the couch shortly after finishing tidying everything up, the sky a dark shade of blue by the time your eyes finally shut.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ———

The sound of shuffling slowly pulls you from your slumber, followed by a quiet whistle followed by a soft, 'shit'. Honestly, you would've ignored it and brushed it off as the TV playing some weird show, but you knew better than that.

Your eyes flutter open, the sunlight bleeding through the window causing you to wince just a bit when it glares into your eyes as you sit up on the couch.

It was still early in the day, so you definitely only slept for four or five hours. You would've fallen back asleep, had circumstances been any different.

Faint sounds came from the kitchen, like someone was trying to be quiet, but not doing a very good job at it. You quickly rush off the couch to the kitchen to find the man you had helped last night rummaging through your cabinet.

It didn't seem like it should be such a big deal, but considering he was on death's door last night, you didn't really think he should be moving much at all right now.

"You're going to tear your stitches open if you're not careful," You say, torn between wanting to force the man back to your bedroom and wanting to keep your distance. He was injured, but he could still prove to be a threat if you aren't careful. You don't know anything about this man, so there's no telling what type of person he is.

For all you know, he could kill you and decide to live in your cabin after the fact. It's an unsettling thought, and a bit overdramatic even, but... all the blood... it was simply too much to be his own.

Not to mention the blood on his hatchets. You'd cleaned them both off and made sure to toss them in the back of your truck before you had gone to sleep. You didn't want him to get his hands on them. Not until you were sure he could be trusted.

Your voice must've caught the man off guard, because as soon as you spoke, he was freezing up like a deer in headlights. There was a half-eaten granola bar in one of his hands, while the other was gripping the handle to one of your cabinets, tight enough that you're a bit surprised it didn't snap off.

If it weren't for the birds chirping outside and the faint sound of the sink dripping, it would've been dead silent as the two of you stare at each other.

The silence lasted a moment longer before the man broke it with a click of his tongue, followed by a short whistle, his head jerking to the side once, then twice. The motion causes a flicker of annoyance to cross his features, and he lets out a short huff before actually speaking, "I'm f–click–fine."

His voice was hoarse, and it was clear that he hadn't spoken in a while. His reassurance was hollow, though, and you just stared at him for a long moment.

"You were bleeding out on my porch at four in the morning, fighting off death, and you want me to believe that you're fine?"

Really, he shouldn't be moving at all. At the very least, it should hurt. But it doesn't even look like he's bothered by the pain he must be feeling, and you're not sure if you felt more relieved or concerned by that.

The man looks as if he wants to argue, his mouth opening and closing a few times, but you're cutting him off, stepping further into the kitchen to pull one of the chairs out from the small dining table you had.

"Sit. I'll make you breakfast, and then I want to take a look at your wounds, okay?"

And, thankfully, the man decides to listen to you. He pops the rest of the granola bar into his mouth before shoving the wrapper in his pocket and sitting on the chair you motioned him to.

Silence fell between the two of you again, but this time it didn't feel uncomfortable. You would glance at him a few times as you moved about the kitchen, getting eggs from your fridge and bread and cinnamon from your cabinet.

You could feel his gaze burning holes into the back of your head, and you bite your tongue to keep yourself from making any sort of comment.

Aside from the sounds of you cooking, you would occasionally hear a bird chirping outside. A few minutes after, the man would echo the sound of the bird chirping, and you'd glance over to see him looking out the window, his hand jittering a bit before he clenches his fist.

He seemed a bit restless, to be honest. Like the silence was making him antsy, his fingers tapping against the wood of your table, trying to keep himself occupied somehow.

"Hey, what's your name?" You decide to ask, wanting to get some form of conversation going so he'd have something to focus on. Your attention goes back to the pan as you wait for his response.

There's a few extra beats of silence before you hear him respond, "Toby."

You mouth his name to yourself. Short and simple. Fitting, even. Humming quietly, you plate his french toast before turning the stove off. Placing the plate of food on the table in front of him, you tell him your name before moving to get some syrup and a glass of water for him.

"So, Toby," You start, placing the glass of water and the small syrup container next to his plate before leaning against the kitchen counter, your arms crossed as you stare at him, "Mind telling me what happened for you to end up on my porch like that?"

"No." His response was immediate, and you almost wanted to laugh, thinking it was some sort of joke. But as he starts to eat, he doesn't go into detail, and you can't help but frown a bit.

"Okay... can you at least tell me what attacked you?"

A part of you expected him to say no again, or to just ignore you. For a moment, you're pretty sure that's what he planned on doing. But then this look crosses his expression, something akin to contemplation, before he shakes his head.

"No."

Well... damn.

Sighing, you decide to drop the topic. It's clear that he wasn't going to budge, and you didn't want to force answers from him. Instead, you decide to focus on cleaning the kitchen up a bit.

You grabbed one of the granola bars resting neatly in a bowl on the counter to have as breakfast, and the silence settled in once more.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ———

Breakfast went by fairly quickly, and soon enough, you had Toby back in your bedroom. The shirt you had left out for him to wear was carelessly tossed somewhere on the ground as you unwrapped the bandages you had put on him the night prior.

It was rushed work, so it was definitely a good thing to change them now rather than later.

You were expecting his wounds to look the same as they had before. Fresh, raw, and perhaps even bits of blood coming from the stitching from his movements in the kitchen. Literally anything like that, honestly.

You were not expecting to find the wound already almost fully healed.

"What the fuck," You murmur, dropping the bandages on the bed next to him to stare at where his wound was. It was still there, just... not as terrible as it was. The stitching was gone, and instead it seemed like a gnarly scar.

It's instinct that has your fingers brushing against the wound, and Toby flinches.

"Sorry, did that hurt?" You ask, glancing up at him. It didn't seem as if he were in pain. You think it's just your sudden touch that caught him off guard.

He stares at you, like he can't quite understand what's going through your mind, before he shakes his head, "'s not something I can feel," He murmurs.

You exhale.

Guess that explains why he's acted like his wounds meant nothing to him. That does not explain how his wounds were already healed up, though. Nothing could explain that, and you're not sure he'd provide you with an answer if you were to even ask.

Still, you wanted answers.

"...So are you gonna explain why your life-threatening wound is suddenly healed, or am I supposed to just ignore it?"

This is the question that gets the biggest reaction out of him yet. He tenses, his jaw clenching and his gaze sharpening a bit as he stares at you. It's a look that has you unconsciously pulling away from him, like he's a wolf about to attack.

For a moment, you think he just might.

But he doesn't.

Instead, Toby looks away from you to stare at the wall for a few moments. A few tics fill the silence, and you patiently wait for him to do something. Anything. Were the situation any different, you probably would've gone without some form of explanation.

But you had spent most of your night last night panicked, thinking you were going to wake up to a corpse in your bed. You had planned on taking him to a hospital and everything so he could get proper medical treatment, but now he just... doesn't need it. You think you deserve to know why, at the very least.

It's information he was very clearly hesitant to give up, but after a few beats, he lets out a short groan. He's going out of his way to avoid looking at you, instead studying the decor of your bedroom as he gives you the response you were waiting for.

"It doesn't want me to–" His words get cut off by a short whistle, and he speaks a quiet 'wow' before getting his words back on track, "die." He finishes, like that was going to explain everything. It most certainly did not, because what the hell is 'it'?

Your lips part, the question resting on the tip of your tongue, but Toby is quick to cut you off before you could ask anything, "I can't tell you anymore. For your own safety."

That's... definitely ominous, but... he seemed serious. Like he believed something bad would happen if he were to go into more detail. You bite the inside of your cheek, curiosity burning in your veins. But you didn't push, you just nod.

"Alright. It doesn't want you to die, so... it healed your wounds?"

He nods. A simple response. It'll have to do for now, you suppose.

With a short sigh, you stand up and grab the discarded bandages to toss them. You'd gotten your medical supplies out for nothing, and you went to put them back in the closet. Hopefully, you won't need them again anytime soon.

"Well," You start speaking before the silence could linger, "Your wounds aren't threatening your life anymore, so..." You trail off, glancing over at Toby to see him staring out the window, like he was watching something. You follow his gaze, but all you see are trees.

"My stuff."

You stare at Toby for a second, your brain failing to immediately process what he had said. But you make a small sound when you do. Right. Right. He had no reason to stay here, since he wasn't injured anymore. You were a stranger to him just as much as he was to you, so it made sense that he wanted to leave as soon as he could.

"Right, give me a sec," You murmur, stepping out of your room long enough to get his things. There's this faint sound of static in the air as you move about your cabin to gather what he needed.

A cracked pair of goggles with blood stained in the glass that you couldn't clean off no matter how hard you tried, along with the mask he had been wearing last night. Most of the blood on it was easily washed off, but there were stains you couldn't get rid of either.

And then there were his hatchets.

They were still outside in your truck, but when you placed your hand on the doorknob to head outside, you felt someone grabbing your wrist. It was Toby, of course, and he pulls you back from the door slightly. His other hand reaches out and takes the goggles and mask from you. The band-aid you had put on his cheek was gone.

"Don't go outside." He says.

His tone was far too serious for your liking, and his cryptic words only served to unnerve you more as you stare at him, "...Why?" The question was quiet, but it felt loud in the silence.

Toby doesn't respond as he puts his mask on, covering the wound on his mouth and cheek before putting the goggles on, letting them rest atop his head as he looks out the window next to your door, letting go of your wrist.

"Just don't."

You decide not to argue with him, and instead sigh, "Right. Well, your hatchets are in the back of my truck. I get your wounds are pretty much healed, and I know you don't want to tell me how you sustained them, but try not to get hurt again. You might not get as lucky next time."

The door opens, but you stop him before he can step outside, making a point to grab the sleeve of his shirt instead of his wrist, seeing as how tense he got earlier from physical contact. He still tenses up from your movement, but less so than before.

He stares back at you, his hands clenching into fists for a second, like he didn't know what to do with them.

"I'm serious, Toby." You knew nothing about the man other than his name, but you still found yourself worrying for him, "I don't know what shit you're involved in, but... you're free to come back here, if you ever need a break."

The only response you get from him is a small hum. You bite the inside of your cheek, wondering if you should say more. Ultimately, you let go of him and mutter a quiet goodbye. No more words are exchanged as he leaves, and you find yourself drifting towards the window to watch him grab his hatchets from your truck.

You don't look away until he's disappeared into the forest.

And as you move away from your window and lock your door, you find yourself picking up on the faint sound of static.

#ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #ticci toby #creepypasta #ramblings of a madman incoming ->#this was originally supposed to be so much longer. i had a lot of things i wanted to do w it right #like it was supposed to include romance in it #but as i was writing it i felt like it started to drag on the more i wrote and i was starting to grow to hate what i was writing #cutting it off where i did was def the best move i think because while i'm still not 100% proud of what i have #it would've been a lot worse if i had opted to continue writing #that being said #if you guys want a continuation to this then let me know!!#while i normally dont like writing part twos or threes to things im not against it here #bc there are things that i still want to write for this lil story lol

99 notes · View notes