#Toby {The Mechanical Heart}

[litirxcaractar]

@silverfaxg liked for a starter~

Playing in bars was always a great way to earn a little coin and meet new, and beautiful faces. Today was no exception. The warforged was strumming his lute, singing songs for the patrons of a local inn and keeping a keen eye out for anyone he felt he could have a conversation with once it was all over. Sitting alone at one of the tables, he spotted a woman who looked like she needed a little extra company, and so once he finished his last song, Toby approached her and pulled a chair out for himself.

"Mind if I take a seat?" He asked, a dashing smile crossing his face as he looked down at her, emerald green eyes taking in her every feature. "If you need a drink to be spoken to, I can always buy you one of those too." He told her with a gentle chuckle.

[rainrot4me]

Return The Favor

Summary: Stumbling in on your neighbor’s chopped up body, an unlikely friendship forms between you and Toby. Striking a deal, you agree to help the killer and his friends, buying them necessary prescriptions. But when one visit turns to multiple, Toby becomes curious, finding a not so subtle love note hidden away.

Characters: Ticci Toby x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Mentions of death, explicit description of a dismembered body, decomposition, death, gore, obsession, vomit, throwing up, blood (non-sexual), blood (sexual), vaginal fingering, degradation, biting, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, vaginal, choking, gagging, somnophilia, rough, Toby literally goes insane about you, virginity kink, first time, desperation

Words: 9.4k

A/N: This shit long asl I'm so sorry...

It’s said that when there’s a dead body nearby, your body can sense it before your brain can. 

It’s almost like instinct, a survival nature programmed into your brain. It’ll start with goosebumps and chills running all over your body as if you were being watched, this uncomfortable sensation that you just can’t rationalize. Then the anxiety sets in, body aching and sweating for no apparent reason but it just knows there’s something wrong. 

Finally, when you’ve finally choked it up to just being your imagination, that’s when you’ll smell it. Throat instantly closing and nostrils flaring at the putrid stench of rot and gore. It’s incomparable, no amount of food poisoning or disease compares to the sickness you feel in your stomach at the smell of a human body decomposing. Every instinct in your body pleading and begging you to get out of there, run as far away until you can’t breathe anymore. 

You would know. And it seemed like the boy huddled in front of you did too. 

There was no real reason for you to even be in this house in the first place, but your all-too-good heart guilted you into it. You had just come home from work, mind tired and body sleepy as you unlocked your front door, tossing your bag onto the kitchen table inside. It was well past midnight, the diner you worked at closing way later than normal, but at least you made some good tips. 

Sliding into your bedroom, you changed into more comfortable clothes, tying your hair back before stepping into your kitchen. You gripped the tiny journal lying on the counter, cracking the worn pages open to where you left off, scribbling your thoughts onto the paper. It was your nightly routine, journaling things you saw or did, a coping mechanism suggested by your therapist. It wasn’t for anything intensive, just minor anxiety and self-image problems, always having negative thoughts about yourself. It helped. Glancing up, you looked through the tiny window above your sink, a clear view of your neighbor’s back porch, Mr. Higgs, an older man who made it very difficult to be friendly. He was a hateful guy, always nitpicking your choice of decorations or specific outfits he didn’t find appropriate. A real sweetheart, obviously. 

But compared to his usual eight PM lights out, the living room lamp was still bright, shining directly through his open back porch door. That was odd. As long as you had known this guy, it wasn’t like him to be up this late, let alone be outside. Every instinct told you to just clean up and go to bed, his angry ass probably scooting off a raccoon or something. But you just couldn’t pass up that nagging feeling, your kindheartedness overpowering you. So, sighing, you tossed a hoodie on and slid out your back door, stepping down the porch steps into the cool grass.

You flinched as a flash of brown passed your vision, small and thin against the dark grass. Cooing, you kneeled down, holding your fingers out as Mr. Higg’s old cat, Addy, sniffed the air around you, pressing against your bare legs as she purred. The man was way too protective of his cat. Something was definitely wrong.

Standing again, Addy pranced away, meowing loudly behind you as your bare feet became wet against the midnight dew, grass sticking to your ankles as you walked, arms hugging yourself against the cold. This would probably just end with you getting told to mind your business and stomping back to bed upset, but it was the thought that counted. Gripping onto the porch rail, you stepped up his creaky wooden porch, knocking against the wooden frame of the open door.

“Mr. Higgs? Everything alright?” You called into the room, refusing to go in. There was no response, you knocked again after a couple of seconds. Still nothing. You gulped, rubbing your arms against your sides, nerves wracking you. “Okay. I’m coming in. Don’t get mad 'cause you didn’t answer me.” You called again, pressing past the door and wiping your wet feet on the welcome mat. 

The house was quiet, the only light being the lamp sat on a coffee table adjacent to the old couch. All the furniture had an older look like something out of the eighties, it made you cringe. “Mr. Higgs, are you home?” You shouted down the dark hallway, all the doors shut except for one at the end which you assumed to be his room. Hugging yourself, your legs felt anxious, your mind racing with all the reasons you shouldn’t walk down there. There was no reason for it, this was all just probably some old guy who forgot to shut his door, but you just couldn’t shake the feeling.

Taking a step down the hallway, that’s when it started. Those feelings, like your body can feel shouldn’t be there. The air suddenly grew thick, a nauseating feeling setting in against your chest, pressing down like a conscious weight. But you shook it off, telling yourself it was just you scaring yourself with all of those crime shows, but you should’ve known better.

The door was cracked, moonlight from the open shades pressing against the doorframe, your hand flat against the wood as you pushed the door open. Then came the smell. It was stout, a putrid funk that wafted against the walls, souring the room. The room was dark, pupils blown wide as they fought to see, hand sliding against the wall and searching for a light switch. Your body was tense, senses on high alert against the dark, breathing ragged against the awful stench filling your senses. Your eyes were beginning to water, wondering what in the hell could be stinking this terribly, until you felt the switch, flipping it on.

Your first instinct was to throw up, throat constricting and stomach tightening, but you just couldn’t move. You were petrified by the scene in front of you. Mr. Higgs was there, at least, what you could recognize of him. His head had been cleaved from his body, intensive amounts of blood staining his beige bedsheets. His cheeks were bloated, a gnarly purple color as his veins poked against his forehead, skin wrinkled and soaked in blood as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. They were yellow now, dark veins contrasting against the orbs as puss leaked from every hole on his expressionless face. The rest of his body was scattered, chunks of muscle shredded from his arms and hands like they had been cut off, legs more or less the same. His wide stomach was completely visible, his skin swollen and dark, bloated against the same liquids spilling from his pores. The blood was the worst part. It was just everywhere. Splattered on the sheets, the nightstand, even the walls, specks reaching the roof. You were so lost in your racing thoughts, your heart pounding heavily against your chest as you gripped the door tightly, knuckles white on the frame. You could feel the cold sweat drip down your brow, utter fear chilling your body. 

You wouldn’t have even noticed the tall boy standing in the corner if he hadn’t flinched, eyes wide and locked on you. He was lanky, easily taller than you and pale. No, not pale, more gray. He had curly brown hair that fell in front of his eyes, his freckled cheeks flushed against the bandages across his jaw. A pair of goggles rested amongst his curls, a dark mask covering his nose and mouth. He wore dark wash jeans loose around his hips and a heavier brown hoodie that was stained with dark blood. Oh God. The boy didn’t look much older than you despite his bruise battered skin. But he wasn’t moving, wasn’t talking, he was just watching. 

His hands were behind his back, shoulders scrunched against the corner of the dark walls as you pressed back off the door frame, breathing ragged. “Who the hell are you?” You grimaced, tone coming across a lot more confident than you felt. The boy flinched, not out of fear, more like a bodily reaction. He refused to answer, eyes scanning around quickly until he pressed off the wall, sliding to the shuttered window and pinching the blinds open, scanning the night without explanation. That’s when you heard loud boots stepping up the porch steps, head spinning quickly down the hallway. “Shit.” You heard him, the boy’s voice panicked and rough, his boots stepping quickly across the hardwood and into your vicinity. Panic strained you, head spinning back quickly before your vision was filled with his arms wrapping around you, palm slapping over your mouth as he pressed you to his chest. 

You tried to fight back, mumbled pleas against his hand as you shouldered his arms, your back pressed firmly against him. He was dragging you into the room, your feet dragging as you struggled, clawing his arms away but he never budged, practically unaware of the scratches you were leaving on his hands. “F- Fuckin’ quit-” He growled quietly, pressing open the small closet doors and dragging you both in, quickly shutting the door as you heard the boots grow louder down the hallway. A sliver of light shone through the crack in the door, leaving you just enough room to see the gorey scene as you pressed off of him, his muscled arms refusing to let you go.

“Toby?” A scratchy voice called into the room, the figure stepping through the door frame and into your line of sight. At his appearance, you froze completely, your body tense against the boy behind you. His arms gripped tighter, bandaged fingers digging into your cheek as he kept you quiet. He was horrifying. 

This man was taller than the one in the closet with you, pasty skin a sharp contrast against his dark messy hair. His eyes were wide, pupils dark against his reddened scleras. He wore a white hoodie, dark jeans covered just the same with Mr. Higg’s blood. But the worst part, the part that made your heart pump in your throat, was his smile. It was etched in, flesh torn upwards into a mocked smile, teeth exposed from the side of his cheek. The area was mangled, seemingly unhealed as blood dried against the cut. He almost made Mr. Higgs seem not that bad.

“Twitch, come on,” He called again, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket as he strolled around the room, kicking Mr. Higg’s severed foot out of the way. “I’m gettin’ tired. This guy had some good beers and I’m tryna get back home and drink ‘em.” He snickered, turning back out of the room and back down the hallway, his loud boots stomping against the old floors. Who you presumed to be Toby didn’t let you go, arms just as tight around you as you gripping his hoodie’s sleeves tight. “Fine then! If you’re gonna play fuckin’ hide and seek then I’m leavin’ your ass here!” He called throughout the house, your body only untensing when you heard the back porch door slam shut, loud boots thunking down the porch and out of earshot. 

You both waited a couple of seconds, heart thudding in your ears as arms slowly released you, palm unclasping from your mouth. Panicked, you slammed out of the closet, turning around quickly and facing Toby, back pressed against the nearest wall as you searched for something to defend yourself with. “D- Dumbass.” He grit, pressing out of the cramped closet and facing you, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie. The stench of the room pressed harder than ever, making your head dizzy as you pressed out of the room and down the hallway, Toby quick on your heels. “Whoever the fuck you are, whatever the fuck you want, I’m sure Mr. Higgs didn’t have it. Why in God’s name is he in pieces in his bedroom?” You hissed, gagging as the image replayed in your mind, turning into his kitchen and wracking the cupboards. When you found a small plastic cup, you ran water in through the sink, chugging the stout liquid down as you calmed your breathing. Toby stayed in the doorframe, crossing his arms. You probably shouldn’t have let your guard down, knowing full and well what he had just down to your neighbor, but you figured if he was going to he would have already.

“It’s none of y- your business. I don’t k- kill innocents, so you s- shoulda just stayed home, m- missy.” He growled back, stuttering through the words. You tossed the cup in the sink, the plastic clattering against the metal as you turned to face him, running your hands through your hair. “Hard to when you guys so obviously left his door open. The bastards hounded me for years, you’d think I’d be happy about his death, but not fucking like that.” You hissed, leaning back against the counter and crossing your arms, bare feet cold against the porcelain tiles. “I mean, Jesus. And I mean, thanks and all for the save back there, but how is killing him and saving me any different? It’s just favoring one innocent over another.” Toby shook his head, sliding past you and tugging a drawer open, shovelling through old receipts until he found the stack he was searching for. He passed it to you, paper crinkling as you skimmed through, old pharmacy receipts for prescription medicine. 

“H- Had the old bastard bu- buying our meds. Paid h- him off and everything. Un- Until he started g- giving us coun- counterfeits, sellin’ u- us out. He h- had to pay u- up somehow…” He huffed, shoving his mask down off of his nose and under his chin, his thin lips chapped against the bandages hugging his cheeks. And of course, he was cute. 

“So he gets shredded?” You had to breathe through that sentence, throat tight with nausea. Toby nodded, a small smirk crooking at the corner of his lips. You grimaced, pressing off of the counter and through to the living room, the old furniture seeming a lot less homey now. You were going home, filing a police report, and praying to God these fuckers didn’t come back to get you instead. 

“U- Uh, might wa- wanna clean up, t- too,” Toby chuckled from behind you. You paused, confused as you looked around, stomach twisting as you looked down. Bloody footprints trekked through the kitchen behind you, a trail leading to your bare feet as you lift your knee, gagging at the sight of Mr. Higg’s blood coating your soles. Toby was laughing, the noise muffled against the ringing in your ears as you hunched over, stomach convulsing as you puked on the hardwood floors, your lunch from work coming back up. Head straining, you panted, wiping your lips. “Oh, s- shit, okay.” Toby hissed, sliding to your side and raising you up, hugging you close to his side. He drug you through the door, stomach still churning as you watched your footprints faintly appear beneath you, purposefully dragging them through the grass to get the blood off. You felt disgusting, giving no fight as Toby brought you to your porch steps, helping you up. He was so bipolar, angry and distasteful for one second, then cautious and endearing the next. It really was like you were dealing with a teenager. 

Addy circled your ankles, her dense fur tickling your skin and making you jump, Toby gripping your arms tighter. “Oh, hi kitty.” You cooed, breathing deep as you kneeled down, scooping her up into your arms as Toby helped you up the rest of the steps. Without asking, he slid open your screen door, helping you both inside as Addy purred against your chest, Toby wary as he stared at her. You dropped her on the floor gently, Toby sliding the door shut as you hunched over your sink, cleaning your mouth and grabbing a rag for your feet. Toby still eyed Addy, fidgeting his nails as he followed her. “Ever seen a cat before? She was Mr. Higg’s.” You chuckled, cleaning the soles of your feet off and tossing the rag into the sink, still feeling unclean. Toby nodded, rubbing his arms nervously as he looked back at you, smiling awkwardly. “Yeah. Us- Used to have one. T- They kinda sc- scare me now.” Smiling, you scooped Addy up again, petting her soft fur as you brought her close to the boy, his neck twitching nervously. 

How could this guy shred a man to pieces, but petting a cat was too frightening for him? You couldn’t understand. Digressing, you gripped his wrist, steadying the twitches as you placed his hand on her back, rubbing gently as Toby flinched, breathing quickly. Addy purred, unbothered by the action as he became more comfortable, fingers playing with her fur before he pulled his hand back, breathing deep.

You were too nice for your own good, too easy at giving the benefit of the doubt. Of course, you would find the redeemable traits in a murderer, heart hurting for this boy who was more or less the same as you. Groaning, you dropped Addy, crossing your arms. “Listen. What you did, it’s… For my own conscience, I can’t let it happen again.” You grit, circling your countertop and sitting on a stool, your journal tucked in front of you as you fidgeted with the pages. “If we can agree, I’ll buy your meds. I have a friend who can write me prescriptions, no questions asked. But I need you to understand, under no circumstances, are you allowed to harm me. I’ll call the cops.” Like the cops could stop these lunatics. But, you needed some type of leverage. 

Toby thought quietly, eyes narrowed as he flinched uncomfortably against Addy rubbing on his shins, purring loudly. If you could hold your end, there would be no trouble, but he had to know he could rely on you. “Th- The meds aren’t for m- me. My f- friends, they need ‘em to function, m- mentally… You g- gotta realize this is- is serious.” Even stuttering his voice was stern, arms crossed as he thought, contemplating. You nodded, brushing your hair from your face as you groaned, realizing how desperately you needed to learn to set boundaries. “I can get them. But you have to keep your end, too.” You hissed back, pinching your fingers nervously. Toby smiled, crossing his heart, literally. Rolling your eyes, you nodded, rubbing your face as you groaned. What the fuck were you even doing? 

“I’ll have them by the end of the week. Come later at night, cops’ll be swarming for weeks thanks to you.” Toby nodded, sliding over to the counter and gripping your journal, tearing a page out as he wrote the list of prescriptions you would need to get. It was a hefty list, some of that shit intense. “Abou- About that,” He slid his mask up over his nose, sliding the screen door open as he stepped out, chuckling. “Do- Don’t go outside. Gonna ma- make it look like a g- gas leak.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he shut the screen, sliding his hood over his head and peeling down the porch steps. Finally taking a deep breath, you stared at Addy, wondering what in the absolute fuck you were doing. Rest in hell, Mr. Higgs.

-

He made it look like a gas leak alright. The house was on fire in minutes, the bright orange flames lighting your room as you heard sirens in the distance, your other neighbors gathered outside their houses as you climbed into bed, groaning your displeasure. Cops and firefighters swarmed for days afterwards, investigating the area thoroughly, but never finding any remains of Mr. Higgs, his body buried somewhere far away. They eventually grew restless, the city quickly cleaned up the charred remains of the house and a new plan for construction was set in soon. It went over smoothly, no one even suspecting a thing. 

The days passed slowly, nervousness building as the end of the week grew closer, feet shuffling as you stood in line at the pharmacy. You got the doctor’s notes easily, already called in and waiting to be picked up as you were handed a small paper bag, the pharmacist eyeing you closely as you hurried out. Once in your car, you rummaged the sack, eyes wide as you read the dosage instructions on each little pill bottle. You read each bottle carefully, cringing at the names of the contents: Thorazine, Prolixin, Haldol, and even Aripiprazole. They were all high-end antipsychotics, the list of treatments for schizophrenia and mania, along with treatment-resistant depression. The last bottle caught your eye, a quick Google search told you it was for tourette's. So his twitching wasn’t just nervousness, huh. Shoveling the sack into your bag, you sped home, Toby well on his way as the sun set low.

The first week was easy, Toby in and out without so much as a hello, nodding his thanks as he bolted back into the woods, eyes dark and heavy. It was easy for you, moving along with your life despite the one night of the week. You felt easier, the boy quick about his stops with some chat, but never hanging around for too long, eyes always scanning the tree line nervously. 

As weeks passed, he grew more comfortable, you learned that he was quick about stopping due to his friends, their curiosity about you making him nervous about losing his ‘dealer.’ You learned to leave his meds on the counter, sometimes not even present when he would sneak in at the late hours of the night, your job taking precedence over your sleep schedule. But with all of this money being spent weekly on medicine, you had to pick up more time at work, everything being paid for out of pocket not to raise suspicion. You were sleeping more, journaling and your hobbies taking less importance until they were practically nonexistent. It was hard, your serving heart refusing to let you rest, making sure Toby got his medication is the most important thing. You were strained, to say the least. 

However, surprisingly, after a couple of weeks, Toby wasn’t in a hurry to leave. He had slid in like he always did, you sat at the counter eating your dinner as you scribbled through the pages of your notebook, summing up the previous days. You were exhausted, Toby making you jump slightly as he shut the screen door, rummaging through the paper sack. “G- Got any more?” He grinned shyly, sliding his mask and goggles off and tossing them onto the counter. You nodded to the fridge, an extra container of leftovers from the diner quickly opened in front of him as he shoveled it into his mouth. “It’s better heated up,” You laughed, shutting your journal as you slid off the stool, gripping the to-go container from him and popping it into the microwave. You both sat there awkwardly, Toby kneeling down to rub Addy’s back as she appeared beneath him, soft purrs echoing. He was still nervous, never petting her for too long before standing back up, the microwave beeping. The food came out steaming, sliding open a drawer and handing him a fork, Toby continued to shovel the food into his mouth. You hissed, holding his arm as the steaming food sizzled inside his mouth, it had to be burning him. “Oh. Y- Yeah, I don’t fe- feel pain. Th’s good, tho- though.” He grinned, slurping up more of the food. He acted like he hadn’t had warm food in forever, stuffing his face and barely giving himself time to chew. You rolled your eyes, chuckling as he ate.

The stays became longer after that, his excuse being he was hungry, continuously raiding your fridge until you began to have food ready for him, prepping his meals along with your own. Thirty minutes turned to an hour, to two hours, and then eventually through the night. He would crash on your couch, Addy curled in his lap as the television blared some old movie. That was one of the only times you didn’t see him ticcing, the cat acting as an anchor against his restless body. He looked truly comfortable, using your blankets and pillows to his advantage, beginning to invite himself to stay the night after a while. 

You sat at the counter, Toby snoring loudly as he laid face first into the couch pillow, scribbling into your journal. It was the one thing you had time for, having to get up early for work as the soft glow of the kitchen light lit the pages. Toby was practically pushing himself into your life, his lack of manners and curious mannerisms leading him to take initiative. You were grateful for his friendliness, giving great detail of his missions with his friends and explaining that whole situation. Even still, you were wary. 

But against your better judgment, your relationship with the killer was becoming less transactional. He brought you things to make for dinner, talked with you through your mutual sleepiness, and even took care of Addy when you were too delusional after work. For lack of a better word, he was becoming a friend, showing up for more than just his medication, even sometimes forgetting the bag and having to chase him down. He was infesting your life, arriving earlier than he should and leaving later than you cared for. The end of the week was becoming optional, the screen of your porch door sliding open nearly every night of the week Toby didn’t have a mission. It was annoying but in a comforting way, like you both were becoming closer naturally despite your differences. 

As you heard his snores, you groaned, rubbing your tired eyes as you began to write, letting your pencil guide on the page numbly as you wrote your thoughts. It wasn’t directed at Toby on purpose, but the further you got down the page the further your heart sank, hand fisted in your hair as you rested your elbow on the cold marble counter. “Ah, Jesus…” You grit, scribbling the final few words as you lean back, rubbing your head. The words weren’t lies, more of a hard truth you weren’t willing to accept, chalking it up that you were just tired and desperate. The words could have been about Toby, or they could have been about anyone, you didn’t really care. Sighing, you tore the page out, folding it and shoving it into the back of the book, closing the pages quickly. Sleep sounded much easier as you flipped the kitchen light off, turning the volume of the television down as you trudged upstairs to your room, giving one last glance to the snoring boy and his matching cat.

-

Toby knew his mishaps with you, his moral compass long forgotten the more time he spent inside your home. He told himself it was just easier, food and shelter at his disposal whenever, but he knew better. It was so much more than just picking up medicine for Tim and Brian now, it was a solid relationship, a bond that was forming in his eyes. 

It had been almost four months since the unfortunate death of your neighbor, a smile creeping every time he saw the charred flecks of wood buried in the overgrown grass. You had begun to leave the back door unlocked, reasoning that someone breaking and entering would be less of a hassle than him. That was what Toby really hooked onto the most about you, your humor about everything. Despite your hardships and the emotions you had to overcome, you held a caring heart, compassion always lacing every action. He found it admirable, your humor through your busy life. And, likewise, he did feel bad for making you work so much, tired eyes always hurting his heart whenever you were around. But, it wasn’t like he could get a job, so he helped where he could, cleaning and learning to cook for your sake. He needed this medicine, for his friend’s and his own stability, even at your expense.

You were already nestled at your spot on the counter, writing your thoughts in that damn journal. You barely even looked up as he entered, diving for the fridge as he scooped up Addy with one arm, her purs a nice vibration against his shoulder. Popping the container in the microwave, he leaned in over your shoulder, trying to catch a glance at your scribbling before you shoved him off, closing the book quickly. “Ah, ah, mind yours.” You smiled, forking your own food into your mouth. “O- Oh come on, [Y/N], just a pe- peak.” He smiled back, gathering his food as he began to eat, sliding onto his familiar spot on the couch. It was routine now: where you sat, what he watched, what you both talked about. He explained his latest mission with Masky in more detail than you enjoyed, pushing your food away as you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. You both laughed throughout the night before you whisked your food into the fridge, calling your goodnights before heading upstairs. 

Toby continued to watch the television, brushing Addy’s back with his bandaged fingers as he sat his empty container to the side. His curiosity nudging him, he raised up, tossing his trash before he slid to the counter, you all too confidently leaving your journal there. Slipping back onto the couch, he began to flip through the pages, listening closely for your footsteps as he read your entries, smiling as they dated all the way back to your high school years.

It seemed as though everything you thought spilt onto these lines, emotions erratic between every page as he realized just how much of a people pleaser you really were. All through your recent years, it was nothing but service, acting through the goodness of your soul until it felt sickening, fake almost. He cringed, flipping quickly through but finding nothing juicy, no deep dark secrets that he felt were interesting. Sighing, he closed the journal, standing to set it back onto the counter, until a slip of paper fell from between the pages. Smiling, Toby leaned down, arms twitching as he slid the journal back onto the counter, leaning against the marble as he flipped the paper open, reading carefully.

“Sometimes, when I think about it too hard, I get all emotional about myself. I know I put on a front, like everything I do I’m in charge of and can handle, always putting everyone around me first. But what if I wanted to be put first? I do so much for the sake of others but it never seems to be returned, never compensated for the mental strain. Well, maybe I want to. Maybe I want to be loved like I see others, rough and real. I have no clue how I even would, I can barely handle touching myself before I'm overwhelmed. But I just want someone else to take the reins, show me that I don't have to work my brain so hard and can just numb out. That's not too much to ask, right? Just someone who can love me, not some creep or one night thing, someone who cares. If I never ask for anything again, that would be it. Someone who wants me for me.”

He could have died. The brunette’s cheeks dark as he re-read the crumbled page, excitement coursing through him. In his mind, he wanted to storm upstairs and just rattle you then, showing you how good he could treat you. It was like a bomb had gone off, Toby having to pretend like him having a crush on you wasn’t achingly obvious, convincing himself he just didn’t know how to act around women. But now it was clear, his mind racing with a million wants and needs, body spasming under the excitement. 

Convincing himself to leave, he slipped the note into his pocket, body buzzing with excitement as he slid out your door. He would be back, like always. But this time, he would show you what you truly needed, what only he could give you. 

-

Like always, Toby left a note for the medication you needed to pick up, it sometimes changing week to week. Everything looked normal, the usual combination of pills reading off. But as you scanned the bottom, you groaned, shoving the paper into your pocket. Trilafon, Saphris, and… Plan B. As if your desperation for some affection couldn’t have gotten much worse, your heart twisted, a lump growing. Whether it be for some girl he was laying or a girlfriend he already had, you didn’t care, all you wanted was to get the medicine and go. Crawling into your bed sounded like a much more exciting activity than dwelling on the brunette, heart saddened in all the way you knew it shouldn’t. 

To make your night even better, Toby didn’t show. It wasn’t unusual, for him sometimes not to show up for days due to extensive missions. But a part of you longed to see him, especially after today, just to help your mind with the whole morning-after pill situation. So now, instead of imagining him surrounded by his friends on a mission, you imagined him towering over a girl. Strong arms holding her, body contorting to fit against hers… You could’ve been sick, shaking your head as you ate quickly and pressed upstairs, barely petting Addy before you slinked into bed, hauling the covers over your head. 

It was lonely on nights without his presence in your house. But especially tonight, thoughts racing uncontrollably to the point of tears, thick droplets streaking down your face as your chest hurt, longing for a body, any body, to hold close to yours. Maybe you really were just a transactional thing. 

-

Toby smiled as he trekked through the familiar stretch of woods to your house, heart racing in his chest. He had it all planned out, exactly what he wanted to do, his cock already twitching in his jeans. 

He hadn’t shown up tonight on purpose, hanging back at the mansion to take the best shower he could, Ben teasing him about how good he smelled as he was leaving. You had to be well in bed by now, body tired after working all day just for him. He would take care of you, showing just how grateful he was for how much you were giving up just for his friends and him. Pressing past the tree line, he smiled, pulling his hood down as all the lights in your home were out, signaling your retirement. 

Pressing up the steps, he slid the screen door open quietly, careful not to alert you as he clicked it shut. Stripping his hoodie, he tossed it onto the couch, Addy purring light against the cushions. It was warm in your house, black t-shirt hugging his arms as he untucked it from his jeans, climbing up the steps, his mask and goggles quick to come off next. 

He was too excited for his own good, boots stepping quietly against the old hardwood as he slinked to your door, fidgeting with the knob. A rush of your scent blew into his face, your perfume stout in your small bedroom, eyes searching around in the dark space for your bed. It wasn’t hard with your breathing, quiet snores making him smile as he leaned against your mattress, admiring your unawareness. You looked so peaceful, his bandaged fingers tracing your cheeks and brushing your hair from your face, your skin flinching under his touch. “Hi, baby…” He whispered, the pet name sounding right against his tongue as he referred to you, tugging the sheets down. 

Toby always knew how nice of a body you had, you sometimes sauntering around the house with shorts and a t-shirt and making his eyes trail just a little longer than normal. But now, under his cold hands, you were even more gorgeous. You were wearing an oversized shirt, a slight tug at the fabric revealing that you only had panties on underneath, you slightly stirring as his nails brushed your skin. The brunette was excitedly jittering, kicking his boots off as he climbed onto the bed, kneeling at your curled body sound asleep. You shifted, rolling onto your back as you breathed deep, stretching your arms before settling back into yourself. Toby could have died, your legs stretching out to rest around him, his cock twitching with interest against your now visible panties. A quiet sigh breathed through your lips.

That was all the invitation he needed. Running his cold hands under your shirt, he felt your warm skin and goosebumps rising as you squirmed under them. Your brows scrunched but Toby pressed further, running his fingers along your waist and up to your tits, palming the mounds gently as he smiled. It was crazy to him just how soft your skin was, not weathered or bruised from missions or nature, perfectly smooth under his axe-calloused hands. Pushing your shirt up to your chest, he gasped at your round tits, the weight so perfect in his hands as he pinched at your nipples, rubbing the nubs gently. Toby was never very sure of anything, always brushing through life at the command of others. But the one thing he was sure about? His love for boobs, especially yours. 

Nudging closer between your legs, he rested your knees on his thighs, leaning down to your chest as he popped a nipple into your mouth, sucking gently. The nub was hard against his tongue, slowly circling as he massaged the opposite one in his palm, pinching your nipple gently. That’s when you began to stir, hands sliding against the bed and unconsciously searching for the cause of your sensitivity. Lazy hands pushed against his face, soft groans echoing in the boy’s ears as he popped off your nipple and moved to the next one. Your hands fingered through his hair, tugging lightly until your eyes were beginning to flutter, your mind slowly coming alive. Toby let off your tit, kissing along your chest and licking a stripe between your tits, humming as he watched your eyes slowly blink open, confusion rocking you. He kneaded your tits gently, tugging at your nipples as you realized what was happening, eyes slowly widening as you strained to sit up against him. “Toby? Wha-” Your voice was scratchy, ridden with exhaustion as the brunette kissed up your neck to your cheeks, pushing you back down as he slotted himself flush between your legs. Slowly realizing what was happening, your cheeks flushed dark, hands pressing against his chest as you squirmed, nervously babbling as your body was still half asleep. “Lay b- back, baby… You’re so ti- tired, let me take c- care of you…” Toby sighed, running his hands back down along your skin, relishing in the way your body nervously shook under him.

You physically could not believe what was happening. This had to be a dream, some sick trick your mind was playing as you felt cold fingers hook under your panties, sliding them down. Heavy eyes wide, you grabbed his arms, clenching your thighs together against his waist. “No- No, wait- I don’t even, I mean, I’ve never-” Toby was already shushing you, gripping your wrists together and kissing your palms before pushing them back down to your sides, resuming his tug down your thighs. “I’ve go- got you. Don- Don’t gotta worry about a- a thing…” He smiled, raising your legs up to slide your panties down the rest of the way, hooking them off of your raised ankles before pulling you down closer to him, pushing your shirt over your head. “Read y- your journal, you don- don't gotta act protective, ba- baby. I know this is what y- you want…” If you weren’t already panicking, you definitely were now. 

You wanted to hound him for snooping through your journal, mouth opening to tell him off. But as his fingers brushed against the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your folds, you lost all train of thought. He was watching you, eyes excited in the darkness of your room as he swiped his thumb closer again, your thighs flinching shut. “Anyone else e- ever touched here before?” He mumbled, pressing his thumb against your plump lips and tugging them open, getting a nice look at the wetness that was already forming between your folds. Shaking your head, Toby lit up, cock pushing hard against his jeans as he had to adjust his position, using both hands to pull your lips apart, sighing at how pretty your cunt was. Just something about knowing that Toby was claiming his stake on you, imprinting his touch for the first time before anyone else could, made something deep inside of him burn. It wasn’t like the brunette got much play himself, hooking up with a girl here and there, but being your first? That already made this so much better than any other girl could even try. 

Sliding his fingers through your wetness, you gasped, hands clutching the pillow behind your head as he groaned, spreading your arousal across your lower abdomen. You whined, thighs begging to clench together as he purposefully slid your juices over your cunt, pressing his thumb down against your swollen clit and jolting your back off the mattress. You had only ever masturbated here and there, your body getting too overwhelmed after one orgasm and forcing you to stop, but would Toby stop? As he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them into his mouth, you doubted his restraint.

“Please be gentle…” You warned, hands planting on the mattress as you sat up, resting on your elbows as you watched Toby bring his digits back down to your cunt. He rolled his eyes playfully, tugging your folds open with his opposite hand as he pressed the tips of his fingers against your entrance, pressing in slowly. “I’ll try…” He laughed, your fingers gripping the sheets tight as you watched his fingers sink in slow, stretching your cunt uncomfortably. His index and middle fingers screwed into your tight walls gently, twisting his wrist to draw a moan from your lips, digits spreading against your gummy walls and making your entrance ache. “Just i- imagine my dick in here…” He cooed, eyes darting between your nervous face and your pretty cunt fluttering around just his fingers, barely even handling them. 

Pressing his opposite thumb against your clit, he began to rub in small circles, dragging your hips further and further off of the mattress until you were practically rolling your hips against him. His fingers probed in and out of your cunt at a slow pace, just enough to make you comfortable with the unfamiliar intrusion, but his arms ached to go faster, curl his fingers until you spasmed. “Toby…” You sighed, his hands moving in time with other as he screwed his fingers inside of you, angling them just enough so they pressed against your tight walls. His name sounded like heaven against your aroused tongue, so quiet but so desperate, secretly drawling for more. “Tell me w- what you want, ba- baby…” The pet name made your face hot, your stomach fluttering as you pressed back into the pillows, running your hands down to your thighs and squeezing the flesh. “I want… more…” You sighed through your arousal, cunt clenching desperately around Toby’s cold fingers, sucking them back inside every time he drew them out. The brunette laughed, pushing his feet under him to push his hips up against your ass, your hips raising off the bed as he fingered down into you. You could feel his cock straining behind his jeans below your raised ass, twitching needily with every tug of his fingers and moan that whined from your throat. His size was overwhelming, making your heart pound as Toby began to curl his fingers, making your eyes shut quickly. 

His fingers pressed so deep in your cunt, curling against your sensitive walls and making your jaw hang, beginning to press against your walls at a steady rhythm. It was like a new fire had lit under Toby, fingers screwing in at a quicker pace and making your stomach clench, face screwing into an overwhelmed feeling. His fingers pumped in, knuckles sinking in through your wetness and gripped by your gummy walls, curling his fingertips just right as he got deep. It was so intense, so rough, just a mess of slick and your wet cunt sounding through the room with every squelch as he abused your clit, swiping left and right quickly. Your thighs twitched and ached with every curl, trying to close around his hand practically fucking you into sensitivity. Your hands wrapped around his forearm quickly, begging his wrists to stop curling abusively inside of you as you tugged your nails into his skin. Toby wouldn’t, continuing to pump his fingers as he stared at your flushed face, cunt squelching embarrassingly loud. “Just a l- little more… Co- Come on…” He groaned, nudging his hips against your bare ass as his fingers milked moans and whines out of you, his fingers glistening with your arousal every time he tugged them out. He couldn’t feel you clawing at his arms, loud groans begging him to let up as your cunt clenched, molding around his thick fingers. 

You could feel your orgasm rolling through you, Toby huffing as the veins in his arms popped, his shoulder muscles straining against his shirt as he watched your face carefully, picking up as your moans became louder. “Gonna come f- for me? Yeah?” He teased, clothed cock twitching against your ass, pushing your cheeks apart as he rutted against you. He curled his fingers quicker, mumbling his arousal as he watched your cunt swell around him, clit throbbing under his thumb. Your orgasm hit you like a truck, stomach tightening and forcing you to sit up, Toby was quick to let off your clit and wrap his arm around your back, holding you up as he pumped your through your cunt squelching, tightening around his digits. Your eyes rolled, teeth grit tight as he palmed your clit, slowing his pace to a slow thrust as you became undone against him. No orgasm of your own had ever compared to that, head light and chest heavy as you breathed quickly, gripping Toby’s shirt tight. 

Refusing to let you go, Toby leaned in, pressing kisses against your neck and licking at your sweat, relishing in the warmth around his digits. You whined, cunt sensitive as he tugged his fingers out, his skin raw and pruned against the wetness coating his digits. Your folds were absolutely drenched, Toby spreading his fingers through your lips and pushing his sopping fingers over your warm thighs wrapped around him. “God, y- you’re so wet-” He gasped, pressing his fingertips back against your clit as he laid you back, gripping your tit. Your mind panicked, cunt flashing with sensitivity as he began to rub against your clit, swiping left and right against the rub quickly. “Toby- Stop- Toby, please-” You cried, breath catching in your throat as your stomach clenched, his fingers pressing hard as he pinched your nipples, eyes trained on your wet pussy. “You e- ever squirt before?” He smiled, transitioning fast between digging his fingers into your cunt and pulling them back out to swipe against your clit. It was nauseating, cunt crying desperately for relief as he dug nails into your tits. Gasping loudly, you gripped his arms, knees screwing tight against his sides as you cried out, hips bucking up against his hands. 

Every time his fingers slipped into your entrance, they squelched loudly, fluttering around the intrusion before desperately aching as they tugged out and moved onto your clit. “Squirt li- like a whore, m- mkay? Quit fightin’.” He hissed, letting his hand off your tit and scooping under your left knee, pushing it back to open your cunt wider, spreading your legs further apart. Your head was dizzy, heart pounding as you gasped for air, panting at every push of his fingers. You were already quick to cumming, but it felt weird, not that normal clench you felt in your stomach, more of a strain against your cunt itself. You cried out, tears slipping down your cheeks as he forced your pussy against his will, ruining you. 

As he swiped his fingertips down hard against your clit, your entrance clenched, mouth opening wide as you cried out, hips bucking up as you felt your cunt squirt, thighs trembling hard. There was literally nothing to compare it to, mind hazy as you sprayed onto his black shirt, his fingers digging into your entrance and pushing more juices out of your swollen folds. Toby was smiling, moaning his approval as he rubbed your clit softly, pushing the last of your orgasm out as you strained against the mattress. “Gunna fu- fuck you dumb, baby…” He growled, tugging the soaked shirt over his head and tossing it as he unzipped his jeans, tugging them down and off his legs as his cock hung heavy against your drenched cunt. You couldn’t even react, head spinning as Toby gripped your hips, pushing you onto your side as he grabbed your ankle, pulling it onto his shoulder and straddling your other. 

Neck craning with excitement, he teased the tip of his swollen cock between your folds, slicking himself up with your ruined juices. “This is wh- what you wanted, is- isn’t it?” He smiled wildly, pressing his cock into your ruined cunt, groaning loudly as you swallowed him in, warmth gripping tight as he gripped your leg, other hand stable on your tit. You groaned, face turned into the pillow as he began to thrust deep, giving you no mercy as he tugged at your nipple, biting at your calf as he fucked into you. You felt so full, your body so exhausted already as stretched you further, your entrance burning against the sting of this new girth. You squeezed him so tight, cock forcing itself deeper with every tug of his hips as you began to cry, tears staining your pillowcase.

“Fuckin’ tal- alk to me, baby. Gunna mak- make me cum al- already.” He sighed, teeth chewing against the meat of your calf as he pressed your cunt wider, sweat dripping from his nose as his curls clung to his forehead. He let off your tit, left hand slinking up to grip your jaw and turn your face back to look at him, your eyes heavy as they blurred with tears. Toby looked so good right now, cheeks dark against his freckles as he towered above you, cock pushing against your gummy walls and making your mouth hang. “So pretty…” He smiled, slinking his hand down to your throat and squeezing, cock pulsing as your face tightened, mouth gasping out as he clamped tighter, refusing you air. There was something so orgasmic about cutting your airway, watching your body react as he fucked your virgin cunt, holding your life in his hands. He had to breathe deep to stop himself from cumming, his violent brain spasming out. 

He pushed your ankle over his head, pulling out roughly as he rolled you onto your stomach, you gasping from the wave of air hitting your lungs. Pushing himself against your ass, Toby swore, pushing his cock back into your cunt as he pushed your back down, making you arch against him. “Just a l- little more, m’kay?” He growled, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and squeezing hard, pressing your face down into the pillow. With a new pace, he fucked down into you wildly, hand kneading your ass hard as digging his nails into your skin, little welts forming across the soft flesh. Your muffled cries sounded against the pillow, head light and static filled as you gasped for air, Toby’s cock ramming down against your g-spot. “Never s- seen a bitch so willing, so des- desperate for my dick you’d gi- give it up so easily.” He teased, growling as he let off your neck, neck sore as he leaned down, pushing your hair off your neck. Toby hadn’t felt like this before, wanting to mark you, fucking you so desperately he wanted to carve his shape deep inside. He couldn’t let you go without knowing exactly who you craved, corrupting you, ruining you, molding you to fit only him. 

He licked against your shoulder, sucking onto the skin before he pressed his teeth, digging both hands into your hips as he sunk them in, groaning at the pop as your blood soaked his teeth. You were crying, screaming into the pillow as your entire body begged for him, craving him, mind going blank as your blood dripped from his chin as he licked at the wound. He pressed on, nibbling into the crook of your neck and sucking revolting hickies into your skin, marking you like an animal. “Wan- Want you to come on m- my cock, baby. I got- gotta fill you full, want y- you ruined for everyone b- but me.” He mumbled quickly, cock begging to spill inside of your warm cunt as you reached around, gripping his hair as he sunk his teeth in again, walls fluttering around him. You pulled his hair, dragging his mouth off of your neck and to your lips, smashing your swollen, tear-stained lips against his as he groaned, kissing you roughly. 

You were cumming again, back arching onto Toby’s cock as you moaned into his mouth, walls holding him tight inside. He tried to move, to continue thrusting, but you were so tight all he could do was rutt his hips, begging for friction as his own seed spilt, his brows screwing tight as he came deep inside of you, warm cum seeping deep into your cunt. Your mind was blank, eyes rolled as you cried into his grasp, his nails digging into your hips until you were nearly bleeding. Your cunt squelched, milking his cock as he finally pulled from your lips, letting the last of your orgasms fizzle out before he pushed off of you, slowly tugging himself out as you whined. Looking back, his cock was soaked, glistening with your arousal and streaks of blood, Toby’s eyes wide. “Ah… Yo- You tore…” He hissed, wiping his soft cock with his shirt before pulling his boxers on, quickly trotting out of your room. You dropped your head back onto the pillow, cunt aching and body ruined as you sat in your sweat and each other’s cum, mind tired as you slowly blinked. 

Toby was back in seconds, a water bottle, a wet rag, and a small bag all in tow as he climbed back onto the bed, flipping your lazy body onto your back. You smiled, sipping the water bottle slowly as he began to clean you up, gently running the warm rag between your folds and against your thighs until he was satisfied, gently rubbing your skin. Finally, he grabbed the bag, your confusion evident as he tugged out the prescription bag, rummaging for the plan b he made you buy and popping one of the pills out, handing it to you as he smiled. Your chest welled, previous anxiety dissipating until you began to tear up, taking the small pill before reaching to wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him down next to you. Toby went easily, body cradling against yours as he kissed against the bruised spots on your neck, rubbing your bite mark gently.

As you began to doze, Toby mumbled something about your note, your mind too dizzy to hear the rest. The last thing you saw was a subtle flash behind your eyelids, sleep overtaking you as Toby held you close.

-

Morning came quickly, your body stirring, reaching for Toby but finding the bed empty. Confused, you sat up, eyes heavy and head still pounding but you pressed off the bed anyway, searching for the boy. Downstairs, on the countertop, laid his hoodie neatly folded, with a small piece of paper resting on top. Sauntering over, you reached for the top, sliding it over your head, it falling before your hips as you gripped the paper, reading its contents.

On a mission. Be back later tonight. Meanwhile, enjoy ;)

Flipping the paper over, you gasped, slapping your hand over your mouth. A small picture was taped to the back, a polaroid-type photo of the two of you cradled together, your bare body pressed against his, bruises and sweat on full display. Smiling, you tucked it into his pocket, breathing the scent of his hoodie deep as Addy circled your ankles, begging for breakfast. 

Staring out your back porch door, you made sure it was unlocked, always open for him. Killer or not, that boy was yours now, accepting his every mishap the same way he did yours. For the first time in a long time, you felt wanted. 

Rest in Hell, Mr. Higgs.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[cheriladycl01]

Sidewomen - Twitch Quartet x Youtuber/Streamer! Reader

Plot: Y/N started a youtube group with 5 friends from school, and they all got famous. They had one video with the Sidemen, which led to them jokingly being called the Sidewomen. What happens when she comes onto one of the F1 boys stream.

Back when you were younger you and your friends would make funny videos, it was a group of 5 of you. You guys always joked about how you were the off brand spice girls, all having majorly different looks and personalities but somehow made it work.

As you guys got older, and content wasn't just silly kid like videos your subscribers grew, as did your names in the community. You ended up getting lots of attention and ended up making a video with the Sidemen. It was one of their $200 dollar v $20,000 dollar holidays. Josh and one of your girls, y/f/n, were the people out of the challenge and prepared it for you.

On one team, it was you, y/bf/n, Tobi, Simon and Harry and on the other team it was your your other two friends with JJ, Ethan and Vik all on the other team.

You guys lucked out in the video and ended up getting the $20,000 holiday being sent to The Sands Hotel in Barbados. You guys spent the week there doing watersports, art, sightseeing and relaxing. After this video, people jokingly started referring to you as the Sidewomen. You guys did similar challenge videos on the joint account you all had, but on your individual accounts you all had different passions.

One of you big ones was gaming, as well as travel. One year in 2019, you'd done a Budget Travel with me around the world. Where you'd followed the F1 Grand Prix around the world, attending each race with the cheapest ticket you could get, and the cheapest flights and standard accommodation. You camped at Silverstone, which was difficult considering you had at this point 10 million subscribers and people had noticed you.

This got you a lot of traction and in Abu Dhabi the last race of the season you were given a paddock pass upgrade. You filmed around and showed what was offered at the different hospitalities and you met some of the pit crew, but out of respect you didn't haggle any of the drivers.

They noticed this. Of course they did.

There was a buzz when you'd come into the paddock. One majorly different from when different celebrities came in. You knew the sport and you knew the sport on a technical level. If you wanted to in a different life you'd be a commentator or an engineer.

The drivers were shocked that every time they saw you to try and say hello, you were busy talking to a mechanic from Aston Martin, or a Social Media Member from Red Bull, or the coffee girl in Ferrari hospitality... you were seemingly walking around and talking to everyone but the drivers.

Once the pandemic hit, in early 2020 and it was said that the Australian GP had been cancelled and the rest of the season seemingly had as well.

But this was fantastic for content creators, you were now pretty much what everyone was watching. So when you saw Lando, George, Alex and Charles all streaming on twitch sim racing against each other you took the opportunity to be a menace.

You subbed to each of them, tier 3 of course before gifting out a load of subs.

"Thank you so much y/t/h (your twitch handle) for the 50 gifted subs, that's insane" Charles said seeing the notification pop up. Everyone in chat started to go wild, realizing it was you.

"Thanks for the 50 gifted y/t/h, really appreciate it!" George had said before proceeding to crash into a wall and look at the camera in defeat before reversing his car and driving towards the pit lane.

"Ah thank you, how do you say that name... y/t/h? Thank you for the 50 gifted, I'm still new to this so I'm sorry if there was a message with that and it didn't pop up for whatever reason, mods ... let me know" he says, as sweet as ever making your heart warm.

"y/t/h ... what the hell is up!" Lando exclaims being the only one to actually recognize your twitch name and know who you were.

"Lando who are you talking too?" George asks hearing the boy not muted.

"Wait you guys know Y/N Y/L/N right?" Lando asks having made you a VIP in his chat so he could see your messages easier and seen that all of them didn't have the realization that it was you.

"Yeah, her videos have saved me in quarantine!" Alex exclaimed remembering that him and his girlfriend Lily often binge watched her videos, calling her their shared wife as a joke.

"Oh, yes she's the one that did the 'Not a rich man's sport series' right? Where she did every single GP but on an minimum wage workers affordable budget to show you can still do it! I love that series!" Charles exclaimed.

"Dude, who doesn't know Y/N, I grew up watching her because she was only like 3 years younger than me and she was incredibly relatable. I watch her whole groups videos" Alex admits before Lando bursts out laughing.

"Okay, so how haven't you realized she's in your guy's chat and is gifting subs to you!" Lando laughs, he starts DMing you on Instagram asking for you discord.

"SHE'S WHAT" Charles exclaims, before looking over into chat to see them spamming your name.

"No way" George says quietly.

"OMG Lily! Come here, our wife is in my twitch chat" Alex shouts out before everyone goes quite.

"Huh?" Lando asks with a little bit of a choke.

"Lily and I agreed we can have one genuine celebrity crush, but its gotta be mutual and its Y/N so she's our shared wife now" he explains making the rest of them all laugh.

"Hello everyone!" you say as you joined the discord call before all hell breaks loose.

"I cant believe this right now" George mutters to himself, Alex was yelling to trying to get Lily to come join him and to come on camera to say hi to you.

You launched up your own stream so the boys could also say hello to you properly.

"Hey stream! What's going on, yes you guys will be meeting some very cool people today. We have Williams Racing Driver George Russell, Red Bull Racing Driver Alexander Albon, Ferrari Racing Driver Charles Leclerc and lastly Mclaren Racing Driver Lando Norris joining us today" you introduce before they all say hello on discord. Your chat was half and half, either spamming that you were streaming with the zoom zoom car men, and the other half asking who the hell these people were.

"Holy shit, there's 30k people watching us online right now" Lando says looking at your view count going up.

"So, Lando suggested that you guys interview me, or like give me a quick fire quiz about 2019 considering i was there for all races!"

"Ohhh okay sounds interesting! I'm first!" Alex offers and you smile at the camera.

"Where was my first race with Red Bull?" Alex asks and you smile.

"Spa right?"

"Ding Ding" Lando shouts loudly making you flinch and laugh at the sound.

"Okay my turn! How many podiums did i have in 2019, and where were they" Charles asks.

"Oh come on, he wins in Spa, he wins in Monza ... you had two" you recite the quote of the year to him and see a big cheesy grin on his face.

"My turn how many points did i get in my rookie season of 2019" George asks and you sigh.

"Such potential there George but unfortunately you came out with 0 points!" you shake your head sadly.

"Okay me next hmmmm, my rookie season was wasn't great either... I don't know what to ask. Oooo what was my highest position?" he asks and you look stumped for a second.

"P6?" you ask more than answer him.

"Actually fella's i may have to check that myself" Lando pauses not quite sure.

"Why on earth would you ask a question you don't know the answer too..." you exclaim in outrage, looking to the camera with a 'wtf' look.

"Look, last year was ... well I don't even know how to describe last year!" Lando exclaims before he cheers.

"You were right it was in fact P6 i got that in Bahrain and Austria" he explains.

"Look, even though i had a weird and wacky year from staying in a hostel in Belgium to a Love Hotel in Japan ... I remembered everything from that year!" you say backing yourself up.

"Okay back to me, where was my highest place drive in Torro Rosso?" Alex asks.

"Oh fuck, in Torro Rosso, mmmmmm. Oh my gosh my mind has gone blank for any races higher than P8 for you. P8?" you ask sheepishly knowing its not but its the only race you could think off.

"Nope it was P6 in Germany!" he laughs and you sigh with an 'oh damn it' and a light smack on your desk.

"Fuck"

"Okay me me! Who did i race for before i moved to Ferrari?" Charles questions and you role your eyes before looking over to chat who are spamming Tifosi.

"Alfa Romeo Sauber and lets be for real you slayed that rookie season pookie" you say, and everyone laughs.

"God what is this pandemic turning us into... slay ... what even is that?" Lando ask like one of those old middle aged mums who squint when you show her something on your phone.

"SLAYYYYY" you scream and chat start to spam the emote you made for it.

"Okay, well what was my lowest race finish?" George asks.

"Erm including DNF'S?" you ask and see him shake his head before saying no on his stream.

"P19, you avoiding that 20 like I avoid my ex-man boi" you chide making everyone laugh.

"France is not you friend" you admit, looking up to double check you were right, showing chat George's statistics from the 2019 races.

"Okay, and me what is the name of the new esports gaming org that I am going to launch soon"

"Quadrant, which chat... he wants me to leave to leave fnatic for them. Chat what do i do?" you ask and chat spams you with yes or no's and its funny to see the split and the argument. Twitter would have a field day over this later.

"Oh god Y/N why do you have to create chaos everywhere you go!" Alex laughs before he makes a weird noise.

You change tabs to check his screen, and see Lily. You gasp loudly making sure everyone can hear.

"What?" George asks.

"Alex who is that beautiful woman on your screen and is she single" you ask, knowing full well its Lily his girlfriend since last year. You'd seen their posts on instagram.

"No way, she didn't just say that. Your lying" you hear Lily mumble before looking unsurely at the camera and chat to see if they would tell her it was all a joke.

"Y/N this is Lily, she's my ..."

"Yeah i don't care about that lemme talk to her, cos she's gorgeous" you say and Alex hands Lily the headphones.

"Hey darling" you try and say in a seductive voice and you see Lily fold on stream, banging the desk lightly and biting her lip.

"Your hand in marriage please Y/N?" she asks and you nod enthusiastically to chat.

"Lily, we spoke about this... she's are shared wife" Alex admits making you stifle a laugh before returning serious.

"Alex, get away. You aren't involved here!" you say before everyone laughs, joking how they feel like they are interrupting your's and Lily's first date.

Afterwards you spent a lot of time streaming with them, you couldn't travel as much as you used to for your YouTube channel so you ventured out of your usual stuff, going as far as to start a podcast and join a gaming org.

It was even sadder, not streaming with Charles, George and Alex anymore. Sometimes Lando continued to stream, but after the pandemic you didn't get to see that silly and chilled out side of them as much.

You'd gained... and managed to save a lot of money in the pandemic. So come the 2022 season, you were offered a 'small' and 'unprofessional' job by Formula One, you were basically your own social media for them. You were given a paddock pass to every race, you were given podcast privileges with pretty much whoever you wanted and they paid you all to give them more traction.

You created the opposite of your first video where you went on the best flights and the snazziest hotels, even going on Max's private jet for one event.

Everyone loved it, and you still did your normal videos on the side, like day in the life, and those aesthetic travel videos that everyone secretly loves, lifestyle and beauty videos etc.

Apart from the fact that the pandemic was awful and harmed many and really created a rift between some of you friendships and family and had, at one point got you nervous about your income, had actually paid of and turned out to have one of the best outcomes for your future in content creation.

A/N: My heart really goes out to anyone and their families who were affected by the pandemic, it was an insane time for all of us and is shocking that it genuinely happened in our life time. But it taught everyone so much, and we all learned a lot while this was occuring!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19

[average-egirl]

Who fell first vs Who fell harder (Creeps ver.)

Tw: brief mention of murder and sex in Ben's, mention of blood in ej's.

Characters:Jane tk, Nina tk, Jeff tk, BEN DROWNED, Ticci toby, Eyeless jack, Masky, Hoodie, Bloody painter, Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Brahms heelshire, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Billy lenz.

Jane the killer

She fell first, you fell harder.

When you were first introduced to the mansion she was tasked to be your 'guide' of sorts. From the moment you locked eyes she knew you were different, you were special.

Nina the killer

You fell first, She fell harder.

She had just been broken up with, originally Jane was helping her recover but slender forced her to do some missions so naturally you decided to help. Seeing her sad expression made your heart drop, you had to do something.

Jeff the killer

He fell first, you fell harder.

After slender introduced you to all the creeps, Jeff couldn't help but feel just a little jealous seeing you give all of them attention.

BEN DROWNED

You fell first, he fell harder.

Despite what you previously assumed, the mansion was actually quite boring, nobody ever did anything that wasn't killing or fucking. Or, that's what you thought before you saw BEN playing his switch on the couch. Maybe this place isn't as boring as you thought.

Ticci toby

You fell first, he fell harder.

From the moment you entered the mansion you could feel a terrible, dreadful aura coming from everyone in there, except for him that is.

Eyeless jack

He fell first, you fell harder.

You always saw him quietly walking around the mansion, sometimes covered in blood, but you never thought anything about it, little did you know that he noticed you as well.

Masky

He fell first, you fell harder.

During a crowded and quite frankly boring party at the mansion you decided to step out for some air, only to see him leaned against the wall smoking, and it appears that he noticed you.

Hoodie

You fell first, he fell harder.

You always saw him holding a camera, and sometimes you would hear people yelling at him to stop recording them all the time, and perhaps it shouldn't have but, it intrigued you.

Bloody painter

He fell first, you fell harder.

While walking through the park you quite literally fell into each other, you apologized, walked away, and thought nothing of it but after that interaction you kept seeing him staring at you while sketching in his book.

Michael Myers

He fell first, you fell harder.

You kept hearing about 'the shape' from the news you were getting sick of it to be honest, all you wanted was for this awful nightmare to be over, and as you walked home that feeling of being watched was only making you wish it even more.

Jason Voorhees

He fell first, you fell harder.

Your 'friends' if you can even call them that forced you to join them on some stupid trip, but after losing them in the woods and hearing some bloodcurdling screams you started running, that is until you tripped over a stick and knocked yourself out, only to wake in a small cabin.

Brahms heelshire

He fell first, you fell harder.

You were hired as a nanny for a doll, sounds easy enough right? That's what you thought until the doll started moving on its own, your really starting to feel like someone is watching you...

Bo Sinclair

He fell first, you fell harder.

Your friends had dragged you on a trip to God knows where, eventually the car broke down and you had to see a mechanic, as your friends went out and explored you decided to sit outside and wait although you could feel eyes on you the whole time.

Vincent Sinclair

You fell first, he fell harder.

You were walking around a wax museum admiring the art when you came across a guy wearing a mask, he looked quite surprised to see you, although you were to focused on your flustered face to really notice- or care.

Billy lenz

He fell first, you fell harder.

Getting perverted calls from some random guy was not something you expected when you joined the sorority, but it was happening anyway, and your starting to feel a presence watching over you at night.

[hatchetno1]

sage forest mental institution.

chapter 4. in which you dissociate the day away. word count: 3.5k note: im not gonna lie at this point this fic is so bad i'm gonna label it crack so at least it seems like it's bad on purpose /hj cw: dissociation. descriptions of domestic abuse. READ NO FURTHER IF YOU CAN'T it's the paragraph literally under here.

Dissociation. It’s a pretty foreign feeling to you, and yet it’s so familiar. You can’t place where you felt this before, almost like deja vu, but with an aftertaste of impending doom. It was a topic you’d researched extensively back in your old home—no, house. Scouring the breadths and depths of the Internet was your entire coping mechanism back in the day and your occasional background music would be the smashing of glass, your mother crying and your father’s yelling reverberating across the walls. You liked to call it something of a live, interactive band, because sometimes if you were lucky your father would come barging into your room in his drunken anger, grab you by the hair and throw you against the bed, or the wall if you were particularly unlucky.

Sometimes you wished you’d be able to cut your hair short. But your mother would threaten you with a kitchen knife, crying and screaming that she only had one daughter and she would not have a son. Your poor (?) mother had an innate fear of men, so you’d understand where she was coming from, but you hated her nonetheless, and that hatred still resides in your heart.

“…not enough, you can ask for more. We should be able to lend you some of ours.”

You blink and jerk back to life.

“Are you okay.” It’s more of a perfunctory sentence than a genuine question. Hoodie gazes almost blankly at you.

“Um. Yeah. Sorry.” You try to keep your answer as short as possible. When faced with law enforcement officers, it is advised to keep your answers as short as possible and not to give away any information that’s not required of you, is what you always read on Reddit under r/getoutoftrouble or whatever it was named. The “sorry” at the end is just insurance for your life.

Masky gives you a look, then returns to droning on about household rules. Stay out of others’ ways, don’t play with Ben unless you’re looking for nightmare fuel, stay especially away from Jeff, don’t eat anything in the freezer that’s labelled because those are human organs for EJ’s consumption, don’t talk to EJ about his diet (which you already did and are now concerned for your life), and don’t go looking for The Operator, or as the proxies are to address him, their master.

Sometime halfway through showing you around the mansion, each proxy would disappear one at a time, leaving the other two still in their ridiculous hospital getups to continue bringing you around. The first to go was Hoodie, who came back in, like his namesake, a yellow hoodie. The second was Masky, who came back in a tan jacket. Just as you thought they’d both just let Toby walk around in his hospital gown, he left, and came back in a brown-and-blue hoodie and orange goggles sitting atop his head, his cheek bandage nowhere to be seen. It was only then that you saw his cheek wound.

You still stare at it now and then, the wound going all the way through to expose his teeth, leaving you wondering just what the hell this boy has been, going so far as to bite his cheek so often that there’s now nothing left to bite.

Besides those few moments, the house tour, which is actually not as fun as it sounds because you are at the mercy of these people, is a blur. The only thing comforting you is the fact that you got your own room, which leads you to believe that they’ll keep you alive, at least for a while.

“Lock your door just in case, so Jeff and EJ can’t come in. Though the Operator is powerful and could easily guard you himself, he’s never explicitly stated that you will be protected from harm. He only needs you alive,” explains Masky. You appreciate that they’re looking out for you, though it’s not straight-up protection. Still, it’s a luxury; they could just leave you to fend for yourself.

“We’ll be keeping spare keys to your room. Don’t try anything. I’ll break both your legs, reset them, then break them again,” reiterates Masky. But honestly, you’re far past trying anything. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Well, the last part probably isn’t true, but it’s either you maintain your status or gain something. Either way, your life can’t get worse…unless they torture you, or you start hoping for some unrealistic shit like being able to escape for freedom. That, you could lose. Hope is a precious thing, and you’d rather not conjure it out of nowhere just to lose it. You’re given food, shelter and clothing. You can’t get greedy.

You next find yourself in The Operator’s office. Again, you have no idea what to expect; this whole day has been an absolute mindfuck. But this office isn’t anything fancy, nor is it bare-bones. It’s just…a desk, a chair, and…nothing else. You either can’t process what’s going on in your state of dissociation, or you’re not meant to perceive what it is. Indeed, The Operator is powerful, and can alter your perception of things.

You aren’t given a seat to sit in.

Leave us, he commands his three proxies, and they retreat. You wonder if they’re willingly working for him.

The Operator’s hands are large, fingers bony and fingernails extending into claws. They’re placed on the table, fingers interlinked with each other. You’re reminded of a Disney villain or something equally cheesy, but you remember that if he has telepathic powers then he can probably read your mind or something, and your life is in his hands, so you immediately cut off that train of thought.

You, begins the voice in your head, are to keep my proxies from insanity. If they fall to it… He leans forward. Static begins to fill your mind, and you feel your own sanity slipping from your grasp. You see red. You lose control of your body.

Just as quickly as it appeared, it disappears. You’re on the floor.

It would be in your best interests to keep their insanity at bay. You are hereby allowed to administer whatever form of treatment you believe to be most effective. However, he pauses here, I see through my proxies’ eyes and ears. I will know whether you try to defy me. That is all.

Before you even manage to say “huh” in a really, really dumb voice, a door appears in front of you, identical to the one that leads to the office. Just as you wonder how the fuck he made a door appear, you realize that you’re outside his office, and you feel the presence of the three men behind you. You have no time to think about whether or not he was being literal. If he wasn’t, that was a really shitty riddle.

Slowly, you stand up, carefully brushing any dust off your uniform before realizing the interior of the mansion is surprisingly clean and you’re just obnoxiously brushing nothing off you. Saving yourself from second-hand embarrassment from your own actions, you cut that train of thought off in favor of wondering how much information has been imparted to his proxies. And anyway, what the fuck is this Operator guy on? You want to believe that he actually gave a shit about these three, but don’t want to jump to conclusions. Given the authority to administer whatever treatment you want, you’ll be able to extract information out of them.

As you wonder what kind of treatment The Operator meant for you to administer, you flick through multiple options in your mind. Talking to them, saving them from insanity…

Therapy?

No fucking way, some faceless fuck brought you all the way here to give his three little servants therapy.

At this thought, you howl with unrestrained laughter. Laughter containing your amusement at the situation, containing your despair at this situation, your confusion, your anger, everything. You just wanted a goddamn normal life. Now you have to give therapy? Damn, you really just found something floating in thin air for you to lose. Your prospects of having a normal life.

God damn, you really are God’s strongest soldier.

God favors me, God favors me, God favors me, you try to convince yourself.

“Ahem.”

Oh fuck, you forgot that there are three whole ass men behind you.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Ahaha.” You highly doubt that you’ve said anything intelligent today, so you try to convince yourself that it’s okay and it’s valid and whatnot. Oh yeah, so very valid. But aside from that, you have no idea how to break it to these three that you’ve been brought here alive just so you can give them therapy. Knowing most people’s reactions to therapy in your area, namely “Therapy is for pussies and the crazy,” you wonder how horribly this can go, so you briefly consider not telling them anything and just hitting them up all like, “Hey, any pressing issues that are stressing you out right now? We can talk about your feelings.”

One thing at a time, you remind yourself, before asking, “Any spare rooms around here?”

For better or worse, they show no signs of judging. Toby’s shoulders jerk every so often, fidgeting with his hands and peeling skin off his dry lips, but aside from that, he doesn’t seem to be judging you either.

“Yes,” replies Hoodie. “Come.” As he nods at his companions, signaling something that leads them to leave you both, you hope this spare room isn’t right next to The Operator’s office.

Thankfully, it isn’t. It is, however, run-down.

Hoodie flicks the light switch on, and it’s…an interrogation room? White walls, greenish-blue tiled floors, a mirror behind the table, a rickety old chair and what seems to be handles on the table for handcuffs to slip through. Upon noticing your visible confusion, he speaks. “This room is the only spare we have at the moment. We don’t really use it anymore. Nowadays we take them straight to the dungeons.” You have no idea how to respond.

“Okay.” Is what you settle for. You want to bang your head on the metal interrogation table. “Is there, like, a store room or something? For furniture and decorations and whatnot…” Nice save.

The man before you pauses. “No.” Then he adds, “Write down what you need. We’ll get it for you.” You briefly wonder how they’re going to procure what you need, but then decide that you probably don’t want to know.

After Hoodie leaves, telling you he’ll get you a pen and paper, you sit down on the old chair and make yourself comfortable after making sure it won’t break beneath your weight. For the first time today, you’re left alone and able to think about all that has transpired today.

“So I tried to work my job.”

Uh-huh, replies your second inner monologue, like an angel and a devil, except both are now equally confused.

“My coworker tells me I don’t have to do shit and then skips off.”

That’s right.

“Then I see a patient and try to carry out my job.”

Yep.

“It was probably not a patient. Wait, it probably was. Wait, what the fuck am I gonna do? I just let my responsibilities escape.”

You’re a victim of kidnapping and technically off the grid. Society and rules don’t apply here.

“Right. Anyways, he tries to kill me.”

Yes.

“Then this dude named Masky saves my ass. And then him and the not-patient threaten me and manage to free their friend, then I shove them all back into the cell because I’m so fucking smart.”

Yeah.

“Then I come across a nice guy. He’s not a nice guy, he’s a cannibal. He saves me from not-patient, then tries to eat me. Then a floating Link cosplayer pops up, and I have no idea where he is now, and tells all of us that I’m supposed to be alive. Then they pop me into a truck and drive off, and I have no idea where I am right now, or what time it even is.”

Correct, check, all accounted for. Except you don’t know what time it is, where you are, and whether you’ll live to see the next day.

It’s now that a pen and paper slide over to you, and now you’re worried about how much Hoodie has heard.

“…when did you get here?” You ask meekly.

“You have no idea where you are and what time it is. It’s 5.57pm. You’re free to use whatever you need in the kitchen. And give us the list by 9pm,” He states flatly.

Okay, those answer all your questions. It could be a lot worse, like an actual kidnapping where you’re given absolutely zero information.

Hoodie slips out of the doorway, expression as unrevealing as ever, and closes the door. You don’t hear the lock click, a silent signal that you’re free to leave this room if you want. You really wonder why they’re not straight-up restraining you right now, but then again, how do you give someone therapy when you’re all tied up? And why even would you drag a rando to give your proxies therapy? Huge plot hole. Even if you were asylum staff, there’s no guarantee you’re actually able to treat them, especially since staff there were notorious for poor handling of patients…

You come to the conclusion that no way in hell The Operator, such a powerful entity, would call on someone as incompetent as the average asylum worker to treat his own proxies. He would choose based on merit and skill, but how would he even determine that? Does he have an archive of every single human in existence or something?

Doesn’t matter. You finish up the list, which is probably more akin to a half-hearted scrawl of the bare bones you’ll need for the office. Bean bags, a table and a carpet large enough to cover up these ugly goddamn tiles. And that’s pretty much it, aside from some simple writing equipment— files for each member of the household (save for The Operator, you fear at the idea of having to treat him) and a couple stacks of foolscap paper, along with some pens. You also throw in a sketchbook, pencils and erasers because why not. It’s time to learn a new motherfucking skill while you’re in this hellhole.

You’re pretty much only “awake”, that is to say, not spaced out when you try to find your way down to the kitchen. Given your dissociated state earlier, you expect not to be able to find it and instead get lost so fantastically you end up in the backrooms or something, but your muscle memory seems to bring you to the place you actually intend to be, conversation flooding the hall from inside the kitchen. It’s faint, but it gets louder as you approach. Very, very loud.

“Tobias Erin Rogers, I swear to fuck if you don’t come down here right now—”

“WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO, HUH?”

“I will kick your fucking ass!”

“NICE TRY, GRANDPA, I DON’T FEEL PAIN!” A whistle and a whoop.

You’re met with the sight of Toby perched on the top of the refrigerator, Masky’s face an angry red (because he’s literally angry), hands on his hips like he’s a 40-year-old mother scolding her child, and Hoodie pinching the bridge of his nose. All heads turn to you the moment you approach, which is kind of…no, absolutely fucking creepy.

You stand there. You have absolutely no idea what to do. Hell, you’re hungry as fuck, but if it saves you from awkwardness you’ll just grab a glass of tap water and run.

“Hey, Y/N!” Toby chirps like a baby bird, which is very strange given his size as a full-grown adult male.

“Uh…hey, Toby,” you choke out, forcing a smile as you awkwardly shuffle between the men to grab yourself something, anything, to pretend you know what you’re doing and you’re totally not panicking right now. Yes, you are composed, in control.

Then a loud THUD sounds behind you and you feel a presence very close behind you.

“Whatcha doooooin?”

You never, EVER expected to hear that annoying phrase after you left elementary school.

“I’m. I’m, uhhhh…” You chide yourself for literally not having spoken a single proper sentence today. God, you’re so off your game.

“You want the chili, right? I gotchu!” He speaks so fast, it’s a wonder he doesn’t trip over his words, though he does stutter a fair bit. A stupidly lanky arm reaches up over your head to the highest shelf and grabs you a jar of chili, then plops it into your hands. You stare at it and contemplate if you should take the entire thing and book it out of this situation. Fuck your spice tolerance, there are two men who are currently definitely staring at you right now, making a fool of yourself.

“For god’s sake, Toby, why the fuck would she want the fucking chili?” Groans Masky from the corner of the kitchen. He probably shifted his position since his little monkey brother jumped down from the fridge.

“I like it! I want some!”

“Not everyone eats it straight out of the jar, Toby.” Deadpans Hoodie.

Your head whips around to face the boy.

TOBY EATS IT STRAIGHT OUT OF THE FUCKING JAR????

He grins innocently at you. “I can—mm, fuck—can’t feel pain!” He proclaims it like he’s won the Nobel Prize for it. Your concern for this boy grows by the second.

“That’s…good to know, Toby,” you reply, then curse yourself for being an in-real-life dry texter. “What can you feel, then?”

The boy seems to think for a bit. “Hmmm, I can feel pressure… and I can’t feel tem-whu-woo, fuck—tempera—woo!…” His brows furrow as he concentrates, but you feel some frustration coming off him too.

“Take your time, Toby,” you reassure, now feeling a genuine human connection with this boy. Maybe he’s not that bad. “You can do it.”

“Temper-rature!” His face lights up at his success. “Temperrature!—woo!” He throws his fists up in the air as celebration and you feel an impossibly strong urge to protect this boy.

“Well done, Toby.” You find yourself smiling at him, surprisingly, which causes him to gasp.

“Y-y-you see that, guys? Ha, Y/N’s smiling! A-a-at me!” He beams, then wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you up into a painfully tight hug.

“Ah… Toby, too tight…” You wince. He stutters an apology and puts you down, then sprints away.

Now, you’re no genius, but you know something’s up with that boy. You look to the other two for, hopefully, an answer.

Hoodie answers your unasked question. “Toby has something called BPD. Borderline personality disorder. It tends to affect his relationship with other people,” he states, but doesn’t elaborate. A test of your knowledge?

“I see,” is your short reply; you’re still processing the information you were provided first-hand. Should you write this down? “Thank you, Hoodie.”

“Call me Brian,” he corrects gently.

“Oh. Brian it is, then.” Huh, he doesn’t seem so touchy with his real name, unlike Masky. “And that’s Tim,” he says, nodding at Masky. Okay, guess not. This time, he elaborates. “You’re the only human from normal society for miles here. You may as well call us by our…human names.” Must be a way to preserve their sanity, then.

“I’m Y/N. Nice to formally meet you,” you say with a polite smile and an extension of your hand. Brian takes it and shakes your hand, a firm grasp on it and a hint of practice in it. This guy knows what he’s doing. “And you as well, Tim.” It’s his turn to shake your hand, and he grunts and shakes it too, with a significantly stronger hold, just enough for it not to hurt. Youch. Must be the aggressive type.

With a polite nod of acknowledgement, you confidently leave the kitchen, before stopping in your tracks.

You forgot your food.

plot twist you're an underqualified therapist ig. part 5 coming soon. chapter 5 is out.

[boyrobott]

everybody says they love me (but i'm still brokenhearted)

It's been six days now since Astro fell to the Surface, and there is something wrong with him.

Read on AO3.

It's been six days now since Astro fell to the Surface, and there is something wrong with him.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, there are a whole lot of things wrong with him, and it's probably more than enough to fill up an entire book at this point — or, at the absolute least, make for a pretty long list. And it begins with the fact that he's a robot — a real actual robot, like those guys calling themselves the RRF, or the millions on millions of old, outdated machines in the junkyard, or the new zeronium automations rolling off the factory line in the Ministry of Science this month — and he knows it's true, he knows it's real, he saw the wires and circuits under his skin with his own eyes, he saw the Core spinning slow and steady in his chest, crackling with electricity and burning blue, but he just can't get his head around it.

Every night, he lays awake long after everyone else has already gone to sleep, his eyes wide open in the dark, staring up at the splintered wooden bottom of Zane's bunk, right above his own, and he tries to figure out exactly where Tobi ends, and where Astro begins. Every night, he lays awake long after everyone else has already gone to sleep, and he tries to figure out if all these feelings swirling around inside him — the grief heavy and cold in the pit of his stomach, and the hope a tiny, tentative flicker of light in the center of his chest — are really his feelings at all, or just lines on lines on lines of code written into his brain by the man who made him, and then threw him away like he was garbage.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he was just a robot.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he was just your ordinary, average, run-of-the-mill factory-made machine. Maybe that would be okay. Maybe he could get his head around that. Maybe he could figure out what to do with that.

But that's not what he is.

He's the mechanical replica of a dead boy. He's a copy of a corpse. He's a clone, a faint echo of somebody long gone, a pale and empty and imperfect imitation that isn't even supposed to exist, and no one wants him, and he looks in the mirror, and a face that isn't his looks back at him — Tobi's brown eyes, and Tobi's round cheeks, and Tobi's spiked-up black hair, and Tobi's nose, and Tobi's ears, and Tobi's mouth, and Tobi's voice coming out of that mouth, and Tobi's favorite blue jacket on his shoulders and Tobi's favorite red boots on his feet, and this face isn't his and this body isn't his and these clothes aren't his and this brain isn't his and these memories of a whole entire life before last week aren't his and these feelings aren't his and everything he's ever had and everything he's ever said and everything he's ever thought and everything he's ever felt isn't his,because he's not even a real person!

The one and only thing he can truly call his own is his new name.

And he's spent the last six days down on the Surface below Metro City, trying to pass himself off as a Totally Normal Human Boy With Absolutely No Inexplicably Robotic Attributes Whatsoever. No, siree, just your average, ordinary, unremarkable preteen kid over here!

But here's the really crazy thing: It's working.

Astro can barely believe it, but no one has asked him any probing or uncomfortable questions, or even spared him a second look, since the night he showed up here, trailing behind Cora and Zane with his heart in his throat and his stomach tied up in knots, and nervously stammering out flimsy half-truths about his parents and his past, praying no one would dig any deeper, and so sure that he was doing it all wrong, that his posture was too stiff and too tense, that his facial expressions were shifting too fast and too smoothly until they all blended into each other in the most glaringly and unnaturally inhuman way possible, and what if he forgot to blink as much as everyone else? what if he forgot to breathe as much as everyone else? what if the truth was written all over him somewhere that he couldn't see — on his forehead, or on his back, maybe, spelled out in big bold letters saying this isn't a real person, this isn't a real person, this isn't a real person, don't let him fool you, he's a fake, he's faking, he's not a real person, he looks like he's a real person, but he's not, he's a fake, he's a fake, he's a fake!

But it's been six days now, and nobody has said anything about it.

Not even yesterday, when they were cleaning up ZOG for the Robot Games (which Astro still isn't totally sure he understands, but when he tried to ask them about it again, Zane shrugged it off and said it's a Surface thing, dude, so that probably means he'll just have to see it for himself before he really gets it) and Cora slipped off the robot's gleaming bronze shoulder, the bottoms of her shoes slick with soapy water, and he had to fire up his rocket boots to catch her before she hit the ground (because what on earth was he supposed to do in that situation, anyway? just let her fall?) she didn't call him out on it, and nobody else did, either.

And that must mean nobody saw it.

Look, he knows he can't keep this up forever, okay? He knows he has to tell them the truth sooner or later, and he knows it's better to just face the music, just get it over with, and more than anything, he knows they deserve it — after everything they've done for him, the way they welcomed him into their home and their family and their lives with open arms and no reservations, treating him just the same as every other kid around here even though they only met him last week.

They deserve to know what he really is.

And they deserve to hear it directly from him.

Seriously, what does he even have to be afraid of? Hamegg said himself that he loves robots, after all, and it's not like the other kids have any problems with them, either — they were so excited to meet ZOG just a few days ago when Astro got him back online, rushing right over to the giant without so much as a minute of hesitation, and they definitely dote on Trash Can every chance they get, petting him and praising him and spoiling him with treats of all kinds — so it's not like they're going to do a complete one-eighty and decide they hate him specifically for being one, right? Sure, he's not exactly as cool and awesome and crazy-strong as ZOG, and he's obviously not cute and charming and lovable like Trash Can, but there must be something in him they like, right? There must be some reason they let him come home with them that day in the junkyard, right? There must be some reason they didn't just walk away and leave him to fend for himself in the scrap heaps, right? There must be some reason they like him, right? There has to be something they like about him. There has to be something, and if it was enough to convince them to let him into their weird, wonderful family, it must be enough for them to like him even though he's a robot.

Right?

He really shouldn't be so nervous about this.

He really shouldn't be so afraid.

But it's been six days now since he fell to the Surface, and there is something wrong with him.

His whole body has been aching like one big bruise all day long, a dull but constant pulse of pain spreading out and out and out like ripples on a pond until every last inch of him hurts. His arms and legs feel oddly stiff, and sore, almost swollen at the joints in his knees and elbows, and when he tries to bend his limbs, or stand up, or turn his head, he—

—he creaks.

Like the rusted metal hinge on Tobi's locker door at school as it swings open. Like an old wooden floorboard when it takes on too much weight. Like a couple of steel gears grinding roughly together. Like a failing engine in a broken-down hovercar. Like a window that hasn't been opened in a while. Like the millions on millions of old, outdated machines in the junkyard. Like a robot.

And it's so excruciatingly, piercingly loud that the other kids can actually hear it, too, looking around the room with baffled frowns on their faces for a second or two before they shake their heads, shrug it off, say it must be ZOG, or Trash Can, or some new project that Hamegg is working on down in his shop, and Astro knows he really shouldn't be so nervous about this, he knows he really shouldn't be so afraid, but every time he moves, and that godawful screeching, scraping noise rings out, he holds his breath and he waits for them to work out the truth, his hands trembling in his lap and all the air in his lungs turning rapidly to ice.

He really shouldn't be so nervous about this.

He really shouldn't be so afraid.

But his secret is closer to the surface than it's ever been before, and he is so, so terrified.

That night, he lays awake long after everyone else has already gone to sleep, his eyes wide open in the dark, staring up at the splintered bottom of Zane's bunk, right above his own, and he tries not to move around too much, because it hurts, and he tries to figure out what on earth could be wrong with him.

"I-I don't know what's going on," he whispers, finally, to Trash Can — who has apparently decided he doesn't actually mind Astro all that much, because the minute they started shutting off the lights and crawling under the covers, he trotted over to Astro's bunk and curled up at the foot of the bed with a contented little whirr. "I don't know what's going on with me, Trash Can. If I can't fix it…"

Trash Can yawns so wide that his mechanical jaw pops, and gives a single, drowsy beep in response. Boy needs oil.

Astro goes dead still beneath his patched blanket, breath catching somewhere in the back of his throat. He didn't hear that right. There is no way he heard that right. There is no way he actually heard that right. "W-What did you just say?"

Boy needs oil, Trash Can repeats, slower and sleepier this time. Robots creak when oil is low. Boy creaks because oil is low.

"What?" Astro says, reflexively, even as all the air rushes from his chest in a heavy, shuddering gasp, and his whole body goes cold as ice — of course he knows that robots need oil, because Orrin's body used to groan like this whenever he was due for a refill, and ZOG drank almost two entire gallons of the stuff earlier today, and Trash Can will lap it straight from his dog bowl in the corner of the kitchen with his tiny, metallic tongue, but he's never actually connected any of that to himself, because he's not like that.

…Is he?

Boy is robot, Trash Can chirps unhelpfully, like he really thinks Astro needs the reminder right now. Robots need oil. Boy needs oil.

Astro shakes his head, and he doesn't even care about the horrible noise it makes anymore. "But I'm not—I'm not like—" he swallows, a little too hard, the word burning a hole right through the inside of his mouth until he has to shift gears in the middle of his sentence, "—that."

Trash Can whines in confusion, lifting his head an inch or two off the lumpy, torn-up mattress. Hasn't boy ever needed oil before?

"…I don't think so?"

There's a long stretch of silence then, and Astro is just beginning to think the dog must have fallen asleep, or gotten bored of him, or something, when another shrill beep rings out from the foot of the bed. How old is boy?

"Uh…" He frowns, and plucks at a loose, fraying thread on the edge of his blanket as he thinks it through, careful not to put too much strength into the motion so he doesn't accidentally unravel the whole thing. "I-I don't know. No one told me. It's been about a week since I woke up in the lab, though, and I think that was my first day."

Oh, Trash Can says, like everything makes perfect sense now, and he sits up a little, ears perked. Why didn't boy say so before? Boy is baby!

"What?!" Astro isn't actually sure if it's physically possible for him to blush, but a rush of heat definitely floods his face. "No! I'm eleven years old! Th-That's, like, practically a teenager!"

Babies are small, Trash Can chirps at him, with an air of absolute authority. Babies don't know anything. Everything is new to babies. And boy is small. And boy doesn't know anything. And everything is new to boy. Boy is baby.

And then the dog curls up at the foot of the bed again, paws tucked under his chin and eyes squeezed shut, like the matter is settled.

Astro scowls at him for a second or two — just because he's only been alive for seven days total doesn't make him a baby! — but he's got way bigger problems on his plate right now than his age, and everything it apparently means in Robot Years, or whatever. (Or… maybe it's just Robot Dog Years? Are Robot Dog Years different from Regular Dog Years? Maybe he should ask Hamegg.) He doesn't want a refill of oil to be the solution to his creaking body and aching joints — which is really kind of stupid, actually, because a refill of oil is just about the simplest, easiest fix in the world, and he could go ahead and take care of it now, while everyone else is fast asleep and no one will ever know and no one will ever find out — but it's not like he's got any better ideas.

"Do you…" he nudges the dog lightly in the side to get his attention again. "Do you really think it will help me? Oil, I mean?"

Trash Can lets out a sleepy, affirmative beep. Robots need oil. All robots need oil. Even baby robots.

Astro pointedly ignores the jab. "Right… yeah… um… Hamegg has some in his shop, doesn't he?"

Man has oil, Trash Can nods. Man has lots and lots of oil. Man will give oil. Ask man to give oil.

Astro doesn't know why he didn't expect that, but he really didn't expect that, and it sends a sharp, awful jolt straight to the pit of his queasy stomach just to hear it. "No! I-I can't do that!"

Trash Can sits up again, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Man gives oil. Trash Can asks, and man gives. Man gives oil to all robots. Boy is robot. Man will give if boy asks.

And Astro is sure he's right, sure that Hamegg wouldn't withhold a basic necessity like that from any robot who asks (even if they have spent the past six days lying to him) but his insides still feel like a writhing, hissing nest of angry vipers when he thinks about it. "No, Trash Can, I… I can't. I just can't." He tries to swallow, but there's a hard block at the back of his throat, and it won't let him. "I-I don't want him to find out like that." I don't want him to find out ever, but he pushes the thought away, shoves it to the back of his mind and locks it up tight, because that's bad, and wrong, and not fair to the man who has treated him as nothing less than his own flesh-and-blood son ever since he stepped through the door.

Trash Can considers this for a long, silent minute, his bright blue eyes glowing faintly in the dark and his tiny ears flicking back and forth, before he finally lets out another, more authoritative chirp. Trash Can knows where oil is. Trash Can take you to oil.

Before he can say anything to that, the dog jumps off the bed, and scampers out of the room — through the raggedy, rust-red curtain that divides the bedroom from the rest of the house, through the empty, darkened living room, up the stairs, around the corner, and right through the automatic door that slides open with a big whoosh as soon as it senses the weight and motion of living people in front of it.

And then, just like that, they're in Hamegg's workshop.

Even as Astro follows Trash Can over the threshold and toward the big plastic crate in the corner chock-full of tin cans, his stomach is tight with guilt, and he feels filthy all over. He shouldn't be doing this. He really should not be doing this. He should just wait until tomorrow, when he can tell Hamegg the truth, and ask him for some oil face-to-face. He should just go back to bed and come clean to everyone in the morning. He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be using them like this. He shouldn't be using Hamegg like this. Hamegg trusts him, and here he is, sneaking around in the middle of the night and stealing from him.

This is no way to repay the people who took him in when no one else wanted him.

But he takes a seat on the rusted windowsill anyway, the metal cold as ice through the thin cotton of the flannel-patterned pajama pants Zane loaned him when he found out Astro didn't have any clothes except his jeans and jacket, and he pulls a can of oil out of the crate below, automatically popping up the spout just like he saw ZOG do earlier.

And then he realizes, abruptly, that he actually has no idea what on earth he's supposed to do next. Robots usually ingest it through the mouth, he knows that, because that's what ZOG did, and Trash Can, too… but… that can't be what he has to do, is it? But he really can't think of anything else to do but drink it — maybe he could open up the energy chamber in his chest and pour it in through there, but that doesn't sound exactly right, and he really doesn't want to find out the hard way that it doesn't work. What if it gums up his gears? What if it hurts the Core? What if it makes him malfunction? What if it kills him?

"Uh…" he glances uncertainly between the thick, sludgy, thoroughly unappetizing black liquid swirling around in the canister and the dog curled up comfortably beneath the window. "So… I just… drink it, then? I guess?"

Trash Can gives a high-pitched little warble of amusement — if boy is not baby, shouldn't boy know what to do with oil? — and then a quick trill of confirmation: Silly boy. All robots drink oil.

"Oh," Astro says, with absolutely no enthusiasm. "Great. That's… so great. This is great." He allows himself one last apprehensive look at the dark fluid before he finally lifts the can up to his lips, cold tin clinking lightly against his teeth, and takes the tiniest possible sip.

It tastes exactly like what it is: motor oil.

And it tastes… good.

Before he even knows what he's doing, he's already taken another swallow, bigger than the first, and then he goes in for another one, drinking it down so quickly he actually kind of forgets to breathe in between sips, and the can is more than half-empty by the time he finally pauses to drag in a gulp of air instead, though he knows rationally that his artificial lungs don't really need the oxygen at all. He takes a second to wipe his mouth before he finishes off the rest of it, and when he pulls his hand away, the pale skin is stained a sleek, glossy black, glistening faintly in the starlight pouring in on him through the open window.

He doesn't know why it hits him right then. He doesn't know why it hits him so powerfully, and so painfully, but the longer he looks at that dark, gleaming streak on the back of his hand, the deeper and deeper it begins to sink in: he just drank almost an entire can of oil in one go, and he liked it.

Because he's a robot.

Like those guys calling themselves the RRF, like the millions on millions of old, outdated machines in the junkyard, like the new zeronium automations rolling off the factory line in the Ministry of Science this month, like Orrin, like ZOG, like Trash Can. His stomach twists, clenching up like a closed fist — tighter and tighter the longer he thinks about it — until there's a horrible second where he really thinks the oil is going to come right back up again, and he's going to vomit all over the floor of poor Hamegg's workshop in the middle of the night. And then he remembers that he won't, he can't, and he already knew that, of course he knew that, but the reminder still slams into him like a speeding train, smacking him off-kilter and knocking all the breath clean out of him in a single blow.

I don't want to be a robot, Astro realizes, with a clarity so sharp it stings. I don't want to be a robot. I don't want to be a robot. And he definitely doesn't want to be a robot like this — a clockwork clone of another kid who died months ago, a messed-up mimicry of a human with wires instead of veins, iron instead of bones, coolant instead of blood, and a star where his heart should be. He doesn't want to live like this — sneaking out in the dead and dark of night to drink oil where no one can see, and hoping with every gear and cog and circuit in his body that Trash Can won't give him away, that ZOG won't give him away, that he won't give himself away, that he can keep this up for just one more day, just one more hour, just one more minute, just until he's ready to tell them, just until he figures out how to tell them. He doesn't want the rest of his life to be like this — trying to make sure his posture isn't too stiff or too tense, trying to make sure his facial expressions aren't shifting too fast, or too smoothly, and trying to remember to blink as much as everyone else, trying to remember to breathe as much as everyone else, his heart in his throat and his stomach tied up in knots as he carefully carefully carefully arranges himself into a shape so close to human that no one can ever tell the difference.

He doesn't want to live like this. He doesn't want the rest of his life to be like this. He doesn't want to pretend to be normal. He doesn't want to have to pretend to be normal. He just wants to be normal.

(He doesn't want to be different.)

[pyrovverse]

HOME SWEET HOME .

CW: Paranoia, death, murder/gore, abuse, fire, alcohol abuse

During the blazing summer of ‘96, the Rogers family made the impromptu decision to go for a trip to Lake Catherine State Park in Arkansas and to visit family which nested in Bentonville. Toby was early in his boyhood at eleven years old when he found himself lost deep within the forest that surrounded the lake. Though it was only afternoon when the young boy had found himself misplaced, the woods were dark and cold. Was it evening already?

It took eight long hours until the search party brought him safely back into the arms of his mother who was worried sick about her troublesome son. He was first discovered in an unresponsive daze, staring off into the wilderness as though he was looking at something in particular. There wasn’t anything there. It wasn’t spoken of since, and soon the family, and the boy, began to forget all about the strange situation.

Though the ordeal had long slipped his mind, the aftereffects stayed. Toby had found himself plagued with random coughing fits, nosebleeds, strange dreams and violent intrusive thoughts. Slowly, he felt himself rotting away from the inside. On some occasions, the young boy would wake up behind his home late in the night, having sleepwalked to the forest edge that bordered his backyard.

It seemed as though tragedy followed Toby like a stray dog. When he was 17 years old, he fell victim to a sudden, violent car crash that took the life of his elder sister, Lyra, who was driving her brother home from a doctors appointment. The force of the steering wheel crushed her and she died on impact, while the boy was left with a broken arm and concussion. The last imagine Toby had of his dear older sister was her bloody body mangled, and the awful sound of life escaping her through a gruesome series of groans and wheezing.

Throughout his life he wore strength like a golden medal that he held in between his canine teeth. But on that godforsaken day, his knees fell weak, as so did he. Life slipped through the cracks of his scarred hands and from the moment he stepped out of the wreckage, he hadn’t felt real.

From that moment forth, a sure descent into insanity grasped his now fragile mind. He felt a sickness take hold of him, far heavier than any grief that struck his sore heart. Through the midst of despair and loss, he lost all sense of what to do with himself. The stress proved to be too great for the boy who’s medal of strength was crumbling under the weight of the world. He was angry. Angry at his father for not being there, angry at his peers for their rejection, angry at the world for turning its back on him. Angry at himself.

But hating himself did nothing but prove Dan right, and so every fibre of that hate he directed towards the outside world. And his “me against them” mindset only strengthened its resolve as he lost the only person in his life who treated him as a human being. Now she was gone, and no amount of screaming and yelling and begging could get her to turn around from that pearly white staircase and come back to him. Now he was as alone as he’s felt his entire life.

Nobody taught Toby how to bear the burden of loss. He spent his entire life destroying everything through a rough series of fury and malice, that he was at a disadvantage when something left his life not of his own doing. Every semblance of control he mustered up over the years slipped through the cracks of his fingers like murky water, and he began searching for solace in liquor. Alcohol became a familiar coping mechanism for him, stealing booze from his father which prompted more violence in the unsteady household. His days for the next couple months would begin to consist of him running away from home, fighting with his parents, or drinking in the forest behind his house.

On cold, lonely nights he would sit on the edge of those woods in his backyard with a bottle held in his busted knuckles, and he would wonder if any fire could burn hot enough to rid that house of its sins. If anything could stop the war from raging on, if some day he could lay down his arms.

Over the next few burdensome months after the funeral, a bizarre, creeping feeling of being followed would begin to drape over Toby like a blanket of paranoia. It started off small. He would sometimes see things out of the corner of his eye, peeking around corners or standing amidst the trees that would disappear when he blinked. Then he’d begin to experience face blindness, or something of the sorts, where he could catch glimpses of people in crowds with no faces. And when the sleepwalking found itself back to the boys nights, he felt as plagued with disease as he did when he was 11 years old.

It had gotten to the point he would spend hours staring out his bedroom window at the woods behind his house, only being interrupted by his concerned mother noting that his nose had started bleeding. The trees had eyes, and they were watching him. There was something waiting for Toby in that forest. Something that would begin to torment the boy with nightmares and haunting visions of his deceased sister. Sometimes, late in the dead of night, he could swear he heard that terrible groaning and wheezing coming from outside his bedroom window. It beckoned him.

It was a cold November evening when the boy killed his own father by bludgeoning him to death with a baseball bat. After an early morning altercation with his father, Dan had been drunk and aggressive, and Toby was hanging on a very thin thread that inevitably snapped.

There was something primal within the younger as he brutally attacked his dear old dad, mercilessly battering the elder until his face was nothing but unrecognizable mush. The familiar scowl was the last thing he saw of Dan Rogers. Toby looked into the terrified, furious eyes of his creator as he beat him down, and in his fathers eyes the boy only saw his own reflection.

Toby lost everything that day. Or rather, he gained everything. He had nothing to lose to begin with, and now he was free from the chains of that house. And the visions of that warzone of a home being engulfed in flames only became true as he left the battlefield with gasoline and blood soaked hands. Dazed, and coming off of a rage-fuelled adrenaline rush, Toby thoughtlessly made his way to the forest he had been called to for weeks. The smell of smoke began to heat up the chilly autumn night, and as the fire grew, it accompanied the moon in lighting up the dark sky.

The last thing he remembered from that fateful night, one that was a long time coming paved through years of abuse and torment, was the feeling of flames on his skin and rough smoke in his lungs as the forest he sat silently in became a victim of the housefire. As the heat engulfed his surroundings, his vision went blurry and his head felt full of static.

This was the death of Tobias Rogers, the boy born of forest fire.

[beryllineart]

Wunderland Character sheet-- Alphys

Undertale belongs to Toby Fox

Wunderland is my idea (based on Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carrol)

Alphys wasn't always so moral obsessed, but after getting wrongfully promoted for inventing Mettaton and the fiasco with the Amalgamates, she is determined to know what lesson she is expected to learn for anything that ever happens. Is this a coping mechanism or an escape? I don't know enough about psychology to say. In any case, she does not like being a Duchess very much and gets uncomfortable if people call her "Your Grace." However, she does enjoy being able to casually address people like the king and the captain of the Cards.

The John Tenniel influence is very evident here. With most of the other characters I have done my best to add my own spin to things, but I kind of really liked the Duchess's dress on Alphys and didn't have much to add to the design... Wait, I just realized that I made Alphys wear her heart on her sleeve. Given that she uses morals to hide her nervousness/ true feelings, she doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve in the figurative sense.

[subterlyfitumtale]

Deep Analysis by Daniel and I/Adley of Frisk from Undertale: The Reflection of Our Choices:

Introduction: "Undertale" is a game that, since its release in 2015, has captured the hearts of millions of players thanks to its unique story, memorable characters, and innovative mechanics. One of the most enigmatic and central characters is Frisk, the silent protagonist controlled by players throughout their journey in the underground. Although Frisk does not utter a single word throughout the game, their character and role in the story are incredibly deep and complex. In this analysis, we will explore who Frisk is, their relationship with other characters, and the symbolism behind their actions.

Frisk: A Blank Canvas: Frisk is, in essence, a character without voice and without an explicit personality on the surface. This design is intentional; Toby Fox, the creator of Undertale, wanted Frisk to be a "player's avatar." However, this does not mean Frisk is merely an empty tool for interaction. Throughout the game, Frisk represents the player's decisions and, therefore, the player's own character. Depending on the choices you make—whether showing mercy to monsters or choosing a path of violence—Frisk becomes a reflection of your intentions and morality.

The name "Frisk" is revealed only if you choose to complete the game on the "True Pacifist" route, suggesting that Frisk's true self only shows when the player makes decisions guided by compassion and empathy. In the genocide route, on the other hand, Frisk is known as the "human" or, more derogatorily, as the "villain," highlighting how Frisk's identity is shaped by our actions.

Frisk and Gender Ambiguity: One of the most discussed aspects of Frisk is their gender, or the lack of specification. Toby Fox designed Frisk as a gender-neutral character, which has been a point of discussion and speculation in the community. This detail is not trivial; by not having a defined gender, Frisk is more inclusive, allowing any player to identify with them. This ambiguity also strengthens the idea of Frisk as a mirror of the player, as there is no predefined identity that could influence how players project their emotions and decisions onto the character.

Frisk's Relationship with the Monsters: As Frisk progresses through their journey, they encounter a variety of monsters ranging from comedic to terrifying. Each interaction with these characters offers the player the option to fight or seek a peaceful solution. This is where Frisk’s role as an "ambassador" between humans and monsters comes to the fore. In the pacifist route, Frisk shows that conflicts can be resolved without violence, promoting understanding and friendship. This pacifist approach starkly contrasts with the genocide route, where Frisk becomes a catalyst for destruction and fear.

Frisk and the Theme of Forgiveness and Redemption: One of the most powerful themes in Undertale is forgiveness and redemption, and Frisk is at the center of this exploration. In the pacifist route, Frisk has the opportunity to forgive characters who previously acted against them. This act of forgiveness not only redeems the monsters but also reflects the player's ability to overcome resentment and choose a path of kindness.

On the other hand, in the genocide route, any possibility of redemption is erased, and Frisk becomes a tragic figure, unable to escape the cycle of violence in which they are involved. This duality shows how the game explores human capacity for good and evil and how our decisions can have irreversible consequences.

The Ending and Beyond: Who is Frisk Really? One of the most intriguing questions that arises at the end of the game is about Frisk’s true nature. For much of the game, it seems that Chara, the first child who fell into the underground, has some influence over Frisk, especially in the genocide route. This connection suggests that Frisk may be controlled, or at least influenced, by Chara's remnants, raising questions about Frisk's true agency.

However, in the pacifist route, Frisk is freed from this influence, which could be interpreted as a symbol of humanity’s ability to liberate itself from darkness and find its true self through empathy and kindness.

Conclusion: Frisk as a Reflection of the Human Condition: Ultimately, Frisk is much more than a simple video game protagonist; they are a reflection of the human condition and the choices we make in our lives. Through Frisk, "Undertale" challenges us to consider the impact of our actions and reminds us that, although we may be tempted by power and violence, there is always a path to peace and redemption.

Playing as Frisk is an introspective journey that invites us to look in the mirror and ask ourselves: what kind of person do we want to be? In the vast narrative of "Undertale," Frisk is both the hero and the villain, and we, as players, have the power to decide their fate and, symbolically, our own.

[uchihaharlot]

I have a question, what do you think of Obito/Tobi?

Hello nonny 😌🥹

You are my first ask on this blog 🥳🎉 And it’s of my beloved Obito/Tobi. 😍 Obito forever will be a gentle giant in my eyes with a side of fucking you stupid. Save that for another day. I will distinguish between the two personalities best I can. I feel like, aside from the mask hiding his identity, it was easier for him to be who he wanted to be in Tobi without the pressure.

Some sfw with mild suggestive themes Obito/Tobi headcanons:

Obito:

• Despite his role in bringing near world domination, he’s a lover not a fighter. After all the whole reason he went awol was because of Rin and Madara’s influence.

• Very easily manipulated. ☺️😅 Sorry Obito, he just is so gullible half majority the time. He doesn’t know any better, Madara completely lobotomized him from a young age to be his pawn after he died. A patsy for his own gain for Madara’s return from death.

• Definitely died virginal. Unless he fucked a white Zetsu, and as a teen he wasn’t very explorative given the seclusion and watchful eye of old man Madara. Plus he was focused on healing and growing half his damn body back. Plus, he didn’t look like himself anymore which probably gave him a bit of body dysmorphia and fed his insecurities.

• Genuinely believed he was being led the correct path in life. That he didn’t need anyone or the village — just Madara (especially didn’t need that Bakashi!!).

• Like majority of the men who are traumatized in this series, Obito can’t sleep at night. Late at night the inner confines of his mind play psychological warfare and close in on himself. ‘Am I doing the right thing?’ ‘Will this really make me feel better?’ ‘Will peace come once the dust settles?’

• Holds in his emotions until they crush him, figuratively and literally. Then he really carries the mantra of ‘burdened with glorious purpose.’ It replaces the heart on his sleeve and that’s when he hardens — or he thinks.

• Seeing Rin die definitely was that final straw and at the hands of Kakashi without any preemptive warning on the situation at hand. This is where Obito does a 180 and harnesses that resolve to carryon Madara’s will. Which is where Tobi comes out.

Tobi:

• Let’s see. I think when Obito designed became prisoner to this persona, it was a coping mechanism. Tobi was one way to get around his turmoil and needing a disguise was the perfect way to avoid dealing with deep seated issues. Win/win/???.

• It makes keeping a distance from the other Akatsuki members easier. Tobi doesn’t want to talk about his trauma or about his family’s history. When Itachi joins it’s imperative that the rest don’t know his secret. What trauma? He’s a new man in this new little world he’s made.

• Which is why in the beginning he’s such a butterball of feigned ignorant bliss. Obito never had the chance at a real childhood so what better way than to live that vicariously through his second ego?

• It also boosted his confidence, tremendously. Being an authoritative figure hiding within the ranks of a hand basket of deplorables made him deliciously confident. He can’t pinpoint why exactly, but having the Akatsuki on the string of his tennis shoe like puppets is an ego boost. It’s an added bonus that most are unsuspecting.

• I think Tobi sleeps most nights peacefully, not always though. Still has these moments of uncertainty, like that meme of your brain before going to bed and it spouts off some shit you’d rather not spend the night debating with yourself about. That still happens to Tobi but not as frequently as when it was Obito in the cockpit of his psyche.

• At the end of the day; we all have a face that we would hide. The face of a stranger, and when it comes to Tobi, Obito is his dead name — he doesn’t recognize much beyond the hurt that got him to where he was today. Letting it fester and further infect his brain. What did they call it? The curse of hatred: Obito is the poster child for this. Sure Sasuke would be a runner up but Sasuke literally chose the path of vengeance, Obito was molded by it. Tobi is the darkness and Obito became a prior life.

[litirxcaractar]

// Home // Guidelines // Characters // Permanent Starter Call //

Independent Multimuse DnD OC RP

Potential Trigger Warning / 18+ content

10+ years of writing experience, 7+ years of Tumblr rp experience

semi-selective

follows back from @piecesofacrow

Please Read rules and Bio before interaction

[chazmcfreelyhater]

CHAZ/TOBOR BRO HEADCANONS

omg. so I realised that after I drew Chaz/TOBOR content one time that i haven’t actually shared how important they are to me. erm. so I have made a silly little document of background/headcanons that could have been pages long but I didn’t want to be TOO insane.

also BIG DISCLAIMER the TOBOR headcanons and art at the bottom belong to Chiptoons on Insta/Chipt00ns on Twitter. SHE IS AMAZING and helped me to edit this doc so thank u for ur service chippy. thank you for inventing tobor mysims

They became friends because we were friends and it was like dragging our children along to a function and being like “ok now go play w the other kids” lol. lmao.

We both have OCs x canon with the robots so that's pretty much where it all started from- I probably won’t do a whole timeline at least for now but basically Makoto, Naomi (Louie’s OC) and Vivian (Chippy’s OC) would all spend time together regularly until they started inviting the bohs along

TOBOR was. a bit suspicious of Chaz at first since he had some pretty bad trust issues when it came to humans, and also because that’s usually the normal reaction to meeting Chaz, but he honestly wasn’t super phased by it. Chaz was used to people being kinda cold towards him yet also had a tendency to latch onto them anyway. Even though he spent hours actively trying to annoy him and talk about bike mechanics, which was pretty much just his attempt at being friendly and having fun- the biggest thing for TOBOR was that Chaz would never use the fact that he was a robot against him. Like he would never treat him like any less of a person, to Chaz he literally was just Some cool dude with a green head

Even when they become like Friend friends they still are surprisingly careful around eachothers’ boundaries. Tbh a lot of their relationship is built off things most people wouldn’t expect from them, as in the two scary bitch boys are actually very respectful of eachother and keep secretz and look out for the other n their bffs. It’s not OOC if we make the chars. IDGAF

They actually didn’t think they’d get as close as they did: TOBOR and Chaz essentially see eachother as brothers at this point, since they (mostly through accident) found out they had a surprising amount in common, with the way people kinda assumed stuff about them beforehand and were not the nicest . Chaz considers him one of his best friends bc he is CRINGE and is still constantly out to annoy him but at this point TOBOR just effortlessly shows him up. Chaz also likes to bully him on account of he hearts Vivian and you know what who doesn’t. They both got parental issues too which they also kinda relate to each other with; sometimes there will be stuff between them that they tease eachother for RELENTLESSLY, but if anyone else were to bring it up at all they would be killed within the second. TOBOR tends to stick up for Chaz a lot since he is more naïve and struggles to see when people are actually trying to upset him instead of just being Chaz Haterz for fun. Defending people and having their backs is his love language.

There is also a whole thing in the future with him/Makoto being more closely associated with the Delarosarenas but I don’t want to overshare or b cringe but Kerry literally adores TOBOR and the fact he loves cooking :> he simply IS her new son and she displays interest in hiring him one day. If the lab thing doesn’t work out. Which it is not. Again they r like BROTHERS make no mistake we do not ship them.

Silly little HC list for the fun of it:

Chaz likes to attempt to tackle TOBOR every time he sees him and it always ends in an injury.

TOBOR is secretly very good w Chaz’s younger family members.

TOBOR attempted to teach Travis how to cook for Chaz romantic style. After it all went to shit he informed the Englishman the only way to save it would be to fake his own death.

Chaz’s favourite name for TOBOR is “Flat Head Ass”, closely followed by “Toby”. His bro name for them is “Chobor”. TOBOR is repulsed by every single thing that comes out of his mouth.

TOBOR considers Naomi a little sister. Not super relevant but when Chippy said he probably did I wept. oh how I wept

Toborviv bridal party at Chavis wedding. I may be cringe but I am free.

TOBOR succumbs to the fact he is in love with Vivian. Instead of confessing, he panics and asks Chaz, who has NO electronic experience, to program it out of him. They both damn near die, bro style

TOBOR LETS HIM INFODUMP he is happy that Chaz trusts him ahehe

WTF!!! Da gallery:

[mcytrecursive]

Nomination Overview - Space AU

We have had over a hundred source materials nominated already, so it's time to start looking at some of the works that people intend to request or offer! And the first one to look at is Space AU, which has been nominated 8 times, ranging in length from a 2847 word one-shot to a 299,349 word epic.

Title: Out To the Galaxy Steady She Goes  Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48639868/ Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP Author: TheDepressedCanary (FPSCanarussia) Characters: GeminiTay, ZombieCleo, PearlescentMoon, FalseSymmetry,Xisumavoid Length of the work: 28,277 Genre: Action/Adventure, AU, Family, Friendship, Space AU, Space Fantasy (SciFi/Fantasy cross, not sure how to tag it) Type: Fic Summary: Sailing ships cross worlds and stars, hunted by pirates and monsters. Ancient ruins sit undiscovered, concealing long-forgotten secrets. Space is vast and full of wonder. Pearl, in grief, clutches at every opportunity. Gem just wants to know more. Cleo - well, who can say? Yet the stars are not kind, and every journey holds its dangers.

__

Title: Space Mining AU Link: here and here Fandom: 3rd Life SMP Creator: wszczebrzyszynie Relationships: Team Ranchers, Cledubs, Ethubs, Scarian, Treebark, Convex brothers, ImpSkizz, Flower Husbands. Zedaph, Doc, Pearl and Gem are also characters. Everything mentioned as platonic, except romantic Jizzie. Characters: Tango and Jimmy Genre: Action/Adventure, AU, Drama, Post-Apocalyptic AU, Space AU Type: Art Series Summary: Space Mining AU. Tango was an engineer, became a wanted terrorist after he blew up Callisto, a moon where he was doing illegal skulk mining. He blew it up alongside other miners after finding out that skulk is alive, parasitic and infecting people, but he ended up being the sole survivor of the explosion, and the skulk wasn't completely sealed off. He ends up living with Desert Duo for a while (a pair of also dangerous criminals), and that's where he meets Jimmy. It kind of all goes downhill from there.

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Title: He Has a Soul Made of Stars Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35533927/chapters/88583056 Fandom: Dream SMP Author: NobleDragon Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Philza, Wilbur Soot & Fundy Characters: Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)Philza, Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo, Fundy Length: 16,875 words Genre: Domestic/Slice-of-life, Family, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Space AU Type: Fic Summary: And the heart of a galaxy. There is something in the vents of his ship, stealing their food and walking around at odd times of the day. Phil was going to catch that animal and cook it up for dinner if he has a say about it. Wait...it isn't an animal, but a sentient? And it's probably scared and hurt with no one to take care of them? Well...that changes things. Or: I'm going to make Phil want to found family something he hasn't even seen yet.

__

Title: free falling love addict Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52783816 Fandom: 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series Author: moonieangel Relationships: Grian & Scar, Grian/Scar Characters: Scar, Grian Length: 2847 words Genre: AU, Space AU, Relationship Study Type: Fic Summary: Grian's curls each knuckle, pressing it down, watching silently as the metal plates whir, clicking into place, as each finger tucks down in short, jittering ticks. “Yeah,” he says after a moment. “It's wonky.” “Well,” Scar says, “I could've told you that.” Grian grins at him, and there's a thrum of excitement in it, a sort of childlike enthusiasm to play with a machine. Scar had seen it precede the bursting of bombs. // Or, a fic where Scar is a cyborg whose arm is damaged and Grian is the mechanic who owes him. Or maybe the other way around.

__

Title: Lifeline AU Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3156309 Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP Author: SlashMagpie Relationships: Impulse & Tango, Impulse & Pearl, Bdubs & Etho, False & Stress, Impulse & Skizz, Pearl & Tango Characters: Impulse, Tango, Pearl, Etho, Bdubs, False, Cleo, Skizz, Ren Length: 299,349 words Genre: Action/Adventure, AU, Fantasy AU, Horror, Modern AU, Time Travel, Space AU Type: Fic Summary: A science fantasy AU about a species of body-snatching aliens attempting to take over the Earth and the ragtag bunch of misfits trying to stop them. Based on the Lifeline series of mobile games.

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Title: if - then - else Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45779260/chapters/115204942 Fandom: 3rd Life SMP Author: Anonymous Relationships: Etho & Tango, Bdubs & Tango, Bdubs & Etho & Tango, Jimmy Solidarity & Martyn Littlewood, Jimmy Solidarity & Tango, Martyn Littlewood & Scott Smajor, Martyn Littlewood & Tango, GeminiTay & Pearl, Jimmy Solidarity/Scott Major, Bdubs/Etho Characters: TangoTek, Bdubs, Etho, Martyn Littlewood, Jimmy Solidarity, Scott Smajor, GeminiTay, Mumbo Length: 69103 words Genre: Action/Adventure, AU, Romance, Slow Burn, Space AU, Sci-Fi AU Type: Fic Summary: Tango wakes up in a hospital with no memories and a moderately concerned pair of crewmates. Along with a few of the others in the same ward as him, he attempts to recover his memories, navigate a few significant obstacles, and figure out just how he got here. OR a space opera au that started as something very self indulgent and slowly developed a plot bigger than the walls of the hospital it began in. now with space chases and strange new planets!

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Title: Among us AU Rating: E-rated Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2478559 Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP Author: Tunfisken Relationships: Etho/Grian, Tango/Grian Characters: Grian, Etho, Tango, background appearances by other Hermits Length: 19,899 words Genre: AU, Smut, Space AU Type: Fic Summary: Air was rushing through the ventilation ducts, and there was a faint hum of machinery from the dormant medbay scanner. Ever so often, the lights overhead would flicker. His stomach was cramping, and Grian curled in on himself on the bed, trying to ignore the hunger that clawed at him. The imposter didn't want to die.

[songcharshowdown]

Meet the Contestants!

Welcome back to the Song Character Showdown! I hope you enjoyed our day off, because things are just getting started. Polling doesn't begin until March 26th, so you'll have the next few days to campaign. Tag us in your campaigns or submit them to us directly.

You can find a transcript of the first rounds below!

Side A

The Northcote Family from Family Tree by Radical Ace vs. Cotton Eye Joe from Cotton Eye Joe by Rednex

The Fabulous Killjoys from The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys by My Chemical Romance vs. Hamantha from The Ballad of Hamantha by Jack Stauber

St. Jimmy from American Idiot by Green Day vs. Arizona Ranger from Big Iron by Marty Robbins

The Mariner from The Mariner's Revenge Song by The Decemberists vs. Jeff and Cyrus from The Best Ever Death Metal Band Out of Denton by the Mountain Goats

Muu Kusunoki from MILGRAM vs. The Alpha Couple by the Mountain Goats

Electra Heart from Electra Heart by Marina and the Diamonds vs. Cabinet Man from Cabinet Man by Lemon Demon

Johnnie Redmayne from Lord Huron vs. Smokin' Joe Rudeboy from Smokin' Joe Rudeboy by Tom Cardy

Tobi Otogiri from Kagerou Project vs. Blackbox Warrior from Blackbox Warrior - OKULTRA by Will Wood

The Angel from Transangelic Exodus by Ezra Furman vs. The Shark Fighter from The Shark Fighter! by The Aquabats

The Human Beings from How to Be a Human Being by Glass Animals vs. The Mystery Skulls from The Mystery Skulls

Sara Berry from 35mm: A Musical Exposition vs. A Cat Named Virtute from The Weakerthans

Cobb Avery from Lord Huron vs. Jolene from Jolene by Dolly Parton

The Mekakushi-dan from Kagerou Project vs. Stacy's Mom from Stacy's Mom by Fountains of Wayne

Dr. Worm from Dr. Worm by They Might Be Giants vs. Jonny D'Ville from The Mechanisms

Simon from Hawaii Pt. II by Miracle Musical vs. The Demolition Lovers from Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge by My Chemical Romance

Loki and Sigyn from The Bifrost Incident by The Mechanisms vs. Johnny from The Devil Went Down to Georgia

[homestucksimplified]

The Sburb Aspects.

Sburb, the game that the human Homestuck characters play, has the objective of “creating a new universe to live in”, and it brings the end of the current one. Sburb is full of complex and interesting mechanisms, and one of its most interesting feature is the titles of power given to the players. Those are the Aspects.

A person’s Aspect is understood to represent what their goals and actions in life are caused by. Characters in the story and readers who are holders of Aspects guide a life ruled by what the main idea of their Aspects is.

The Sburb Aspects are Time, Breath, Doom, Blood, Heart, Space, Mind, Light, Void, Rage, Hope, and Life. All Aspects are present in the comic, but some are more represented than others, due to certain characters not appearing as much. The two Aspects with the most canon players are Time (Dave, Aradia, Damara, and Caliborn) and Space (Jade, Kanaya, Porrim, and Calliope).

Together with the Aspect, there will be a Class. A person’s Class is understood to represent the way they deal with their Aspect. You can only know your Class after you find out what your Aspect is, since each one changes greatly with the switch of Aspect. We are not going to discuss Classes in this particular post, but by the time you see this I’ll probably already have a post on each of them within each Aspect (search for the tag #classes).

Below is my speculation on how each Sburb Aspect is to each player.

1st Aspect: Time

Time is the Aspect of music, of death, of rebellion, of not accepting what comes in the way that it comes. Time is an Aspect that caused much suffering in the comic, but it is also the savior-Aspect. Time Players seem to “go against the clock”, they are usually either terrified of death or completely alright with the idea of it. They work in melodious ways, are impatient, and enjoy the destination more than the journey itself. They are hardly stable, extremely dedicated and stubborn. Time Players are fighters, sometimes even in a literal way. They also tend to be revolutionary, depending on the Class. They can be related to music, since the ticking of the clock is a reference to melody and heartbeat.

In more miscellaneous descriptions, Time Players can be enjoyers of History. Since Aspects can be literal sometimes, many Time Players struggle with the concept of Time, are bad at keeping track of time, feel like they don’t have time to do all that they want to do, like they have to catch up. Time is the opposite Aspect to “Space”, which is patient and conforming. Time is an Aspect of change.

(Time used to be considered a Derse-only Aspect, since its description is really similar to that of Derse Dreamers. Since the publication of The Extended Zodiac, that was proven to be untrue. Arist, Taurist, Gemrist, Canrist, Lerist, Virist, Librist, Scorist, Sagirist, Caprist, Aquarist and Pirists are all Time + Prospit Extended Signs).

Known Time Players are Dave Strider, Aradia Megido, Damara Megido, Caliborn, and Toby Fox.

2nd Aspect: Breath

Breath is the Aspect of freedom and flexibility, of the element of air, of going with the flow, movement. Breath Players tend to be more detached from reality, and most of them are in search for the liberty that they crave. They’re usually very positive-minded, or are just unaware of the stress they are holding. A character who reminds me of this Breath characteristic is Mr. Peanutbutter from Bojack Horseman. Breath Players’ main theme in their journey will be freedom, and often times they will be leaders or have to deal with leadership.

Breath has that “protagonist” vibe at the same time that it has the “ignored side character” one. John and Tavros holding that Aspect makes that even more true. It is a very unpredictable Aspect, and I believe the players are as well. The bad side of Breath might come from detachment from important things, from people and situations. The players might also be absent-minded, gullible, and sometimes avoidant.

Breath is the opposite Aspect to “Blood”, which shares its leadership characteristics but is about the opposite of freedom.

Known Breath Players are John Egbert, Tavros Nitram, and Rufioh Nitram.

3rd Aspect: Doom

Doom is the Aspect of inevitability, destiny, fate, conformity… Doom Players are known to be good listeners, people who understand and will empathize, even if they don’t know how to fix many issues. They seem to be okay with fate, with the way things work, with both contentment and pain. Doom Player Sollux knew that he was going to die, and he accepted it knowing nothing could be done about it. Doom can be heavily emotional.

Doom is a poetic Aspect, and it’s extremely interesting, although rarely depicted in the comic. A Doom Player’s struggle might be about acceptance, a doubt about how it all is supposed to work. It is realistic and skeptical, not always pessimistic instead. Doom can be stability, having an outlook on life that is healing in their own way. I have heard from a Doom Player that “the Life-Doom Aspect pair is the facet of a person that deals with healing. While Life heals through change and improvement, Doom heals through acceptance and adjustment”. This difference is sometimes described as “the vent friend” (Doom) and “the advice friend” (Life). Life is the opposite Aspect to Doom, and it is serving and helpful.

Known Doom Players are Sollux Captor and Mituna Captor.

4th Aspect: Blood

Blood is the Aspect of bonds, relations, friendship or relationship or hatred, anything that holds the idea of people connecting and interacting. Blood Players usually strive for community, craving the unity of people, thriving on groups of friends, families, rioters getting ready to protest, anything that ties the bloods together. They can have a hard time adjusting to freedom, preferring the value of the attachments in their life. Their view of the world is very interesting, mostly focused on the association between people, even the disharmonic ones.

Blood can be literal, in the sense of a Blood Player’s path having to do with their care or lack of care for a sibling or parent, but it can also be about friends or lovers. They can attempt to form unity whenever they can, that might be their way of dealing with the world. They have a thought that “everyone has the same blood”. Blood is the opposite Aspect to “Breath”, which is focused on freedom and detachment.

Known Blood Players are Karkat Vantas and Kankri Vantas.

5th Aspect: Heart

Heart is the Aspect of the soul, the self, of passion and impulse. Heart Players are described to be obsessed with their own identity, in both the good and bad sense (like every Aspect, it has both sides). They are doomed to struggle with their sense of self, to be focused on the improvement of their own paths. Heart Players know themselves in more intrinsic ways than most people are used to knowing themselves. They are masters of self-analysis, and to quote a Homestuck character, “drowning in [their] own dismal persona”, they “can’t escape from themselves”.

In more literal ways, Heart can have to do with relationships and the idea of love. Many Heart Players seem to have a connection with or a struggle with romantic love, though this is much more a theory. All the Homestuck characters with the Heart Aspect got their hearts broken at one point and were very interested in romance. Many Classes make a Heart Player a great helper to others, since they understand how self-improvement should work and may want to advise others on it. They may know others more than others know themselves too. Heart’s opposite Aspect is “Mind”, of course, which is more focused on rationality and justice.

Known Heart Players are Dirk Strider, Nepeta Leijon, and Meulin Leijon.

6th Aspect: Space

Space is the Aspect of creation, the big picture, the capacity to accept things as they come, adapting to them. Space Players tend to favor the journey over the destination, enjoying the time they spend creating something much more than the end result of it. It is the opposite Aspect to “Time”, which is all about rebellion and, well, time. Space seems to be the most important Aspect in all of Sburb, and a session is impossible without the Space Player, who usually accepts pretty easily what their path is meant to be. They don’t see the point in fighting against what is inevitable, so they pick their fights carefully, prefer to make something out of what they already have.

Space Players can be lonely. But Space is usually patient, and it is big, so big. It is everything, after all. It’s not a coincidence that the creator of Homestuck, the creator of all of this that I’m writing about, is a Space Player. Space gathers everything, and everything is in Space.

(Space used to be considered a Prospit-only Aspect, since its description is really similar to that of Prospit Dreamers. Since the publication of The Extended Zodiac, that was proven to be untrue. Arga, Taurga, Gemga, Canga, Lega, Virga, Liga, Scorga, Sagiga, Capriga, Aquaga and Piga are all Space + Derse Extended Signs).

Known Space Players are Jade Harley, Kanaya Maryam, Porrim Maryam, Calliope, and Andrew Hussie.

7th Aspect: Mind

Mind is the Aspect of reason, justice, logic and decision. Mind Players usually have a very black-and-white view of the world, deciding between choices by considering which path is the most fair. Their journey has to do with rationality, and most times they value facts rather than feelings. A Mind Player who’s driven by emotions might have a more rebellious Class. Mind Players are good at figuring out what choices will be better in a situation, defying the idea that libras are indecisive (The libras in Homestuck are Mind Players). I would say they have a very corrective view of the world, always seeing solution to whatever problems might exist around them, in their own way.

Mind seems to be connected to justice, and not only because of the libra thing. Being the Aspect of decisions, it refers to making choices that will be better for everyone. Mind Player Terezi Pyrope went against her best friend’s plans because she could see that they wouldn’t be fair to anyone but herself. Getting more answers than you have questions is a good way to describe the Aspect. Seeing the patterns of the world, seeing through lies.

Mind’s opposite Aspect is “Heart”, which is the Aspect of the soul and emotional world.

Known Mind Players are Terezi Pyrope and Latula Pyrope.

8th Aspect: Light

Light is the Aspect of knowledge, luck, and literal light too. It is about inviting light into a situation, usually about seeking knowledge and sometimes being obsessed with the answers to everything. Light Players can be scholars, focused on learning the most they can about what they’re interested in, or Light might come up in different ways, not academic or literally.

Light Players seek to find the reasons for what things are what they are. They are great at researching, and this can be abstract or not. They probably had curious childhoods, wanting to search for the meaning of life from a very young age, and still not letting go. They also are not very worried about rules, and like bending them to their own likes. They follow rules that they want to follow and ignore those they find useless.

This Aspect is linked to luck too, and its Players tend to believe in such. Their Classes will also dictate whether they believe they have that luck or not. Light Players don’t have to necessarily be wise; just like other Aspects a Player may show only some aspects of it. But they will always be looking for wisdom. In their own way.

Light can have to do with relevance, with awareness, and like in the comic, with sight in a way. A canon Thief of Light blinded another person, and a canon Sylph of Light fixed their eyesight. Also, Light’s opposite Aspect is “Void”, which is obviously about mystery and emptiness.

Known Light Players are Rose Lalonde, Vriska Serket, and Aranea Serket.

9th Aspect: Void

Void is the Aspect of many things, though Void Players usually describe it as the Aspect of “nothing”. It is, indeed, the Aspect of nothingness. Void is about absence and emptiness, but also potential and mystery. Void doesn’t seek knowledge, and is more interested in what is not there and can be created. Void Players would be interested in mystery, would definitely be more interested in the rising of the sun if they didn’t know how that phenomenon worked. Void’s opposite Aspect is “Light”, which is about curiosity and brightness.

Depending on the Class, Void Players may have issues with their own incompleteness, believing themselves to be empty of feeling or anything at all, irrelevant. Healthy Void Players have learned to thrive in the darkness and to understand how their potential works better in the shadows. Unhealthy Void Players may try to overcompensate by mirroring Light, pretending they are full of what they are really not. If Light is the sun, Void is the ocean, vast and full of enigmas. It is quite literally the Aspect of water in a way, and its Players may have a strong connection to it, one way or another.

Void is more a concept, an idea. It is subtle. It is where light doesn’t reach. It is starting from nothing. It is obscure. Maybe it is lack of luck, depending on the Class. Void is vague, while Light makes itself very obvious. Void is full of riddles.

Known Void Players are Roxy Lalonde, Equius Zahhak, and Horuss Zahhak, interestingly all True Sagittariuses.

10th Aspect: Rage

Rage is the Aspect of truth, doubt, and, well, rage. Rage Players cast doubt in what they dislike more than they believe what they do like. They may be negative and literally driven by fury, though that will depend on their Class. Rage values the truth over anything else, and they might search for it everywhere. It can be irrational, as most rage is. It can be chaotic in both the bad and good ways.

Rage’s opposite Aspect is “Hope”, which is like in the name, focused on belief and trust. This highlights the Rage Player’s skepticism and less naive mentality, and their complicated relationships with religion.

Known Rage Players are Gamzee Makara and Kurloz Makara.

11th Aspect: Hope

Hope is the Aspect of belief, literal hope. Hope Players have and want to have trust in a better reality, and they hope so hard that they can become naive or easy to control. They are more focused on dreaming up a better future than on doubting it can be possible, which makes them the opposite Aspect to “Rage”. Hope is one of the most interesting Aspects, and I assign the song “Imagine” by John Lennon to it.

Hope will change a lot depending on the Class, but ultimately the Players will have a long relationship with faith. In themselves, in others, in love, etc., in literally anything. Hope Player Jake English said to believe in everyone, and was pretty much the only one who had faith in one of his hopeless friends. Jake also believed things about himself that he wished were true, and he did it so well that he took long to realize it was all made up. He realized his adventure-loving self was just a hopeful way to cope. “You know how you think you know these things about yourself? You just believe them and hope that the believing is what makes them true. But then you spend so much time believing those things and taking their truth for granted that you somehow forget to MAKE them true with your words and deeds. How can I truly love adventure when I never even knew what it was?”

Hope is what is left when there is nothing else. It saves its Players from their lowest lows and carries them to their highest highs. Depending on the Class it can make players full of or lacking hope.

Known Hope Players are Jake English, Eridan Ampora, and Cronus Ampora.

12th Aspect: Life

Life is the Aspect of, obviously, life. Plants, health, energy… It is always growing. In most Classes, Life Players are about curing and auxiliating. A Life Player’s challenge can be about a number of things, some can have problems accepting death is inevitable, some can deny that there are some things they cannot fix, others may worry deeply about health in themselves and others… Like all Aspects, Life differs greatly from player to player, and it can be a very powerful Aspect to deal with. One of the most powerful characters in the comic, the Condesce, was a Life Player. She was an incredible manipulator and used her powers for evil. Another Life Player character was Feferi Peixes, who used her royalty and power for good instead, focused on kindness.

More often than not, Life tends to be about helping others and sometimes being neglectful of your own self for the sake of other people. It can extend not only to humans, but also to beings like trees, which are the symbol of Life. Life can be about growing, it is about energy and life itself, the will to exist and the aspects of existence itself. Living wants to keep living. Even the smallest fly will fight to survive.

Known Life Players are Jane Crocker, Feferi Peixes, and Meenah Peixes.

[nancydrewandthecluecrew]

NANCY DREW CASE FILES: 22

TRAIL OF THE TWISTER

In the heart of tornado country, a storm is brewing for an Oklahoma research team, set on winning a competition with $100,000,000 on the line. Mechanical mishaps and close calls for the team start to alert the possibility of sabotage, when it rains it pours.

Is it simply the work of faulty machinery? Or is there truly something far more dangerous to worry about than being in the path of tornados? or this team?

Keep your wits and eyes to the sky to see whether or not you can weather this storm and solve this case

Natasha McElhone as Debbie Kircum

The project manager, passionate and dedicated, handling the day to day operations, So most of the work. Leaving her uncredited for her contribution to the team. If Scott's the face of the team, Debbie is the brain. And what might one do to prove just how valuable they are?

Ncuti Gatwa as Frosty Harlow

Toby "Frosty" Harlow, the team's media expert, with his own close encounter to the dangers of storms, Hence the nickname, but with that attention he got his taste for fame. Is it possible it went to his head? And what might he do to stay on the good side of this competition? Would he sell out his own team just to make his dreams come true?

Leslie Jordan as Pa

Runs the Ma and Pa store, where the team gets all of their supplies. He's a beloved local, in with everyone in the town. With his own close encounter knowledge of the Oklahoma weather, which leads him to be very serious when it comes to storm safety. One wonders how close is too close? Would he stoop to sabotage to keep others from the storm's path? Or maybe to keep them coming back to his store?

Greg Kinnear as Scott Varnell

'Leader' of the Canute Storm Chasers and professor at the university, intuitive about storms, but not when it comes to working as a team player, unwilling to take responsibility, is he hiding his own faults? Or diverting attention away by playing the heartless boss?

Luke Grimes as Chase Releford

Meteorology undergrad student, spending his first season out in the field. A great mechanic, capable and knowledgeable of the workings of the cars and computers. Is it possible he's not as good as he thinks? are the workings of this case far more intricate than a machine, that possibly he's trying to oil over. Or with the perfect cover to stay behind while the others chase the storms, is he chasing something else?

7.DOG 9.DDI 10.SHA 11.CUR 13.TRN 15.CRE 16.ICE 17.CRY 22.TOT