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uncannydevotion · 29 days ago

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“ 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

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uncannydevotion · 2 months ago

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“ a day to remember. ”

a/n: my bday is on the 14th this month so here's a lil gift to. myself. i guess. it's gonna be very self-indulgent nd will include some of my faves so!! enjoy it. anyways i dont think dr smiley has a canon name tmk so ive named him damien bc u cannot pay me to refer to him as smiley bc it'll make me think of that rlly bad movie w shane dawson

synopsis: celebrating your special day with the person you love most.

includes: homicidal liu + sully, nina the killer, dr smiley, zero, the bloody painter, zalgo.

warnings: gn reader, incredibly self-indulgent, pet names used: angel (liu), baby (nina), beloved (dr smiley), sun (zalgo). varying lengths, short and sweet, a bunch of fluff, brief bits of angst, mentions of religion, cults, mentions of murder and human sacrifice, implied stockholm syndrome for both damien and zero, reader gets gifted a heart by damien. literally. reader has some pretty skewed morals in his part too, tbf.

HOMICIDAL LIU + SULLY

The moment these two enter your life, your birthday becomes a two-day event because they both wanna spend the whole day with you. So... congrats!!

Honestly, if they had any say in the matter, they'd give you a grand celebration every year but... they can't, obviously. Still, they both try to make your birthday something worth remembering, though they have vastly different approaches.

Liu celebrates your birthday the way his parents had celebrated his and Jeff's birthday when they were kids.

A nice homecooked meal of your favorite food, as well as some small neatly wrapped gifts of things he knew you were interested in. Don't ask him where he got the money for these gifts, because he really doesn't know. Sully refuses to explain, so he's just as lost as you.

Along with that, he treats you to a spa day. Absolutely nothing will stress you out on your special day. Anything that is causing you stress is to be ignored, because he's taking your phone away from you and already applying a facemask on you before you can protest.

He tops it all off with a nice massage, and the two of you end up falling asleep in each other's arms while watching one of your favorite movies.

"Happy birthday, angel," Liu will softly whisper once you're asleep, bringing your hand up to press a gentle kiss against it before falling asleep himself.

And when you wake up, Sully was making you a birthday breakfast. He wouldn't let you help at all, insisting you sit down and watch the morning news or something while he cooks. He will bite you if you try helping.

Once breakfast was done, he sent you off to prepare for the day while he washed the dishes. Househusband material, dare I say.

Anyways, the way Sully celebrates your birthday after breakfast is a spontaneous road trip. No, he's not telling you where he got this car. Yes, he knows how to drive. Just trust him, okay?

Since he doubts Liu would actually let him take you on a full-fledged road trip across the country, Sully settles on taking you to nearby places that remind him of you.

It, after breaking a few traffic laws that makes you wonder how the fuck you guys didn't get pulled over, eventually leads to the two of you being parked on a cliff somewhere. The sun was setting, and it was a beautiful scene to witness. Even more so when the stars start to light up the sky.

Sully was absently tracing shapes on the palm of your hand as you pointed out the constellations you could see, as well as other random shapes the stars seemed to make. He couldn't care less about the stars in the sky; his gaze only focused on you and the soft happiness in your features.

He'd always thought birthdays were a strange thing to celebrate, but he'd gladly celebrate your birthday until the heat death of the universe if it meant being able to see you smile like this again.

NINA THE KILLER

If you're comfortable with big parties, then trust that Nina is organizing a birthday bash for you. She will force the others to attend whether they like parties or not because this is your special day, and it needs to be perfect.

There would be party games, and she would spend weeks just planning what foods should be at the party, and what foods would be banned. Anything you don't like, or anything you're allergic to is not allowed within 200 miles of the party.

She's very serious about your birthday, more serious than you are. It might just be another day to you, but to her, it's the day the universe decided to create you. Without this single day, she never would've gotten the chance to meet you, the chance to fall in love with you.

Call her a hopeless romantic (because she is one, let's be honest) but can you really blame her? You're the most important person in her life, the only person she can truly rely on. Your birthday needs to be celebrated as such.

But...

If you'd prefer something more tame, then she'll scrap all her big party plans and aim for something smaller.

Something meant for just the two of you.

A playlist filled with songs that reminder her of you. An abundance of gifts, because no matter how small you want your birthday celebration to be, Nina just can't help but spoil you.

She'll softly hum the birthday song as she lights the single candle neatly stabbed into the cupcake that you insisted was enough, and she watches the way the flame flickers, highlighting your features beneath the soft pink LEDs in her bedroom.

"Make a wish, baby," She whispers. And you stare at her for a few moments before blowing the candle out.

After taking the candle out, she feeds the cupcake to you. Yeah, sure, she could just let you eat it. But she wanted to feed you, okay? She wants to spoil you! You deserve to be spoiled!

She'd gift you the whole fucking universe if she could, but all she can do is hold pieces of cupcake to your lips while the two of you chat about anything and everything.

Nina stays up even after you've fallen asleep, her head resting on your chest so she can listen to the steady beat of your heart. Everything is as it is meant to be.

DR SMILEY

Your birthday wasn't something you celebrated, really. Not because you didn't want to, but because nobody ever seemed to remember when it finally came around, and it always felt humiliating celebrating it alone.

After your loving, doting boyfriend snatched you up off the street one night when you were taking a short walk to clear your head, you didn't think you'd never have a birthday again.

But instead of killing you like he had originally intended on doing, he ended up... keeping you. It's a strange arrangement, and you're constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop because there's no way he actually loves you.

He never did kill you, and the months went on. Soon enough, your birthday had arrived. You hadn't expected anything. You're just lucky to be alive, really, what more could you possibly want?

Still, when you woke up on the evening of your birthday (one of the many adjustments since being kept was getting used to staying up all night), that empty feeling in your chest was difficult to ignore.

The house you were in was unfamiliar. The home of one of Damien's recent victims, probably still in their basement in multiple trash bags. You didn't really want to think about it, though. It was eerily quiet, too.

Normally, you could hear Damien doing his... surgeries, down in the basement of whatever home you ended up in. He liked hearing them scream, so he never bothered to keep them quiet. You always had to filter the noise out with loud music.

But tonight, there was nothing. Nothing, except for a note on the kitchen counter telling you to go out back. You're not sure what you were expecting to see, but you weren't expecting fairy lights to be hanging up, illuminating the backyard in an almost soft angelic glow.

The thing that caught your immediate attention was the heart-shaped box resting neatly on a small folding table. You didn't miss the blood seeping out of the box, and you had a feeling you knew what you'd find in it.

And when you did open the box, you were greeted by a heart. A human heart, presumably belonging to one of Damien's recent victims, judging from how fresh it was.

"Happy birthday, my beloved."

Damien's voice causes you to startle a bit, and you quickly turn to see him standing behind you. The surgical mask he always wore was nowhere to be seen, so you could see sharp teeth as he smiles at you.

Your silence has him cocking his head to the side a bit, like he was disappointed that you weren't giving him an immediate reaction, "Do you like the gift I got for you?"

And you... you should say no. You need to say no. In what world is a human heart something you'd want for your birthday? You don't even remember telling Damien when your birthday was, so you're not sure how he knew.

But... the time you've spent with the man must've fucked you up, because you found yourself tearing up as you choked out a quiet, "Yeah, I do."

And Damien's expression a teetering between amused and confused as you pulled him into a hug, burying your face in his shoulder to hide your tears. It's not the first time he's seen you cry, but it's definitely the first time it hasn't been from fear.

Truth be told, he had pulled this little stunt because he wanted to scare you. He didn't think you'd actually like it. Though... he finds himself enjoying this turn of events, returning your hug in a way that was just a bit too tight.

Maybe he'll get you a real gift, one you can actually keep. You have been behaving recently, after all.

ZERO

Zero absolutely fucking hates birthdays. Everyone is always so cheerful, and she just didn't understand why it was such a big deal. Why would she want to celebrate something that happens every single day?

But there's this nagging feeling in her chest when she sees you getting a gift from one of your friends (that she had begrudgingly let you keep because you begged nicely). There's this smile on your face, one that she's never seen directed towards her.

She wants it.

That's how you end up seated in your living room with a bunch of poorly wrapped gifts sitting on the coffee table with Zero sitting comfortably on the ground, her gaze glued to you.

"Open them."

You blink, looking between your girlfriend (captor? the lines have blurred a long time ago) and the gifts that she most definitely stole from the people she's killed. There's this hesitation in your movements as you grab the first gift.

The first gift was a necklace carelessly tossed in a small box. It would've been a nice gift, if it weren't for the fact that the initials engraved on it weren't yours.

Zero watches quietly as you open every single gift, taking in your every little reaction. The slight frown on your face, the way you'd shy away from something stained with blood. It was frustrating.

You're not reacting the way you're supposed to react. Why aren't you smiling? You weren't even giving her one of those fake smiles you always had whenever she was around.

You looked at the gifts she'd gotten for you like you were already thinking of how to get rid of them when she wasn't around. The thought had her frowning, her hand twitching just a bit towards her mallet resting on the ground next to her.

Maybe she should just ki-

The sound of your soft gasp as her train of thought cutting off, and she focuses back on you to see you carefully picking up this stuffed shark she had haphazardly wrapped. She doesn't even remember where she had gotten it, to be honest.

But you were holding it like it was something precious, and her brows furrow a bit when you finally look over to her, "I love it."

And there it was.

The smile she wanted. Soft, small, and genuine. It has her chest aching, and she can only stare at you as you look back at the small stuffed shark like it was the greatest thing you'd ever been given.

"Yeah. Happy birthday, or whatever," She grumbles, hating the way her face felt hot as she looks away from you.

THE BLOODY PAINTER

Birthdays aren't something Helen celebrates. When he was younger, his parents only ever got him a small cake and a gift if they thought he deserved it. Most of the time, they didn't, so he never celebrated his birthday. It's been that way long after he grew up.

Before you two started to date, Helen hadn't celebrated your birthday. When the day came around, he just treated it like any other day. Other people wished you a happy birthday, so why would you want him to celebrate it as well?

But he saw how sad you seemed to be, even after getting so many wishes and small gifts from your other friends. He didn't really understand why you were sad.

It isn't until you two start dating, and your birthday comes around again, that he finds himself staring down at the painting he spent a full month working on. It's displayed neatly on the couch in your living room.

Your friends had taken you out for a birthday dinner, so Helen had taken the chance to break into your home (it's for a romantic cause, he rationalizes), and he honestly felt like a fool.

A painting depicting your beauty, conveying his love in the only way he knew how, along with a small cake sitting on the kitchen counter that he spent weeks teaching himself how to bake, and it just didn't feel like enough.

But it was too late to redo anything, and even if he wanted to, you were opening the front door before he could even consider it, a look of shock on your face to see him standing in your living room.

"I thought you were too busy to see me today," You said as you stepped into your apartment, closing the door behind you. Helen had called you earlier that morning to tell you that. It had bummed you out, knowing you wouldn't be able to celebrate your birthday with your boyfriend, but here he was.

Helen makes a vague sound, not really bothering to explain the lengths he'd gone through to surprise you like this. It's the most effort he's put into anything other than his art, and it feels like a confession of love. Maybe because it is, in some aspects.

He watches your gaze flicker to the painting on the couch. The painting depicted you. A photo of you, actually. One he'd taken last year, on his birthday, with the camera you had given him.

You bought it for him so he could take reference photos for his art, and the smile you had on your face and the light in your eyes when you explained to him how it worked had him snapping a picture without even realizing it.

He had taken that photo and turned it into a masterpiece on canvas. Colors swirled around you, colors he saw every time he looked at you. Colors that represented happiness, peace, and love. Things he only ever felt whenever you were around.

He watches the way your eyes widen a fraction. The way your lips part and the way you look back at him like you can't believe he'd do something like this.

"What...?" You're at a loss for words, and Helen has to suppress a smile.

"...Happy birthday." He murmurs, reaching out to grab your wrist as he tugs you to the kitchen so you two can eat the cake he made.

A happy birthday, indeed.

ZALGO

Birthdays are meaningless to a creature like Zalgo.

He's been around longer than the birth of stars, assumedly, and he's watched many things die in his existence. Most of which have been by his own hand, for his own entertainment, but I digress.

All that to say, he doesn't even know your birthday until members of his numerous cults approach him one day to ask what they should do in celebration of your birth. Normally, he wouldn't entertain such questions, but...

You're a special human.

You've managed to capture the... well, he doesn't know how many hearts he has, truth be told...

But you've captured all of them, and birthdays seem to be treated as big deals by humans, so perhaps he could use this as a way to make you further aware of his devotion to you.

Now, it might be obvious already, but Zalgo has no idea how humans celebrate birthdays. He doesn't care enough to pay attention to what the members of his cult do if it doesn't benefit him in some way, so he's never picked up on any of their traditions.

"Well, some people like having a sweet treat on their birthdays," You had told him when he questioned you on the topic, "And some like getting gifts."

The vessel your eldritch boyfriend was possessing frowns, "And what is it that you like, my sun?"

It's a simple question. He expected a simple answer in response. Instead, he gets a sheepish smile and a slight shrug, "I've never celebrated my birthday, so I don't know."

And that's... that's not right. Not at all.

You are a treasure. Someone to be worshipped, far more divine than any of the gods mortals believe exist. How has nobody celebrated the day you came into this cursed world?

Well, lucky for you, Zalgo has far too many cults to keep track of, and your birthday becomes a sacred holiday in all of them. Those who don't celebrate will be sacrificed, and should you dislike any of the gifts given to you, there will be more sacrifices.

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